Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis Tomlinson smells good.  He’s been told that since he was little, even before he officially presented as an omega as a teenager.  Alphas and omegas alike have always commented on his scent, and no one can seem to pin it down.  Biology dictates that the better physically matched one is to another, the better they smell.  Louis doesn’t really know what to make of the fact that he literally smells like a good mate for nearly every single alpha and, somewhat unnatural, but not unheard of, very many omegas that he’s met as well. Luckily for him, it rarely goes both ways.  Louis has quite the peculiar palate, some might say.  Others, like his best mates, would say he’s just picky as fuck.

But Louis has already found that one man, one alpha, for whom he very nearly salivates for.  His scent is the most intoxicating thing Louis has ever smelled.  Unfortunately for him, that man thinks Louis reeks.  Even more unfortunately, that man is also his best mate’s best mate.

Louis met Niall, a beta, during his final year at Manchester University, at a party, naturally.  They’d hit it off instantly, and regularly hung out, mostly at Louis’s apartment, because Niall was still in campus housing.  He sometimes brought along his flatmate Liam, an alpha, and Louis would drag his own beta flatmate Zayn out of his tiny bedroom-turned-art-studio.

They’d all lost touch after Louis had remained in Manchester for a job he hated, and Liam and Niall explored the production side of musicianship in London after Uni.  Zayn announced a trip to New York City and remained off the map for nearly a year afterwards, occasionally texting Louis from a random number to assure him he wasn’t dead.

But now, years later, they’re finally all back together again.  Louis’d finally managed to bite the bullet and quit his dead-end job, scrubbing together his savings to afford a tiny London flat in Zayn’s neighborhood, just one stop away from Niall and Liam’s –and Harry’s– flat.

Harry is a newer member of their group, having met Niall at an open mic night at a pub, and quickly worming his way into their lives and business and flat. Niall and Liam spoke about him often during their Skype sessions and group chats before Louis and Harry had even met.  He’s a commercial photographer, and also the voice Niall and Liam use on some of their demos. (Demos that Louis is not ashamed to listen to on repeat, sometimes preferring them even to the actual artists’ tracks.)  Louis had actually been very much looking forward to meeting him, after getting to know him purely through his mates and, ahem, stalking him a bit on Instagram.  Among the many artsy shots of food, people, and architecture, are wank-worthy selfies.  Harry’s a beautiful alpha, broad-shouldered, but slender, with very long fingers, a jaw that could cut glass, and curly shoulder-length brown locks.  He looks simultaneously sweet and dangerous.  Just Louis’s type.

It’s a shame it isn’t mutual.

The day they first met, Louis had just jogged several blocks in the cold autumn rain up to their music studio.  He was tugging off his jacket with one hand, and desperately trying to do something with his hair with the other, on the way to the lift when he spotted Harry heading in his direction.

“Oh, hi,” Louis said, breathless from the jog and not the vision in front of him, thanks very much.  Harry wasn’t as big or tall in person as he looked in photos, but his eyes were much greener, and his skin much more porcelain, and his hands–

Harry gave him a subtle once over, eyes lingering on Louis’s bum.  

“Hi,” Harry said back, leaning over to punch the up button Louis had completely forgotten about.  His arm brushed Louis’s, accidentally or on purpose, Louis would never know, and they turned towards one another instinctively, apologies on their breaths, but Harry’s polite smile turned into something else instantly.  Something pained.  “Um,” he said.  “Actually, this lift takes forever, I might just take the–“

The lift dinged and the doors opened.

“Not so long a wait after all, eh?” Louis remarked dryly as he watched Harry’s sudden panic morph into resignation as they entered the lift together.

“What floor?” Harry asked through an exhale, punching in his own.

“Same, actually,” Louis said.  

Watching Harry’s face journey might actually have been funny if he weren’t the reason for it.  He’d gathered by then that, while he recognized Harry, Harry had no idea who he was, and would have liked to keep it that way.  He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened in the moment they’d started speaking, because he was certain he hadn’t imagined the spark of interest in Harry’s eyes.

He chanced a glance Harry’s way to find the alpha staring determinedly at the closed doors, jaw and hands clenched, and definitely not breathing.

“Easy, mate, don’t have a coronary over there,” Louis snapped.  

This had never, ever happened to him before, that someone, particularly an alpha, would find him so offensive smelling that he had to work hard to keep himself from vomiting.

Harry’s head jerked in Louis’s direction guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing heavily through his mouth.  “It’s not you, I-“

“Save it.”

He didn’t want to hear any sort of fucking ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse.  He was proper pissed about too many things in that moment, the first being that Harry had no bleeding clue who he was, and clearly never bothered to Instagram stalk him like Louis had; the second that no one had ever had such a horrendous reaction to Louis’s natural pheromones.  And last of all, the kicker, that Harry was probably the best thing he’d ever fucking smelled.  Hands down.  Like walking sex. A perfect combination of woodsy, and musky, and sweet.

The only consolation of it all was watching Harry’s face when he realized that they were heading in the same direction off the lift.  And that they were entering PH Music together.  And that Liam was waiting for them in the lobby with a grin and a loud, “Brilliant, you two’ve met already!”

Harry’s eyes, which had been wide and cautious ever since they’d exited the lift together, nearly bulged out of his head.

"You’re Louis?”  And then, to Liam he hissed, “You didn’t tell me he was–”

“A real person,” Louis interrupted, because he wasn’t interested in hearing this knothead’s feelings on male omegas.  “Stood in front of you.  With working ears.”

Harry gaped from one man to the other.

“Oh God,” he moaned.  “No.  I’m so sorry, I’m not usually so rude.”

“He’s really not,” Liam agreed, frowning.  “What’s wrong with you, H?  Weren’t you leaving?”

“I was only coming back for my umbrella.  So I’m just gonna go.  And get it.”

And he hurried off down the hallway, disappearing into a back office and slamming the door.

And so began a long, awkward acquaintanceship.  

The two months Louis spends job-searching and broke as fuck, means he has dinner at the lads’ flat nearly every weekend.  The first time they see one another again, weeks after their first official meeting, Harry just sort of… pretends like he’d never nearly suffocated himself to avoid inhaling Louis’s filthy pheromones.  He does it with a big smile, a handshake, and a compliment on Louis’s band tee, all the while mouth breathing next to an open window.  But Louis can’t forget.  He supposes his ego is bruised, having been used to his scent getting largely positive reactions, even if the occasional misogynistic response to his obvious gender status is less than.  

Harry seems to waffle between two extremes of making excessive, serial killer level eye contact, and not looking Louis in the face at all.  He never really has much to say, either, preferring to let the rest of them lead the conversation.  He once asked Louis directly if he was alright, after Louis’d had a terrible blind date that had ended in a bit of unwanted groping, and Louis nearly fell over at the strength of Harry’s gaze, eyes mostly concerned with a hint of alpha anger, and so very green.

It’s a shame, really, that they can’t seem to bridge that gap, because Louis thinks they’d actually be good friends otherwise.  Louis’s crippling attraction to him, and Harry’s utter revulsion aside, of course.  They share a similar taste in television and films (the only two of their friend group who vote for romcoms at every movie night opportunity), and overlapping taste in music.  Harry’s got a peculiar, quirky sense of humor that the rest of them rarely find funny, but his occasional sarcastic zingers shoot straight to Louis’s dry-humored heart.   And no one makes Harry honk in abrupt laughter quite like Louis does.  But anyway, it doesn’t matter.  It’s alright.  Louis has plenty of friends, and maintaining the ones he has are exhausting enough.

Tonight, they’re going out in celebration, even Zayn, because Louis got a job in his chosen career path as a copywriter in a moderately sized London advert firm.  It’s several steps up from his peanuts-paying, no-recognition, behind-the-curtain job in Manchester.  He’ll actually get to interact with clients, and pitch his own ideas, rather than just hand his work off to the closer, without being able to explain his own vision.  The interview team had been impressed by his portfolio, edgier than they’d expected, they’d said.  They’d even gone so far as to intimate they were hopeful his signing on would help them with their overall image.  Advertising is cutthroat, and having a male omega as a prominent visible member of their team is certain to turn some heads.

Times have changed drastically since the days omegas, male and female alike, were treated as lesser class citizens– at least, in the western world. But these days, as alphas and omegas become more and more rare, and betas outnumber them nearly 5 to 1, they’re sometimes afforded special privileges just because of their sex.  Louis embraces being an omega in all ways, save for one.

His old work friend, Jacquie, frequently laments how male omegas get all the fun of being a girl with none of the bullshit.  And while she’s correct that Louis doesn’t have to deal with periods or pregnancy, he still has to deal with sexism, crude catcalls from bold alphas suggesting he come sit on their knot, or old-school men (like his former bosses) assuming he hasn’t got the brain cells to complete a simple task without help from a beta or alpha.

And then there are the heats.  The bane of his existence.  The heats that make no biological sense in sticking around, when the pregnancy gene died away long ago.  Every single month while not on suppressants, Louis endures a crippling five days of intense, debilitating sexual desire.  Alone, always alone.  Jacquie tells him he’ll have much more fun and shorten his heats significantly if he finds someone to share them with, but Louis won’t do that anymore.  Hasn’t ever since his old boyfriend Matt when he was twenty.  Unsurprisingly, he’s also not had a serious relationship that’s lasted longer than a few months.  Sue him, he likes alphas– and alphas like helping their boyfriends through heats, apparently.  They like it enough for it to be a dealbreaker when Louis refuses.

So, he usually rides them out (literally) alone.  But he hasn’t got a choice this time.  His heat comes every three months like clockwork thanks to his suppressants, and it’s scheduled to arrive just a few days short of his very first day at his brand new dream job.  His dream job that he cannot request heat leave from on his first week.  Or preferably, ever.  He’s desperate not to fuck this up for himself.

Thus, he’s come to his own celebration with two things in mind:  Firstly, to get pissed.  But before he does that, he’s got to ask an alpha to go through his heat with him.

And that alpha is Harry Styles.  

Chapter Text

He recognizes how utterly ridiculous it is, of course he does.  And even if he didn’t, Zayn definitely does, and hasn’t been shy about telling Louis exactly how he feels.

Louis has given this a lot of thought, is the thing.  A dangerous amount of thought, really.  As in, late at night, horny in bed sort of thoughts.  He’s known for a few weeks now that he’ll need to find an alpha to help him, or risk looking flaky in his new position.  He’s created an internal ‘pros and cons’ list for practically every alpha that he knows, which is not a lot.  Either they’re already mated, too old, too unattractive (or all three), or they’re too close to Louis for him to let them see him that way—needy and desperate, and utterly the opposite of what he’s like in everyday life.  

Louis’s reasoning for choosing Harry as his preferred partner is twofold.  One: they aren’t close enough for spending a heat together to totally ruin their friendship.  And two: Harry doesn’t like him like that, which’ll make everything much less messy once they’ve tied.  Assuming Harry says yes.

Beside him, Zayn gives Louis’s elbow a jerk before he runs into a doorway on their way into the lads’ flat.  Louis’s been lost in his thoughts the entire journey from Zayn’s place, and Zayn’s just rolled his eyes and let it happen, guiding Louis when he needed it and staying quiet.

“Snap out of it,” Zayn orders now that they’re waiting for the lift.  “Can’t believe you’re about to do this.  Told you I’d help you.”

“You got a knot I don’t know about?” Louis snarks back.  Zayn only curls his lip, punching the button for the seventh floor.

Zayn and Harry don’t exactly get along, but they tolerate one another for the sake of the group.  It all started with Louis vocally complaining to Zayn about how he’d been treated by Harry upon their first meeting.  Zayn is as loyal as they come, quite like Louis, and he’s fiercely protective of the ones that he loves.  So when Harry and Zayn first met, of course Zayn’d pulled an attitude.  Harry’d stuck out a palm, and Zayn had slung an arm around Louis’s waist before returning the hand shake, and Harry’s hard eyes had zeroed in on the contact. Then he moved past it, asking Zayn about his latest exhibit, and looking like he actually cared about the answers, which gave him reluctant brownie points from Zayn.  These days, they just sort of continue the polite chatter, relying on the other lads to fill in the gaps.  Not unlike Harry and Louis, but with less nose wrinkling and holding back arousal, respectively.

There’ve already been drinks flowing by the time Louis and Zayn let themselves in. Louis can tell by the exact pitch of Niall’s cackle.  The three flatmates don’t even acknowledge the intrusion, as they sit round their lounge, each of them stretched out on their own piece of furniture.

“You should have seen it!” Niall wipes tears from his eyes with the hand holding his beer, nearly sloshing the contents onto his face.  “H was just sitting there, sorting his fucking socks to try to get the bloke to sod off.”

“He wouldn’t bloody leave and I had shit to do!” Harry cries, grin wide and eyes glassy, loose and playful when he’s been drinking.

“You’ve gotta get a backbone, Styles.”  Liam shakes his head, even as he laughs into his whiskey.  “How’d he finally go?”

“Took pity on ‘im and started playing that shitty band that booked studio time last week– oh, hey lads.  Tommo, bought that shit beer you like, back of the fridge–” Niall acknowledges the newcomers with a beer bottle salute and continues, as Louis and Zayn help themselves to a beer each from the fridge, “–the one with all the screaming?”

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a cheap beer now and again,” Louis says loudly, using the edge of the counter to pop open the cap with a flourish.

“Couldn’t get enough of your dick, eh?” Liam teases.  Then he sighs.  “Some alphas have all the luck.”

Louis frowns, exchanging a look with Zayn.  Liam’s never had trouble pulling before, although it’s no secret he’s been rebounding for ages since his last split.

Zayn takes his drink and settles on the sofa next to Liam, shooting Louis a defiant look as the latter has to decide between sharing the loveseat with Harry, who’s manspreading like the knothead he is, or squeezing onto the oversized chair with Niall.  He opts instead to lean against the worktop and trace a pattern with his fingernail into a just-burned, very expensive, and great smelling candle that can only belong to Harry.  He’s seen a few of the same fragrance in the toilet.

“What can I say?” Harry is shrugging, smirk betraying his faux humility.  “I’ve got the magic touch.”

“Magic touch!” Niall barks.  “Magic dick, more like.”

“How would you know?” Louis demands before he can stop himself.

“Paper thin walls,” Liam says.  “That, and they’re all screamers.”

“I’d be screaming too if I had that monster stuck up in me,” Niall chortles.

“Hey, don’t knock it til you try it, Niall,” Harry drawls, and Niall snorts.

“Why the fuck are we talking about Harry’s many conquests?” Louis tries and fails to hide the scowl on his face as Harry turns wide eyes on him, like he’d only just noticed his presence.

“They’re exaggerating,” he says slowly.  “About erm, the conquests.  Not the other thing.”

Louis blinks, feeling strangely hot around the collar.  “What other thing?”

Harry falters.  “The… the thing that Niall said–“

“He’s saying he’s got a big dick,” Zayn interprets for him dryly.  “Among other things, clearly.”

Liam snorts and raises his arm to high five Zayn, who reciprocates with a faintly proud smile on his face, pleased with his burn.

“It’s true, though,” Liam says as an afterthought.  “Nearly poked my eye out the other morning when I bent over to get the pan for eggs.”

“One of the few constants in my life: the sun rises in the morning, Harry’s starkers.  Literally the only reason Harry’s wearing pants right now is because we’ve got guests over,” Niall adds.

The lads have joked around about Harry’s endowments and habits before, of course, but Louis does not need to be thinking about the fucking baby arm between Harry’s legs, or his proclivity for nudity, given the current situation.  

“Thank you for still considering us guests, I suppose,” Zayn says with a shrug.

“No problem,” Harry says coolly in return, eyes on Louis’s finger digging in his candle, jaw tight.  Louis jerks his hand away, embarrassed by being caught.

“If we’re all through wanking over Harry’s massive cock now,” he says loudly, his use of sarcasm to cover up his discomfort fully employed, “I’d like to actually start celebrating me now, you know, the reason we’re all here tonight?”

“Aw, who could forget you, Tommo?” Liam croons, getting up from his seat to give Louis a hug. “Everything alright, mate? You’re usually the life of the party.”

Louis shrugs, glancing at Harry, who’s looking back intently.  “Bit nervous, I guess.”  It isn’t a lie, exactly, but it’s not about what the other lads think.

“You’re gonna do great,” Liam encourages, pulling Louis in again and nipping at his neck playfully, like alphas do to soothe their mates. Louis shoves him away.

“Knothead,” he insults affectionately.

Across the room, Harry clears his throat. “Maybe we should do shots?”

Liam cheers along with the others, moving away from Louis to snatch the tequila from the top of the fridge.  The lads crowd around the worktop together, and as Liam pours out the shots, Zayn touches Louis’s arm, raising his brows in question.

Louis shrugs. ‘Liquid courage,' he thinks as he’s handed his shot.

“To Lou,” Zayn leads the toast.  “Congratulations on finally rejoining the workforce.”

“Says the freelance artist,” Louis snorts.

“To Tommo!” Niall cheers, and they all clink glasses, downing their shots quickly and shuddering as a collective.

They decide to head to the pub shortly afterwards, and as they all start for the door, Harry bizarrely announces he’s got to quickly change his shirt, but he’ll meet them in the lobby.  Louis doesn’t quite understand, because Harry’s already wearing a sheer, blousy thing unbuttoned just far enough for nip slips.  He leaps at the opportunity to be alone with Harry for a bit, however, just to get his request out of the way and let his nerves settle.  Afterwards, he’ll either be able to enjoy his night, or drown his embarrassment in alcohol.

He makes something up about needing the toilet after Harry disappears into his bedroom while the others are already standing at the door.

“Go on, we’ll meet you across the street,” he urges, making eyes at Zayn, who rolls his own but plays along, herding Liam and Niall out the front door with a final apprehensive glance at Louis.

Harry emerges three minutes after the door closes, whistling to himself as he buttons a different shirt, this one equally as sheer, only with a floral pattern.  It’s unfair how ridiculous and hot he looks all at once.  

“Harry,” Louis calls, before he loses his nerve.  Harry jumps, clearly unaware Louis was loitering in the hall.  “I, erm, wanted to ask you something.”

Harry’s brows furrow infinitesimally the way they always do when Louis speaks directly to him.

“Did the others go down already?” he asks, and Louis nods.

“Told ‘em we’d catch up to them.”

“Okay,” Harry says carefully, still looking a touch confused and concerned as he moves further into Louis’s personal space. He feels a shiver down his spine at the combination of the timbre of Harry’s voice, his musky scent, and his unblinking eye contact.  Fuck, this is a bad idea.  He is so fucked.  “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis says quickly.  “I mean, I hope so.  I think so.  It’s just, I’ve got a big huge favor to ask of you, and I don’t, um…”

Harry reaches out as if to soothe Louis’s nerves, but aborts and shoves his hand through his hair instead.  “Tommo,” he says, and both of them wince a bit at the nickname.  It’s never quite rolled off Harry’s tongue the way it does the other lads’.  It feels like nails on a chalkboard if Louis’s being honest.  “Of course I’ll help.  Name it.”

“You can say no,” Louis hedges.  “Don’t feel obligated or anything.”

“Are you like, asking me to murder someone?” Harry chuckles, and Louis laughs too, nerves keeping him from continuing the joke as he might be apt to do in any other situation.

“I‘m starting my promotion in a few weeks,” Louis plods on, letting the awkward moment pass.

“I know that, Lou,” Harry says, a hint of condescension in his tone.  “That’s what we’re celebrating tonight.”

Louis swallows down the urge to retort something snarky, like ‘well excuse me for being excited about my big break.'

“Anyway,” Louis says.  “The only problem is, as it’s a new position, working directly with clients and all, I just… I really want to make a good impression straight away.”

“Course,” Harry agrees slowly.  “And you’ll be brilliant at it.  But um, what does- I mean, how am I involved here?”

“Right.  Well, you see, my heat’s scheduled for the week of.  Five days before, actually.  And erm, well, as you know, heats alone can last the full five or more.  But with an alpha…” He trails off meaningfully, daring himself to keep eye contact rather than peek up from under his lashes like his omega wants him to.  He’ll lure him with wits rather than wiles, thanks very much.  As if Harry were affected by his wiles, anyway.

Harry’s eyes widen comically in shock for a moment, before they suddenly turn thunderous.  Louis can’t help the slight step back he takes, or inward curling of his shoulders to make himself appear smaller.

“Who’s fucking idea was this?” Harry demands.  “Did Niall put you up to it?”

“No!” Louis insists, voice too shrill.  His bum hits the back of the couch, Harry’s advancing having unintentionally backed him into the lounge.  “It was my idea, the lads don’t even know, honestly.  I just thought since you don’t really– I mean, since you and I don’t really have that connection, that it’d be easier for you to– for us to–“ he stops short, gaze on the floor.  “Sorry, you’re right.  It’s really fucking stupid.”

He chances a glance up at Harry, who’s nearly lost the fire in his eyes, and now mostly looks confused.

“Are you pulling one over?”

“I’m honestly fucking not,” Louis insists.  “Although, I guess I wish I were now.”

Harry frowns, tugging at his bottom lip in silence for many seconds too long.  Louis opens his mouth to apologize again and beg for them to act like this never happened (because honestly, what was he thinking asking Harry?  The guy can hardly keep from wrinkling his nose in disgust when Louis’s downwind), but Harry interrupts him.

“Wasn’t there anyone else you could ask?” And, yeah.  Okay.  It’s a fair question; one he probably should have expected, but shame still settles in his cheeks.

“I know it doesn’t really make sense, on account of, well,” he gestures between them, the unspoken ‘ because I’m horribly unattractive to you’ going unsaid.  “It’s just, I have this thing.  About being like, vulnerable during my heats, you know?  I’ve always done them alone, ever since I was in uni, because I don’t like to have people I don’t trust see me, like, beg for it, you know?”

Louis’s a little shocked to see Harry’s eyes much darker and more alert when he looks up again, and a bit of that shame chips away.  ‘Ha,' his inner omega preens.  ‘He’s at least not totally unaffected by the idea.’

“And you trust me?” Harry wonders, sounding more curious than skeptical.

“Yeah,” Louis says immediately and honestly.  “You’re a nice guy, Harry, even if you and I aren’t close.  And I think that might help things, truly.  That way, maybe I won’t be as clingy, and you’ll be able to keep things more… clinical.”

Harry snorts rudely, then looks immediately repentant. “Sorry.”

Louis nods.  He thinks he understands. “You think you won’t be able to get it up.”

“What?” Harry gasps.  “No.  No, that definitely won’t be a problem.  No.”

Louis shrugs.  That’s such an alpha thing, to be boastful about sexual performance.  Almost nice to see those traits in Harry, one of the most un-alphas to ever alpha. “Okay, yeah.  Suppose sex is sex, right? So does this mean you’ll do it?”

Harry hesitates, and Louis’s heart drops.  Harry’s notoriously bad at saying no to people.  He’s had to help practically a dozen people move in the past month alone.

“It’s alright, Harry.  I shouldn’t’ve put you in this position.  Liam was going to be my second choice,” he jokes, because no , but it doesn’t land.  Upon seeing Harry’s disgusted face, Louis adds, “I know, I know, like fucking your brother, innit?  Though I suppose it’d be better than trying to find someone off Craigslist or summat.”

Harry scowls.  “You are not doing that.”

The protective tone of his voice sends little fissions of sparks through Louis’s body.

“I’ll give you a day to think about it, if you like?” Louis asks.  He tugs on the bottom of his shirt, feigning nonchalance as he waits.  ‘Don’t need to take a day to think on it,’   he begs inwardly.  ‘Tell me now.  Tellmenow.’

“A day would be great, yeah,” Harry agrees after a beat.  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I decide.”

“Brilliant.  No problem.  Not a problem at all.”  Only it is a fucking problem, because ’I'll think about it’ always means no.

“We should, erm, exchange numbers?” Harry says, inflection rising at the end with uncertainty, as if he were anxious to ask. “So I can get a hold of you, y’know, without having to go through the other lads.”

Louis stares at him.

“We exchanged numbers ages ago, like the fourth time we met.  That night at the pub, with that crazy football match, remember?”  At Harry’s quizzical frown, Louis scoffs.  “I literally texted you a month and a half ago, inviting you to a concert.  You said you were busy!”

He’d won the tickets in some Twitter contest and had asked Harry first, attempting to extend some sort of olive branch in hopes of encouraging their friendship.  Harry’d shot him down over three hours later with a ‘sorry, I’m busy that night! thanks for the offer!’

Harry’s eyes widen in shock.  “Oh God, that was you?  I’m so sorry, Louis.  I mustn't've programmed you in.  I thought you were some random guy I gave my number to!”

Louis arches a brow, wondering how it’s possible to be simultaneously endeared and offended.

“Do you often give your phone number to people you aren’t remotely interested in?”

Harry flushes.  “Don’t want to seem rude.”

Louis rolls his eyes.  “Watch and learn, Styles.”  Then he steps forward a bit, swinging his fringe out of his eyes only to peek up at Harry from under his lashes. “You’re really cute,” he says, coquettish yet apologetic, like he’s interested but unfortunately unavailable.  “But I have a boyfriend.”

Standing this close together, flirting, even if only to prove a point, causes their scents to mix together into something rich and velvety.  It’s overwhelming.

Harry smells it too.  Louis’d had his rapt attention during his little scene, and now Harry’s nostrils flare as he takes in the pheromones as a result.  Harry’s eyes go wide and pained for a moment before he quickly schools his features.  He turns around on the spot.

“Good one.  Have to remember that.  Just having a wee and I’ll be ready.”  He’s already clicked the door shut by the time he’s done speaking.

Louis just stands there, like a statue, for thirty seconds.  What the fuck had he been thinking?

He sighs, heading for the door of the flat.  It might be a bit rude to leave without Harry, but he’s gotta get some distance to screw his head on straight, and prepare to pick up a stranger, and hopefully proposition them with a heat sex marathon.  He’ll need Zayn’s help to vet them.  Maybe even enlist Liam, and his alpha instincts.

When he slides into the booth, he avoids Zayn’s inquisitive eyes, shaking his head minutely as he announces that Harry had to take a shit and he didn’t feel like waiting.  He’s already another shot and part of a beer in by the time Harry shows, pulling up a chair to the end of their four person booth like absolutely nothing is amiss.  He doesn’t even glance at Louis, but what else is new?

He and Zayn have a smoke break at some point, and Louis tells him the abridged version of what happened with Harry.  To Zayn’s credit, he doesn’t even say I told you so, he only agrees to stay sober enough to assist Louis in his search, and bring Liam up to speed with as little detail as possible.  Liam’s always hovered a bit when they go drinking together, or even in large crowds.  Louis’s not sure if Liam’s even consciously aware he’s doing it.  He knows it’s instinct more than anything else, because now that Harry’s in their lives too, Louis frequently finds himself being practically herded from either side when they’re all together.

Eventually, Louis’s had enough alcohol that he’s ready to dance, and he drags the others along with him to his favorite club, where the music is loud and the pheromones strong.  The perfect place to pull.  He has another shot and lets a handsome beta buy him a too-fruity drink, and loses his mates in the crowd, confident in the knowledge that at least one of his mates has one eye on him.  He shares a dance with an attractive alpha, then has another few shots with a group of women on a hen-do.

After that, everything is a blur.

He wakes up in his own bed, fully clothed, with the sun high in the sky, and a pounding headache the likes of which he hasn’t felt since uni.  He rolls over, groaning into the pillow and groping for his phone on the bedside table.  His hips and dick ache from sleeping in his skinnies.

His phone tells him it’s nearly lunchtime.  He’s also got several texts.  The first is from Liam, with just a thumbs up emoji.  It appears Louis had drunkenly texted that he was safe in bed at around 4 in the morning.

The other three are from Harry, each time stamped as nearly five minutes apart from one another:

Morning! This is Harry.  Hope you’re feeling alright today.  You told me to text you to remind you that I agreed to do that thing with you

Glad to do it actually, didn’t mean to make it seem otherwise in my last text.  Just let me know if you want to talk details.  I have your number now obviously

Btw I would have definitely said yes to that concert had I known it was you.  Really sorry.

Jesus, Harry texts him just as awkwardly as he speaks to him.

But he’s said yes.

Bits and pieces of last night come back to him.  He remembers spending a lot of time with an attractive alpha, and the generous amount of grinding that was occurring.  He also vaguely recalls Harry interrupting them by appearing out of nowhere, dragging him away and yelling in his ear over the music that he was in.  His exact words were, “I’ll fuck you through your heat,” in fact, and Louis understands now why drunk him would insist Harry remind him of it in the morning, because he may have had dreams that began with precisely those words before.

He drops his phone onto his chest.

Fuck.  This is actually happening.

Chapter Text

If he hadn’t tracked his own heats with his pills and his app, he’d have known the moment he woke up that today is the day anyway.  He feels ready to jump out of his own skin.  His body is hot all over.  The sheets on his bed stick to him a bit, especially around his arse, where he can already smell himself.

He jerks off and fingers himself in the shower, then shaves his face and manscapes a bit.  Since he’s always alone for his heats, he’ll often powder his balls to avoid chafing, but he’s pretty sure Harry wouldn’t appreciate it.

Shit, Harry.  They hadn’t said much more to one another about it, and they’ve only spoken through text message.  Louis had spent ages composing his initial response so as to appear as nonchalant as Harry about it:

Thank you, I know it’s not either of our first choices, but my career (and Liam lol) thanks you. I’ll make it up to you somehow.  Just name it.

Harry had replied, after just a few minutes:

haha, maybe you can put a word in for me when you need a photog at your new gig 

And then,

only joking haha

Louis had haha’d right back, then just went ahead and got down to business, as they’d never been great at talking with one another.  He’d asked if Harry was clean, and if he could arrive next Wednesday per the heat tracking app, and that he would take care of the rest.  Harry had said yes to both things.  And that was that, then, and all of a sudden the time is now.

Harry’s due to arrive around tea time, and there’s still so much to get done.  He opens up all the windows in his flat until his teeth are chattering, in an attempt to air out the place, even though he knows it’ll be futile soon.  He lights a few vanilla tobacco candles, the off-brand version of the expensive ones Harry keeps in the lads’ flat.  He wonders if his heat will make him smell any more appealing to Harry.  Could be the opposite, actually.

Speaking of scents, he locks his first few days’ work outfits away in a garment bag in his closet (which may or may not be filled to the brim with all the shit he’s picked up off his bedroom floor), so that they won’t be as saturated with heat scent.  He also changes the sheets on the bed, and leaves another clean set on the chair in the bedroom, next to a stack of fluffy towels, just in case.  He’s got the fridge stocked with quick-ready finger foods, and water bottles on the bedside table.  He’s never been this prepared for a heat, not even when he’s had a partner, and he’s always regretted it in the end, when he emerges from the fog starving with nothing to eat, and exhausted to the bone with no clean sheets to fall into.

He fixes himself a sandwich, then wanks in the shower one final time, washing his arse of slick futilely.  Then he puts on his coziest, easiest to remove sweatpants and waits.  He’s nervous, unsure of how Harry will behave toward him, how he’ll react to Louis in heat.  If he’ll even show up at all.  

Harry does show up, just when he said he would, rapping softly on the door.  When Louis opens the door to him, he’s frowning.

“You should find a place with more security.  I didn’t even need to be buzzed in.”

“Hello to you too.”  Louis rolls his eyes.  “And you don’t live in building with security.”

Harry gives him a look that says, ‘I’m not an omega who lives alone.'   Any other day, Louis wouldn’t let that knothead shit slide, but he does today, because Harry’s standing in front of him, smelling and looking incredible in a tight white shirt and basketball shorts, with a bag slung over his shoulder.  His scent intensifying even more when he tugs the knit beanie off his head.

Louis’s omega has died and gone to heaven.

“Close the door,” Louis says softly, alarmed to discover his heat voice already in full effect.  He feels it in his body, too, the way everything loosens up in the presence of an alpha he trusts as his heat begins.  His omega has begun to take over.  Won’t be long now until he slips under.

Harry does as he’s told, turning as if in slow motion to close the door, lock the bolt, and secure the chain.  Louis watches as Harry, hand still on the chain, inhales deeply and visibly shudders.

Okay, now Louis’s omega wants to curl up into a ball.

“Sorry,” he says weakly, moving away from Harry to stand against the kitchen island.  “I aired it out and lit candles, I’m sorry–“

“No!” Harry hurries to soothe, dumping his bag on the floor and invading Louis’s personal space without touching him.  His eyes are blown, barely even green anymore, and that’s simultaneously pleasing and confusing.  “It’s just, the candles make it a little overwhelming, I think?  With you, and them, on top of one another?”

Louis shrugs, tugging at the bottom of his shirt with sweaty palms.

Harry does touch him now, just lightly, on the shoulder.  “D’you mind if I blow them out, Lou?”

Louis shakes his head, and Harry squeezes his arm before he moves through the flat to find all the candles.  He returns, bringing with him the faint smell of extinguished flame, and Louis nearly whines at the momentary loss of pure alpha scent.

“Guess I wasn’t very subtle with the candles at my place, huh?” Harry chuckles a little sheepishly.

“No,” Louis agrees, because Harry’s never been anything but obvious at his attempts to mask Louis’s scent when he’s around.  “You weren’t.”

Harry remains contrite.  “I didn’t mean to like, objectify you or anything.”

Louis frowns.  He wouldn’t exactly call it that.  Offensive, maybe, is a better word for it.

Harry clears his throat after several seconds of awkward silence, suddenly all business.  “We should discuss a few things before we start, I think.”

Louis hums in assent.  

Harry’s eyes rake over him, top to toes and back again.  Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out two chilled bottles of water.  “Sit down and drink this,” he orders, giving one to Louis.  

Louis rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told, and Harry follows, plopping down on the opposite side of the sofa.  Harry’s definitely done this before.  It’s not a surprise by any means.  He’s an alpha in his late twenties, it would be ridiculous to assume he’s never helped anyone through their heat before. But Louis’s petty, jealous inner omega doesn’t like thinking about it one fucking bit.

The cold water clears his head a bit, actually.  He downs nearly half the bottle, and Harry does the same.  They’ll need all the hydration they can get.

“So,” Harry starts,  “I know we said we were both clean when we were texting, but we didn’t really speak about other boundaries.  If you have any.”

Louis shrugs.  “Haven’t done this in a while.  The heat thing.”

Harry swallows, and nods.  “I know.  I know it’s a big deal to you, too.  So I wanna like, get consent before you can’t give it. Do you– erm, I’m obviously assuming you want me to knot you?”

“Please,” Louis breathe-whines before he can stop himself.  God, he wants to die from the humiliation of it all.  Not even fully in heat and already begging for it.

Harry’s nostrils flare, eyes lingering on Louis’s exposed neck. “Okay.  And how do you feel about, like, rimming, or–”

“Everything,” Louis interjects quickly, closing his eyes as heat rolls through him and settles in his groin.  He’s already wet just discussing it.  “Everything except mating, I’m alright with.”

Harry looks mortally offended. “I would never, ever mate you, Louis. I promise.”

Louis crushes the bottle in his hand.  “Great.  Perfect.”

Harry chuckles awkwardly after a long several seconds of silence.  His eyes are on the water bottle he’s sloshing back and forth, but the furrow in his brow and flared nostrils give him away.  He isn’t totally unaffected. Whether he likes it or not, his instincts will take over.  “This is so weird.”

“So do something,” Louis punches out, bracing himself as another wave of desire rushes through him.  “You’re the–“ Harry suddenly gives in, dropping his water bottle on the floor and reaching for Louis, yanking him practically on his lap as he attaches his lips to Louis’s neck. “–alpha,” Louis finishes on a whine, and Harry growls, deep and animalistic in the presence of an omega in heat.  He licks a path from Louis’s collarbone to earlobe.  It’s so fucking primal and hot.

Harry pulls him all the way into his lap by the hips, without detaching his lips and tongue from Louis’s neck, and Louis shifts awkwardly until he’s straddling him.  Harry’s hands works their way under Louis’s shirt, his fingernails dragging over Louis’s nipples, which are sensitive all the time, but especially during heat.  

It strikes his funny bone all of a sudden, that in the near year long of knowing one another, they’ve had more contact in three minutes than in all of that time combined.

“What?” Harry mutters, detaching his lips and hands, and wiping his wet chin with one palm, breathing hard, eyes dark and challenging.  “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, testing the waters a bit by grinding his arse down into Harry’s lap and hissing in pleasure when Harry’s hands go back to his hips in response, tightening their grip.  “Just–you ever think we’d be here, doing this?”

Harry blinks, coming back to himself a bit with the interruption.  “Never,” he says, almost reverently, fingers wandering to the crest of Louis’s bum.  He drops his head onto the back of the sofa and groans, huge dick twitching in his shorts when Louis grinds down subtly again.  “Fuck, maybe we should slow down.”

‘Slow down' sounds suspiciously like code for ‘I’ve changed my mind'  to Louis.  

He panics.

“No, no!  Just – let me suck your dick.  I’ll make it good, I’ll– we haven’t even started!”  He scrambles off of Harry’s lap and onto the floor.  He’s so fucking close to the finish line, so desperate not to fuck this amazing job up for himself.

He’s desperate for something else, too.

“Fuck,” Harry hisses as Louis drags his shorts down, just enough for his cock to spring free. It bounces obscenely onto his stomach, and the sight makes Louis’s mouth salivate and his hole clench.  

He rubs his bum on the heels of his own feet, his arse leaking and desperate for some contact, and wastes no time wrapping his hand around Harry’s dick, pulling it toward his mouth.  Harry makes a high pitched yelping sound as the rest of him is forced to come along for the ride, until he’s seated at the edge of the sofa, so Louis can fit him in his mouth while still rocking against his feet for some relief.  

Harry’s so big, and going to get even bigger when his knot swells.  He might be the biggest he’s ever had, so Louis starts with little kitten licks, before he gets the courage to pull his lips around the whole head and suck. He’s rewarded with another animalistic growl, and a sharp tug on his hair.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes.  “Yeah, suck it.  Look so good with your mouth full like that.”  And then he shoves his thumb into the already aching crease of his lips, and tugs.  It’s painful, but so fucking hot, being stretched so full.  Harry likes it too, judging by the sounds he’s making.  

Louis smacks Harry's hand away so he can duck further down, taking him in as far as he can go until he’s gagging.  Harry smells so strongly of arousal and alpha, and he’s got a tight grip on Louis’s hair as he guides Louis up and down on his dick.  He keeps bucking his hips up in tiny little thrusts in tandem with his pulls, and growling every time Louis audibly chokes, like he wants to hold him down until he cries for relief.  The thought of Harry unleashing his alpha and really taking him makes him get even wetter than he already was.  He knows he’s starting to slip under when he starts to think like that, but at this point his heat is an unstoppable force.

“Enough,” Harry says suddenly, and the shock of hearing the order in his alpha voice nearly knocks Louis off his knees entirely as he stills, Harry’s engorged cock still cutting off his airflow.  “Off.”  He yanks Louis, by his hair, away from his dick.  “Hands and knees.  Right here.”

Louis takes one look at Harry’s pupils blown wide and lips bitten red, and drops to all fours like he’s been told, rocking his hips back onto emptiness and already mourning the loss of having his mouth full.

“I know what you want,” Harry croons, voice deep and raspy.  “You want me to fill both your holes, don’t you?”  From his position on the couch, he drags his fingers along Louis’s still-clothed spine and dips them into the soaked-through spot over his hole, just barely rubbing.  Teasing.  Louis whines and rocks back, chasing the feeling.   “Don’t you?  Louis?”

It takes several long seconds before he realizes Harry is actually waiting for a response before continuing.  Louis doesn’t like having to speak, if he can help it, not when he still has his faculties about him.  Harry won’t be able to shut him up in a bit.

“Louis,” Harry says again, fingers stilling, alpha voice gone and apprehension in its place.  “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Louis huffs, annoyed, and endeared, and so turned on he can hardly string a coherent thought together.  “Just take me, please. I want you.”

Harry considers him, eyes trailing from his face down to his bum, arched in the air like a beacon for dick.  Or fingers.  Tongue.  Anything.  What the fuck is taking so long?

“Take off your clothes,” Harry says firmly, after much too long. “Let me see you.”  He pulls his own shirt off his body, then leans over and helps Louis yank his shirt off his head, then wrenches his sweats down to his ankles.  Neither of them bother getting them off all the way, because Harry’s already dropping to his knees and shoving his dick back in Louis mouth with one hand, and rubbing two fingers brutally against his hole with the other.  Louis screams –as best he can while choking on cock, anyway– and grinds backwards, chasing that feeling.  “Yeah,” Harry murmurs.  “I knew it.  You’re so fucking wet for it.”

It’s true.  Harry’s two fingers slide in up to the knuckles with next to no resistance, and soon he’s  pumping them in and out of Louis at rapid speed.  Louis gives up trying to do anything but take it, rocking back and forth from fingers to dick with spit dripping down his chin and slick dripping down his thighs.  His orgasm is building as Harry hits his prostate with just about every other thrust of his fingers, and the fog is descending.  He’s ready for a knot.

No sooner than the thought pops into his head, Harry’s dick and fingers are suddenly gone, and Harry’s moving, shuffling around on his knees to yank Louis’s sweatpants off his ankles and settle flush against his arse, big dick dragging through the abundance of slick dripping down his thighs.

“Jesus,” Harry groans, landing a sharp slap on the meat of Louis’s arse and spreading his cheeks in such quick succession that he doesn’t even have time to register the pain from the hit before the cold air of the room hits his hole.  Harry lets go, then spreads him again, and again.  “Fuck, your arse.”  Then, without warning, he dips down and licks from Louis’s hole all the way up to the bottom of his spine, slurping obscenely.  He nips at the fleshy part of Louis’s arsecheek, then does it again, much harder, a growl in his throat.  “Gonna fuck you.”

“Yeah, do it,” Louis urges, arching up. Presenting.  It earns him another hearty smack and a low grumble from Harry.  “Alpha,” Louis whines when his request isn’t immediately granted.

That does it. Harry grips Louis hard by the hip with one hand and shoves in.

It burns so fucking good that Louis nearly whites out right then and there, even without a knotting.  Harry gives him a few seconds to adjust before he’s moving, experimenting with his thrusts until he finds what he’s looking for when Louis nearly howls in pleasure.  He won’t last long, not now that he’s been on the edge all day and finally getting what he needs.

“Close,” he manages to gasp.

“Good,” Harry praises.  “Come for me and I’ll knot you, and you can go under.”  

He thrusts even harder, his grip on Louis’s hips the only thing keeping him from being knocked to the ground.  Louis’s moans turn into wails as he feels Harry’s dick start to grow impossibly harder, and impossibly thicker with his knot.  Pleasure and pain are the same feeling in this moment.

Louis comes with a scream just as Harry’s fat knot locks in place, and the last thing he feels before his heat overtakes him is the heavy body across his back, soft licks down his neck, and the pulsing of that big cock as Harry comes.  

“Go under, baby,” Harry says, voice very far away even though he is very, very close.  “I’ll take care of you.”  

And with that, Louis succumbs.

Chapter Text

Being in heat is a bit like having much, much too much to drink, and then trying to piece together the bits you remember happening with the bits your mates tell you happened.  When Louis (mostly) emerges from the fog, he’s in his own bed with a knot up his arse, and a snoring man plastered to his back.  He shifts a bit, wincing at the pull of the knot, and cursing the fact that despite the (likely) several days of constant sex, his dick appears to have another round left in it.

The side of his neck and shoulder is raw and wet.  He forgot to tell Harry he shouldn’t leave marks, but he supposes it’s a moot point now.  He wipes the excess spit off with his dried-come-covered hand.

“I didn’t bite you,” a sleepy, defensive voice behind him interrupts his ‘cleaning.’  

Louis drops his hand. “I know you didn’t,” he retorts, voice like he’d just chain-smoked a whole pack by himself.  He could go for a cigarette, actually.  “You wouldn’t dream of it.”

Harry growls quietly, just a hint of a rumble, then he attaches himself back to Louis’s neck and licks again.

“Stop it,” he warns lowly, clearly not keen on Louis attempting to wipe away his scent mark.

Louis feels instantly repentant.  Their bond will be stronger for several weeks, probably, or until Louis fucks someone else.  His stomach roils at the thought; his omega does not like that idea.

He settles back against Harry’s chest, and arches his neck to allow Harry to finish his instinctual saliva marking.

“How long’ve we been knotted?” Louis wonders, shifting experimentally and feeling a tiny pulse from Harry’s dick.

“‘Bout an hour,” Harry says, and Louis hums in approval.  “Our bodies know we’re coming to the end.”  Knots begin to last longer when heats taper off; a primal last-ditch instinct to ensure pregnancy, probably.

“Maybe yours does,” Louis laughs, because while he’s much, much more clear-headed now, his body still thrums a bit under the surface.  He isn’t quite done yet.  

Harry laughs too. “Nice to hear your voice,” he teases, dipping his forehead to rest against Louis’s shoulder.  “Been a quiet few days.”

Louis stiffens.  Obviously Harry’s taking the piss, and Louis doesn’t appreciate it.  He knows how he gets during heats, and Harry teasing him about it now only confirms why he’s kept them to himself all these years.

“Hey,” Harry says, leaning forward to look into Louis’s face.  “Are you okay?  What’s wrong?  Does it hurt?”  He pets Louis’s hip and snuffles into the sweaty, greasy hair at the nape of Louis’s neck soothingly.

“A little sore,” Louis admits, choosing not to correct the misunderstanding.  He wishes he could turn in Harry’s arms and snuggle into his chest.

“We’re nearly there,” Harry placates.  “You did so well.”

He can’t help but preen at the compliment from his alpha.

No, wait.  Not his alpha.  His omega is confused because they’ve just spent a heat together, but it doesn’t mean anything.  He has a feeling he’ll be reminding himself of that for the next few weeks.

Harry resumes his licking, and Louis closes his eyes.  He’s not sure what time it is, or even what day it is.  The way the sun is leaking into the room tells him it’s either dawn or dusk.  Soon, Harry’s easing out of him with a groan.  Louis whimpers at the loss, clenching around nothing as come oozes down his thighs.

“Yeah,” Harry growls, pulling apart Louis’s cheeks to admire his work.  “Look at that.”

Louis’s arse is killing him.  The pain is much more acute now that he isn’t distracted by being stuffed full.  He doesn’t think he can take another knot.  “Sleep,” he murmurs drowsily.

Harry hums in agreement, bodily turning him so they’re face to face.  He tangles their legs together and tucks his chin over the crown of Louis’s head.  They’ve been so much on the same wavelength during Louis’s conscious moments, perhaps they aren’t completely sexually incompatible after all.  Then again, Harry’s feeling their connection just as acutely as Louis is.  It’s instinct.  He should just savor it while it lasts.  He has missed this, feeling secure and cared for during his most vulnerable time.  It might be ages before he gets to experience this again.

When he blinks his eyes open again, the sun is much higher in the sky, and he’s plastered against Harry’s back with a leg thrown over his thighs.  His body has been gently rocking his hard dick into the swell of Harry’s tiny, pert bum, which is… interesting.

Not today.  Not ever, more likely.

“Harry,” he whispers, using the occasion of waking the snoring alpha as an excuse to run his hand over Harry’s side, ribs to hip.  For an extremely fit, slender lad, Harry’s got a bit of a muffin top.  Louis wants to hold those fleshy bits tight while he gets his face fucked on his knees.  “Harry,” he calls, a little more urgently. He’s already wet.

Harry groans, jostling Louis from his perch against his side when he shifts onto his back.  His dick is at half-mast, and he palms himself lazily, eyes still closed, lips smacking. He reaches out with his other hand, frowning in his sleep until he comes into contact with Louis’s thigh.  Boldly, Louis moves Harry’s hand until it’s between his legs and up against his hole, where slick is pooling.

Harry jolts awake with a snarl, sitting up and flipping Louis onto his back before he can even react.  Louis yelps as he hits the mattress hard, arms finding purchase on Harry’s bare, sweat-sticky shoulders.

“Do you need my knot, baby?” Harry grunts, thrusting a little, dick against dick.  Rationally, Louis knows the pet name is nothing but dirty talk, but he can’t help the strong urge to soften and submit for his alpha when he hears it.

“No knot,” he says regretfully, and Harry frowns.  Louis would sort of like to experience one last knotting, like this, when he’s heat-buzzed, but still coherent.  The problem is, not only does his areshole feel raw and chapped, he doesn’t want to have to wait for the knot to go down afterward; not when Harry will be eager to get going now that the heat is basically over.

Harry leans down and nips at his lower lip in disapproval, the closest they’ve come to kissing this entire time.  At least, that Louis remembers.

“I should knot you,” Harry insists, clearly still cloudy from his catnap, every bit an instinctual alpha.

Louis turns his head, exposing his neck, his own instinctual response to his unhappy alpha.  “Too sore. Can we suck each other off?”

Harry considers this, staring at the juncture of Louis neck and shoulder.  “I’m gonna come on you.”  He says it like an order, not a compromise.

“Okay.”

Harry bustles into action, yanking Louis further down the bed, then sweetly grabbing a pillow and fluffing it under his head.  “On your side,” he urges, unnecessarily helping Louis roll over.  Louis lets him anyway.  Then he’s moving into position, that big dick looming nearer and nearer, until he’s feeding Louis his cock.

Louis manages a choked moan as Harry’s dick hits the back of his throat.  Harry moans too, pumping once, then slaps Louis’s arse sharply and dives in himself.  Louis shrieks, as best he can with a dick down his throat, and bucks into the wet, warm suction of Harry’s mouth.

Harry pulls off.  “Be good,” he growls, landing another smack to Louis’s bum, in the exact same spot.  Louis’s eyes tear up from the combined assault of a dick in his mouth, a mouth on his dick, and the sting of his bum.

Harry takes no prisoners.  He holds Louis hips down with one palm, while he sucks and licks brutally at Louis’s dick.  Louis does his best to keep up, but Harry’s doing most of the work for him, pushing in and out of his mouth with just enough control to keep Louis from gagging (most of the time).  Louis has a hand wrapped uselessly around Harry’s dick, and he can feel the base of it start to swell as they get more and more worked up.  Louis tightens his hand around it, and Harry growls loudly.  The feeling of the vibrations, along with the thought of his own lips stretched around a knot, cause Louis’s orgasm to build quickly.  Harry pulls at Louis’s arsecheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his hole, and Louis is done for.

The moment Harry’s swallowed Louis’s weak end-of-heat trickle of come, he’s pulling away and getting up on his knees, stripping his cock quickly with one hand and shoving Louis onto his back with the other.

“Open,” Harry commands, shuffling up to Louis’s face. Then he’s coming with a shout in hot, thick pulses all over Louis’s face, in his open mouth, on the tattoo scrawled on his chest, and all over his neck.  He pants harshly through his teeth as he does so, looking more like an animal, an alpha, than Louis has ever seen.  When he’s finally done, he slides his spent cock around the mess on Louis’s face, then slaps his lips with it a few times.

They stay like that, panting, and coming down from their highs.  Eventually Harry moves out of his hunched position and hurries off the bed.  Louis closes his eyes, sated, and really fucking filthy.

Harry returns with a wet towel.  “Here, Lou.”  He starts with Louis’s face, carefully wiping with the towel until nothing but sticky residue is left.  Then he starts on his neck and chest.  “How’s that?”

“Good,” Louis says.  “That was, ehm, a lot.”

Harry flushes.  “Yeah, sorry.  Just sorta came over me.  How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Louis says again.  “Yeah.  Good.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip.  “Is it over now, do you think?”

The thought of doing anything else remotely sexual is almost repulsive at the moment, actually.  His heat is well and truly over.  But his body is yearning for aftercare.  He wants Harry to curl around his body and whisper to him about how good he is; kiss him all over and love him up.

He tamps those feelings down.  He doesn’t usually have that after his heats, so he can go without it now.

“Yep,” Louis sighs, closing his eyes to keep the tears at bay.  “You’re off the hook now.”

Harry coughs and shifts his weight.  Louis chances a peek at him through narrowed lids.  He’s still hovering, holding that come-covered towel, looking anguished.

“Are you sure I can’t, like–“ he gestures as if to wrap Louis up in a bear hug, “–do anything else?”

“I’m good,” Louis assures him with the most convincing smile he can manage.  Harry seems to fall for it, anyway, because he nods, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Alright.  Mind if I… rinse off a bit?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Louis allows.  Harry hesitates, then leaves the room.  He’s fighting his instincts, just like Louis is, but it’s better this way.  It’ll be easier for their attachment to fade if they don’t indulge.

Louis can’t stop himself from rolling into the warm spot Harry left behind in the bed, though.  He buries his face in the pillow Harry’d used, and inhales as he listens to the water creak on in the shower.

He won’t cry now.  He’ll wait ‘til Harry’s gone for that.

“Anything I can get you before I go?” Harry asks, back too soon.  He’s standing awkwardly in the middle of the bedroom, in a jumper and pants, looking torn between fleeing like the building is on fire, and crawling back into bed.

Louis takes pity on him, even though his body is screaming for a cuddle.

“Think I’ll be alright now.  I’m not even as hungry as I usually am afterwards.”

Harry actually looks affronted.  “I fed you, obviously.  Cubes of cheese, and fruit, and that.”

The back of Louis’s neck heats up in embarrassment.  Flashes of memories, come back to him: Louis sitting up in bed, sucking berry juice off Harry’s fingers like he wished they were a cock; Harry bringing a bottle of water up to his lips; Harry murmuring words of quiet assurance into Louis’s ear.

“Oh my god,” he moans into his pillow.  “I’m so fucking sorry I made you do this.  Worst idea ever.”

“It’s my job,” Harry insists, standing taller.  “I took good care of you.”  He crosses his arms stubbornly.  “I took good care of you, didn’t I?” The demand starts out strong, but falters into something else.   Insecurity . His alpha needs to be reassured that he met his omega’s needs.

“So good,” Louis agrees quickly, because it’s true.  Aside from not wanting him to leave, Louis’s omega is completely satisfied.  “I really appreciate you doing this for me, you know.  I know it… well, I’m sure you had better things to do.”

“Stop saying shit like that,” Harry orders.  “I really… It was good for me too.  I liked taking care of you.”

Louis hides his hands under his bum to keep from reaching out for Harry.  He can’t help it, he just looks so adorable, like an exhausted, greasy mess.  And now that they’ve knotted, it’s just instinct.

“Guess you’ll stink of me for a while.”  Louis does genuinely feel sorry about that.  He knows Harry can’t stand it.

Harry just shrugs. “It’s alright.  I obviously, um, had to tell my business partner.  Having to take off for partner heat leave and all.  No details or anything,” he hurries to add.  “Just that I was helping out a mate.  So she’ll be expecting it.”

“Right.”  Louis feels a bit shitty, suddenly.  He knows what Harry does for a living, obviously, but he’d just sort of assumed he had freedom to take days here and there without a fuss.  He’d imagined it like Zayn’s freelance work.

“Okay, then,” Harry says finally, after a beat.  “If you’re good, then I’ll… I’ll head out.”  He backs toward the door at Louis’s nod, not so subtly rubbing his shoulder against the door jamb.  “Sorry,” he says guiltily.  “Instinct.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says, voice soft, because his inner omega loves it; loves being cared for, and feeling protected by an alpha. Regular Louis sort of loves it too, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“And if I, erm, call or text you to, you know, check up on you and that…”

“I’ll respond straight away.  I understand, Harry.  Sorry.  Should go away in a few weeks.”

“I’ll lock your door with your key and slip it through the mail slot,” Harry tells him.  “Promise me you’ll get up and do the bolt and chain soon.”

“Will do,” Louis promises, with no real intention of moving anytime soon.  Harry glares at him like he doesn’t believe him–which, he shouldn’t–but lets it go.

He hadn’t really thought much of the implications for afterwards, but they’re hitting him now as Harry rubs his shoulder one last time on the other side of the doorway, then sheepishly waves before disappearing down the hall.  Being away from one another will be much more uncomfortable for the alpha, now that they’re tied, as the instinct to protect and care for their mate becomes stronger.

Harry doesn’t leave right away, probably scent marking the place as much as possible before he goes.  Louis listens to him plod around the flat from bed, inhaling the scent of the two of them together, pleased that it’ll linger now thanks to Harry’s instincts.

Louis takes in his surroundings for the first time in days.  A few plates and bowls, and at least four empty water bottles sit on the bedside table.  The stack of towels is gone from where he’d set them–a few of them are spread out under his bum, in fact.  The soft, fuzzy throw blanket from the couch is twisted at the end of the bed.  Louis has a vague flashing memory of being carried to bed in it.

Yes, Harry took good care of him.

He indulges himself in a bit of a cry, letting himself come down from his heat, and Harry’s abrupt departure.  He’s used to going it alone though, so he pushes past it quickly.  He dozes for a bit, body pleasantly sore in all the right places.  When he finally feels refreshed and ready to rejoin the land of the living, he reaches for his phone.

He’s beyond shocked to see the date and time on his lock screen. If he’d had to guess, he would have thought it was Saturday, or even Sunday afternoon.  But it’s only early Friday evening.  That means his heat lasted only 48 hours, the shortest it’s ever been, even with a partner.

Well, shit, that changes things.  Maybe if he can switch his pills a bit to ensure heat starting on the weekends, he can entice Harry with a trade of sorts.

He can’t believe he’s got the entire weekend to himself now, to prepare for his new job.

His phone’s been blowing up a bit while he was away.  He’s unsurprised to see a text from his mother, and a long string of group chat messages from his mates back home trying to set a date to get together.  He’s also got one from Zayn, asking how everything is and to call him when he can.  The one from Niall, on the other hand, is a bit of a shock:

Call me the instant you’re not knot-drunk you fucking tit

He waits until after he’s showered the last of the come off his body, and changed the sheets (he keeps the pillowcase Harry used on the pillow, though) before he calls back, because he knows Niall, and while Niall’s routinely vulgar, he’s generally less angry about it.

Snuggled up in his freshly made bed, he puts his phone to his ear, and it rings four times before Niall picks up.

“What the fuck, Tommo?” he barks, first thing.

“What the fuck, what?” Louis snaps back.  “I literally just got out of heat, what the fuck could I have done to you in the meantime?”

“It’s who you fucking had your heat with, you imbecile!  Harry’s just come through the door reeking of it!”

Louis sits up abruptly.  Obviously he realized his mates would put two and two together eventually, but he hadn’t expected to be accosted about it not even an hour after it had finished.  Louis had also sort of assumed that Harry wouldn’t want anyone to know, so he’d just planned on following Harry’s lead about it.

“He told you?” Louis demands, and Niall groans.

“You asked him not to, didn’t you?  No wonder he was so fucking cagey when Liam called him on it.”  Of course.  Liam.  Niall wouldn’t be able to smell it on his own.  “Jesus, Lou, you’re such a selfish prick.”

“Oh my God,” Louis shrieks.  “How the fuck is all of this my fault?  We’re both adults here.  Harry chose to do it too.”

“Yeah fucking right,” Niall spits.  “As if he could say no to you.”

“Hey!  I gave him plenty of outs.  I even told him I had backup plans.”

Niall snorts rudely.  “Yeah, like that didn’t seal the deal right there.”

Louis huffs loudly, frustrated and confused. “Look, I don’t fucking get why you’re so angry, mate.  I asked Harry to help me out, and he did.  In a few weeks, he’ll be back to wishing I were dead, anyway.”  

There’s a sharp inhale, then Niall starts again.  “Louis, are you fucking–” he’s interrupted by yelling on his end, deep and angry.  Louis recognizes the timbre as Harry’s, and his whole body breaks out in gooseflesh.  There seems to be some sort of scuffle, and then the connection is lost.

He tosses his phone onto the bed, decent mood effectively ruined.  He gets out of bed and heats up a bowl of soup, having little energy to really chew anything.  After a quick meal standing at his counter, he goes back to his bed, exhausted.

His phone buzzes, and he reluctantly picks it up, not eager to finish his conversation with Niall.  But it’s a text from Harry instead:

answer your phone please

Harry’s tried to ring him three times in the last fifteen minutes.  Shit.

His phone rings again, Harry’s name listed as the contact, and Louis scrambles to answer it.

“Hello?”

“You told me you’d pick up if I called,” Harry accuses by way of greeting.  “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, good,” Louis assures.  “Just left me phone in the bedroom while I went to get food.”  He leans back against the pillows, pulling the one that still smells of Harry into his chest.

“I’m sorry about Niall,” Harry says.  “The way he was treating you just wasn’t on.”

“Bit miffed about that, actually,” Louis huffs.  “Accusing me of using you, or summat.  I told you I’d get you back any way you wanted.”

“I know that, Lou,” Harry says, “Niall’s just looking out for me.”  Louis frowns, confused.  Why wouldn’t Niall be on Louis’s side, the one who actually had to go through the heat, versus the alpha who got to enjoy the ride?  Harry continues, “He shouldn't've spoken to you that way though, especially just after.  I’ve had a word with him about it.”

“You’ve had a word, have you?” Louis teases.  “Sounded a bit more serious than that.”

Harry chuckles.  “Might’ve given him a scare.  He’ll get over it.  Wants to speak to you, if you’ll let him.”

Louis hums.  “Maybe tomorrow. What are you doing?”

“Lying in bed,” Harry says.  He sounds like he’s smiling.  “I’m knackered.”

“Wonder why,” Louis teases, hiding his pleased smile into the pillow when Harry laughs on the other end of the line.  “Can’t believe it’s only Friday.  Well done, mate.”

“It was us two, together,” Harry deflects.  “Now you’ve got the weekend to yourself, though.  That’ll be nice.”  Louis hums in agreement.  “Any plans?”

“Well, I’ve just come out of heat unexpectedly early, so, no.”

Harry puffs out some air.  “Right, course.  Good, cuz, erm, I’d rather you not.  Go out, that is.  You’ll still smell of heat, and it might not be safe.”

Louis laughs at Harry’s protectiveness, although he’s inwardly very pleased.  “And what would you have done had we finished on a Sunday night, and I went into work on Monday?”

Harry growls quietly.  “We’re not thinking about that.”

“I’ll stay in,” Louis promises.  And, because he knows Harry’s alpha wants to hear it, and Louis’s omega wants it known, he says, softer and sultrier, “And on Monday morning everyone will still smell you on me.”

Harry clears his throat to disguise the low rumble he makes in response.  “You should get some rest.”

Louis blinks.  Okay, so maybe he did take it a bit too far there.

“Yeah, sure.  You too.”

“If we don’t speak before then, good luck on Monday.  You’ll be brilliant,” Harry encourages.

Oh, right– he won’t be seeing Harry for the next few days.  Probably even longer.  His stomach tightens in knots.  His omega is not happy.  “Thanks, Harry.”

“Oh, and Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“Do the bolt and the chain on the door.”

They’re both laughing when they hang up, and the memory of the sound helps Louis when he curls up in his bed with a pillow that smells like Harry, alone.

This is painful now, but it’ll be worth it.       

Chapter Text

Louis spends most of Saturday moving from the bed to the sofa, and back again. He rewatches several episodes of Breaking Bad, and eats a frightening amount of leftovers from the meat and cheese tray he’d purchased for his heat. (Okay, the whole thing. He eats the whole thing.) Niall texts him midday with a sincere sounding apology, but without an explanation. Louis accepts, not feeling much like digging deeper at the moment.

By the time the sun begins to set, Harry has neither texted, nor called– not that Louis’d really expected him to. Nonetheless his omega is feeling a bit heartsick, if he’s totally honest, so he texts Zayn to come over and have a cuddle.

Zayn arrives an hour later, with Chinese takeaway, and purple paint on his forehead and under his fingernails.

“Bless you,” Louis cries, snatching the food from Zayn’s hands. “Sorry, mate, am I keeping you from something?”

Zayn waves him off. “Nah, needed a break anyway. Bit surprised to see you up and about, though.”

Louis shrugs, setting the containers out on the coffee table and sliding into Zayn’s side when he plops down next to him. “Done yesterday afternoon, actually. Styles works quick.”

“And leaves quick,” Zayn comments, looking around as if Harry were about to pop out of somewhere. “Jesus.”

“We spoke last night,” Louis says defensively. “He made sure I was alright.”

Zayn scowls. “Heats aren’t a ‘wham bam, thank you ma’am’ sort of thing, Lou. He should bloody know that. Look at you; you’re lucky you didn’t drop!” He pulls Louis even closer until he’s tucked under his arm. They sit like that for nearly a minute.

“I’m fine,” Louis mumbles belatedly into Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn snorts derisively. “He’s a fucking wanker.”

“Hey now,” Louis warns, pulling back to look Zayn in the eye. “He would have stayed if I asked him to. He was really sweet about everything. And the sex was really fucking good.”

Zayn shuts his eyes tight and covers his ears. “No details, mate!” Louis laughs, wrestling Zayn’s hands down.

“Really,” Louis insists. “This wasn’t meant to be anything more than a sexual favor. My O’s just a bit confused, is all.”

“Well,” Zayn grumbles reluctantly when they’ve settled back down, throwing an arm back around Louis’s shoulders. “That’s fine, then. I just worry cuz you deserve to be treated well.”

Louis pulls him close and squeezes. “Thanks, babes. Honestly, though, the sex was much better than I was expecting.”

“Lalalala,” Zayn cries childishly, shoving his fingers in his ears, squirming out of Louis’s tight hold, and leaping off the sofa.

“His dick was huge!” Louis shouts, cackling. “He came all over my–” Zayn clocks him in the face with a throw pillow.

It doesn’t take much of any convincing to get Zayn to stay the night. Louis doesn’t even have to bring out the puppy dog eyes. Zayn double and triple checks that Louis has changed the sheets (Louis doesn’t tell him about the pillow), and he gamely allows Louis to curl into him as they lie in bed.

Zayn really is the best friend he could ask for. Not for the first time, Louis thinks life would have been easier had they just been able to be with one another. He knows Zayn holds at least some latent sexual attraction to him– he always gets a bit handsy when he’s high, and they may have snogged while pissed once or twice in uni. And, of course, Louis finds Zayn attractive as well– there isn’t a human being on Earth who doesn’t. But Zayn isn’t an alpha. He doesn’t have a natural scent or a knot, so at the end of the day, they just aren’t very sexually compatible. Good sex is definitely high on Louis’s priority list. Also, Zayn’s extremely introverted, which Louis just doesn’t get. And he’s got absolutely no patience for Louis’s messiness. Their rows during their flat-sharing days at uni are legendary. Louis is certain that Zayn would agree that they’re better off just being best mates.

Louis won’t say no to the cuddles, though, especially now. He breathes into Harry’s pillow, tucks his legs under Zayn’s calves, and sleeps all right, all things considered.

Zayn makes him breakfast in the morning, and fucks off around noon, back to the purple project he’s being suspiciously cagey about. Louis has too much time on his hands to think about things when he’s on his own. He airs out the flat again, then rings his best mate from home. He plays a bit of FIFA, and has a kip that he wakes up incredibly grumpy from.

He also checks his phone constantly.

Harry doesn’t text. He doesn’t ring.

He’s early to his first day of work on Monday, stepping off the lift to arrive at Smith, Breyer, and Wilde twenty minutes to nine, in his favorite work trousers that hug his bum just so, hair neatly quiffed.

“Don’t worry,” he tells the front secretary as he follows her through the glass doors she’s just unlocked, eyeing him warily, even after he introduces himself. “I can promise you I’ll never be this early again.”

The secretary– Marjorie, according to her nameplate– rings someone or other apparently already in the building about his arrival. Marjorie isn’t particularly friendly, but she’s quite pretty, and she types very, very fast.

The office manager, Allison, who Louis had met the day of his in-person interview, meets him at the front desk minutes later. He gets a good whiff of her when she approaches him for a handshake. She smells completely neutral, almost clinically so. So clean it tickles Louis’s nose. Scentblockers. She’s an omega, presenting herself as a beta. Only another omega would pick up on it.

“Hello, again, Louis,” she greets him, simultaneously picking up a stack of papers from the front desk with one hand, and texting on her iPhone with the other. “Marjorie, Laverne Body reps should be here by twelve. I’ve just got the confirmation email. They’ll want catered. Please make sure it’s vegan this time.”

“You really are the Joan of this place, aren’t you?” Louis jokes. Allison stills, dropping her phone from her face to stare at him, wholly unimpressed. Behind her, Marjorie slowly shakes her head.

They get back on better footing as Allison shows Louis around. It’s a beautiful space, far more modern looking than his last firm. Executives, directors, and HR and accounting are one floor above, with the creatives together on their current floor. There are two separate conference rooms of differing sizes, from very big to enormous, plus two more concept testing rooms, in addition to the office spaces.

“We’re obviously expecting you to jump in with both feet straightaway,” she tells him after they’ve finished in the kitchen and she’s warned him never to use the microwave and electric kettle at the same time. “You’ll share a communal space with your other lead copywriters, with a small attached office. The three of you will share a PA, who handles your diary and scheduling. No coffee runs.”

“I prefer tea, anyway,” Louis jokes with a smirk and a shrug. Allison’s lip quirks. “One day I’ll have you laughing, Allison. One day.”

“Can’t wait,” she quips as she hustles them through the office. “Graphic design is through here. Junior copywriters over there. And here is where you will be.”

They come to a modestly sized, alpha-smelling, stylishly decorated common area, with a few black leather sofas, a glass coffee table, and gold accented throw pillows. Framed adverts line the walls, the only sign that this is not, in fact, the lounge area in a suite of a five star hotel. There are three offices off the main room. Two of them are seemingly in use, and the third is dark.

“Knock knock,” Allison calls loudly, making no attempt to actually knock before she strides into the middle of the room. “I come bearing gifts.”

“If it’s not wine, I’m not interested,” a woman shouts back, but she comes to stand in her office doorway anyway. “Oh, hello,” she says with interest when she spots Louis, eyebrows high on her head.

“Hi,” Louis says in return, giving her the eyebrows right back. She’s quite attractive, with long, curly reddish blonde hair and a slender build. Her skirt is very short.

A man comes strolling into the room from his own office in stocking feet, dress shoes in hand. He plunks them on the coffee table and turns to give the newcomers his full attention.

“Louis, this is Bridget and Morris, your direct team members. They’ve been dying to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the man, an alpha says, flashing a blindingly white smile and extending his hand. He towers over Louis, in height and stature. He smells like something rich and smooth, and has disgustingly perfect eyebrows. “Call me Mo.”

“That makes me Bridget,” Bridget says, doing a little wave. “Really happy to have you on our team, Louis.”

Allison only stays long enough to be sure his office door is unlocked, then she hurries away, promising to be back later with keys, and codes, and the like. “In the meantime, bring him up to speed with Laverne Body, yeah?” she calls over her shoulder.

Bridget rolls her eyes behind Alison’s retreating back. “I’ve got their portfolio in my office, if you want to have a gander. They’re trying to be the next Lush. It’s only the second concept meeting. They’re really pushing for a play on that meme, you know the famous social media comment about how it’s dangerous to promote that two grown people can fit in one bath?”

Louis makes a face.

“My thoughts exactly,” Mo agrees, sitting down on one of the couches and gesturing for the others to join him.

Bridget ducks into her office and returns with the file. She’s an alpha, too. Louis can smell her natural crisp, slightly tangy scent underneath her perfume the moment she plops down next to him on the sofa. Each of their scents are platonically pleasant, and only a little distracting. He reckons he’ll get used to it quickly.

Speaking of scents, “I see why they picked you,” Bridget says suddenly, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, sniffing at Louis delicately. Louis isn’t offended– he’s quite used to it, and pleased to find that Harry remains the only person he’s met to have an adverse reaction. “The other applicant’s portfolio was stronger, if I’m honest, but I passed by him on my way to the loo the day he interviewed, and he literally looked and smelled like a foot. But you,” she gestures up and down Louis’s face and body, “are absolutely delicious. The whole package, aren’t you?”

“We’ll distract them into agreeing to anything with you in the room,” Mo adds with a wink.

Louis can’t help but preen a bit at the appreciation of an attractive alpha. Two attractive alphas, even though he doesn’t particularly swing both ways. “I think you may be overestimating me, but I’ll take it. I’ll stoop that low. In it to win it, and all.” He shrugs, grinning.

Bridget whoops and chants, “Bigger bonus! Bigger bonus!” She nudges him conspiratorially. “What your alpha don’t know won’t hurt him, eh? Or, her, I suppose. Don’t mean to presume.”

Louis pauses mid-laugh when he’s fully processed what she’s said. “Oh! No. He isn’t...I mean... it isn’t like that.”

“He quite relaxed about them things?” Mo asks. He chuckles. “I have to say, mate, your neck says otherwise.”

Bridget titters right along with him as Louis slaps a hand over his neck. He hadn’t thought it looked that terrible this morning.

“Celebrating the new job?” Bridget asks with a wink.

“Staking his claim, more like,” Mo says as an aside, grinning.

Louis considers telling them the truth about him and Harry. They’re unlikely to judge him for it, he senses, but something holds him back.

“It’s a new relationship,” he lies, smirking coquettishly. “Honeymoon stage and that, you know how it is.”

Bridget groans enviously. “God! I wish! I’ve had the most wretched dry spell lately. Got any friends as cute as you?”

“I’ve a mate who’s a beta who might be just your type.”

Bridget considers, then shakes her head. “Nah, thanks. Gents, girls, it doesn’t matter, but only O’s for me.”

“And what have you got against betas?” Mo demands playfully.

Bridget rolls her eyes at him. “Mo’s wife is a lovely beta called Cindy,” she explains to Louis. “Truly, she is lovely. Great cook.”

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised, but not shocked. It’s less common than beta-beta and alpha-omega relationships, but not entirely unheard of. “Very cool.”

“We’ll all have to go out together soon,” Mo says. “Cindy won’t be able to sniff me out like your A will do to you, but she’ll want to have a look at you once I tell her you’re omega. And I’m sure your alpha will be frothing at the bit to meet the pair of us.”

“Honestly,” Louis says, suddenly very much regretting going along with this lie. He’ll have to fake a breakup sometime next week to get them off his back. He’ll have stopped smelling like Harry by then anyway. “Harry isn’t like that.”

Mo and Bridget exchange a look. ‘Trust us,” they say in tandem.

Louis sighs over-exaggeratedly. “Fucking alphas.”

Bridget and Mo yelp with laughter. Louis thinks they’ll make a good fit, the three of them.

The week passes quickly, in that exhausting way busy work weeks do. Louis finds himself both wondering where the time has gone and desperately thankful for the weekend. The workload isn’t particularly difficult, on par with his previous firm, but there are names and faces to learn (something he’s never been good at), new clients to schmooze, and even more paperwork to fill out.

On top of all of that, his body is yearning.

Logically, Louis knows that his connection with Harry is purely physical and only related to their tie, but his omega is confused and lonely. The pillow Harry had used during the heat stops smelling like him on Tuesday, and on Thursday morning Louis catches Bridget sniffing curiously when he leans over her to grab the client file. He knows he’s starting to smell less like Louis and Harry and more like himself, but it’s happening faster than he thought it would. Having absolutely no contact with Harry is what’s doing it, he supposes.

He kicks himself for being a little disappointed. This was part of the plan. They’d sleep together for the sole purpose of shortening Louis’s heat, and then they’d go their separate ways. Harry doesn’t owe him any more than that. It isn’t Harry’s fault that the connection between them clearly isn’t strong for him.

Niall calls Louis on Thursday afternoon just as he’s flopping into his desk chair for the post-lunch afternoon slump. Niall had texted on Tuesday asking if Louis wanted to meet for drinks before Harry’s set at the club, and Louis’d answered vaguely, unsure about it. Louis has been to a few of Harry’s small, local gigs, and he’s always enjoyed the music– Harry was born to perform– but he’s not exactly keen on watching Harry blatantly ignoring him, per usual, in favor of winking at the groupie girls that follow him around.

“Hey, Tommo,” Niall says when Louis answers. “We still on for tomorrow night?” He’s got his mouth full of something or other, and he loudly slurps his straw on the other end of the line.

“Dunno,” Louis hedges. “This week has been mad.”

“All the more reason for a pint,” says Niall, and, well, he isn’t wrong. Only Louis doesn’t really want a pint with a certain person present.

“How about dinner after work instead?” Louis attempts for a compromise. “Early to bed for me tomorrow, I think.”

There’s a long pause, then Niall clears his throat. “Look, mate, I don’t bloody care if you show or not, but Harry’s been on me to ask if you’d be there.”

“Really?” he can’t keep the utter shock out of his voice.

“Obviously,” Niall says, and he’s back to chewing again.

“So… so are you saying he wants me to be there, or he doesn’t?”

Niall sighs. “Jesus. Idiots, the pair of ya.” Louis waits, but he doesn’t answer the question. “How’s the job, then?”

“Good. Great, actually.”

“Any hot chicks?”

“Loads. I got all their numbers for you.”

“Good lookin’ out.”

Louis listens to Niall eating for a few more seconds.

“I think seeing him will only prolong the pain,” Louis admits finally. “Just gonna have to rip off the bandage again, y’know?”

“I don’t pretend to understand all that shit. There’s a reason your kind are dying out, ya know.”

Louis ignores him. “So, you’re sure Harry wants me to be there.”

“Yes, you donkey. He’s hurtin’ just as bad as you right now, y’know.”

Louis doubts that very much, but he takes some sort of perverse pleasure in the fact that Harry still cracked first. It makes Louis feel a bit more powerful than he’s felt the entire week post-heat. He’s not the only one who’s been unaffected.

“Alright, fine,” he says, giving into his omega though he knows it’s a bad idea. “I’ll fucking be there.”

“Good. Now get the fuck back to work. Oh, and Liam said to say hi.”

“Hi back to Payno. And Niall?”

“Yeah?”

“You were joking about not caring if you saw me, right? Right Nialler? Me! Your best mate, who you–“

Niall hangs up on him.

His cheeriness lasts long enough to set his phone down. Then he groans and bangs his head on his desk to try to sort the mess of jumbled thoughts rattling around in there.

Fuck. He’s seeing Harry tomorrow. He hopes his favorite black skinnies are clean. How should he behave? Aloof? Unbothered? Coy? Preferably not like he wants to be mounted right then and there.

Thankfully, Bridget saves him from spiraling much further by bursting into his office with the concept art for their pitch.

He begs off drinks with Bridget and Mo and some of the graphic design lads in favor of going home to stare at his closet, before choosing an outfit he wears virtually every time he goes to the pub, and spending a crazy amount of time on his hair, only for it to come out exactly like it always does. He curses himself the entire time for even giving a shit.

Zayn’s working and won’t be coming tonight, so Louis heads to the club alone, a half hour later than he said he’d meet everyone. Liam’s already texted once to make sure he’s alright, even though he knows Louis is always fashionably late at a minimum, and very frequently obnoxiously late as well. Louis texts Liam back the middle finger emoji as he waits in line to be let in. He can already hear the music from the street, and recognizes it as one of the songs from Harry’s set.

There’s a decently sized crowd in the small concert space– mostly women. Louis finds his mates at their usual bar table. Niall cheers and passes Louis a pint.

“Glad you’re here!’ Liam says loudly in Louis’s ear, over Harry’s guitar player’s solo and the shrieks of a few girls at the front. Harry winks and waves at them, then turns around to shake his bum.

“Jesus,” Niall shouts, laughing. “Thinks he’s on his own fuckin’ arena tour, don’t he?”

Liam assesses Louis, eyes warm. “Did you do something different to your hair?”

Louis brings a hand up to finger his fringe self-consciously. “Why? Does it look bad?”

Liam laughs. “No! Just extra-sexy bed head, I reckon.”

Louis’s attention zeroes in on Harry again. He’s wearing some ridiculous fur vest over a very tight, and very sweaty, white t-shirt, and he’s pushing his long hair off his forehead with ring-covered fingers. He looks utterly, despicably hot.

Louis wants to die.

He excuses himself when he can’t take looking at stage hoe Harry any longer. In the loo, he runs his hands under cold water and puts them on the back of his neck to soothe his overheated body. He’s lucky he hasn’t slicked up.

A man sidles up to him on the way back to his table. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Rupert. Mind if I join you?”

“Sorry,” Louis says, walking faster. “I’m with my mates tonight.”

“At least let me buy you a drink?” Rupert wheedles, smiling flirtatiously.

Louis stops walking. On stage, Harry pauses for water, eyes scanning the crowd as he does so.

“You can buy me a drink,” Louis says slowly, as he and Harry suddenly make eye contact, “but I’m not interested in your company.”

Rupert turns to see who Louis is looking at. Harry’s eyes leave Louis’s to stare coldly at Rupert instead.

“Right,” Rupert says shortly. “I see how it is. Enjoy the chlamydia.” He shoves past Louis, aggressively enough that he stumbles half a step.

“Oi,” Harry says sharply, loud enough to be picked up by the mic held near his waist. His eyes widen in panic immediately afterwards, as most of the club’s occupants focus their attention back on him with the outburst. “Erm,” he says, bringing the mic back to his mouth and flashing his dimples, switching gears instantly and turning away from Louis. “Who’s ready for another song?”

Louis rejoins Niall and Liam as the music starts up again. Harry performs one more song, then thanks the crowd with a deep bow and prayer hands, before prancing off the small stage with his band.

Moments later, as dance music begins to flood through the speakers to signify the transition to regular seedy club, he’s out on the floor, sweaty and breathing hard. About four of his more ardent fans flock around him, and Harry smiles and takes pictures with each of them before he wades his way through the crowd to where Louis, Liam and Niall wait.

“Great show, mate,” Liam praises, giving Harry a quick one armed hug. Niall opts for a high five instead, grimacing at Harry’s sweat-soaked shirt.

“Some of us will be pulling tonight. Don’t want to smell like a sweaty alpha all night.”

“You wish you smelled like a sweaty alpha,” Liam teases.

“Don’t be too cocky about your chances, neither,” Louis warns playfully.

“Nah,” Niall says, finishing the dregs of his beer with a belch. “Already got in with one of Harry’s groupies over there.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Liam crows. “Which one?”

“Enjoy the chlamydia,” Louis repeats Rupert’s words flatly. He tugs on the bottom of his shirt nervously. All of a sudden he wants to crawl under the table. The close contact now with Harry, after so many days of silence, is causing Louis’s omega to go haywire.

Harry’s doing that thing again, where he just stares at Louis and frowns. Like he’s wondering how Louis’s skin would look as a suit.

“Good show, mate,” Louis says to him awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Harry replies, shifting his weight. “D’you want to maybe come and see backstage?”

“I mean, I dated a guy in a band once before. You see one green room you’ve seen ‘em all, right?” Louis chuckles, shrugging.

“Uh,” Harry laughs awkwardly after a beat. “I guess I was just… I mean...” He steps closer to Louis, and lowers the pitch of his voice. “Can I speak with you alone? For a mo?” He drags his hand through his hair, shaking his head at himself.

Oh. Well, Louis feels like an idiot. He turns on instinct to the others, who are pretending to be extremely interested in their empty glasses.

“So, we were actually thinking about going for a curry across the road before we do the pub run,” Liam says, nudging Niall not-so-subtly with his elbow. Louis sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m famished,” Niall agrees quickly. “You lads want to meet us there in a bit?”

“Yeah,” Louis says belatedly, when Harry stays quiet. “Meet you there in a few.”

Niall waggles his eyebrows at both Harry and Louis as the two pairs part ways. Louis throws the crushed cocktail napkin he didn’t even realize he was holding at him.

Harry leads them to a door at the side of the stage. It’s instantly quieter the moment the door is closed behind them, even though there are a few people milling around as Louis follows Harry down two long hallways.

“So, you’ve dated a musician?” Harry asks abruptly as they round the corner. He pauses to shake hands and exchange ‘thank you– no thank you– no thank you’s’ with a short beta woman holding a clipboard. He turns to Louis expectantly when they’re alone again, stood in front of a door with a paper taped to it that simply says ‘BAND’.

“Sorry, what was the question? Oh! Yeah, for a bit. Didn’t last long. You know how it is. All the parties and girls and whatnot. Too much temptation. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

Harry frowns. “Well, I’m gay.”

Louis frowns right back. “I know? Or, well, I assumed, anyway. Bet those girls out there would be gutted to hear.”

“I send hints,” Harry insists, mock offended. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s fair to say they’re fans only because they’re attracted to me. A few of them organized this like, fan project and got one of my songs on local radio for a bit.”

Louis is impressed. “You’ll be making it big soon.”

“Nah,” Harry says. “I like the occasional weekend gig, but full time isn’t for me.”

After several more seconds of awkward silence, Louis finally gestures to the door, eyebrows raised. He’s not sure how to read Harry at the moment– not that he ever really is. The space between them is charged, though, and he knows Harry can sense it too. His mind and his omega are both equally confused.

“Right,” Harry says, opening the door and gesturing for Louis to go in.

It’s small, dirty, and occupied by the rest of Harry’s band as they pack up their things. They shout cheerful, celebratory hellos at him.

“Erm, this is Louis,” Harry says. “That’s Nathan, and Pedro, and Archie.” He gestures to each man, one after the other. “Actually, lads, could we have the room for a moment?” Louis doesn’t miss the quick looks that pass between the others.

“Think we’re all packed up, actually,” Nathan says, clapping his hands together. “We’ll load up the van without you. Meet at the regular place, H?”

“See you there,” Harry agrees, smiling a bit tightly. He and Louis wait in silence as the others clear out. Finally, the door closes.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing with everything, is all,” Harry says, moving to the torn apart couch and gesturing for Louis to sit. He clasps his hands over his knees primly.

Louis shakes his head, bewildered by Harry’s rapid swings from concerned to nonchalant, and back again. He sits down on the opposite side of the furniture. “I’m fine,” he lies. Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised by the answer. Louis feels a little flicker of anger. He may be the omega, but he’s not the only slave to his instincts, and Harry’s reaction to Rupert is proof of it. He resents being treated by everyone as the only one who’s feeling a response to the tie. “How are you doing?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at the rings on his hands. “Fine.”

“Good.” After several seconds of silence he adds, “Ehm, is that all, or…”

Harry’s forehead puckers. “Louis, are you angry with me for something?”

Louis’s a little startled to be called out on his frosty attitude, and frustrated by how obvious he’s being. “No,” he says hastily. “Why would I be? You and I, we’re just not exactly… close, you know? I mean, I’m acting how I usually act around you.”

Well, that wasn’t overkill or anything.

Harry’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, he looks more concerned. “Right,” he says slowly, picking at the lint from his vest that’s made it onto his trousers. “Well, actually, I was sort of hoping to change that. There’s this concert on Sunday night. Sort of an up-and-coming punk rock thing. Nathan gave me the tickets.” He smiles hesitantly at Louis. “Make up for that concert we missed out on the first time?”

Louis sighs. “Harry, you gotta let that go, mate. It’s cool, I’m over it. It was ages ago, anyway.”

“No!” Harry says insistently, squeezing his eyes shut for a split second. “I didn’t mean it like that. I would genuinely like to take you. Please. Maybe get a bite afterwards, if you’re up for it. We can get to know one another better.”

Louis takes a deep breath. He knows what a nice guy Harry is. And he really, really doesn’t want Harry offering pity dates to appease him after knotting him.

But God, Harry smells so good, and his shirt is clinging to his pecs, and so transparent that Louis can make out every tattoo. Louis’s omega is betraying him, wanting desperately to please the alpha, to right whatever wrong Louis did to make Harry so unaffected by their knotting.

“Yes,” Louis breathes, before his brain can catch up with his omega. He clears his throat. “I mean, that sounds good. I like finding new bands, so...”

Harry beams. “Great! So, can I pick you up at your place around seven?”

Louis stands quickly. “Sure.” He’s gotta get out of here before he gets even more worked up and Harry smells his arousal. He doesn’t need anymore embarrassment tonight. “Anyway, your band is waiting, and I’d better catch up with the lads, so… thanks.”

He opens the door before Harry can say anything else, exiting the room and immediately turning down the hallway, unsure of how to get out of there, but desperate to keep moving until he finds his way out. He winds up in a back alley, sucking in fresh air, and wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

He’s got two days to prepare for his– what? Outing? Non-date? The best solution, of course, would be to sleep with someone else, and break their connection, before he embarrasses himself with some stupid O shit again. But he knows he isn’t going to. Instead, he’s gonna go home, and binge watch Homeland, and dissociate until as late as possible on Sunday.

Everything is great.

Chapter Text

“Zayn,” Louis says for the third time, coming into the kitchen after putting on his outfit for the night. “Zayn, mate, you know I love your impromptu visits, but you’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

“Thought you said it isn’t a date,” Zayn smirks from his perch on the worktop. He’s been over for hours now, having shown up unexpectedly with weed and munchies, just because Louis’d confessed his nerves about tonight. They’d shared a joint on Louis’s tiny balcony, then watched some shit television until Louis’d realized the time and had to rush to be ready.

“It isn’t.” Louis examines his reflection in the small mirror in the hall. He’s opted for a messy, swoopy side-fringe that suits the theme of the… outing. That’s what he’s decided to call it.

“Why’re you wearing your ‘fuck me’ outfit, then?”

Louis balks, looking down at his clothes and back up at Zayn’s mirthful face. “This is not– alright, fine. It’s my bleeding ‘fuck me’ outfit. Is that what you want to hear?” He knocks Zayn’s soda off the counter and into the sink just to be a shit.

Zayn only blinks, unamused but unsurprised by Louis’s childishness, turning his head to watch his Coke go down the drain. “I’m not trying to say I told you so, Lou, I’m just trying to figure out where your head’s at.”

“Well, you and me both,” Louis sighs, fiddling with the collar of his black jean jacket. He’s got a deep red shirt on underneath with a wide neckline to showcase his collarbones and chest piece. He’s never not pulled wearing this combination of shirt and tight skinnies. “Fuck, this is too much. I should change.”

“You look really good,” Zayn says.

“I look desperate. And you being here makes everything worse. Like my father threatening my prom date! Or, like I needed help picking out my outfit or summat.”

“Oh, shit,” Zayn says, wincing. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“I’m gonna change,” Louis says decisively. “I’m gonna change, and you’re gonna go, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”

And of course, at that precise moment, there’s a knock at the door.

Zayn and Louis stare at one another in horror.

“Fuck!” Louis hisses. “He’s like twenty minutes early!”

“You want me to stall him?” Zayn whispers back, hopping carefully off the worktop.

Louis hesitates, biting at the hangnail on his thumb.

“No, fuck, I got this.” He takes a deep breath, then goes to open the door.

Harry’s standing on the other side, looking both ridiculous and sexy in a leopard print button up under a belted furry jacket.

“Hi, Lou,” he says, dimpling. His eyes widen as they glue to Louis’s exposed collarbones. “You look–“ he stops short, jerking in surprise when Zayn appears next to Louis. “Oh! Hi, Zayn.” He looks between Louis and Zayn in confusion, smile faltering. “I wasn’t expecting… I mean, are you coming with us? I only have the two tickets, but we could probably buy another at the door.”

“Nah, mate,” Zayn says. “Not my scene. I was just over to chill with Lou for a bit. I come over unannounced all the time. It’s cool, he gets to do two separate things with two separate friends today.” Zayn claps Louis hard on the shoulder.

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it again, shocked silent. Louis pinches Zayn sharply under the guise of putting his arm around him.

“I’m headed out now anyway. Ring me later, yeah babes?” Zayn walks to the sofa where he’d stashed his jacket and beanie, then hurries out the door, shaking his head at Louis in apology behind Harry’s back just before the door closes.

“I think that may be the most he’s ever said to me in one go,” Harry says, bewildered.

“He’s quite chatty, actually, once you get to know him. So where’re you gonna take him when you get to know one another?” He’s teasing, but Harry freezes like he’s been caught out.

“Right,” he says, recovering with an almost bitter chuckle. “Think that ship may have sailed.” Louis shrugs, because he’s probably not wrong about that. “Anyway, sorry I’m a bit early. Hit the tube schedule just right.”

“No worries. I’m ready.”

Harry looks him up and down. “You’re wearing that?”

Louis arches an eyebrow. Even though he was planning on changing before Harry’d shown up early, there’s thinking someone’s dressed like a tart, and then there’s commenting on it. He’s frankly a bit surprised and offended that polite, nipple-exposing, pot-calling-the-kettle-black Harry Styles would go there.

“They’re the clothes on my body, aren’t they?”

Harry grimaces. “That… didn’t come out right. I only meant it’s cold tonight, and we’ll be walking a bit, so I want you to be comfortable. You look great.”

“I’ll be fine,” Louis says stubbornly, but he grabs his knit cap from the pocket of his heavier jacket on the hall hook and shoves it on his head. Fuck his hair.

This Harry is so much different from the Harry he remembers from the first and last days of his heat. That Harry was self-assured and bossy. This Harry stumbles over his feet on the sidewalk and coughs awkwardly after several minutes of silence too long.

“So tell me more about this band,” Louis says finally, at the same time as Harry starts, “So how’s the job going?”

“Great, actually,” Louis answers. “My partners are sick. We get along great. It’s different to run the show a bit more, versus being behind the scenes more in my last position.”

Harry nods, smiling. “That’s awesome! And everything went well? After… you know?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, pulse picking up a bit at Harry’s mention of it. “I mean, they’re both A’s so they gave me shit about it for a while. But it’s been fading, so. That’s good, I guess.”

“They’re both alphas?” Harry repeats, a sharp edge to his tone. He steps a bit closer to Louis on the sidewalk.

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. Enough of that alpha posturing. You’re as bad as Liam, honestly.”

Harry snorts. “My concern is a little different from Liam’s, I think.”

Ah. There’s the alpha Louis remembers. It gives him the shivers.

He wants to egg him on. Work up Harry’s alpha to the same way he’s feeling. He’s meant to keep it platonic, like Harry’s done so far, but he can’t help it. Being around the last alpha who knotted him– the only alpha who’s knotted him in ages– is doing things to him. Making him want it again.

Instead, he says, “Well, Mo has a wife who’s a beta, and Bridget is a woman, so your virility is safe for now.”

Harry says nothing, but the corners of his mouth crook up a bit. Their shoulders brush accidentally as they walk, once, twice. Then Harry moves away.

Conversation after that isn’t so stilted. Harry tells a funny story involving one of the child models, a plate of green beans, and the child’s nose, from his restaurant shoot on Friday. Louis shares his own unfortunate story of his trip to A&E as a child due to a nostril-shaped lego and a frantic babysitter.

The tube is busy enough that they need to stand, and Harry settles one hand on the juncture between Louis’s neck and shoulder for a beat, as Louis adjusts his feet to support the swaying of the train car. Louis could swear that he feels the pad of Harry’s thumb brush back and forth a few times before the hand is gone, and Louis is left wondering if it even happened at all or if it was just wishful thinking on his part.

Off the tube again, for the short walk to the venue, it seems the temperature has dropped several degrees in the short time since Louis was last outside. Louis tucks his hands in his jacket pockets and pulls the material closer to his body.

“Fucking freezing, you were right,” he admits, when Harry shoots him a concerned look.

“Here,” Harry says quickly, moving to pull his own coat off. “Take my jacket.”

Louis balks. “No, really, I’ll be alright. I wasn’t fishing for it or anything, like we were on a date or something! I was just being a shit back at my flat, I swear.”

“I know,” Harry says shortly. “Believe me, I get it. We’re on the same page here. This is definitely not a date.” He’s already got the coat off and is thrusting it at Louis a little aggressively. “I’m not that cold anyway, so just take it.”

“Not that cold?” Louis scoffs in disbelief. “My bollocks are literally inside my body.”

Harry makes a face, honking once in startled laughter.

“I run hot,” Harry says with a shrug. “And you run cold, even for an omega. In the night, I’d have to wrap you up in that fuzzy blanket to keep your teeth from chattering while we were knotted.”

It goes awkward again. Harry winces, and Louis clears his throat. He takes the jacket from Harry’s outstretched hand for something to occupy himself with during the stilted moment. The coat is too tight over his jean jacket, so he juggles Harry’s while wriggling out of his own. Harry’s is much, much warmer, and Louis’s not exactly sure if it’s due more to the fur lining, Harry’s body heat, or the fact that it smells like a dream. He may or may not hum audibly in appreciation, and Harry shoots him a pleased, proud smile.

“Here,” Harry says suddenly. “I’ll wear yours.”

“I knew you were cold!” Louis teases, handing over the jacket. Although their torsos are similar in length (Harry’s got a few inches on him in the legs department), Harry’s broader than Louis in the shoulders, so he’s got to sort of hunch over to fit. It’s actually pretty funny.

“Alright there, Quasimodo?” Louis teases. Harry bends over even further, lumbering around in such an un-PC way that Louis nearly falls over from laughter.

Harry keeps the jacket on, even though it must be uncomfortable, until they get to the venue and join the throng. It’s difficult to hold a conversation while queued up to be let in, so they just stand in what may be their very first bout of companionable silence ever. Harry puts his hand on Louis’s lower back often as they move through the queue, but always pulls it away quickly, as if remembering himself. He smiles sheepishly at Louis the fourth or fifth time he does it.

“Sorry,” he says loudly, over the din of the crowd. “Instinct.”

Their seats are good– the row behind general admission. There are more people than Louis expected, given Harry’s description, and the fans are loud and ardent.

Unfortunately, the music is very, very bad. Louis goes on several beer runs so they don’t have to listen sober, and the two of them amuse themselves by shouting out nonsense lyrics to the beat of the music. By the tenth song or so, Harry leans in close and says into Louis’s ear, “D’you want to get out of here?”

Louis nods, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat at Harry’s word choice. Harry just grins at him, totally unaware of the way he’s making all of the hairs on Louis’s body stand at attention. Among other things. Harry hands over his coat without a word as they exit the theater and move into the lobby, and Louis accepts it, handing his own over cheekily.

“That was awful!” Louis laughs as they leave the building.

Harry laughs too, but then says earnestly, “I’m so sorry, Lou, I promise I didn’t know it would be that bad!”

“It’s alright,” Louis insists. “It was fun, actually! Besides, you can make it up to me by buying me dinner.”

“Deal,” Harry agrees easily, dimple deep in his cheek when he grins.

As they walk, Harry launches into a long-winded story about the first concert he’d ever been to. He speaks slowly, moving his hands excessively as he does so. They’ve never spent any amount of time alone before, aside from Louis’s heat, and Louis is enjoying his company very much. Harry’s endearing, is what he is.

They both agree that a chippy is the ideal choice for supper, and only have to walk two more blocks to find one. It’s a hole in the wall, but surprisingly busy.

“Now, Styles,” Louis says, as seriously as he can muster when they join the short queue of people ordering. “Your chips order is like a peek into your soul. Poor choice in chip toppings can make or break a budding friendship.”

Harry giggles. “You know from experience?”

Louis nods solemnly. “Broke many a heart at my local chippy, me.”

“I believe it,” Harry laughs. He reaches out to hang onto the belt of Louis’s (well, Harry’s) coat. “Just in case you make a run for it.”

“That bad, eh?”

Harry grins shyly. “I do both gravy and peas, no vinegar.”

Louis tilts his head, considering. “Not bad. So long as you stay away from pickles.”

“Can do. What’s your order then, chip king?”

Louis tosses his head back. “Salt and vinegar obviously. Can’t beat the original.”

“A very classy choice,” Harry agrees.

Harry insists on paying for the food, and Louis insists he was joking about making him. In the end, Harry wins out by shoving a tenner in the young cashier’s hand and telling her to keep the change.

“Thanks for giving me another chance, by the way,” Harry says as they slide into a tiny, two-person booth across from one another to wait for their order. “I know you were offended by the way we first met, and I’m really sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Louis says, a little touched and a little embarrassed to be suddenly discussing this when it’s been hanging over their heads so long. “Turns out you just had to be around me more. Like that, whatsit? Aversion therapy!”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Wait, what?”

They’re interrupted by the cashier, who plops Louis’s chips in front of him, then gently slides Harry’s into their place.

“Here you go,” she says sweetly, swiping her blonde hair off her shoulder to reveal her smooth, long neck. She’s quite pretty, although much too young. Louis hadn’t even paid attention to her before, too focused on Harry. It seems he and the girl have that in common. “I put extra gravy on them for you.”

Harry glances from her neck, to her face, to Louis, and then down at his sodden chips.

“Thanks very much,” Harry says kindly, smiling up at her.

“Is there anything else you need?” She asks, turning her back on Louis completely and popping her hip out.

Impulsively, Louis kicks his feet out and wraps his ankles around Harry’s leg, to soothe his inner omega. Harry looks at Louis in pleased surprise, eyebrows high on his forehead, and purses his mouth to disguise a grin.

“Napkins would be great, darling,” Louis says loudly. The girl glares at him over her shoulder.

“And maybe a fork?” Harry adds.

“Sure thing,” she chirps, eyes back on Harry, then she saunters away.

“She wanted your gravy,” Louis comments mildly, shoving three chips in his mouth at once.

Harry does that barking laugh Louis gets such a kick out of, then slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Louis snorts and chucks a chip at him.

“Such a dork.”

Far too many seconds pass before he realizes they’ve still got their legs tangled together under the table. Louis pulls his legs away, trying to appear nonchalant about it. Harry doesn’t react at all, just continues to pick at his meal.

The rush starts to pick up, so the cashier isn’t able to return, which Louis is not at all sad about. Harry goes to retrieve his own fork and they have good conversation while they eat.

Harry looks to be genuinely having a great time, engaged, smiling, laughing at all of Louis’s stupid jokes, and dare he say… flirting? Louis is equal parts confused and pleased by this development. Obviously, there’s some biology coming into play here, because of being tied, but Harry has never indicated even an ounce of interest in him in the past. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Perhaps Louis has misjudged things.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks him when Louis’s basket is empty and Harry’s looks like gravy soup.

“Yeah.”

Harry puts a hand on the small of Louis’s back to guide him through the crowded chip shop as they make their exit. Louis can’t stop his grin, and when he glances back, Harry’s smiling too.

“Harry?” Their bubble is disturbed by the curious voice of a woman in the queue to order. Harry and Louis both stop short and turn back. “Oh my God, fancy seeing you here!” the woman says, grinning. She’s beautiful, with large eyes and prominent eyebrows, and she’s dressed far too fancy for this sort of eatery.

Harry’s hand drops from Louis’s back.

“Hey!” he replies, stepping forward to embrace the woman. When they release one another, he doesn’t come back to stand with Louis.

“Ooh, who’s this?” the woman singsongs playfully, peering around Harry’s shoulder.

Harry chuckles awkwardly, tilting his head in Louis’s direction. “This is my mate, Tommo.”

“Tommo,” the woman repeats doubtfully. Louis’s just as confused as she is, with the sudden delegation to his laddy nickname. “Hi, I’m Maura.”

“Maura is my business partner,” Harry supplies, smiling, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Louis gives a little wave, and she does the same in return. “What brings you up round these parts?”

“Oh, we’re just popping in for a bite before the clubs.” She gestures to the group of people behind her. “You two should come with us!” Louis looks uncertainly to Harry, who seems equally as uncomfortable as Louis suddenly feels. “Hey,” Maura stage whispers to Harry, “Weren’t you going on a date with that O you–”

“No,” Harry says shortly, shooting Louis a panicked glance. “No, he turned me down. So I asked my mate instead.”

Louis’s heart sinks.

“Oh.” Maura looks offended on Harry’s behalf. “Who would turn you down?” She turns to Louis. “Have you met his crush? He goes on and on about him. Not good enough for this one if you ask me.”

“I haven’t,” Louis says, smiling tightly. “Listen, it’s a bit warm in here. I’ll just wait for you outside, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agrees quickly. “See you in a minute.” And then he turns away, attention entirely on his friend.

Louis shakes his head, balling his fists to keep it together until he pushes through the door and into the cold night air.

Fucking idiot. If this isn’t a sign that Harry only sees him as a friend, he doesn’t know what is. What the fuck was he thinking, pretending that Harry might be interested in him, when this whole time he’s been wanting someone else? God, he at least hopes the bloke turned Harry down before he and Louis fucked. He’s not sure exactly why that makes it better, but at least it means that Harry wouldn’t have actively been attempting to get in someone else’s pants after knotting Louis.

Inside the chippy, Harry still has his back turned, but he can see Maura, who’s patting Harry on the shoulder with a sympathetic grimace on her face. She catches Louis’s eye, and he quickly turns away.

Louis wants to die. He lights a cigarette so he can stress-smoke while he waits. Soon enough, Harry is pushing the glass door open with a wave to his friend, and stepping out onto the sidewalk next to Louis.

“Sorry about that,” he says, attempting and failing nonchalance.

“No problem,” Louis says back, exhaling smoke rudely in Harry’s face, then regretting it immediately. “Sorry about the date you were meant to be on tonight.”

Harry chuckles bitterly. “No, it’s fine.”

Well, now Louis feels badly for both of them. “Look on the bright side,” he says. “That band would have totally ruined the mood anyway. At least it was only me you wasted it on.”

“It wasn’t a waste.” Harry’s staring at his shoes.

Louis takes his last drag from the cigarette, then crushes it under his shoe.

“That guy’s a shit for turning you down, you know.”

Harry grimaces. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No, it’s true. But boyfriends are overrated, anyway. Not worth the hassle, if you ask me.”

Harry stares at him, eyes wide. “You’re not into relationships?”

Louis shrugs. “Not particularly.” It’s a complete, utter lie. Louis loves being in relationships when he finds the right person. It’s them that can never handle his particular set of rules.

But he doesn’t want Harry to know that. Harry, who he’s been flirting with all night, but who’s asked out another omega who is not Louis, and then had the nerve to take Louis in his place when the bloke said no.

Okay, he’s getting heated again. No one’s at fault here. The lines are simply blurred because they’ve knotted.

Harry has been flirting though, Louis decides stubbornly. He has.

“Is there anything else you wanted to do tonight?” Harry asks, almost tentatively, interrupting Louis’s spiralling thoughts.

Louis sort of wants to go to bed and pretend this night never happened. His omega wants to stay close to Harry.

His omega wins, per usual. “Ice cream?” he suggests, and Harry grins.

Twenty minutes later, he’s chomping down on a mint chocolate chip cone and watching Harry spit chocolate out of his mouth in laughter. They’re walking quickly to keep the blood flowing, because it’s way too fucking cold for ice cream and it was a stupid idea. The awkwardness is so far behind them, it’s almost as if it didn’t happen.

They walk shoulder to shoulder, grinning at one another through sticky mouthfuls of ice cream, in the general direction of the tube station. Harry can’t seem to coordinate walking and eating without dripping ice cream all over his hands, so he tosses the rest of the cone into the nearest bin and wipes his hands on the jacket– Louis’s jacket– that he’s wearing.

“Oi!” Louis cries, feigning offense. “That’s genuine denim you’re destroying with your chocolate stains.”

“Oops,” Harry says regretfully, pausing mid-wipe. “Sorry, Lou.”

Louis smashes the rest of his cone into the front of Harry’s coat that he’s wearing, in turn. “Oops.”

Harry gasps loudly. “Yours was so much worse than mine!”

Louis shrugs. “Go big or go home, Curly.” He shoves the rest of his cone into his mouth before they descend the stairs into the station. “I’m the one who has to walk around looking like this. Actually, want to swap back?”

Harry laughs. “Not a chance.”

The tube is quiet. They sit next to each other in the car, knees touching, in companionable silence. They’ve been in sweaty, smelly places all night, not that the tube smells any better, really, but he’s finally getting a good whiff of Harry tonight. He smells better and stronger than Louis remembered. It’s making Louis’s thinking go a little funny.

Harry’s stop is first, so when they’re nearing the station, Louis prepares for goodbye.

“Thanks for the atrocious concert and the food, mate.”

Harry looks at him funny, head tilted like a dog’s. “You’re welcome. So, busy week this week?”

“Harry, this is your stop.”

Harry frowns at him. “I’m walking you home, obviously. It’s late.”

Louis purses his lips, brain and omega battling it out between outrage and preening. “Just because I’m an omega, doesn’t mean I can’t look after myself.”

Oh, hey, his brain won a round for once.

“I know,” Harry says lowly, putting his hand on Louis’s knee. “Course you can. But I’d feel better about it.”

He’s being manipulated by Harry’s alpha to acquiesce, what with the gentle touch and the low voice. In the moment, Louis’s omega doesn’t care. That’s one-one, omega to brain.

Louis's scent is suddenly so strong that the man several seats down coughs and shifts in his seat.

Harry’s nostrils flare, and he throws a threatening glare the poor bloke’s way, shifting even closer to Louis. He moves his hand up a fraction on his thigh.

The doors are opening at Harry’s stop now. Neither of them move.

“Let me take you home,” Harry murmurs meaningfully into Louis’s ear.

Louis’s mouth goes dry, and his bum goes wet instantly. Harry makes a low noise in the back of his throat, instinctively broadening his shoulders in silent threat for anyone who dares to approach.

Louis doesn’t understand. This night is clearly nothing more than a plan B for Harry. He’d probably been expecting to bed that hot omega he’s been courting. Louis, being obviously attracted and desperate for it, is an easy second choice. It only helps that Harry’s alpha is likely itching to strengthen their tie.

He’ll regret this in the morning. He already sort of regrets it now.

“Okay,” Louis breathes, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Harry’s tight grip on his thigh, his hot breath on his neck.

The tube doors close.

Chapter Text

The entire walk up the steps to Louis’s flat is awkward, yet electric.  They’d managed to make some semblance of small talk from the station to the building, but now that they’re ascending the stairs, all coherent thoughts seem to be shut off.  Harry’s been mouth breathing for the last twenty minutes, give or take, his hands in tight fists at his sides. If it weren’t for his lust-blown eyes, Louis would think he were restraining himself from taking off running.

He wonders how attached Harry is to this crush, if Harry maybe has Pretty Woman -esque ideals about kissing, or if he just wants to scratch the itch he couldn’t reach with the other guy.  Louis would very much like Harry’s lips on his own. He wants to bite them red and raw, and suck on his tongue.  He also wants to sit on his face.

Louis makes a decision as he unlocks his door with Harry breathing down his neck.  So Harry wants rebound sex? Well, Louis will just have to give him the best rebound sex of his life.  And Louis will have his own memories to keep for later.

Harry follows him into the flat, but doesn’t get very far, as Louis drops his keys on the floor with a clatter, shoves Harry up against the wall, and kisses him.  Harry hits the wall with a thud and a grunt that quickly turns into a growl, as their tongues meet for the first time.

Harry tastes of cold, and chocolate, and alpha, and his tongue is insistent, pushing back against Louis’s with a matched level of enthusiasm to Louis’s own.  Harry reaches up and pulls Louis in closer by the back of the neck until they’re chest to chest and thigh to thigh.

Louis braces his hands against Harry’s chest and pauses for a breath, tilting his head back to have a look at Harry, who takes advantage and ducks down to lap at Louis’s neck with a relieved groan, likes he’s been waiting for it all night.

Louis pushes both hands up under Harry’s button down, feeling the muscles of his stomach contract under his fingertips.  Harry bucks his hips toward Louis, bulge brushing against Louis’s hip. Louis moves one hand down to cup him over his jeans, getting rewarded with a growl and a sharp nip to his shoulder.  Louis retaliates by squeezing Harry’s groin roughly, then taking a sudden step back out of Harry’s arms. Harry only stares at him, mouth hanging open in lustful confusion, eyes clouded and nostrils flared.

Louis drops Harry’s coat he was wearing to the ground, then pulls his shirt over his head.  “Take off your clothes,” he orders Harry softly.

Harry hurries to do as he’s told, long arms tangling almost comically in Louis’s too-small jacket as he rushes to catch up.  Louis has already kicked off his shoes and unzipped his tight jeans, shimmying out of them. The seat of his pants are wet already, and the scent of him suddenly permeates the small entryway.

Harry stumbles backward a bit, shoulders hitting the wall behind him, useless hands making no work of the few buttons left on his shirt.

Louis has to laugh a little.  The last time they’d slept together, Harry had let his instincts take over to give Louis what he’d needed.  But this time, Louis finds that the power imbalance has shifted. He’s not totally sure where it’s coming from, but he feels as though every move he makes in this moment has the potential to be devastating.  In the oh-so-good sort of way.

Louis sinks to his knees.  He reaches for one of Harry’s boots, tugging a bit at Harry’s initial resistance.  He glances up to reassure him with a look, knowing he makes a pretty picture like this, practically nude and looking up from under his lashes.

Above him, Harry is slack-jawed, panting, and hard.

Louis carefully pulls Harry’s boots off his feet, tossing them off to the side.  He leaves the socks, because taking them off someone is even less sexy than leaving them on during sex.  Then he goes for Harry’s belt, moving his hands up teasingly along Harry’s thighs on the way to his destination, trailing his fingers along the painfully hard bulge before getting a hold of the buckle.  Harry makes a sound halfway between a growl and a groan, his fingers twitching at his sides, having given up on the shirt, like he’s itching to guide Louis’s mouth exactly where he wants it.

“Don’t touch,” Louis warns, licking his lips in preparation as he tugs Harry’s jeans and pants down far enough for his dick to spring free.  Harry huffs, but says nothing, rocking his hips up a bit like he can’t control it.

Louis takes a breath, then deepthroats his cock as far as he can in one go.  Harry moans loudly, letting his head fall back against the wall.

Louis works him good, sucking hard and fast, then slowing down and paying particular attention to the tip, then leaning down to lap at the base, then repeating the pattern over again.  Above him, Harry thrashes his head around, moaning and growling, but not touching.

“Louis,” he hisses abruptly in warning, as the base of his dick begins to fatten under Louis’s ministrations. “Louis, I’m gonna– stop, stop.”

Louis pulls off.  Although the thought of Harry coming down his throat makes him even wetter than he already is, he’d really like to get fucked sooner rather than later.

Harry sinks to his knees quickly, attaching his mouth to Louis’s shoulder and immediately putting both hands on Louis’s bum, squeezing rhythmically and rubbing through the soaked fabric.

“God, your arse,” Harry slurs into Louis’s neck.  “I wanna eat you out, all the time. It’s all I could think about on the train.”

“You can,” Louis breathes, overeager, because he’d been thinking it too, on an obsessive loop, ever since Harry’d propositioned him.  He pushes at Harry’s chest until he follows Louis’s lead, lying back on the hard floor with Louis kneeling over him.

“Oh my God,” Harry groans, when he cottons on to Louis’s plan.  “Fuck.”

Louis stands quickly, tugging his pants down his legs and kicking them somewhere he won’t worry about until morning.  (Or until he runs out of clean pants.) Harry’s looking as debauched as ever, laid out on the floor with one hand pumping his erection.

“Come here,” he says.  “Want to taste you.”

For one insecure moment, Louis panics, wondering what he could possibly taste like to Harry, who’s struggled to control his reaction to Louis’s mere scent in the past.  But then, he remembers that Harry has done it to him before, if only briefly, and didn’t object then (at least, not out loud). Besides, this is only a hookup, and Louis’s never been one to say no to rimming.

Louis falls back down to his knees, leaning down to bury a hand in Harry’s long hair and kiss him on those puffy lips.  Harry tugs on Louis thigh to get him moving, and Louis shuffles further up, turning around to straddle Harry’s chest, arse hovering over his chin.

Harry doesn’t hesitate, just leans forward and dives in, pulling his arms out from where they’d been trapped between Louis’s legs, in order to spread his cheeks farther apart.  His fat tongue is wet and persistent, and exactly where Louis wants it, making him keen and rock his hips back and forth on instinct.

“Yeah,” Harry says, pulling back to land a sloppy kiss on Louis’s arsecheek.  “Ride my face, baby.”

Louis cries out, doing as he’s told without much care for whether Harry can breathe or not.  Louis can feel Harry’s chin and cheeks covered in spit and slick on every slide backward. If they keep this up, he’ll come before he even gets Harry’s dick in him.  As if reading his thoughts, Harry suddenly wriggles a finger in beside his tongue, prodding without any other purpose than preparing Louis for his cock. A second and third finger quickly join the first, and the sudden stretch combined with the soothing laps of Harry’s tongue hurt so good.

Enough. Louis’s had enough.  He pulls away from Harry’s face and fingers, who protests from beneath him, then uses both hands to shove Harry’s tight trousers a bit further down his thighs.  He then he sits up on his knees, shuffles down Harry’s body, reaches for his hard, neglected cock, lines himself up, and sits on it.

“Fuck,” Harry moans from behind him, hands digging painfully into Louis’s hips, whilst Louis hisses at the intrusion as he pushes himself all the way down.  “Oh my God.”

Louis braces himself on Harry’s ankles and bounces while Harry just lies there, moaning and growling, and gripping his fingers hard into the meat of Louis’s thighs.  It’s hard work, but it’s worth it with the noises Harry’s making, and especially with the way his dick drags across Louis’s prostate.

“I’m so close,” Harry’s babbling suddenly.  “Louis, can I knot you?”

“Yes,” Louis nearly shouts.  His body’s been begging for release, his thighs are on fire, and he wants to come with Harry’s knot in him so badly.

“Turn around, then,” Harry begs, lifting Louis up and off his dick.  “Off, off, it’ll be better like this.”

Louis follows his direction, teetering clumsily off of Harry’s sweaty, slick-covered pelvis and turning to mount himself again so he’s facing Harry.  Harry’s got a hand tight on the base of his own dick, holding his knot back until Louis’s taken him easily all the way down again. Louis collapses onto Harry’s chest as Harry puts his feet down flat on the floor, jackhammering into Louis with sharp, short thrusts that make Louis’s breath hitch.

Harry sinks his teeth into the top of Louis’s shoulder, far away from the mating spot, when he comes with a snarl, and the sudden pop of his knot makes Louis come too, pulsing between their stomachs.

Harry groans and his body collapses, arms starfishing out to his sides, legs falling open, and head lolling, even as his dick continues to pulse and spurt.

“That was mental,” he chuckles tiredly.

“Hmm,” Louis agrees, closing his eyes, embracing the fogginess that comes with being knotted, even outside of heat.  “You’re still wearing all your clothes.”

Harry laughs, lifting his head to lick at the red mark he’d left on Louis’s shoulder.  “That’s a good sign, I think.”

They lay there for a bit, breathing slowing down.  Louis shivers as his sweat begins to cool.

“Right,” Harry says firmly.  “You’re cold and I’m sore.” He pushes them up until Louis’s seated in his lap.  “Just hold on tight, alright?”

“No!” Louis says, gripping onto Harry’s shoulders like a vice.  “Don’t even think about it. Harry!” He yelps as Harry scoots them both toward the kitchen island with a grunt, so he can presumably get some leverage to heave them off the floor.  “Stop! You’ll fucking rip my areshole if you drop me!”

“I won’t,” Harry assures him with a grin.  He slaps Louis’s thigh playfully. “Precious cargo.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel better?” Louis groans rhetorically.  But he wraps his legs and arms tightly round Harry and shuts up, squeezing his eyes shut as Harry keeps one arm under his bum and uses the other to grip the worktop as he pulls them both to a stand.  He staggers a bit, and Louis yelps, areshole clenching on instinct.

Harry only laughs, securing his hands under Louis’s thighs.  “Told ya.” But he licks up Louis’s neck anyway to soothe him.  “Feel okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Louis admits, and Harry kicks off his pants and trousers the rest of the way, then starts walking carefully, grabbing the fuzzy throw blanket from the sofa on the way to the bedroom.

“Oof!” Louis’s back hits the bed hard when Harry flings them both down on it, and the knot inside him pushes in impossibly farther with Harry’s heavy weight on top of him.  “Well, now it hurts.”

“Speak for yourself,” Harry says, groaning as his dick pulses weakly.  He rolls them onto their sides, Louis’s legs still wrapped around his waist, and tosses the blanket over Louis as best he can.  “If we keep squirming about, I’ll want to go again.”

Louis snorts.  “Doubtful. This isn’t a heat.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry agrees teasingly.

Louis stiffens.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”  Harry laughs again, a little self consciously, then leans down to nibble at the side of Louis’s neck.  “No marks,” Louis snaps, a little more harshly than he means to, because he’s on edge. Harry stops immediately.

“Sorry,” he says.  “Instinct. I was only saying, the sex was just really different this time, that’s all.”

“How so?” Louis demands.  “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know the details.”

It’s Harry’s turn to be offended.  “Suppose you’d rather just pretend that didn’t happen, then.”

“Yes, actually.  Heats are–“ he stops.  He doesn’t need to bring any further attention to his behavior during his heats.  Harry hasn’t made fun of him, or acted disgusted with him for any of it, which is a small miracle considering what his ex had told him about their shared heats in the past.  “Anyway, I’m glad you got to experience what normal sex is like with me.”

Harry is silent for much too long.  “Okay, so you don’t like heat sex,” he says carefully.  “Did you like this tonight? With me?”

On the contrary, Louis loves heat sex, and he especially loved it with Harry.  He just… doesn’t like that he apparently can’t control his body or his mouth to the point of embarrassment during the fact.

“Yeah,” he says honestly in response to Harry’s question, ignoring the former statement.  “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies.  “I was surprised you… anyway I wasn’t expecting this to happen or anything.  Just sort of a nice end of night bonus.”

“Consolation prize,” Louis agrees with a yawn.

“How do you mean?” Harry wonders, frown in his voice. Louis snuggles into his pillow.  He’s got a warm, good-smelling man in his arms, and a knot filling him up, and it’s the perfect recipe for a good night’s sleep.

“Your failed date,” Louis reminds him, closing his eyes.  “Just sleep here, yeah?”

Several seconds go by.  Then Harry brushes his lips against Louis’s shoulder, just a hint of tongue lapping at the skin.  “Yeah,” he says finally. “Night, Lou.”

Louis has always been a deep sleeper.  He wakes up to his alarm, sat on the bedside table– definitely not where he left it last night– and to a cold, empty spot in bed beside him.

Louis sighs, hitting snooze and pulling the duvet he’d been wrapped in up over his head.  Everything smells of Harry.

He has a look at his phone after his shower and sees that Harry texted him twenty minutes ago:

You seem like the sort who’d rather not be woken up, so I let you sleep!  Thanks for last night!

Well, it’s better than nothing.  Louis quickly texts back, before he has any time to overthink it:

Appreciate it, mate.  Yeah, it was fun!

He barely hits send before the three gray dots appear that show him Harry’s typing, but after a few seconds, the dots disappear, and no message comes through.

Well then.  That’s that.

Zayn’s texted as well, asking how it went, and Louis doesn’t even have the guts to tell him the truth.

He can’t escape from his alpha coworkers, however.  Bridget comes into his office to catch up before their morning briefing and can’t help but rub him about it.

“Someone’s had a good weekend,” she teases, nudging his knee with her pointed boot.

“You know, it’s quite rude to comment on a person’s scent,” Louis informs her, wiping imaginary dirt off of his work trousers where she’d touched him.

“So, not so good weekend then,” Bridget decides, sitting in the chair in front of Louis’s desk.  “Tell me everything. Shall I call Mo in too?”

“No,” Louis says decisively.  “My weekend was fine. I went out with a friend.  We hooked up. It’s fine.”

Bridget’s eyes go wide.  “You cheated on your alpha?”

“He’s not my alpha.  We just have an… arrangement.”

“I was going to say, you smell just as you did last week.  What’s wrong with your arrangement, then?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Louis insists.  “It’s just my omega that’s confused, is all.”

“Hmm,” Bridget says.  “Well, there’s a solution to that, you know.  Don’t let him knot you.”

Louis buries his head in his hands.  “I can’t fucking believe I’m discussing my sex life on week two of my new job.”

“Oh, stop,” Bridget chastises.  “We were meant to be good friends and you know it.  So, aside from the sex and the instinctual rubbish, do you like him?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says honestly.  “He’s funny, and nice, and all that.”

“Fit, too?” Bridget wonders, wiggling her eyebrows.

Louis rolls his eyes.  “Obviously.”

“Then go for it,” she says breezily, as if it’s that easy.

Louis shakes his head.  “It’s more complicated than that.  He’s, erm, not exactly emotionally available.  And he sort of had to… make himself like me like that?  But since we’ve knotted before, I think the only reason we even fucked last night is because his alpha told him to.”

Bridget stares at him like he’s got three heads.  “What sort of alpha would have to make themselves want you?”

Louis shrugs, smirking.  “First time for everything, I suppose.”

“Ah, humility.  Everyone’s favorite turn-on!”  She laughs, then turns pensive again.  “Do you think you’ll sleep together again?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says.  “I wouldn’t say no if he asked, if I’m honest.”

“Then let him ask, but don’t let him knot you.  It’ll keep your omega in check, and help you find out if he’s into you, or if his alpha just wants to claim you.”  Louis opens his mouth to object, but Bridget talks over him, rolling her eyes. “Figuratively speaking, of course. I’m always supportive of an omega’s autonomy.”

Louis doesn’t get to test out her advice until the weekend, when the lads meet at the pub for pints.  Harry shows up late, already a bit past buzzed, having met a few of his many, many friends for drinks beforehand.  He greets Louis with a quick hug and a ‘how are you,’ just like he does to all the others. All but Zayn, who seems to have disappeared to the smoking section precisely at the time of Harry’s arrival.  Fucker.

It’s not any more or less awkward than usual, really.  Louis works hard to treat Harry the same as always, and Harry does the same– meaning, he still does the creepy death staring, only this time there may or may not be a bit of heat in his eyes.  Louis’s been drinking, and his omega is on high alert in Harry’s company, so he can’t be sure.

He excuses himself to the toilet at some point, and Harry’s gaze on his back tells him something’s going to happen, so he pisses in a hurry so as to not have his dick out when Harry inevitably walks in.

Sure enough, the door creaks open as Louis is washing his hands.

“Hi,” Harry says, as the door closes behind him.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Louis jokes.

Harry frowns.  “Have we spoken in a toilet before?”

“No, I mean, one of us trailing the other one to a private… you know what, never mind.”

Harry steps closer.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” Louis says.  “How are you?”

“Good, yeah.  You look– I like that color on you.”

Louis glances down at himself.  He’s wearing a red knit jumper, nothing special at all.  “Thanks.”

Harry shifts his weight.  “I forgot to tell you I took your jacket.  To dry clean. It’s at my flat.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise.  “Really? I figured it was still where I’d left it on the floor.”  Harry laughs like Louis is joking. He isn’t. He never searched for his underpants either.  “But you didn’t have to do that, honestly. I was joking about the ice cream.”

Harry smiles shyly.  “I thought I could bring it by sometime.”

Louis’s pulse picks up, both eager and a bit angry, because what?

“Harry,” he says.  “Can we be frank here?  Are you trying to hook up with me again?”

Harry swallows nervously, but maintains eye contact.

“Yeah.  I was hoping to, anyway.  I think it could be fun, if you’re interested.”

“What about that other guy?”

Harry shrugs.  “I’m done with trying to get what I want from him.”

And, that… well, Louis has known that he’s never been Harry’s first choice, but continued confirmation of it still stings.

“So, what, we just sort of hook up when we feel like it?  Friends with benefits like?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, face lighting up.  “And I’ll help you through your heats, too.  If you wanted that.”

Louis worries his lip, considering.  Sex with Harry is good.  Harry’s already seen him during his heat, and it did go much more quickly with him present.  It would be beneficial to his career to have shorter heats.  But he’s also mighty tired of the turmoil he’s put his omega through in these last few weeks.

“I’m not sure that I want to be knotted any longer,” he warns Harry.

Harry visibly deflates a bit at that, but he recovers quickly. “Okay, yeah.  I can handle that.”

“I just… don’t want to get the lines confused, you know?  Keep my mind and my O on the same page.”

“Right,” Harry agrees, thin-lipped but smiling. “Smart.”

Louis exhales heavily.  “So, we’re doing this then?  Weekend hookups, just for fun?”

They grin tentatively at one another.  Louis is equal parts apprehensive and excited.

“Let’s celebrate,” Harry says, grinning wolfishly as he advances on him.

“Not in a public toilet, Harry, God!” Louis laughs, backing up into the sink as Harry cages him in.

“Just this then,” Harry says lowly, leaning in to press a tongue-heavy kiss to Louis’s neck.  “It’s been a long week and I need to–“ he licks all the way up to the shell of Louis’s ear and back down again.

Louis submits, body relaxing as he lets the Alpha mark him with his scent.  He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but they’re abruptly interrupted from their moment when the door swings open.

“Oh, fuck.  Sorry,” some bloke squeaks when Harry turns around with a glare, blocking Louis’s body from view.  The door slams shut again.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Harry breathes, when he turns back to Louis.

“You, apparently,” Louis whispers back, smirking.  

Harry giggles, pulling away finally.  “I like that plan.”

They rejoin their friends, earning curious glances but no direct questions, thankfully.  Zayn will probably save that for later.

And it’s fine, Louis thinks.  If he can control the variables a bit, he’ll be able to handle this.  He’s always functioned better when getting regular sex. And the perks of not being a relationship include never fighting about what to watch on the telly.  This can work out, until Harry’s ready to move on. Or maybe even until Louis finds someone. There’s only a small chance, but it’s possible.

He leaves the pub looking forward to Sunday, and the days that will hopefully follow.

Chapter Text

Business class is most definitely the way to fly, Louis quickly decides. He’s usually scrunched in a middle seat somewhere amongst crying babies and smelly travelers. This time he’s got a window seat with plenty of legroom, and enough space between the seats both behind and in front of him that he won’t get dirty looks should he wish to recline it.

He takes a selfie wearing the complimentary eye mask with the caption, ‘I’m v posh now, we can’t hang out any longer,’ and sends it in a group chat to the lads.

Liam responds straight away: uve probably got eye herpes now

Louis rolls his eyes, replying: Really, Payno. Eye herpes? Best you could do?

Couldn’t think of any eye diseases off the top, Liam replies, while Niall contributes the crying-laughing emoji.

Louis shrugs, mentally cutting Liam some slack, because he can’t think of any either. He also stashes the eye mask in the front pocket, suddenly a bit skeeved. It had been plastic wrapped, but one can never be too careful.

Harry and Zayn, predictably, stay silent.

Louis sighs as he opens his private messages with Harry one last time to check for texts that aren’t there before the plane starts taxiing, then turns his phone on airplane mode and shoves it into his suit jacket pocket.

It’s been a month since he and Harry have begun seeing one another on a strictly for-sex-only basis. They’ve hooked up four times now–five, if you include the two orgasms Louis had three Sundays ago. The sex is great, even without the knotting. But that’s all it is, is sex. Harry usually comes over mid-afternoon, and it’s clear he’s only interested in getting his dick wet and leaving. He never accepts Louis’s offer to order in, and he never spends the night. He’s a shit texter, too.

That’s alright, anyway. Their tie is essentially gone, without the knotting. It’s less painful for Louis when they’re apart during the weekdays. And he’s been incredibly busy at work, which is helpful.

Today, in fact, he, Bridget, and Mo are flying to Paris to present a bid for a potential client. Their firm hasn’t yet had many international clients, and a French hotel chain is looking to expand their empire into the U.K. The perfect opportunity for Smith, Breyer, and Wilde to get their feet wet with international companies within the demographic they understand.

“Gum?” Bridget offers from beside him as the plane picks up speed for their ascent. Louis takes the piece she’s offering and shoves it into his mouth. Mo is seated across the aisle from them, bobbing along subtly to music in his headphones. “You ever been to Paris?”

“Twice,” Louis says. “Once for a school trip, and another with an old boyfriend.”

“Same, actually,” Bridget says, and they high five. “Romantic as they say it is, innit?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “It was sick. Bully for me I’m with the pair of you this time round.”

“I resent that!” Bridget glares at him in mock offense. Mo just keeps on bopping.

The alarm on Louis’s phone goes off, alerting him to his time to take his suppressants. Louis’s always preferred to schedule his pills for late morning, ever since his uni days when he couldn’t guarantee consciousness before ten in the morning.

Bridget eyes him curiously as he ducks down under his seat to grab his small toiletries bag from his backpack once the fasten seatbelt light turns off. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing,” Louis says. He’s not embarrassed about it, but it is personal. “Just popping to the loo. Move your legs.”

She scoffs. “You’ve got plenty of room.” But she tucks them to the side anyway as Louis moves around her to the toilets.

He’s disappointed to find the business class toilets are equally as cramped as the main cabin toilets. He has a wee, then opens his pill bottle whilst stood at the sink. When he travels he only ever packs enough pills, plus a few spares, to get him through the trip- so in case something were to happen, he wouldn’t lose all of them. Getting into the doctor to extend his prescription is always a right pain in the arse.

He fumbles the cap a bit, those childproof bottles always giving him a little trouble, and of course, at that precise moment the plane hits a pocket of turbulence.

Louis watches in slow motion horror as the bottle goes flying into the air, and his four white pills scatter.

“No,” Louis moans as two of them go right down the sink drain. “Fuck! No,” he curses with more feeling when he spots the other two– stuck in the crevice between toilet base and floor.

He considers it, for longer than he cares to admit. But no. No. He will not eat his suppressants off a toilet floor.

Will he?

He stares at himself in the mirror, doing his best to breathe deeply and stop himself from punching something. This is fine. He’s missed one day before and everything was fine. As long as they make their flight tomorrow evening and he hurries home to take his next dose he’ll be fine. It’ll be just over twenty four hours since his last dose. He’ll probably have a little heat when he gets home. He may start feeling symptoms in the meantime, but he can manage.

He’ll have to manage.

“Fuck being O,” he tells his reflection.

Bridget’s nose is stuck in a magazine when he returns. He slides in beside her without a word and stows away his toiletry bag. Then he puts in his headphones and freaks out internally to Green Day for the next hour.

When he turns airplane mode off as they’re taxiing to their gate, a few texts come through.

Glaucoma, Liam’s texted. cataracts.

Congratulations on finally learning how to google, Louis mocks in return. Also, pink eye, he adds, kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Harry’s texted as well: You’ve always been too cool for me, Lou

Louis’s pulse picks up a bit at the message, momentarily forgetting the context for the response.

Right, the sleeping mask photo. Cheeky.

Louis send a quick, code red text Zayn’s way, then collects his things as business class is invited to disembark.

“Excellent that the three of us could all be here for the full two days,” Mo says once they’ve left the madness of the busy airport and are stood outside for a taxi. “Brilliant job, Lou.”

The hotel chain had offered one complimentary hotel room for the night, stingy pricks, and with their team split among males, females, O’s and A’s, higher ups at Smith, Breyer, and Wilde had wanted Mo to go on his own. Louis had (after privately pitching a fit between the three of them, with Bridget’s ardent agreement) charmed the execs into coughing up the money for the whole team.

“Paid vacation!” Bridget cheers, although in actuality, they’ve got to get to work straight away once they’ve settled in. They’ve learned in their small amount of time together that they work best on a time crunch, when tempers are short and the deadline is nigh.

Louis’s desperately regretting pushing for the night’s stay now that he’s gone and fucked up his suppressant schedule. He should be honest with them about what’s going on, maybe splurge for an earlier flight back, but fuck, he will not look like the weakest team member because of his omega status. Besides, he’ll probably be early enough home that they won’t have a need to know anyway.

“I am a genius,” Louis agrees. “But we work best when we’re all together, and they know it.”

“We do, don’t we?” Bridget agrees, pinching both men sharply on their cheeks. “The dream team.”

Louis’s French is shit, and Bridget’s is even worse, so Mo takes the reins, giving the taxi driver the address of their hotel and making basic conversation in broken French, while the other two gaze out the window.

The hotel is nothing extraordinary, although very modern and clean. The three of them retire to their own rooms to dress comfortably, then meet in Mo’s to strategize and order in food. Their meeting is in the morning, and they’re still finalizing their pitch. The graphic design and video team had helpfully drawn up two different versions for them to choose from, but neither are perfect quite yet.

Zayn rings him back just as they’re ready to call it a night, many, many hours after Louis had texted him. Louis leaves his coworkers to hash out any further details, and heads back to his own room to take the call in peace.

“Have you heard the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf?” Zayn drawls uninterestedly when Louis answers.

Louis pauses, because yes, he is prone to texting Zayn ‘code red ’ when the slightest things– such as running out of his favorite crisps on game day– occur.

“This is a legitimate, actual, code red situation!” Louis insists, flopping face first onto his bed. “I did something really stupid.”

Zayn is instantly on high alert, wonderful friend that he is. “Are you alright, Lou? Aren’t you in Paris? Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“No, I, erm, don’t think so.” Louis scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m an idiot.”

“No arguments here.”

Louis snorts. “Thanks. So, my alarm went off to take my suppressants on the plane, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says carefully.

“And fucking turbulence made me drop them everywhere!”

Zayn is silent for several seconds. “Before, or after you took them?”

Louis scoffs. “What do you think?”

“Fuck,” Zayn says with feeling. “What are you gonna do?”

“Try to make it through, I guess,” Louis groans. “I don’t want to tell them if I don’t have to, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn agrees. “But for your safety, bro, I think you should. What if you go full heat?”

“I won’t,” Louis says confidently. “Maybe beginning stages, but it’ll only be just over 24 hours before I’m home.”

“Your coworkers are alphas,” Zayn reminds him. “They’ll catch on straight away once you’ve started. What if they can’t handle it?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “They may be alphas, but they’re not monsters.”

“Alright, so maybe not them, but you know that there are alphas out there who try to take advantage of you, even outside of your heat. You’ll be even more vulnerable now. Your alpha coworkers will have to look out for you. You need to tell them.”

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” Louis whines.

“I know,” Zayn says. “But pride isn’t worth getting hurt, alright? Listen, keep in touch, yeah? I’ll keep my phone on me and pick you up at the airport. Send me your flight details.”

“Okay.”

“And tell them, please. Lou,” Zayn pleads. Louis only moans more forlornly. “I’ll hop on the train now if I have to,” he threatens.

“Don’t do that,” Louis says, because he knows Zayn would, if necessary. “I’ll tell them. Tomorrow, after our meeting.”

“You’d better. Call or text me anytime, alright Lou? This is dangerous, and you’re an idiot.”

“Noted, and agreed. I’ve got to go drown myself in the bathtub now.”

“Strangling is much more environmentally conscious,” Zayn muses. Louis hangs up on him.

The owner and CEO of the french hotel chain, Jacques Desmarais, is old, fat, and alpha. Although Louis is quite certain the man speaks at least basic English, he relies on his interpreter to relay his greetings to them, and hardly gives them a second glance as they settle into their presentation. He meets Louis’s eyes partway through their pitch, however, and Louis’s stomach instantly roils. He recognizes that predatory look.

When they’re through, Bridget and Mo look Louis’s way uncertainly, having picked up on the potential client’s obvious lack of interest in anything but Louis.

“What is your name again?” Desmarais asks him, in perfectly clear French-accented English.

“Erm, Louis Tomlinson, sir.”

“Louis.” Desmarais grins. He has the look of someone who was once attractive, in his younger years. Attractive, rich, and used to getting what he wants. “A french name. How lovely.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The man leans forward in his chair. Louis takes the smallest of steps back, and as if on instinct, Bridget and Mo each step forward, flanking him from either side.

“You are omega, yes? Now, don’t be shy about it, I can smell you from here.”

Louis raises his chin. “Yes.”

Desmarais turns to his team and speaks to them in rapid french. Bridget and Louis glance at Mo, who only shrugs, looking as confused and wary as them. Finally, Desmarais turns back to them.

“You are not right for this project. We have decided to work with someone else. However, I would like to keep your business information for a future project I believe will suit you better.”

And then they’re ushered out of the office, just like that, a little dumbfounded by the series of events.

“Let’s go drink,” Bridget decides. “What a shit day.”

“You win some, you lose some,” Mo says sagely. “Wonder what the other project is.”

“I think that may be more of a personal working contract, if you know what I mean,” Bridget snorts, wagging her eyebrows at Louis. “Glad we got out of there when we did.”

“How much would it take for you to sleep with him, you reckon?” Mo asks Louis, grinning, as they step out of the lift and into the lobby.

“Stop,” Louis orders, punching him in the shoulder. He pauses, considering. “200,000.”

“Really?” Bridget says skeptically. “I’d do it for one.”

“One thousand pounds?” Louis gasps. “Bridge, you slag.”

It’s her turn to punch him. “Shut it, you. Let’s go find a cute Parisian cafe and order croissants before our flight.”

The spring weather in Paris is much lovelier than London at the moment, so they elect to walk down the streets until they find a decent place for food. When they cross the street, Mo places his hand on the small of Louis’s back on instinct, and Louis suppresses a shiver. Then, like a cruel joke, Louis’s alarm reminder for his pill goes off just as they’re sitting down to eat.

Shit.

Louis’s belly is full of pain au chocolat and mimosas when they return to the hotel to collect their things for the airport. Louis’s feeling just on the edge of fuzzy, and not from the alcohol. He’s trying not to panic. Just a few more hours.

Zayn’s texted a few times for updates, and Louis has been insisting he’s fine each time.

Starting a bit, he texts now. Zayn calls him immediately.

“Do you need to maybe stay there, babes? I’m sure there’s plenty of Heat Houses nearby.”

“No!” Louis insists. “No, what I need to do is get home, so I can take my pill and avoid going into full heat!”

Zayn hesitates. “What do the others think?”

“Erm…”

“Agggh,” Zayn grits out. “Louis!”

“I promise I’ll tell them. Right after I have a wank.”

Zayn doesn’t even make any objections, like he usually would. “Okay. We’ll come get you from the airport.”

“Could you pop by my flat and get my prescription?”

“Course,” Zayn says. “What’s the plan for, erm, riding it out, as it were?”

“You said that on purpose,” Lous says flatly, unamused.

“Couldn’t help myself,” Zayn admits, smirk in his voice. “Are you thinking Harry?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, adjusting himself as his dick takes sudden interest in the conversation. “If he’s up for it,” he pants.

“I can tell what you’re doing, Lou,” Zayn says warningly.

“I can’t help it!” Louis cries, pulling his cock fully out of his dress trousers.

“Okay, I’m hanging up now so you can take care of your business. I’ll see you soon. Text before you take off.”

They say their goodbyes, and Louis makes short work of his hard on, bracing himself with one hand on the sink as he takes the edge off. Although he hasn’t quite slicked up, his scent has doubled, he’s certain of it. Mo and Bridget will instantly pick up on the change.

He spends a few seconds debating what to text Harry, then settles on a simple, Are you busy tonight? And then, because Harry’s a total flake and needs to know the direness of the situation, he adds: may have accidentally started a surprise heat.

He changes into his comfortable joggers and jumper, and balls up his suit and shoves it into his backpack, opting to leave the garment bag behind. He’s not in the mood to bother with professionalism on the flight home. Mo and Bridget are similarly dressed, anyway, when he joins them in the lobby minutes later.

“Woah,” Bridget says, nostrils flaring, the moment he sidles up to her. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Louis says, falsely cheerful. “Just going into heat unexpectedly, no big deal.”

“What?” Mo and Bridget gasp at once, each of them taking the slightest of steps forward.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” Louis insists. “It’s just the beginning stages, anyway.”

“Louis, you smell…” Mo trails off helplessly, unable to stop himself from taking a deep breath in. “I’m not even into blokes.”

“Yeah,” Louis chuckles. “I get that a lot.”

“It’s still a few hours til we’re home,” Bridget says, looking at her watch. “Are you certain this is a good idea?”

“Are you not on suppressants?” Mo wonders abruptly. “Sorry, is that rude?”

“It is,” Louis snarks back. “But I am. The fucking turbulence on the plane here made me drop them.”

“Is that why you came back from the toilet all flustered?” Bridget asks, eyes wide. “I thought you’d maybe just had loose bowels or summat.”

Louis pulls a disgusted face, and Bridget shrugs.

“Here,” Mo says suddenly, pulling a hoodie out of his backpack. “Put this on.”

“Good thinking,” Bridget praises, as Louis does as he’s told. The hoodie smells strongly of alpha, almost overwhelmingly so. He shakes his head to clear away the sudden foggy brain. It clears relatively easily, because Mo may be alpha, but he isn’t his alpha.

Speaking of, no text back from Harry.

“...do this,” Mo is saying when Louis tunes back in. “Does thinking of your nan in a nightie or anything help?” Louis glares at him. “Just asking!”

The drive to the airport and the wait to board is uneventful enough. Louis turns more heads than usual, but Bridget and Mo stick close, Bridget practically hissing at anyone who dares come near them, even clueless betas. They’re both staying extremely calm about this, considering; waving Louis off every time he tries to explain himself or apologize, or lament on what a terrible team member he is.

Louis texts Zayn when they’re boarding, and Zayn sends back a thumbs up immediately. Louis will never not be grateful for Zayn’s ability to put everything else aside when Louis needs him. Liam and Niall have each texted him as well, letting him know they’ll be part of the evacuation team at Heathrow. Harry stays silent, and Liam confirms that they haven’t be able to reach him either.

Mo sticks Louis in the window seat and sits down next to him, and Louis allows him to toss a blanket over him, too, more soft and compliant than he might usually be.

“I like this version of Louis,” Bridget whispers loudly from across the aisle, smirking. Louis flips her off.

Luckily, it’s a short flight. Louis dozes a bit, simultaneously thankful and embarrassed that he can sense the tense, alert set of Mo’s shoulders as he does so. Mo rests a hand on Louis’s blanket covered knee to get his attention as they’re descending, and Louis conceals his groan with a cough. As business class begins dismissing, Bridget grabs Louis’s hand and tugs him along, Mo close on Louis’s heels.

“Who’re we looking for, Louis?” Bridget asks, once they’ve cleared out of the terminal and are heading for the main exit. Louis’s never been more grateful for carry-ons than in this moment.

Louis stares down at his phone. He’s got about ten texts that have just come through, but he concentrates on finding Zayn’s contact information and pressing send.

“Hiya, Lou,” Zayn says. “Me and Li and Niall are here. How are you holding up?”

“I need a nap and a knot,” Louis says bluntly, and Mo snorts next to him. He’s got a tight grip around Louis’s elbow, and Bridget’s holding his hand from the other side. He feels like a child. A horny, irresponsible man-child.

“We’re pulled into a loading zone,” Zayn says. “If you don’t come out soon, they’ll make us do another trip round.”

“Coming out the doors now.”

When they all see one another, Zayn and Niall rush toward him, pulling him into a group hug. Liam approaches more slowly, palms up, cautious. Over Zayn and Niall’s shoulders, Louis glances at Mo and Bridget’s faces.

“Is that your alpha, Louis?” Bridget asks carefully, and she and Mo, having stood back when the betas approached them, each take a step closer.

“My mate, Liam,” Louis says. “Erm, not my mate, but my mate. My friend.”

“Thanks for looking after him,” Liam says when he’s reached them.

Mo nods sharply. “You’ll make sure he gets home alright?”

“Yes,” Liam assures him. “Harry, his erm… anyway, Harry’ll take it from there.”

Louis groans into Zayn’s neck, as his first real wave of heat suddenly crashes weakly down on him.

He’s hustled into the car then, after hurried goodbyes. Zayn pulls him close in the backseat, while Niall sits beside Liam up front.

“Here, Tommo.” Niall passes back a bottle of water and Louis’s prescription bottle, and Zayn intercepts them, opens the water bottle and hands it to Louis, then shakes a single pill out.

“You know I’ve still got working hands, right?” Louis snarks, embarrassed by the level of care his friends are giving him right now, and the situation he’s created here. He takes the pill anyway, swallowing it down quickly. Zayn ignores his outburst.

Liam’s phone starts ringing loudly over his Bluetooth.

“Shit, it’s Harry,” Liam says to the others, connecting the call. “Hey, H.”

“Where the fuck are you?” Harry demands aggressively, and his voice goes straight to Louis’s dick and arse. He can’t help but whimper as he feels himself getting wet. “No one’s answering their fucking phones!”

“We’re driving home from Heathrow, H,” Niall says. “Tommo’s here with us, you’re on speaker.”

“Oh, shit,” Liam says abruptly. “Jesus.” He rolls his driver-side window down.

“What?” Harry barks. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Liam says hurriedly, panicked eyes meeting Louis’s in the rear view mirror. “All good.”

“Louis?” Harry asks. “All right?”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. A breathy “Hi,” is all he manages.

There’s a stilted pause, then, “Take me off speaker,” Harry orders sharply. “I wanna talk to Lou.”

Liam scrambles to acquiesce, taking one hand off the wheel to dig into the pocket of his trackies. He touches the screen on his phone, then hands the phone back to Louis.

“Hi,” Louis says again, once he's got the phone to his ear.

Harry sighs. “What were you thinking?” he asks, tone much softer than before.

“It was an accident,” Louis croaks, leaning forward to better hide his discreet adjusting. Harry’s voice makes him want to hump the air. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” Harry soothes. “I’m just happy you’re here and safe.” He pauses. “Nothing happened, right?”

“Just embarrassed myself. Where are you?”

“Leaving my studio, on my way to yours.” He clears his throat, suddenly hesitant. “If you still want me to.”

“God, please,” Louis groans.

“Brakes, Liam!” Niall barks. Louis’s reflexes are too sluggish to brace himself before his head slams against the back of Niall’s seat in front of him.

“You alright, Lou?” Zayn fusses from beside him.

“Christ!” Liam yells from the front seat. “Who’s idea was it to let me drive?”

“I’m so glad I’m a beta,” Niall says. “Pull over, Payno, I’ll drive.”

“What’s going on?” Harry shouts over the line.

“Nothing,” Louis says, rubbing his head. At least the pain is distracting him a bit from his hard dick. “Payno wants me and can’t control himself.”

“It’s biology!” Liam shrieks.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Harry says gravely. “I’ve got to go now, baby. I’m getting on the tube.”

“You’ve been traveling this whole time?” Louis wonders what passerbys must think of Harry’s end of this conversation.

“And everyone knows how hard you’re makin’ me, too,” Harry says lowly. “I’ll see you at your flat. Just a little bit longer.”

Louis throws the phone across the backseat and buries his head in his arms, ignoring Liam’s indignant “Oi!”

He zones out for the rest of the car ride, breathing into the arm of Mo’s hoodie, and trying not to snap at Zayn for rubbing his back. He’s just trying to be helpful, but Louis only wants one person’s touch right now.

Finally, after what seems like hours later, the boys are piling out of the car and herding Louis into his building.

“Take this off,” Liam suggests once they’re in the lift, already tugging Mo’s hoodie from Louis’s shoulders. “You smell like another alpha.”

“You didn’t have to walk me up,” Louis says, curling into Zayn for warmth now that the hoodie he’s been wearing for hours is gone.

“Don’t be daft,” Zayn dismisses him as they exit the lift. Louis pats his pockets for his keys, then realizes Niall’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder. “We got your back, Lou.”

He’s only been gone one night, but he could cry tears of joy when he’s stood in the middle of his flat.

“H is five minutes away,” Liam tells him. “Go take a shower and we’ll stay until he comes up.”

Louis does as he’s told, and pulls his dick out and starts wanking the moment the door clicks shut behind him. He takes off his clothes and steps into the shower in record time, despite one hand being tied up. He opens himself up efficiently under the hot shower spray and comes, muffling his moans in his elbow. If he weren’t in the beginning stage of heat, he’d be mortified by having very obvious alone time in the presence of his best mates.

He hears shouting, and a bit of a scuffle as he’s toweling off, then the distant sound of glass shattering. If it weren’t for his orgasm lulling him into a sense of foggy calm, he might be more concerned. As it is, he merely opens the door and pads out in only a towel.

Harry’s head pops up from behind the island, somehow managing to look both angry and contrite at once.

“Lou!”

“What happened?” Louis wonders, itching idly at the skin below his navel and watching Harry’s eyes darken.

Harry shrugs, sheepish. “One of your frames fell off the wall. I was just looking for a dustpan.”

“How’d it fall?”

Harry juts his chin out defensively. “There was an alpha in your flat.”

“Liam? Really?” Louis chuckles, even as his body thrums at Harry’s possessiveness. “Better chance of me sleeping with Zayn.”

Harry growls and strides forward, caging Louis in against the tiny kitchen table. “You aren’t fucking anyone but me.”

Louis whines, throwing his head back to expose his neck at the same time as he bucks his hips into Harry’s.

“Get on with it then,” Louis urges. “Fuck me. I prepped for you.”

Harry dips down to kiss him once, tongue sliding messily in Louis’s mouth. “Then after, you’re telling me exactly what happened.” His breath is hot on Louis’s face. Louis missed his alpha scent. He’s so fucking wet for it.

“Fuck me,” Louis insists again, as Harry licks and kisses up the side of Louis’s neck. “Alpha.”

Harry yanks down his work trousers and pants, kicks them away, and rips off Louis’s towel before Louis can even blink. Then he picks Louis up under the bum, lays him out on the table, and pulls his legs over his shoulders. Once Louis’s situated, he shoves in. Harry moans and Louis all but shrieks, bracing himself as best he can against the smooth surface as Harry squeezes his hips and thrusts in and out, hard. Louis’s own cock slaps almost painfully against his stomach with the movement.

Harry pinches one of Louis’s nipples between his fingers, turning his head to mouth and bite at Louis’s calf. Louis tears at his own hair as he comes hard, crying out as he does so.

“Look so good when you come, baby,” Harry praises, swiping a finger through Louis’s mess and sucking on it, even as he continues to pound into Louis. “Fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Do it,” Louis urges through the marbles in his mouth. His eyesight is fuzzy and his body is tingling. He’s ready to go down. “Knot me.”

Harry stops mid thrust, for only a second, before he slowly begins again. “I can’t do that, Lou,” he says regretfully.

“What?” Louis sits up on his elbows. “My heat!”

Harry shuts his eyes tight as Louis purposefully clenches around him. “Stop. You asked me not to, remember?”

“I want you to now!” Louis insists. “Alpha, please.”

“No!” Harry insists, rocking forward a bit to keep up the friction despite his words.

Louis’s omega shrivels up, rejected. Clearly Harry doesn’t even want to be with him. Won’t even knot him when he needs it. Why doesn’t he just go? Louis is a desperate fool.

“Okay,” Louis says quietly. He pushes Harry’s hands off his hips and squirms away, falling hard off the table and onto his knees.

“Louis!” Harry barks, crouching to help him sit up. “Fuck, why’d you do that?”

“You don’t want me,” Louis says, shoving at Harry weakly.

Harry growls in frustration. “Look at me, Louis.” When Louis doesn’t acquiesce, Harry grips his chin and physically turns his head. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than knot you. Every day for the rest of forever. But we decided it wasn’t best for us, remember? You don’t really want me to, it’s only your heat talking.” He pets Louis’s neck and shoulders as he speaks. His cock is still wet and standing at attention between his crouched legs. “Let me take care of you, baby. Up, come up here.”

Louis is weak from coming and so, so foggy with his heat. He allows Harry to pull him to his feet and guide him into the bedroom. Harry lays him down on the bed and follows quickly after, curling himself around Louis and licking at his neck, collar bones, anywhere his head can reach.

“I want you,” he chants, over and over, breath wet against Louis’s skin. “You’re so good, Omega. Let’s get you down.”

Louis’s omega is placated enough that he bares his neck to receive Harry’s offering. “Okay.”

“Do you have a toy with a knot?” Harry asks. “Can I look in this drawer, Lou?” He keeps a hand on Louis’s hip as he leans over to Louis’s bedside table.

“Bottom,” Louis manages, and Harry pulls out Louis’s usual heat companion from the second drawer, setting it down next to them on the bed.

“I’m gonna make you come again,” Harry tells him, almost conversationally, kneeling between Louis’s legs in a similar position from before and tweaking Louis’s reinvigorated dick. “And then I’ll shove that in and come all over your cock.”

Harry rearranges Louis’s legs over his shoulders again, then gives himself a few good tugs back to full hardness before he abruptly pushes back in. Louis is so slick and stretched from before, that his body offers no resistance whatsoever. Louis gasps as Harry takes his cock in hand and jerks it in time with his thrusts. Harry’s staring so intently at his face that Louis has to look away, overwhelmed.

Too soon, he’s coming, and Harry’s pulled out. Something else is shoved in, and Harry holds him tight as it expands and stretches him even wider, speaking words of praise even as he strips his own cock. Louis closes his eyes and listens to Harry growl as he comes, painting Louis’s groin with his release as Louis slips under, emotionally and physically spent.

He awakens abruptly, and although he’s knotted, he’s cold and alone. His first instinct is to feel for the plug in his arse.

“Hi, Lou.” Louis jerks around, hissing at the tug on the inflated knot as he does so. Harry’s sitting up against the pillows on the bed, within arms reach but not touching, wearing only a pair of pants and looking more unsure than Louis’s ever seen him. “How are you feeling?”

Louis pushes the button at the base of his toy to deflate the knot. He wants to pull it out, but he’s suddenly feeling self conscious in front of Harry. It’s also clear by Louis’s abrupt exit from his heat symptoms that his suppressant has done its job.

“Confused,” he says honestly. “And really fucking sticky.” Harry grins sheepishly. “You didn’t knot me.”

“No,” Harry says, watching Louis’s face carefully. “No, I didn’t.”

Louis sighs, slightly disappointed, but mostly relieved. “Thank you. I remember I asked you to.”

“You did,” Harry agrees, then, with a hint of pride, says, “Believe me, Lou, it was really difficult to hold back. But I knew it was only your heat talking.”

“Right,” Louis snorts. “My heat asks for very interesting things sometimes.”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?”

Louis huffs, squirming uncomfortably, both because of the unwanted dildo still up his arse, and because of where he’d unintentionally led the conversation.

“I was just saying you manage to ignore all the rest of the shit I talk during my heats, so… Fuck, could you turn around, or close your eyes for a mo? I need to get this–“. He cuts himself off.

Harry does as he’s told, covering his eyes with his hands like a three-year-old.

It’s not exactly painless, removing the plug. Most of Louis’s slick has dried up with his heat.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, once he’s got the toy fully out.

He gets off the bed, staggering a bit from moving too suddenly, and puts the toy in the kitchen sink to be cleaned later. He takes several long drinks directly from the tap while he’s there, then finds a package of crackers to bring back to the bedroom. Harry is just as he left him, only his eyes are uncovered. He’s still frowning.

“What do you mean about ‘the shit you talk during heats’?” Harry wonders. “You’ve said stuff like that before, too, and I don’t get it.”

Louis chuckles shortly, unamused. “Very funny.”

Harry rearranges himself on the bed as Louis sits down next to him again. “I’m being serious. What do you think you do during your heats?”

Louis tears open his packet of crackers so aggressively that they scatter all over the bed. “Shut up. We’re not talking about this.”

“No!” Harry insists loudly. “Something’s not right here, and if I’m fucking you, then I think I deserve to know!”

Louis throws a cracker at his chest childishly. “I don’t see why we have to discuss something that you know embarrasses me, just so you can stroke your fragile alpha ego about how chivalrous you are for stomaching my heats.”

“Stomaching your heats? What the fuck are you on about? I love having sex with you. In your heat or out, it’s all good for me, but clearly you don’t feel the same. So I’ll just fucking go.”

Louis immediately feels sick. This friends with benefits thing went to hell in a handbasket spectacularly quickly. He watches as Harry launches off the bed, throws the pillow he’d had under his back across the room, then marches to the bedroom door, only to whirl around again.

“You know, I always admired how proud you were to be an omega, and how you didn’t let sexist pricks and fucking society try to fit you into a box. But I guess I was wrong.”

“Hang on a second,” Louis cries, incensed, because that was a low fucking blow. He jumps to standing. “How does my behavior during heats have anything to do with how I feel about my gender?”

“How does it not?” Harry roars back. He’s terrifying when he’s angry, but Louis shoves his omega aside and refuses to back down. “This might be news to you, Louis, but heats are part of what make omegas who they are. There’s not a bloody thing to be ashamed of.”

“Wouldn’t you be embarrassed? If you were me?” Louis challenges. “If you did and said the things I do during heats?”

“What things?” Harry barks in frustration. “You hardly say anything at all, Louis! You just do what I say, and like, whine a bit, maybe.”

Louis stares at him, dumbfounded but suspicious. “Are you lying?”

“No!” Harry insists. “Who put it in your head that you’re an embarrassing twat during heats?”

“I…” Louis feels as though his world is crashing around him. He’s hopeful, dubious, and devastated all at once. He’s made most of his relationship decisions based on this one fact about himself. So many relationships down the toilet. So much missed enjoyment of heat sex.

They stand there in silence for several seconds.

“Louis,” Harry says carefully, the earlier bite to his tone suddenly gone. He takes one step toward him. “Who told you that?”

“My… an old boyfriend.”

Harry stares at him, still angry, but confused as well. “Why the fuck would he say that?”

“Maybe it was true then, I dunno.” Louis sits down hard on the bed, rubbing his hands down his face. This is overwhelming, coming out of heat like this. His omega is making him want to scratch his own eyeballs out. He resists the temptation, but only just.

Harry snorts. “I doubt it. What a fucking prick. What sort of things did he say you did?”

Louis flops back onto the bed, mostly as a front to avoid Harry’s eyes. “Said that the neighbors complained about how loud I begged for it. Said I tried to get him to do really… well…”

The bed dips near Louis’s hip. Louis glances up to see Harry with one knee on the bed, looking like he’s trying to decide if it’d be a smart move to lie next to Louis or not.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Harry says, apparently thinking better of coming onto the bed. He pets Louis’s hip. “Although, for the record, I like kinky.”

“Like pissing in my mouth kinky?” Louis asks flatly, arching an eyebrow. Harry stares at him, shock rolling over into rage.

“That motherfucking cunt. What the fuck would he get out of saying shit like that to you? Surely it’d make you want to sleep with him even less.”

“I was trying to break up with him,” Louis says. “But he told me what he’d been putting up with from me, and that no one was gonna want to deal with that.”

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Louis, he obviously told you that shit to try to keep you around.”

Louis bristles. Of course it makes sense in retrospect, and Louis would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered about the correlation during his good days, but Matt had always been sort of bluntly honest about what he did and didn’t like about Louis’s personality, or the way he dressed (although, braces probably weren’t Louis’s best look, so kudos to Matt on that one).

“I get it, I’m an idiot.”

“No!” Harry insists, finally stretching out on his stomach next to Louis. He nudges Louis’s ribs with his elbow until Louis looks at him. “You’re not an idiot, he’s a knob who took advantage of your vulnerabilities, and I really, really want to know where he lives so I can go kick the shit out of him.”

Louis has to laugh a little at that. “No idea on that one. Deleted him from all social media.”

“Good,” Harry says decisively. “Can I ask–why me, then?”

Louis sighs. “Because I was desperate. I needed someone I could trust, but didn’t want it to be someone I–“ he stops short, because he might have said several weeks ago that he and Harry weren’t much more than acquaintances, but that’s definitely changed now. He considers Harry a friend. More than friends, if he lets himself think about it too long.

“No, I get it,” Harry says after a beat, chuckling ruefully. “It wouldn’t have mattered as much to you if you scared me away afterwards.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it so callously as that, but basically, yeah.” He rolls over on his side to face Harry. “I wasn’t expecting you to want to continue.”

“Well, I do,” Harry assures him. “Unless… I mean, now that you know the truth, you’ll want to erm… spread your wings a bit. I’d understand.” Louis snorts. Harry can be so fucking awkward when he isn’t in alpha mode. “Not that you can’t… spread your wings while also being with me. We’re not exclusive or anything.”

“Okay,” Louis says slowly. “Thanks.” For the reminder you’re fucking other people, he tacks on in his head. “Are you using protection though? Because you haven’t been with me.” Harry swallows, flustered, and Louis’s mind instantly goes into panic mode. “Do I need to get tested?” Louis snaps, a little harsher than he’d intended.

“No,” Harry says hurriedly. “It’s not that. I just haven’t really slept with anyone but you since the first time.”

“Really?” Louis asks, only a little surprised, because they have spent at least one day a weekend together for the past several weeks. Although he happens to know Harry likes it more regularly, based on jokes and conversations made by the other lads in the past. Always up for it, Harry is, according to Liam. Truthfully, Louis’d love to get some on the weeknights, too. Something he misses about relationships.

“You haven’t either,” Harry tells him, almost mulishly. “I can smell it.”

Louis grimaces. “That’s a bit creepy.”

“I can’t help it!” Harry cries. “Your scent is just really… like, overwhelming sometimes.”

“Well,” Louis says, slapping down on the mattress and coming across a cracker. He sits up and shoves it in his mouth, then says around it, “Me and my stench will be in the shower.”

Once in the shower, Louis collapses back on the cold tile, drained from their conversation and revelation, and especially missing the post-heat cuddles. It’s not as acute as the heat before, definitely due to the lack of knotting. He wonders if Harry would agree to a bit of a snuggle on the sofa for a few.

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door, and then it’s creaking open. Louis sticks his head out from behind the curtain.

“Mind if I join you?” Harry asks, stepping fully into the tiny room. He’s nude already, clearly having anticipated Louis saying yes. Louis considers making a scene just to fuck with him, but decides against it. He wants Harry close, like, right now. He nods, and Harry dimples.

Louis makes room for him, selfishly not giving up the spot under the hot water. But Harry crowds into him anyway, pulling Louis into a hug, dick to dick. If Louis weren’t so spent, he might be interested in seeing where this could go. Harry doesn’t seem inclined to make it more either, so Louis relaxes in his arms, looping his arms around Harry’s waist too.

“Can’t stop thinking about all the relationships I fucked up because of the heat thing,” Louis says into Harry’s shoulder, after several seconds of quiet.

Harry hums in acknowledgement. “Did you tell any of them why?”

“I might’ve hinted,” Louis says, a little guiltily. “Pride got in the way, I suppose.”

Harry squeezes him tighter for a second. “Not to sound philosophical or anything, but they weren’t the right relationships for you anyway, then. If your partner can’t respect your sexual boundaries, they don’t deserve you.”

“Would you be with an omega who didn’t want to spend their heats with you?” Louis asks bluntly.

Harry is quiet for a few seconds as he mulls it over, running his closed teeth back and forth over the top of Louis’s shoulder absently. It makes Louis shiver, even under the warm water.

“I think it would be really hard,” Harry says finally. “But if I loved the person, and understood the reasoning behind it, I could learn to live with it.” Then he grins. “Long as I still get it extra regular to make up for it.”

Louis flicks him on the cock, and Harry howls. When things have settled down again, and Harry has somehow maneuvered himself under the water, Louis says, “Are you sure I don’t do any of those things?”

“Definitely. But, erm, if you wanted to see for yourself… I could record it next time. If you wanted.”

Louis smirks. “You want to make a heat sex porno with me?”

“For research purposes only!” Harry insists, grinning.

Louis laughs, too. “I’ll think about it,” he says, finally.

The thought of watching himself go through the thing that he’s had nightmares about is a little anxiety inducing, but he would like to have proof. And a sex video with Harry would be the hottest thing ever.

“That is, assuming it’ll still be me next time. No pressure or anything.” Harry squirts a dollop of Louis’s shampoo in his own hand, gestures for Louis’s, then gives him some as well.

Louis gazes at him suspiciously, stomach knotting up, as they begin to lather their hair. “You’ve said that a couple times now. If you’re looking for an out, you can just tell me.”

“Not looking for an out.” Harry ducks his head under the water. “Just trying to keep it casual,” he says, too loudly.

“Right.”

They swap places again, then Harry silently gets out to towel off, leaving Louis to wash his body in peace.

“Think I might head out,” Harry says after a few minutes, interrupting the silence. “A mate asked to go to dinner the other day, and we finished just in time that I don’t have to cancel.”

“Oh, fuck,” Louis says. “What day is it, anyway?”

“Just about five on Friday.” Louis relaxes. So, less than a day. Only one missed day of work. “I helped you take your suppressant when your alarm went off for it, by the way,” Harry adds.

“Oh, thank God. I completely forgot.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, amused. “You had other things on your mind.”

Louis sighs, peeking through the curtain. Harry’s got a towel turban round his head and is stepping into his pants. “Thanks for looking after me.”

Harry smiles softly at him. “It’s my pleasure.”

Butterflies erupt in Louis’s stomach as they stare at one another.

“You know,” Louis says impulsively as the idea comes to him. “Since you’ve helped me out, I could return the favor.” He can’t help the way his voice goes softer. Harry seems to pick up on it too, because he swallows and takes in a quick gulp of air. “I could help you during your rut.”

“Oh!” Harry says, shock evident on his face. “Oh. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering. I’ve done it before.”

Harry’s face darkens. “With who?” he snaps, then he shakes his head as if to clear it. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“So, is that a yes?” Louis wheedles.

“No. No… it’s... I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lou.”

Louis’s heart sinks. “Oh. Okay. Do you like, have an arrangement with someone else, or?”

“No,” Harry says, frowning. “Not really. I just think with you, and, um, me, that I wouldn’t be able to…” He gestures helplessly.

“Oh,” Louis says stonily. “I get it.”

Harry takes a step forward. “Do you, Lou? Because I–“ Louis snaps the shower curtain shut and takes a deep breath to reign himself in.

“It’s fine, Harry, really. Have a great dinner, and I’ll see you next weekend, yeah?” He’s proud of the way he keeps his voice level and friendly.

Harry says nothing for a beat. “We’re still on for next weekend?”

“If you’re up for it, yeah? Just text me.”

“Alright,” Harry says slowly. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

“Think I’m good here. Thanks again.”

More silence. Then, finally, “No problem. See ya, Lou.”

Louis stays in the shower well past lukewarm water, just to ensure Harry’s truly gone before he steps out. There’s no trace of him in the flat, although his scent still lingers. Louis finds his phone plugged into the wall charger on his bedside table.

Mo’s texted.

We’ve all come down with food poisoning from our bistro lunch. Let us know when we feel well enough to come in!

Louis smiles, grateful for such incredible coworkers. He types back: will be in on Monday. Cheers!

Then he makes a call.

“Zayyyyn,” he whines when his friend picks up. “Zaynie, I need you!”

Chapter Text

“So, let me get this straight,” Zayn says, smoke curling out of his mouth as he speaks. It’s Sunday, Louis’s usual afternoon with Harry, but his unexpected heat has thrown everyone off schedule. Zayn’s come over per Louis’s request, and after a bit of a cry and a lot of swearing, they both feel better. But they can’t quite seem to stop talking about it. “You tell him all about Matt, have an intimate shower together–“

“It was a regular shower. No funny business,” Louis interrupts.

“–have an intimate shower together,” Zayn repeats himself loudly over Louis, “and then when you ask him if he wants a rut partner, he says no and leaves?”

Louis takes a pull from his own cigarette. “He was nice about it, but basically, yeah.”

Zayn shakes his head in disbelief. “And you’re still sleeping with him? Jesus, Lou. If all you’re going to do is be miserable after you fuck, why do it?”

“I’m not miserable,” Louis insists, tossing his head. “I’m merely discussing the current events of my life with my best mate.”

“Right,” Zayn drawls, rolling his eyes. He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray, his chair groaning as he stands on the cramped patio. “What have you got for food?”

“Utter shit,” Louis says, crushing his own cigarette, and following Zayn into the flat. “Went away for that business trip, and then my heat hit, so I haven’t left the house.”

“Just like any other day, then,” Zayn says with a straight face as he collapses onto the sofa. “Order in?”

“Obviously. FIFA?”

“Course.” Zayn pulls out his phone to look up takeaway places while Louis powers up the Xbox.

“You ever going to tell me about your super secret new project?” Louis wonders as he waits for the screen to load. Zayn’s got purple in the beds of his fingernails again.

“When have I ever?” Zayn reminds him flatly. “Pizza good?”

Louis scoffs. “Always. Yeah, I’ll never forget walking into your final project gallery in uni to see myself all over the walls.” That had been a shock. Zayn had apparently discovered Louis as a muse their first year as flatmates and hadn’t bothered to alert him. He’d done Louis in all sorts of mediums and styles. Louis still has one of them at his mum’s house. It may or may not be prominently featured over her mantle.

Zayn shrugs. “The light hits your cheekbones just so. And you had good hair that year.”

Louis gasps, bringing a hand protectively to his head. “What’s wrong with my hair now?”

Zayn flicks his eyes up to the top of Louis’s head, looking for several silent seconds. “Nothing,” he says finally.

“Zayn,” Louis says, only slightly hysterically. “What the fuck is wrong with my hair?”

Zayn is saved, for the moment, by Louis’s buzzing phone on the coffee table. Zayn smirks, and Louis glares as he leans down to pick it up.

“Fuck, it’s Harry.”

Zayn looks murderous. “Do not kick me out now that I’ve paid for your food.”

Louis ignores him, tamping down the sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach as he answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey Lou,” Harry says on the other end. “How’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Louis says, pulling the fuzzy blanket off the back of the sofa and into his lap. “Me and Zayn are just chilling.”

“At your place?” Harry asks, tone suddenly alert and sharp.

“Yeah,” Louis says, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. “I’m being a good boy and staying in.” There’s a beat of awkward silence as all of them, Zayn included, process the unintended innuendo. Louis flips Zayn off preemptively, and Zayn smirks in response.

“Anyway,” Harry says, moving past the moment with a quiet throat clear. “Just wanted to see how you were doing after everything. But, erm, is this a bad time?”

Louis smiles. “Nah, Zayn knows nearly everything, anyway.” Across the room, an offended Zayn mouths ‘nearly?!’ “I’m alright, thanks. Still a bit… I dunno.”

“That’s normal, I think,” Harry muses. “Especially since you’ve been carrying it with you for so long.”

“Eight fucking years,” Louis sighs.

“Fuck, that long?” Harry asks incredulously.

Louis groans as the amount of time he’s been bound by this hits him again. “Jesus, I’m such an idiot.”

“Quit saying that,” Harry orders. “You’re not. You’ve done nothing wrong but trust someone who didn’t deserve it.” Louis hums noncommittally. “Anyway,” Harry says. “Didn’t mean to like, make you keep talking about it if you don’t want to. I just thought… well, I sort of just up and left after all that the other day, and I don’t want you to feel like I don’t care.”

“It’s fine. You had very important supper plans,” Louis teases. “I called Zayn and he dried my tears.” At Harry’s silence, Louis quickly adds, “Only joking.” He laughs falsely. Across the sofa, Zayn rolls his eyes, because Zayn drying his tears is pretty much exactly what happened.

Harry’s laugh is just as wooden. “If you’re sure.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Louis says, before the awkwardness can pull them under, because the last thing he wants is for his casual arrangement to disappear because Harry was scared away by Louis’s feelings. “What’s your week look like?”

Harry hums. “Well, I’ve got a two day shoot starting Monday for an online catalogue. Underwear.”

“Ooh,” Louis teases. “Lucky ladies.”

Harry laughs. “Men’s, actually. There’s other clothing too, but… just thought I’d lead with the underpants.” Louis can just picture him on the other end, cheeky, dimpled grin on his face.

“Knew I went into the wrong field,” Louis jokes. He doesn’t love the idea of Harry– literally just as gorgeous and fit as any actual model– hanging around with other incredibly beautiful people, maybe taking one of those beautiful people home... he stops himself there. “So, is that your passion, then?”

“What, photographing half-naked men?” Harry chuckles.

“No, I mean, well, that’s definitely a perk, but I mean the catalogue shoots. Your Instagram is a lot more like, artsy than that.”

Harry laughs. “Artsy,” he repeats loftily. “Thanks. Wait, do you follow me on Instagram?”

Louis groans. “Don’t make this another concert thing.”

“I won’t,” Harry says. His voice has gone a bit tinny, like he’s just put himself on speakerphone.

“You’re searching for me right now, aren’t you?”

“This would go much faster if you gave me your handle,” Harry says mildly.

“Never. Find it yourself in your thousands of followers as punishment.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, as Harry presumably scrolls through his list of followers. It shouldn’t be any surprise that he’s popular, what with his career, and also his tiny cult following of fans.

“What were we talking about?” Harry’s voice is full-bodied again, and Louis tries to ignore the twinge of disappointment at how quickly Harry’d given up the search.

“Your black and white aesthetic,” Louis reminds him. “Bit different from your day job, yeah?”

Harry’d recently posted a series of people in reflections on his Instagram. Louis’s favorites are the one of Liam, eyes closed as he works out a melody in the glass-boothed studio, and Niall, biting his nails nervously as he watches football on television, captured through the reflection of the hall mirror in their flat. Louis, of course, has never been featured.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I think every photographer dreams of having a gallery of their work, or like, being paid to travel the world to take photos. Maybe someday. In the meantime, I’ve got to make a living. And I do like it what I do.”

“They use steamers behind food to make it look like it’s piping hot. Did you know that?”

Harry laughs loudly. “I did know that, actually. Don’t shoot food much myself, though.”

“I’ve been at a few food shoots, and let me tell you, it’s all fake. There’s not even real milk in the cereal.” Harry makes that honking sound Louis gets such a kick out of, and Louis laughs too, pleased. It wasn’t even a joke, and he’s made Harry laugh. “But, that’s consumerism for ya.”

“And yet we make our livings off it.”

“That we do, Harold.”

There’s contented silence for a few seconds, then Harry clears his throat. “Well, I don’t mean to interrupt your Sunday. Just wanted to check in.”

“It’s all good,” Louis says, meaning it, because talking with Harry took his mind completely off of what happened the other day. His chest feels a bit lighter, and head a bit clearer. “Thanks for calling. And thanks for taking care of that glass, by the way.” Louis’d gone to let Zayn in and found the now-glassless frame sitting on the kitchen island, and not a shard of glass in sight. Harry must’ve cleaned it up during the downtime of Louis’s miniature heat.

“No problem. It was my mess, anyway,” Harry demurs. “Have a good night, Lou.”

“Bye, Harry.”

Louis moves the phone away from his ear, smiling to himself.

“Holy fuck,” Zayn says from across the sofa, and Louis shrieks in surprise, having completely forgotten he was even in the room. Zayn waves away Louis’s dramatics with a dismissive hand. “You like him.” Louis opens his mouth to retort, but Zayn speaks over him. “No, I don’t want to hear none of that bullshit about how it’s just attraction, or your omega’s confused. I just watched you sit with that stupid flirty grin on your face for the last ten minutes. I know you. You fucking like him.”

Louis doesn’t even try to deny it. He just flops down belly first onto the sofa, burying his face in the throw blanket he’s still clutching. “Fuck, I do,” he moans.

“What?”

“I said I do!” Louis repeats loudly, rearranging the blanket so he has an air hole, but keeping his face hidden. “I really fucking like him. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Why would I rub it in?” Zayn demands, offended. “You know I’m always on your side, Lou.”

Louis groans. “I know, sorry. I’m just– why am I doing this to myself?”

Zayn doesn’t answer that. They sit in silence for several minutes. Louis can’t help but wonder, after all he’s had to fucking go through thanks to Matt, what he possibly did to deserve falling for a guy who doesn’t feel the same.

“You know,” Zayn says carefully after a while. “You could tell him how you feel.” Louis snorts. “No, really,” Zayn insists. “I think it might put some things in perspective for you.”

“What, you mean like confirming that he doesn’t like me that way?” Louis snarks.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Louis sits up, ruining his blanket barrier. “What are you saying?”

Zayn shrugs. “Well, he called to check in, didn’t he? And I couldn’t hear his end of the conversation, but I could hear yours.”

“And?” Zayn shrugs again. Louis tugs at his hair. “Argh! You are the fucking worst!”

Zayn laughs lightly at him. “All I’m saying is– look, you know I’m not the biggest Harry fan. I don’t know what his excuse is for treating you the way he did when you first met–”

“He can’t help his biology,” Louis hears himself defending. “But he’s obviously able to tolerate it now.” It hasn’t been an issue at all lately, actually.

Zayn chortles, holding up his palms in surrender. “Alright, alright. What I was trying to say is, it maybe couldn’t hurt to see if there’s something more there.”

Louis swallows, attempting to clear the sudden frog in his throat. “And if there isn’t?”

Zayn smiles pityingly at him. “Then that’d be for the best too. Then you would know, and you could move on.”

Zayn stays until after supper, but goes home for the night, leaving Louis to toss and turn into the morning, thinking about Matt and the past, and Harry, all on an endless loop until his alarm goes off. He’s grateful to be going into work today, to give him something to distract him.

His phones buzzes with a notification while he’s getting dressed– it’s an Instagram follow request from @harrystyles. He hates the fact that he spends a few minutes making sure he hadn’t posted anything embarrassing recently.

He runs into Allison when he’s putting his leftover pizza in the office fridge for lunch.

“So,” she says, leaning against the worktop. Her slight bleachy scent makes Louis’s nose tickle. “Food poisoning.”

“Yep,” he says, meeting her eyes. Understanding passes between them. “24 hour bug. Sort of a freak thing.”

“Hmmm,” she says. “So does it count, then? As an official heat?”

Louis sighs. “No. I stopped it artificially, so I’ll still be out of commission in about six weeks.”

Allison looks over her shoulder quickly, even though they’re alone in the room. “You know,” she says quietly, “I’m in a clinical trial for a drug that brings heats down to once a year.”

Louis takes a step closer. “Seriously? That’s less than alphas’ ruts.”

Allison nods proudly. “It’s a daily shot, so it’s not the greatest setup.” Louis wrinkles his nose. He’s not got a phobia of needles, but the thought of poking himself daily isn’t appealing. “But I only have to take time off from work once a year. Everyone thinks I go home to visit my mum for ten days in the summer.”

“What about side effects?” Louis wonders. The thought of having only one heat a year is tempting. He feels a little bitter, only learning of this now. It could have changed his life, over the past eight years.

Allison shrugs. “I’m quicker to anger. Sometimes I feel like I can’t multitask as well as before.”

“So, basically, you’re an alpha,” Louis jokes, and Allison snorts, but she sobers quickly.

“It’s, erm, unlikely I’ll be able to have children. You wouldn’t need to worry about that, of course. Oh, don’t give me that look.” Louis hurries to school his face into something less pitying. “I never wanted them anyway,” she continues. “Knew it going in.”

“Can I ask you something though?” Louis asks, feeling bold, because this is the first time Allison’s ever so much as hinted at her gender, even though she always knew he knew. “Why all the secrecy?”

Allison tilts her head. “You know why.”

“But things are different now. They’re so much better than they were. Look at me, I’m the face of this company.”

“One of them,” Allison reminds him with a smirk. “And you’re also a man,” she adds bluntly. “Imagine being a female omega. Or a person of color.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees faintly.

“And think about why you needed to say you got food poisoning, instead of just telling the truth.”

“That wasn’t my idea,” Louis says. “But I would’ve found a way to lie about it if Mo hadn’t. I get your point. Believe me.”

Allison tosses her hair back. “I’m not ashamed of what I am, just so you know. I’m the one who pushed to have you interviewed.”

“I never thought you were,” Louis assures her. “And thanks.”

“No problem. I should have offered it before, but if you need anything, let me know. I’ll do what I can.”

They smile at one another.

“Oh, hey guys,” Tom from IT says as he enters the room. “Did one of you put the pot on?”

“Yep,” Louis lies, gesturing to the nearly-full coffee pot. “Have at it.”

When he looks back at Allison, she’s got her professional face on again.

“Glad you’re feeling better, Louis,” she tells him. “See you at the weekly overview meeting.”

“Yeah, see you.”

“Food poisoning, eh? Had it once a few years back, bloody miserable,” Tom says conversationally as he fills his mug. Louis finds a mug for himself in the cabinet over the sink and takes the pot from Tom when he’s through. He, Mo, and Bridget usually covertly send their PA to the shop down the road, but regular black will do for now. “What was it that brought you all down, you think?”

“Tough to say,” Louis murmurs. He’ll have to check stories with the others before he runs into anyone else this morning. “Have a good one, Tom.”

Half an hour later, Louis is unsurprised to see that Allison is as brusque and professional as ever as they all sit in the conference room briefing the team about their current projects. He is surprised to learn, however, that Desmarais, the french hotel owner from their failed pitch, has already followed up with the company about his other project. A Skype conference has been set up for this afternoon. The timeline is shocking. They’re usually booked weeks out for meetings. Louis is privately thankful they don’t have to meet in person again.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Mo says as they walk back to their offices after the meeting has concluded. “Thought he was just blowing smoke up our arses to get us to leave.”

“Don’t,” Louis warns Bridget flatly, before she can even open her mouth to make a joke. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“I wasn’t!” she protests, laughing. “You’re the one whose filthy mind went there the quickest!”

After lunch, the three of them plus Allison and Ben Wilde, one of their three co-owners, sit down in the conference room as they’re connected to Desmarais’s office.

“Hello, again,” Desmarais says cheerily. His head fills the large screen almost entirely. “Lovely to see all of you again. Although… there are some new faces I see.”

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Desmarais,” Wilde says. “We met once before, at an event in Paris many years ago. I very much appreciate your interest in our advertising agency. You’ve met Morris, Bridget, and Louis before. And this is our office manager, Allison. She’ll be taking notes during our meeting.”

“Very good,” Desmarais says, waving Wilde aside as if he were swatting at a fly. “Let me speak to the talent.”

Wilde balks. Louis suppresses a snort and glances at Bridget, whose eyes are wide with ill-concealed mirth.

Desmarais continues, “I was surprised and intrigued to see an omega among your copywriters. Louis, my dear, I have a question for you.” Louis spares a quick glance around the room. Allison is poised to type at her laptop, but her sudden tense shoulders give away her unease. Directly to his left, Mo disguises his low growl as a throat clear. “Have you ever been to a rut house, Louis?”

Louis knows about them, of course. Nearly every alpha he’s ever dated has spent at least one rut in one. They’re just like heat houses, only for A’s; clean, safe rooms for alphas to rent during their ruts, with assorted amenities depending upon budget. A standard room with a plastic-covered bed is free of charge to alphas in need. They’re popular with unmated or single alphas who share close quarters with O’s they’d rather not mount, or with alphas whose rut comes unexpectedly and they need to get away from the public. Just like A’s aren’t allowed in heat houses, omegas are banned from rut houses to protect everyone involved.

“Obviously not,” Louis says shortly, offended even at the question. Who does this man think he is?

“What would you say if I were to propose the opening of an exclusive, all-inclusive rut house in which willing omegas were allowed?” Desmarais asks.

“I’d say ‘how can you be certain they were willing?,’” Louis responds flatly.

Desmarais laughs. “You see, this is why I want you for this project. There are too many alphas thinking with their knot. And betas are…” he searches for the English word, “...dumb to the delicate issues of heats and ruts.” Wilde, a beta, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly annoyed. “To answer your question, Louis, we require all customers to sign a waiver indicating their willingness. If necessary, authorities can be called should an omega indicate they are in danger.”

“And if an omega is in heat, and can’t consent?” Louis presses.

Desmarais shakes his head. “We cannot accept omegas in heat at a rut house.”

Louis considers this. “Okay… is there security in the halls? Escorts to and from the rooms?”

“Yes. And separate entrances. I assure you, Louis, we’ve thought of everything.”

“Why not just stay home then, if you’ve found a partner to do that with?” Wilde asks out of nowhere, confused.

“Maybe you have flatmates,” Bridget suggests.

“Children,” Mo adds. “Or parents.”

“You won’t break your own belongings if things get rough.”

“You see,” Desmarais interrupts them with a smirk, “betas do not understand.”

“Non-alpha-omega partnerships,” Mo continues.

“Food delivery!” Bridget says with enthusiasm. “I always forget to stock up beforehand.”

“I think we understand,” Wilde says sharply. To Desmarais, he says, “So, you’re opening a rut house that lets in omegas. What sort of campaign are you wanting?”

“Isn’t that your job?” Desmarais asks wryly. By now the back of Wilde’s neck is bright red.

“The difficult part will be convincing O’s,” Louis says. “Historically, ruts have been dangerous for omegas. The thought of stepping foot inside a rut house is…” He doesn’t need to go on. The alphas in the room and on the screen look on with a mix of pity and guilt. Allison continues typing, jaw tense. “Anyway, I think you play up the exclusivity,. Romanticize it. Market it to couples who need the privacy. Not harping on the safety features, but making it subtly apparent.”

Desmarais smiles guilelessly. “Well, it is nothing I have not heard from my omega consultant, but it sounds even sweeter coming from your mouth.” And, there it is. The smarmy sweet-talking Louis has been waiting for. The room is silent, as everyone present sits awkwardly, unsure of what to say in response. Desmarais, either unaware or uncaring, continues on. “I’d like to arrange a contract, if you are amenable.”

The entire team looks around, wide-eyed, at one another. Their first international contract– just like that.

Wilde reacts first. “Excellent. Of course, monsieur, we are more than amenable. I have faith that my incredible team will give you precisely what it is you’re looking for.”

Desmarais claps his hands together once in satisfaction. “As do I.”

They end the call with plans for contracts to be drawn, and a more formal meeting in one week’s time, as the opening is scheduled for before year’s end.

“This is exciting,” Bridget comments excitedly as they make their way back to their shared office space. “Our first international contract, all thanks to those cheekbones.” She pokes Louis in the face. He swats her away.

“You’re comfortable with this, though, aren’t you?” Mo confirms, concern etched on his forehead.

“Course,” Louis scoffs. “What’s working with one more entitled alpha creep, anyway? No offense.”

“None taken,” Mo laughs, flopping down on the couch.

“Told you I’d do whatever it takes, didn’t I?” Louis jokes. He’s never appreciated being treated like an object, but unfortunately there are some times where one is forced to just grin and bear it. “Everything except being alone with him though, please.”

“Well, here’s hoping we’ll do most of our business via video conference,” Mo says.

“The question is,” Bridget says very seriously, “ where are we going to celebrate?”

They let Bridget pick the club, but they wait until Friday to go, because they’re getting too old to stay out until all hours on a weeknight. They invite some of the cool design and tech people as well. By 10:30, Louis is already pleasantly buzzed, and surrounded by coworkers and mates alike. All of his favorite people have accepted his invitation to go out tonight, even Zayn, although he’s lost him in the crowd. And, most importantly, Harry is there as well.

The man in question is currently holding court on the dancefloor. Louis happens to know Harry downed a few tequila shots with Liam beforehand, but Harry– in stark contrast to Louis– has never needed liquid courage to make a fool of himself dancing. It suits him, though, being a total spaz out there. Louis is a bit envious, if he’s honest.

Louis tears his eyes away from Harry for the tenth time as the group he’s stood with laughs uproariously at some joke Niall made. (Everybody fucking loves Niall.) Across the table, Bridget wiggles her eyebrows at him. She’d kept her mouth shut when Harry had politely introduced himself to her when he’d arrived, but Louis just knows he’ll get shit from her later. That is, if she remembers any of this. She’s well pissed and showing no signs of slowing.

Someone tugs at the back belt loop of his skinnies. When Louis turns, fully prepared to tell some bloke to fuck off, Harry crowds into his personal space. “Hey,” Harry says loudly, tucking his long, sweaty hair behind his ear. His breath is hot against Louis’s face. “Come dance with me.”

Louis laughs, pushing him away lightly. “Trust me, my coworkers do not need to see my attempts at dancing. I’d only embarrass myself.”

“Isn’t that Mo?” Harry asks wryly, nodding toward the dance floor with a smirk. Louis follows his gaze.

“Oh, shiiit!” Mo is indeed on the dance floor, grinding filthily with his wife. They look moments away from fucking right then and there. “Get it, Mo.”

Harry’s grin is salacious. “If Mo can do it, we can do it.”

Gooseflesh breaks out on Louis’s bare arms as he watches Mo and Cindy, imagining himself and Harry doing the same, in front of all these people.

Harry steps even closer, nostrils flaring. In his eyes, Louis sees playfulness and desire. It’s intoxicating, and all he wants to do is be where Harry is. Hopefully that means taking him home at the end of the night. Maybe they can get breakfast together in the morning.

“I’m gonna need another shot or two first,” Louis says. He tucks his fringe off his forehead and turns his head subtly to expose his neck, looking up through his lashes.

Harry stares, open mouthed, eyes darting from Louis’s neck, to his lips, then up to his eyes. “I can do that. Yeah.”

Louis’s heart is hammering at all his pulse points. “Okay.”

“What’s your drink?”

Louis reaches out and traces the top of the sweat-damp butterfly that’s peeking out of Harry’s obscene shirt. “Surprise me.”

Harry’s hand darts out to trap Louis’s. “Don’t,” he warns lowly. “I’ve got to– just wait, please.” He drags his hand through his hair and sucks in air through his mouth, visibly steeling himself. “Stay right here. Stay where I can see you. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” Louis assures him smiling flirtatiously. Harry lets go of Louis’s wrist, backing away slowly, until he’s forced to turn around to find the bar. Louis turns away too, back to the group he’s been standing with. He feels well on his way to drunk already, just from that interaction.

Across the bar table, Niall levels him with an amused, knowing look.

Louis’s endorphins remain in overdrive as he waits. He can hardly pay attention to the boisterous conversation around him. He tunes in just as they’re discussing a potential work football tournament, something he’s enthusiastically on board with. He has a heated discussion with Jack from design, debating whether holding tryouts would be good for company morale. But even football talk can’t distract him from his horniness. After several minutes, Harry still hasn’t returned. It’s a busy club, so Louis isn’t particularly worried, but he cranes his neck to look around just the same, eager to be back in Harry’s company.

And on his dick.

Fuck, maybe they should just get out of here. He’s lucky the club is crowded and filled with such a mixture of pheromones, or he’d be singled out immediately.

He spots him fairly easily through the crowd. Harry’s leaning up against the bar, but facing the bloke next to him. Two forgotten shot glasses filled with clear liquid sit at his elbow. He ducks his head, dimpling prettily at something the other man has said.

Louis swallows the sudden lump in his throat as he watches Harry take the phone the man is offering him. Harry bites his lip as he punches in his number, then grins and hands it back when he’s finished.

Louis has seen enough. He feels moments away from vomiting, and not from the alcohol. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him.

He needs a distraction.

“Gonna go find Liam,” Louis shouts to the group at large. None of them acknowledge him, so he turns abruptly and scans the crowd.

Liam is busy chatting up a bird in a booth just off the dance floor. Louis slides in next to him and buries his face in his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he croons.

“Tommo!” Liam jerks in surprise. “Stop! Can’t you see I’m– quit kissing my neck! No, wait! Bianca, he’s only–“ Liam slumps in defeat as the girl slinks away. Louis pulls away, satisfied.

“What the fuck, Louis?” Liam says, but it’s perfunctory. He sounds more relieved than anything.

“You didn’t like her anyway.”

Liam shrugs. “Zayn took the hot one. They went that way.” He points in the general direction of the toilets. “Still, something’s better than nothing.”

Liam has a nearly full gin and tonic in front of him that Louis snatches and gulps down. Liam makes vague protesting sounds as Louis drinks, but doesn’t really put any effort in trying to stop him.

“We can be one another’s wingmen,” Louis says, grimacing as he set the empty glass down.

Liam raises his eyebrows. “You looking to pull tonight, Tommo? Where’s H?”

Louis shrugs. “Found someone better,” he says to the bottom of his now-empty glass.

Liam looks doubtful, but he shrugs it off. “Alright. Get off me, though, no one’s gonna approach us if they think we’re together.”

“Or will they be intrigued and want to join?” Louis wags his eyebrows. “You look good tonight. I like the chain. Looks very heavy.”

“Are you just saying that?” Liam asks suspiciously. “Niall made fun of me for a solid ten minutes in the Uber over here.”

“Nah, mate,” Louis assures him. “It’s very, erm… urban.”

Liam looks at him like he’s not entirely sure if that’s a compliment, and to be honest, Louis isn’t so sure either. The gin and tonic on top of his several beers is starting to have an effect, maybe.

“Hey,” someone says loudly over Louis’s shoulder. Louis and Liam both turn to the voice, and Louis’s heart stops, then picks up again, double-time, with anxiety. It’s Harry, looking like he can’t decide if he’s more angry that Louis hadn’t followed his request, or elated to see Louis in one piece. “I was looking for you,” he says accusingly to Louis. “You didn’t– you said you wouldn’t move.”

“Yeah, fifteen minutes ago,” Louis says wryly. He throws an arm around Liam’s shoulders. “Liam needed some company.”

Harry appears to consider this, then lets it go, completely fucking oblivious to the fact that Louis's just seen him pull another bloke. He gives Louis a knowing smile, then slides two shots onto the table toward him. Seeing them makes Louis’s chest ache. While Louis had been anxiously awaiting Harry’s return, he’d been busy flirting with another guy.

The rational part of Louis’s brain recognizes that he doesn’t have any sort of claim whatsoever on Harry, and that Harry’s perfectly within his rights to give away his phone number to every single person in this club if he so chooses. But the hurt, petty, maybe-a-bit-drunk part of Louis’s brain doesn’t care. Harry’d had the nerve to try to pull when he’d already secured a sure thing moments before.  Well, he thought wrong.

“No thanks,” Louis says dismissively. “Think I’m gonna take it easy tonight.”

“You literally just downed my G and T,” Liam reminds him.

“Then by all means, drink up,” Louis encourages, pushing a shot toward him. Liam accepts, putting it back in one quick go. Louis chances a glance at Harry, who’s standing awkwardly at the end of the booth, confusion puckering his brow. “Sorry, mate, I’m just not feeling it at the mo’.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He glances quickly at Liam before settling his eyes on Louis again. “None of it?” Louis shrugs. Harry frowns. “Sorry it took me so long, I just got to talking to someone, and… yeah.”

“It’s fine, really,” Louis says, as breezily as he can muster. “Come and sit. Liam and I are being one another’s wingmen.”

“No fair,” Liam whines. “This is becoming a Zayn situation all over again.”

Louis gasps, mock offended. “Are you saying Harry can pull girls better than I can?”

“Yes,” Liam says decisively. “Not because you’re not beautiful,” Liam hurries to add. “You just give off an aura of disinterest. Harry here’d flirt with this table if it would flirt back.”

“I would not, Liam,” Harry protests grumpily as he slides into the booth across from Liam and Louis. Louis laughs loudly, because it’s true, and because he’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Just wear that mesh shirt you own,” Louis advises. “You’ll put all of us to shame.”

“Yeah, if I’m trying to pull blokes. I have to be in a particular sort of mood for that.”

“Desperate and high, you mean,” Harry translates dryly. Liam just shrugs, grinning sheepishly.

The several seconds of silence after that feel tense, but Louis is probably projecting his own discomfort. Liam doesn’t seem to notice, at any rate, and Louis overcompensates for it by being much too obnoxious. Eventually, though, they’re joking and conversing like they’re friends. Which, they are, Louis reminds himself as Harry’s knee knocks into his accidentally under the table and Louis jerks his leg away. They’re meant to be friends without feelings. It’s probably better that he’s not grinding against Harry’s pelvis on the dance floor as they speak.

The lone leftover shot from their failed plans stares innocently up at him from the table.

Two days later, on Sunday afternoon, when Harry texts him to see if he’s free, Louis chooses not to respond. He’s not angry anymore, but he’s still hurt. He just needs a little space.

Harry shows up anyway.

“Hiya,” Harry says, smiling tentatively, when Louis answers the door. It hasn’t yet been an hour since Harry’s text. “I was on my way over already, so thought I’d just pop in. Thought maybe you might be away from your phone.”

At all times, Louis is literally either clutching his phone in his hand, or searching frantically for it, but he nods along anyway. “Yeah, sorry, I was in the middle of a marathon.”

Harry kicks off his shoes. “Cool. Which one?”

Louis realizes he’s holding his arms in this awkward, zombie-like position out of pure shock and panic at Harry’s unexpected arrival. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his trackies. “Erm, Friends.”

Harry’s face lights up. “I love Friends!” He strides into the lounge and plops down onto the sofa. Louis trails behind him, attempting to allow his brain time to process what’s happened.

He’d thought it over for most of the day yesterday, and had come to the conclusion that to save himself some heartbreak, a little space might be beneficial. But, of course, it happens to be the one time Harry just takes it upon himself to waltz in.

Harry pats the space next to him, and Louis takes it, tucking his legs under his body.

“Is it okay that I came by?” Harry asks suddenly, tugging on his bottom lip with his fingers. “I just felt like– well, it seemed a bit weird the other night. The way we left things.”

“How do you mean?” Louis fakes confusion, although he knows precisely what Harry’s referring to.

After another hour or so at the club, Louis’d announced he was going home, and declined Harry’s offer to escort him there, going so far as to close the door of the Uber in his face when Harry followed him out. He isn’t on his best behavior when he’s been drinking.

“You didn’t think it felt weird?” Harry questions anxiously. “It’s just, you disappeared after I went to get drinks and then after you were, like…” He gestures helplessly and doesn’t continue.

The hurt and anger that Louis thought he’d settled begins to pool again. “I didn’t want to interfere," he says coolly. "You seemed a little busy.”

He meets Harry’s eyes. Harry stares back, wide-eyed and guilty.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Lou. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

Louis laughs dryly. “Didn’t you give him your number?”

Harry grimaces. “Well, yeah. But I wasn’t like, interested. I was only being polite.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis says, annoyed that he’s let his jealousy show so blatantly, and that Harry’s forced to appease him because of it. “I was just a little miffed you’d go for two blokes in one night, is all. He was cute. Great hair.”

“I’m telling you, I was genuinely not interested,” Harry insists earnestly. “I really wanted to spend time with you.”

Louis smirks bitterly. Spend time with him. Is that what they call it these days?

Harry looks sincere enough. His scent is calming, too. Louis decides to take his word for it, remembering the concert fiasco from before.  He'll forgive, but he won't forget. “You need to grow a backbone,” Louis says finally. “Assert yourself.” And quit fucking flirting back.

Harry smiles slowly, relief obvious on his face. “Next time I’ll text you to come save me, how about?”

“I already told you what to do, remember? Just pretend you have a boyfriend. Or, wait. Might work better for me because they’re scared my big, bad alpha is round the corner.”

“Omegas can be scary,” Harry says with a grin. “You scare me.”

Louis looks sideways at him. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

Harry only shrugs, smiling down at his hands in his lap. “You never told me why we were celebrating the other night, you know.”

“Didn’t I? You lushes just heard ‘party’ and showed up, eh?” Harry giggles, shrugging again. “We got our first international contract. We signed just the other day.”

Harry beams at him. “That’s amazing, Lou. The same company as when you went to Paris?”

“Same owner, different company. It’s for a rut house.”

Harry does a double take. “A rut house? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but it’s special. They’re letting omegas into this one.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “What? Doesn’t that seem unsafe?”

“That’s what I said, but they’ve got safeguards in place for that. It’s meant to be an exclusive place for couples to go. Sort of a nice idea, actually. Gonna be expensive as fuck, probably.”

Harry hums, clearly unsure. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do amazing no matter what.”

“They picked us specifically because of me,” Louis can’t help but brag. “Said he wanted an omega’s touch.”

“Did he now.” Harry raises his eyebrows in sudden, keen interest.

Louis smirks. “He did. He was an old, rich, horny alpha, but I’ll take any advantage I can get.”

Harry frowns. “As long as no one makes you uncomfortable.”

Louis waves away his concern. “Nothing I’m not used to. Besides, Bridge and Mo have my back.”

“Yeah, they seemed nice,” Harry agrees. “You know, if you ever need me to be your big, bad alpha lurking round the corner, just let me know.”

Louis snorts. Harry hates conflict. He can only seem to turn his alpha on when he’s horny. “Thanks.”

Harry’s smile falters a little, but he doesn’t say anything else, instead turning back toward the television. “I love this one,” he says after a beat. “Probably’ve seen each episode several times by now.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “It’s a good show to sort of mindlessly watch, innit?”

Harry hums in agreement. “If you were a Friends character, I think you’d be Chandler.”

“You’re definitely Ross,” Louis tells him, straight faced, breaking character when Harry literally squawks in offended laughter in response. “No, I’m joking. You’re more of a Phoebe. Or a Rachel.”

Harry considers this, then nods. “Not Monica?” he asks playfully.

Louis makes a face. “Nah, that’s definitely Liam.”

Harry chuckles awkwardly, smile dimming only slightly. “Yeah, true.”

They sit for several more minutes in silence, pulled in by the show. Finally, Louis breaks the silence. “So...are we gonna fuck or…?” They’re usually midway through by now. Not that Louis’s complaining, but he is a little curious.

Harry laughs. “I mean, yeah. If you’re up for it.”

Louis may be confused and a little heartsick, but he isn’t just not going to sleep with Harry when he’s sitting right in front of him. He nods.

Harry smiles bashfully, extending his arm across the sofa. “Alright. Come here for a minute first.”

Cuddling hasn’t been something they’ve done much of, aside from after knotting, which is essentially unavoidable. Louis’s always been a tactile person, though, and he’ll never say no to a cuddle. He waits for Harry to stretch out along the back of the sofa, then tucks himself in in front of him. Harry’s big hand settles on Louis’s stomach over his jumper.

It’s so nice. Louis’s been starved for this sort of affection, honestly, even with the regular sex. It doesn’t even feel awkward. They just watch the show, making occasional comments, and enjoying the intimacy of holding someone close. Harry seems to be enjoying it, anyway, if the way he’s moving his thumb back and forth over Louis’s hipbone is any indication. Louis lets himself imagine, a bit, about what life would be like if they did this every day.

One episode rolls into two, and Louis’s feeling pleasantly sleepy when Harry’s hand begins to roam. He starts by sliding his hand under the bottom of Louis’s jumper, fingertips barely grazing the skin on his belly. Then his hand ventures higher, brushing each of Louis’s nipples in turn. Louis hisses softly, pushing his arse back subtly. They’d already been flush together, but Harry presses back now with intent, and Louis can feel the hard line of his erection against his thigh.

“Mmm,” Harry growls, lifting his head so he can lick and kiss at the exposed skin of Louis’s neck, up to the shell of his ear. He puts his hand down the front of Louis’s trackies, and starts languidly pulling him off. Louis moans and rocks backwards, wishing he could line them up better. He’s nearly soaked through his pants already, and the smell of them together lingers around them like a cloud.

Louis pushes his own trackies and pants down to his knees, then reaches back to finger himself open lazily. He doesn’t do the most thorough of jobs, but judging by the pace of things, he’s in for a deep, slow fuck anyway. Harry leans up on his elbow to push his own sweatpants down, then they work in tandem, fumbling a bit with the awkward, tight angle, before Harry finally pushes in with a groan.

It’s hot in more ways than one. Louis is sweating in his jumper with Harry plastered to his back, and Harry grunts and purrs into his ear as he keeps up his instinctual scenting along Louis’s neck, all the while rocking in and out of him with deep strokes. The stretch hurts so good, and Harry’s hand on his dick distracts him from that hint of pain. Louis comes first, with a soft cry, and Harry follows closely after, pulling out just far enough to get a hand around the base of his dick to keep from knotting while he comes with a groan inside of Louis.

Harry doesn’t pull out immediately, and the two of them lie there, panting, as the world comes back into focus again. On the screen, the main menu plays a portion of the Friends theme song over and over again, on a loop. Louis hadn’t even noticed the show had stopped playing.

“That was good,” Harry drawls sleepily from behind him, kissing Louis’s neck one final time before dropping his head back onto the arm of the sofa.

“Mhmm,” Louis agrees, closing his eyes. This has felt different than all of the fucking they’ve done before. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time it’s happened since Louis has fully acknowledged his feelings.

But he’s not going to think about that now. He’ll think about it when he wakes up from this post-coital afternoon nap, in the arms of his crush, when Harry will inevitably say that he has to go and that he’ll see him next week.  And so the cycle will start again.  

He’s fucked– literally and figuratively.

The crick in his neck and the chill on his legs is what ultimately pull him back into full consciousness.  He's still on the sofa, with Harry curled up behind him like a cat.  Harry's limp, sticky cock has slipped out, and rests between the swell of Louis's arsecheeks.  He's snoring into Louis's ear.  Louis's upper body is sweating, and his naked lower body is freezing.  He sits up carefully with a groan, dislodging Harry's arm from around his waist.  He needs a shower.

Harry snorts himself awake.

"Hey," he says sleepily, reaching out a hand to pet Louis's hip once he's opened his eyes.  "Good kip?"

"Yeah," Louis agrees.  "Little sore though.  Can't imagine how you feel, squashed into the corner."

”I was cozy until you left,” Harry pouts.  He makes grabby hands at Louis.  “Come back.”

Louis laughs, pained.  Harry’s just so fucking endearing and it’s not fair.  “I have got to shower.”

Harry sighs and rubs his hands down his face.  “Alright.  I should probably get going anyway.”

They share private, sheepish grins as they stand and up and fix their trousers.

”Do you want to rinse off before you go?” Louis offers as he walks Harry toward the front door.

”Nah, I’m good,” Harry says.

Louis stands in awkward silence as Harry bends down to put on his trainers.  He usually just stays in bed while Harry hurries out soon after he’s come.  Today has been an anomaly.

”You know,” Harry says suddenly.  “Today was really good.  I liked... well... it was nice to just hang out a little together, I thought.”

Louis blinks in surprise. ”Yeah,” he agrees.  “I liked it too.”

Harry grins at him.  “Maybe we should take advantage of the friends part of the friends with benefits thing.”

”You mean like not hurrying out of my flat before the jizz even cools?” Louis teases crudely.  Harry freezes.  “I’m joking,” Louis says quickly, desperate to cover up his clinginess.  “It was just a joke.  You can leave whenever you like.”

”I just thought that’s what you wanted,” Harry insists, eyes wide and earnest.  “I’m not trying to hit it and quit it or anything.”

”It would be fine if you were,” Louis lies.  “It’s a no strings attached thing, right?”

Harry nods, though he’s still frowning.  “Anyway,” he says slowly.  “Let’s make a night of it next time.  Maybe a film and a proper Sunday dinner?”

Louis’s stomach rumbles.  ”That sounds fab, actually.  I’ve missed Sunday roast.  We could invite the lads, too.”

”Yeah,” Harry says.  “Sure, the lads too.”  He nods to himself.  “Actually,” he amends, “if they’re coming, might as well do it at mine.  Less food and equipment I have to rustle up.”

”I love that you assume you’ll do all the cooking,” Louis praises, smirking.  “So, this Sunday at yours?”

”Yeah, great,” Harry says with a grin, though he sounds oddly dissatisfied.  He’s probably worried how he’ll get it in with the lads around.

”Maybe we can sneak away to the toilet and I can blow you whilst the lads are in the other room,” Louis says conversationally, to lift Harry’s spirits.

It does the trick.  Harry’s eyes go dark and he swallows.  “Yeah,” he says lowly.  “I think that can be arranged.”

”You freak,” Louis teases, poking Harry in the dimple.  “Have a good week, Harry.”

”You too, Lou.  Do the latches on the door, yeah?”

Louis rolls his eyes.  “Yes, Alpha.”

He makes a show of latching each lock as loudly as he can, listening to Harry laugh as he walks away.  Then he slumps against the door and sighs.

Chapter Text

Louis clutches the bottle of wine he’d purchased last minute as he knocks on the door to Harry, Liam, and Niall’s flat. He’s strangely nervous, even though he’s done this dozens of times before. Harry’d texted him reminding him the night before, but otherwise they haven’t had any contact since their last fuck. Well, Louis liked one of Harry’s new photo uploads on Instagram, but that’s it.

There’s muffled shouting coming from inside the flat, so Louis takes it as his cue to enter.

“Heyo!” Niall calls from the lounge. “The fuck are ya knocking for?”

“I was being polite, Nialler,” Louis shouts back. “You should try it sometime.”

Niall makes a noise that Louis can’t be certain came out of his mouth.

Louis moves into the kitchen when the outraged yelling from Liam starts up. So, definitely not from his mouth, then.

“What a view!” Louis teases upon entering, spotting Harry bent over the open oven. Harry jerks in surprise and stands hurriedly, closing the oven door with a snap. He’s wearing skinnies and a jumper under an apron. His hair is tied back into a tiny ponytail.

“Lou!” he greets. “You’re here!”

“Well, you did invite me,” Louis tells him with a smirk, setting his wine down on the island. “And then reminded me about it.”

Harry frowns. “Sorry, was that annoying? I just know how you are with this stuff.”

“How I am?” Louis repeats, playing it up to get a rise out of him. It works. Harry sputters.

“I didn’t mean it like– it’s just your timetable’s a bit unreliable–”

“You’re saying I’m unreliable?”

“No!” Harry insists, extending his arms placatingly. He’s still wearing oven mitts. “Of course not, it’s just you’re late for everything, and–” he stops himself, huffing. “Forget it. Sorry.” He turns his back on Louis, dropping the mitts and fussing with something on the stove.

Louis instantly feels awful.

“I’m only joking, Harry,” he says quickly, attempting to laugh it away. “Just taking the piss. I like to see you get all flustered, is all. I’m a terrible timekeeper.” He moves closer, spotting the tentative grin on Harry’s face. “That apron is a good look for you, you know,” he compliments as a distraction.

Harry snorts, looking down at himself. The apron in question is pink gingham with frills around the edges. “Niall bought it for me as a joke. It makes him happy when I wear it.”

“It makes you happy when you wear it, don’t lie,” Louis teases, and Harry grins, turning back toward him.

“Maybe,” he agrees cheekily. “Listen, you don’t have to, like, sit in here whilst all the lads are in the other room. D’you want a glass of this wine?”

“Nah,” Louis says. “I don’t even like wine. I just panicked and bought it.”

Harry laughs, turning the bottle to have a look at the label. “Told you you didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Well, like I said… I panicked.” He pauses, admitting, “Might’ve been a bit nervous.”

They smile tentatively at one another. The swooping butterflies Louis’s felt in his belly since he’d walked into the kitchen continue their futtering.

“Oi, Tommo!” Liam shouts from the lounge. “Bring us another when you’re through flirting!”

Louis takes a step away from Harry, taken aback by the rude (and very true) call out.

“Fuck off,” he yells back, but he turns to the fridge to grab a few beers anyway. He didn’t mean to be so obvious, but Harry looks so adorably domestic like this. His stupid fucking crush is showing.

He pauses when he’s just about exited the kitchen. Harry hasn’t moved from his spot near the stove. “Are you comin’?”

“Just about done here,” Harry says, appearing to shake himself out of a momentary reverie. “You go on and I’ll call you all through in a mo.”

“Thanks, mum.”

Harry rolls his eyes and flips him off with a grin as Louis backs out of the kitchen.

Louis drops Liam’s beer into his lap, dodging the punch he expected.

“Took ya long enough,” Niall says, not taking his eyes off the television. “Do you know we tell you to come a half an hour earlier to things so you’ll be on time?”

Louis elbows him as he flops down beside him. “Fuck off, it’s not yet time to eat.”

“Yeah, because we told you to be here thirty minutes early,” Niall says dryly.

“Never should have told me, mate.” Louis shakes his head, bemused. “Now I’ll just expect I’ve got more time and come even later.”

“Then we’ll put you on the Zayn timetable,” Liam says with a grin. “Speaking of…”

“I’m not waiting for him,” Niall says firmly.

Harry emerges from the kitchen minutes later, flyaways curling around his face from the heat. He’s taken off the apron. “Come and eat, lads.”

“Thanks, mum,” Niall echoes Louis’s earlier joke, and he pulls a face at Harry, who only rolls his eyes, giggling.

The dining room table is proper set up. The lads don’t own china, but Harry’s done the table settings and even lit candles. The food is set in dishes to be served family style.

“Wow,” Louis says as they all take a seat. “Well done, Harry.”

They’ve done Sunday dinners together before. Harry usually cooks then, too, but they usually eat on the couch with their feet up on the coffee table, not like a proper family with a proper roast.

“Thank you,” Harry says, smiling proudly. “Thought we could all use a bit of home. All Louis eats is biscuits and cereal.”

“Oi,” Louis protests, as the others snicker. “I get takeaway too. Sometimes there’s even vegetables.”

Harry ignores him, leaning over to pile a heaping portion of steamed carrots onto his plate. “Tuck in,” he says cheerily.

“Maybe you are like Monica,” Louis muses, and Harry grins.

“Who?” Liam wonders, mouth full.

“Nothing,” Louis says. “Private joke.”

Liam hums, exchanging a look with Niall, and doesn’t press the matter.

“Oh, here,” Harry says suddenly, darting into the kitchen and returning with Louis’s wine bottle, already opened. “Louis brought wine.”

“No thanks–” Niall starts to say, moving to cover the top of his wine glass. Harry slaps his hand away and pours anyway. Liam, wide eyed, simply hands his glass over to be filled without a fight. Harry beams at Louis once he’s through.

“Thought you’d maybe invite Rick tonight,” Liam says to Harry as they pass around the rest of the plates. “You two’ve been attached at the hip lately.”

“Ooh, who’s that?” Louis sing-songs, even as his heart sinks. “Guy from the club?”

“Guy from what club?” Niall asks, confused.

“It’s not the guy from the club!” Harry insists with annoyance.

“Guy from what club?” Niall asks again.

“Harry gave some bloke his number last weekend,” Louis supplies, waggling his brows in false innuendo.

“He’s a work friend. We’ve hung out a few times, is all,” Harry says, turning toward Louis.

A work friend. As in, another photographer? An underwear model?

“Nice guy,” Liam says to Louis, unaware of his internal struggle. “You’d like him.”

Louis doubts that very, very much.

“Maybe next time,” Harry says dismissively, piercing a bit of meat with his fork. “This one was just for old friends.”

“Don’t know why we ever stopped doing this,” Niall comments. “Oh, yeah,” he adds, like a lightbulb has just gone off. “It was when the two of ya started fucking.” He takes a bite of roast. “How’s that going for you?” Harry and Louis both stare at him with matching expressions of disdain. Niall chuckles. “That good, eh? Listen, as long as I don’t have to choose sides in the end, I’m cool with it.”

“It’s not like that,” Louis says, glancing Harry’s way. He can’t believe they’re actually addressing the elephant on the room. “It’s literally just sex.” He avoids looking Harry’s way when he says it though, in fear of his face telling a different story.

“Seems you’re getting along better now, though,” Liam says. “That’s a plus, yeah?”

“We’re friends, yeah,” Louis agrees. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry shift in his seat.

“Yeah,” Harry affirms. “Just friends. More gravy, anyone?”

The rest of the meal is fairly uneventful. They talk about Liam and Niall’s work, and their most recent artist, who they’re sure is poised to be the next big name.

Eventually, though, they push their plates away, stomachs full. Niall, despite his earlier hesitation, has imbibed in a few glasses of Louis’s cheap wine, and is pleasantly jolly and a bit red in the cheeks.

“Anyone up for a nightcap down the road?” he asks as they bring their plates into the kitchen. “I’ve got to get these dishes in the dishwasher beforehand.”

“I’ll do it,” Harry offers gamely.

Niall pulls a face. “You did the cooking though, H. Not exactly fair.”

“Louis will help.” Harry shoots Louis a satisfied smirk.

“Who says I don’t want a nightcap instead?” Louis balks.

“Your eight o’clock alarm says so,” replies Harry. He jerks a thumb toward the others. “These two wake up whenever they want.”

“Hey now,” Liam objects. “Rock stars keep insane hours, I’ll have you know.”

“We can see when we’re not wanted,” Niall says haughtily, though he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Louis blinks in surprise, a bit slow on the uptake, apparently, as Harry hides his own smirk by rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Come on, Payno. Down to the pub we go.” He casts one last hesitant look at the dishes before he shrugs it off. “No public areas!” he yells as he and Liam make for the front door. “I better not find Tommo’s arseprint on anything!”

“You'll regret saying that!” Louis shouts back, snickering, just before the door slams closed. “Shit, what can I press my bum on that we know he’ll see?” Louis scans the room. “He’ll murder me if I do it in the kitchen. What about the sliding glass door? I’ll need to figure out some way to get the print to show up– like, maybe get sweaty–”

“Louis,” Harry says abruptly. “The only thing I want you putting your arse on is my face.”

Louis turns to him, jaw hanging open at the unexpected alpha voice.

“Well, this took a turn,” he jokes, pulse speeding up as Harry advances on him until he’s caged against the worktop.

“I’ve been waiting for it all night,” Harry admits with a growl, nudging his nose along the side of Louis’s neck, which he can’t help but display on instinct.

Something about that comment sends a twinge straight to Louis’s heart. Then again, Harry’s voice, proximity, and fucking tiny ponytail send a different sort of zing straight to his dick and arse.

Dick and arse win out on this one. He allows Harry to pull him out of the kitchen and down the hallway to his closed bedroom door. Harry hesitates a moment, before he turns the handle, like he’s considering whether or not he wants to share this much of his private self with Louis. That, or he’s wondering if he picked his dirty pants up off the floor. He pushes the door open after a beat, then gestures for Louis to enter first. He’s lost a bit of his alpha bravado.

“I’ve never been in here before,” Louis says, looking around. It’s different than he’d pictured. More lived in, less posh. There’s clothes spilling out of an open wardrobe, and photos all over the walls. There’s a camera sitting in pieces on the tiny desk in the corner of the room. The bed is made, and it smells overwhelmingly like tobacco and vanilla candles. He sees two of them on the bedside table, each burned nearly to the bottom of the jar. Harry’s natural alpha scent swirls around him too. The scents mixed together are strangely and familiarly arousing. He’s almost dizzy with it.

“It’s not much, I know,” Harry says. “I suppose you wonder why I’d still be living with mates at my age.”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” Louis says honestly. He shakes his head to clear away the heady thoughts and moves closer to inspect an assortment of personal photographs. Many of them are Harry’s family, Louis surmises, but several of them are more recent. He sees Harry and his band mates, Liam and Niall, and even one of himself. It’s a group shot, taken at a fancy dress party. Louis is lying across the laps of all the lads, dressed as a gladiator.

“I’ve been thinking about it, you know. Getting my own flat. Now that the business is doing well and I’ve saved up a bit. Only, London’s so expensive, and… I dunno, I guess it’s nice having someone around to talk to.”

Louis turns back around to face him, and finds him tugging on his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. “So why get a place of your own, then?” Harry shrugs, then gestures between them. Louis raises an eyebrow. “Hookups?”

“I guess so. I mean, I’m nearly thirty and still living with mates. Not exactly a catch.”

Louis stares at him. “You’re mad. You think I’d be living alone if I didn’t have to be? If there’s anyone who can’t do well on their own, it’s me. My bank account’s not pleased, either.”

“Why’d you not find a flatmate? Or live with Zayn?”

Louis snorts. “Zayn would jump off a building before living with me again. And it’s not exactly easy, or safe, as an omega to just… get any old flatmate.”

Harry grimaces. “Right. Makes sense, yeah.”

They stare at one another in awkward silence.

Being in such close proximity, in Harry’s space with his scent everywhere, Louis can’t keep up the small talk any longer.

“So… has the flat talk officially ruined the mood, or…?” Louis prompts.

“No,” Harry says quickly, shaking his head. He stands straighter, broadening his shoulders instinctively as he steps toward Louis. “No, definitely not. I’m ready.”

Louis tilts his head, exposing his neck. “How do you want me?”

“Naked,” Harry says immediately, voice rough. “Arse up on my bed.”

Louis’s been half-aroused the entire time he’s been in Harry’s bedroom, but he’s suddenly slick with it. His mouth goes dry as his arse gets damp. Harry’s nostril flare in response to the sudden scent change, and he reaches down to adjust himself in his skinnies. Louis’s eyes track the movement, watching Harry palm his already hard dick, that still manages to look big even in Harry’s huge hands.

“Well?” Harry prompts suddenly, and Louis looks up to find him staring back challengingly, eyebrows raised. Louis suppresses a shiver. Typically outside of heat sex, Harry prefers to let Louis set the tone. This is a bit different, and really fucking exciting.

Louis pulls his sweats and pants down in one go, already sockless. Then he yanks his hoodie and t-shirt off as well, dropping them on the pile. Harry watches him with dark eyes, still slowly rubbing his cock through his trousers.

“On the bed, then,” Harry orders with a nod. Louis smirks and makes a show of turning around and putting one leg up on the bed ever so slowly, watching Harry over his shoulder as he does so. Harry’s eyes roam from his thighs to his arse and back again as he hurries to unbuckle his trousers. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he praises. “Wish I could take a picture of this. Wank to it every night. You on my bed waiting to get fucked.”

Louis buries his head between his arms and ruts down onto the bed, groaning. Suddenly, Harry’s hands are on him, trailing from his calves to his thighs, then up to his bum, where he squeezes hard, then lets go. The bed dips as Harry joins him. Harry straddles his legs, hard cock settling between Louis’s arsecheeks as he moves his hands further up Louis’s back, like a makeshift massage. Louis groans as Harry hits a particularly sore spot with his thumb, just under his shoulder blade.

“Feel good, baby? Want me to give you a rubdown?”

“Mm, yeah,” Louis moans, as Harry uses his thumbs to dig at the flesh around his shoulders.

“Hang on a minute,” Harry tells him. He grinds his dick between Louis’s cheeks once before lifting himself off Louis and the bed. He darts out the bedroom door, closing the door behind him. Louis gets up on his elbows, confused. Harry is back in a flash, sliding through the door and clicking it closed again, this time turning the lock on the handle, which Louis is fairly certain they forgot to do the first time.

Harry comes back up onto the bed holding a small bottle of lotion.

“Ah, the full spa treatment,” Louis laughs, relaxing back down as Harry reaches for a pillow and shoves it under Louis’s hips. He tries not to think about the fact that his dick and balls, and inevitably, his slick, are all over the place Harry rests his head. Harry may have to burn these sheets.

“Happy ending included,” Harry adds with a chuckle as he straddles Louis again, adjusting his dick so the head rests exactly at Louis’s hole. He grinds forward shallowly, and they both groan. “Here, where does it hurt?”

Louis listens to him uncap the lotion and squirt some in his hands. “Everywhere. Think I slept funny last night. Warm it up first,” he orders, closing his eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Harry hums as he slides his palms together. “Just relax.”

Louis does. Or, he tries to anway. Harry’s hands are like heaven on his back muscles, but Louis is distracted by the gentle grinding of his hips as the head of his dick works its way into him. The stretch is slow and gentle, but still intense. Louis chases that feeling, literally and figuratively, by rocking his hips back to meet Harry’s thrusts. Harry massages intermittently until he just gives up the pretense entirely, gripping Louis’s hips and thrusting with more strength.

“This okay, baby?” he growls softly. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” Louis whines back, turning his head to get out of the drool spot he’s left on the sheet. “Fuck me.” Harry obeys, pushing all the way into Louis and pulling nearly all the way out again. Louis grips the bedsheet hard as his body accommodates. “So big. I love it.”

“Biggest you’ve ever had?” Harry asks gruffly, slamming back in. Louis yelps, then laughs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Harry swats him sharply on the bum for his cheek, then groans and does it again, just because he likes it. “I’m so close already. Having you in my bed... God.”

“Come, then,” Louis orders, beginning to tug at his own dick. “I’m so close too. Yeah– right there.”

“Can I come inside you?” Harry asks suddenly, voice tight. “I won’t knot, I promise.” Louis has actually thought quite a lot about knotting in the past week, now that he knows where he stands with his feelings for Harry. He’s not sure how to bring it up, or what excuse to give for changing his mind. Now isn’t the right time, anyway.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, and Harry doubles his efforts, slamming into him with such force that Louis loses his grip on his own cock. It doesn’t matter, though, because Harry hits him right in that spot over and over again, and with the combination of that and the friction of the pillow under him, Louis comes with a shout as Harry fills him up at the same time.

“Shit,” Harry grinds out, pulling out after one final, weak thrust. “Almost didn’t make it, there.” He collapses onto the bed next to Louis. He grimaces, shifting to grab and toss the lotion bottle across the room.

“I came all over your pillow,” Louis tells him. Harry hums, reaching down to pull the pillow from under Louis’s hips and drop it on the floor.

“I’ll wash it later. Come here.” He opens his arms for Louis, then buries his face in Louis’s neck, licking a path from shoulder to ear.

“Didn’t know alphas did that to O’s they didn’t knot,” Louis says.

Harry pulls back, chastened. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind it,” Louis hurries to say. “I, erm, like it, actually. Just think it’s interesting.”

“It’s just instinct,” Harry says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Part of me wants you to smell like mine.”

“Part of me wants that, too,” Louis admits. They stare at one another, soft smiles on their faces.

Harry opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by the slam of a door and Niall’s loud, “Heyooo!”

Harry tenses, pulling Louis close and glaring at the door warily, as if he expects Niall and Liam to come charging into his bedroom.

“We’re home!” Niall yells from somewhere in the hallway. “Liam’s making me check to see if it’s safe to come in or if Harry’s gonna maul him again.”

“Fuck off!” Harry shouts, rather aggressively, at the same time as Louis yells, “It’s fine!” Niall only laughs loudly.

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis comments, brows raised. “No wonder you want your own flat. D’you do this to Liam with every O you bring home?”

Harry scowls at him. “Don’t talk about Liam or other O’s right now. You’ve still got my come in you.”

Louis’s playfulness dims. “What’s your problem? We haven’t even knotted in ages.”

Harry’s frown morphs into something slightly more apologetic. “Sorry. Guess I’m just feeling a bit weird, with you in my room and like, where I sleep. Everything feels a little heightened.”

Louis sits up, a little hurt and a lot confused. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I can go.”

“No!” Harry tugs on him until he’s forced to lie down again. “Don’t go, I’m sorry.”

Louis remains stiff, eyes on Harry’s hand around his forearm. “Are you saying that because you want me to stay, or because your alpha doesn’t want me to go?”

Harry shrugs, looking down. “Both, I guess. We talked about not rushing out after sex, remember?”

Louis sighs. The come is starting to trickle out of him, and his sweat is cooling. “I’ll take a shower, and then I’ll go.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, chewing on his lip. “I’ll take you home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis dismisses. “It’s cool.”

“No,” Harry says firmly. “I’m definitely taking you.”

“That’s stupid,” Louis insists, jerking his arm out of Harry’s hold and sitting up again. “Why would you go out of your way to do that when you’re already at your flat?”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair, which has fallen out of its ponytail. “Lou, I’m telling you now, I literally cannot let you go anywhere alone so soon after fucking. Not until I know you’re somewhere safe.”

Louis groans in frustration. “Stupid fucking alpha. What’s the point of not knotting if you’re just gonna act like we’re tied, anyway?”

Harry crosses his arms stubbornly. “You tell me.”

Louis stares at him, agape. He doesn’t know this Harry; this possessive, angry alpha, outside of heat sex. He doesn’t understand it, and he doesn’t like it.

“Well,” Louis says shortly, standing. “I’m going to go have a shower. If you follow me, I will literally bite your dick off.”

Harry growls, looking very much like he wants to object. Eventually, he leans down and yanks the bedsheet off the end of the bed. “At least cover up, would you?”

Louis snatches it from him, a bit surprised Harry conceded so quickly. He must realize what a prick he’s being. Louis wraps himself in the sheet as regally as he can, then marches to the door.

There’s sound coming from the kitchen, but Louis walks straight to the toilet without stopping after closing Harry’s door behind him. The lad’s toilet is decently sized, and always very clean. Louis steps into the shower as quickly as possible, the movement of walking reminding him why he needed to bathe in the first place, as slick and come slides down his inner thighs.

He’s hardly had time to even relax under the hot spray when there’s a knock on the door.

“Lou?” Harry calls through the door. “Can I come in for a second?”

Louis sighs. “Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t open the curtain to look at him, but he hears Harry close the door behind him.

“Brought you fresh clothes to put on afterwards,” Harry tells him. “You might have to roll up the sweats a bit.”

“Thanks.”

“And, erm, I wanted to apologize, too. For acting like I was your alpha, or something.”

Louis swallows. The thought of Harry as his alpha makes his knees weak, if he’s honest. Possessiveness and all. Harry continues. “And I think you’re right– it’s good that we don’t knot. Keep it as casual as possible.”

Louis’s heart drops into his stomach. “Yeah,” he agrees out loud. “Probably best.”

There’s silence for several seconds. Then the shower curtain moves as Harry pokes him blindly through it.

“Do you forgive me, then? For being a knothead?”

Louis giggles as Harry catches him in the rib. He swats at Harry’s finger through the curtain.

“Course I do. Just took me aback is all.”

Harry huffs in laughter. Louis chances a peek out the side of the curtain and finds Harry, wearing only a tiny pair of pants, leaning against the sink, looking at the floor. “Me too. It’s never– well, I’m usually able to control it better, outside of your heats. Like I said, I think it’s just being here, at my flat, in my room, you know?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, although he’s not sure he does know. He’s not entirely sure why his presence alone would cause such a reaction, the only difference being that they fucked here at Harry’s, versus at his own flat.

Harry clears his throat. “So, anyway, I’d love to take you home, if you still wanted to do that. Or… you could stay here with me. For the night.”

Well, that’s an offer he wasn’t expecting. He hopes Harry isn’t just asking because he feels bad. Regardless, Louis considers it, because there’s nothing he wants more than to spend more time with Harry.

“I do have a change of clothes at the office.”

“Great!” Harry says cheerily, like the conversation has already closed. Louis rolls with it. “We can watch a film in my room, if you want.” Them he adds, with slightly less sincerity, “Or with the lads, too.”

Louis has to laugh. “We can watch it in your room and stay away from big, bad Liam.”

“Thank God,” Harry sighs dramatically, but Louis can tell he’s smiling. “I’m gonna go finish the dishes with Niall. He’s probably cross.”

“Alright,” Louis says. “See you in a bit.”

He should probably stick to his guns and go home. That’d be the safest thing for his heart. But he’s weak.

By the time he pads back into Harry’s room, smelling of Harry’s shampoo and body wash, and wearing Harry’s clothes, the sun has gone down and the room is mostly dark except for the flicker of the television.

Harry’s sitting up against his headboard on his freshly-made bed, still clad in only his pants. He grins when he sees Louis in the doorway. “You look cozy,” he comments.

Louis closes and latches the door behind him. “Thanks. I’ve always loved this jumper of yours.” It’s lilac, and softer than it looks.

Harry hums, looking Louis up and down with a pleased smile on his face. He pats the spot next to him. “Come here.” Louis snuggles in next to him, and Harry tucks the duvet around them both. “How do you feel about crime documentaries?”

Louis wakes to the sound of his alarm the next morning, pleasantly warm and feeling extremely well rested, with a snoring alpha pressed against his back. He’d had the foresight to set his alarm a bit earlier so he can leave from Harry’s and have time to change into his spare outfit at work before anyone sees him.

He leans across the bedside table to turn off his phone, and Harry’s hands chase him and pull him back. He’s got some considerable morning wood, nestled in just the right place. Louis can smell himself, and the way it blends in so nicely with Harry’s scent all around him.

Well, maybe Louis could be a little late for work.

He grinds back experimentally and the snoring abruptly stops, only to be replaced by a low growl.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, attaching his lips to Louis’s neck. He hums low in his throat as he licks a path up his throat, flipping Louis onto his back so he can more easily hover over him. He leans on one elbow so he can use his other hand to tug down the collar of the lilac jumper. “Fuck,” he groans against Louis’s neck. “We can’t right now.”

“Tell that to your prick,” Louis breathes back, squirming as a wave of arousal hits him.

“Seriously,” Harry says, pulling his mouth away but allowing his hand to roam under the hem of Louis’s borrowed jumper and up to his nipple. “If I fuck you right now, I’m gonna want to barricade you in my room the rest of the day.”

Louis swats his hand away. “In that case, don’t rile me up anymore. I have to take public transportation to the office, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says, rolling over onto his stomach in Louis’s spot when he climbs out of bed. “You can wear my clothes if you want. I’d prefer it, even.” He groans and humps the bed a few times. “Fuck, I’m never washing these sheets. They’ll be crusty when I’m finally through with them.” He pulls Louis’s pillow to his face and breathes in deeply.

Louis’s stomach clenches. He admires Harry’s commitment, but there’s no reason to lie about being attracted to Louis’s scent when they both know the truth. He laughs bitterly. “Very funny.”

Harry stills, moving the pillow so he can frown up at Louis as he collects yesterday’s clothes from the floor. “I wasn’t joking.”

“Right,” Louis says sarcastically. “Would you loan me some socks?”

“Top drawer,” Harry says, nodding toward the wardrobe. “Why are you mad at me all of a sudden?”

Louis snorts as he turns and collects the socks. “We both know what you think of my scent. You don’t have to fucking pretend you’re into it. It’s offensive, and I’m not sure who it makes look worse.”

Harry sits up abruptly. “Are you fucking joking?”

“Are you?” Louis challenges in return, even though it makes no sense. He’s getting in his head about it again, wondering why he’s sleeping with someone who’s only in it for the convenient sex, and why Harry would put himself through something underwhelming at best, sickening at worst. “We both know what happened when we met the first time. I’m glad you can manage to control your gag reflex now, but implying my scent is like some big turn on for you just isn’t on.”

Harry stares at him for several seconds, gobsmacked, until he laughs in disbelief. “You think I don’t like your scent? Louis, I almost jumped you in the lift that day!” At Louis’s disdainful look, Harry becomes more insistent. “I’m serious, Lou! I was like, five days away from my rut and some fit, wet omega comes up to me and then traps me in a lift– it was all I could do not to pin you to the fucking wall!”

“You’re lying,” Louis accuses hotly.

“I’m dead serious,” Harry nearly shouts, wrenching his hand through his hair in aggravation. “Ask Niall or Liam! This whole time I thought you knew, and hated me for being an out of control knothead!”

“Wait,” Louis says, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re telling me you were acting that way cuz you liked it?”

“Louis,” Harry says seriously. “I’m literally always turned on when you’re around. I’ve learned to control it, but… sometimes it’s all I can do not to like, rub up against you. You smell so fucking good, it’s like… overwhelming sometimes.” Louis just stands there, in the middle of the room, socks forgotten in his hand. “Is this why you’re always talking like me fucking you is such a hardship on me?” Louis nods dumbly. “Jesus, Lou. I’m telling you now– fucking you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It’s why I can’t do my rut with you, cuz I don’t think I could control myself.”

“I mean,” Louis says slowly, considering. After Harry’s initial reticence had disappeared, he’d always been eagerly up for it. It’s obvious he can get sex from virtually anyone who meets him, so it’s not like he’s desperate for it. The sex is really good. “I suppose it makes sense. You were literally the only person on the planet turned off by my scent.”

Harry stares at him like he’s an utter loon. “And you didn’t find that strange?”

Louis scoffs. “Why d’you think I was so offended?”

They stare at one another suspiciously, until the mood slowly lightens and they find themselves grinning at one another.

“Anyway. I definitely am attracted to your scent.” He gestures to his bedside table. “Obviously.” He giggles. “Thought I was being really obvious. I’m surprised Niall didn’t say anything.”

“Sorry,” Louis says frowning again. “Afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me.”

Harry scoffs in surprise. “The candles?” When Louis doesn’t immediately cotton on, he continues. “I found one that smells just like your scent.”

Louis’s jaw drops. “You’re joking. You bought candles that smell like me?”

Harry groans and covers his face. “I know, it’s fucking embarrassing.”

“It’s…” Louis doesn’t have words. All he knows is that it feels big, for Harry to go out of his way to keep Louis’s scent around. His heart does a little leap of hope. Maybe there’s more than just sex here. “Do I really smell like that to you?”

“What do you smell like to you?” Harry asks curiously. Louis shrugs.

“Just like me, I suppose. Doesn’t really have a definite flavor.” He’s a bit overwhelmed. He’s had to come to terms lately with a lot of things he’d thought were universal truths before he started sleeping with Harry Styles. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Oh, right,” Harry says quickly. “Yeah, me too. Do you, erm, want some breakfast before you go?”

“No thanks,” Louis says. He’ll pick up a breakfast sandwich on the way to the office. He’s got a good excuse to fill himself up with greasy calories, and he’s going to take it. “Stay in bed, I can see myself out. I’ll return your clothes to you sometime.”

Harry smiles. “No rush. I’m sure I’ll see you next weekend. Maybe before, if you’re up for it? We could get a bite. Or watch a film.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. He’s still got the balled-up pair of socks in his hand. He’ll put them on in the hall.

“Listen,” Harry says suddenly, just as Louis’s turning away. “I didn’t mean to make this weird for you. I’m totally casual about all this. Just because I love your scent doesn’t mean I’m looking for anything more. It’s just like, good to get off to.”

“Right,” Louis laughs bitterly, feeling utterly devastated. “Just what I’ve always dreamed of: being everyone’s favorite spank bank material.”

Harry’s face falls. “No, Lou– that came out all wrong.”

“I know what you meant,” Louis says, before Harry can begin a bumbling apology. “It’s just sex. Good sex.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, looking like he doesn’t particularly. “Listen, I’ll ring you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes. “Thanks for last night.”

Then he hightails it the fuck out of there. Maybe he’ll even get two breakfast sandwiches. With extra bacon.

He doesn’t have very long to lick his wounds, as it turns out. Harry calls him as he’s leaving the office that same night, asking if Louis’d eaten yet and offering up his famous steak fajitas. It’s a bit unprecedented. They’ve limited all of their hook-up time to just the weekends so far. But, then again, Harry had said he wanted to try friendship as well (which may or may not directly contradict what he’d just said about only wanting to get off– he’s too confused to be certain).

Louis says yes, of course, because he’s utterly whipped, and ridiculously hungry.

Harry arrives only an hour after their phone chat, carrying two reusable grocery bags filled with plastic containers of food.

“Wow,” Louis comments, once Harry’s set his loot down in the kitchen. “Where did you get all this?”

“Made it,” Harry says with a proud grin as he unpacks. “It was only an editing day, so I took the afternoon to whip this up, because I was craving it. Liam and Niall are working late tonight, and my mate, Rick, was busy, and I remembered how little fresh food you put in your stomach, so. Easy decision.”

“Rick,” Louis repeats, having stopped listening the moment the man was mentioned. “Liam’s Rick?”

Harry pauses, putting the pieces together. “Oh, yeah, Liam mentioned him the other day, didn’t he? Yeah, one and the same.”

Louis hums. “You must make fast friends.”

Harry shrugs. “Well, we’re in the same industry, and we bonded through commiseration. Like you, and Mo, and Bridget.”

‘Yeah,' Louis wants to say, ‘but you don’t see me spending all my time outside of work with them.’

“Suppose so,” Louis says cheerily instead. “Now, what have you made me, chef Styles?”

“All the fixings,” Harry announces with a smile. “Wasn’t sure exactly what you liked, so I brought everything.” He opens up a tiny container and shows it to Louis. It’s filled with chopped onions.

“That’s really sweet of you.”

Harry shrugs, sheepish. “Thanks.”

They take their plates out onto the tiny patio to enjoy the warm spring evening. Harry tells him a bit about his most recent contract, and then they swap stories about the worst clients they’ve ever had. Louis’s doubled over in laughter by the end of it, and Harry’s laughed so hard he knocked all the excess sweet corn off his plate and onto the ground.

“Oh, just leave it,” Louis suggests when Harry makes to pick them up. “Birds’ll be happy.”

“Dunno, Lou. Wouldn’t want them to start expecting it. Might turn into a scene from The Birds.”

Louis shudders. “Pick ‘em up, then. Every last kernel.”

Harry laughs and does as he’s told.

It finally goes awkward, once the dishes are in the sink and Harry’s containers are packed away again. They’ve avoided talking about anything relating to last night so far, and Louis hopes to keep it that way. He prides himself on his excellent compartmentalization skills when it comes to his feelings about Harry, and he’s not about to start over-analyzing anything now. There’ll be plenty of time for that when he’s trying to fall asleep tonight.

“So,” Louis starts, about to suggest that they take this to the bedroom, or maybe against the back of the couch. It’s the perfect height to be bent over, they both know from experience. Not great to wipe come off of, however.

“Well, I’d better head home,” Harry interrupts. “I’ve actually got to pop by my office for some negatives I need to go through. That’s what I get for skiving off work, eh?” He laughs derisively, but his nonchalant air can’t hide his apprehensive eyes. “Thanks for letting me cook you dinner.”

“Anytime. Truly,” Louis insists, patting his belly. “But, ehm, are you sure you don’t…?”

“Is that alright? It’s just nice sometimes to hang out, no expectations, don’t you think?”

“...Yeah,” Louis agrees after a beat. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have spent those minutes in the shower shaving his arsehole, but whatever. “Wait. This isn’t about yesterday, is it?” he asks suspiciously. He knows Harry caught onto Louis’s hurt at being likened to a favorite sex toy. Maybe this is him trying to make up for it.

“No,” Harry says, mostly convincingly. “Just wanted to see you. You’re fun to talk to.”

“Thanks.”

Harry continues, “It’s not all about the sex for me. I like you, and I’m… I’m glad we’re friends. And I said I wanted to do more things as friends last Sunday, remember?”

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Louis laughs. “So you’re saying you don’t want to fuck me tonight?” he teases. He’s both pleased and disappointed by Harry’s commitment to their budding friendship. He’s got his body raring for sex already.

Harry grins. “No. I mean, I definitely always want to.” Louis is still coming to terms with the knowledge that Harry had not, in fact, wanted to vomit whilst meeting him for the first time. “But I legitimately can’t tonight. Rain check on the sex?”

“Rain check on the sex.”

He sees Harry to the door. Harry looks pointedly from the locks to Louis before he opens it. Louis raises his palms in a conceding gesture, and they both grin.

“Well, thanks again for the meal. So good.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

“You’re flirting with fire, Harold. Soon you’ll be locked in my cupboard and only being let out to make me delicious meals.”

Harry honks in laughter. “See you soon?”

Louis nods, suddenly a bit nervous. “Yeah. See you soon.”

Harry hesitates before leaning in and pulling Louis into a quick hug. Louis returns his squeeze, and then suddenly they’re kissing– just a short, chaste peck on the lips that takes them both by surprise. When they pull away from one another, Harry’s eyes are wide and his mouth is agape, and Louis’s certain he’s mirroring his expression.

“Anyway,” Louis says, after several beats of total silence. He can feel the back of his neck and the tips of his ears begin to heat up. “That was weird.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, smiling faintly. “But not bad.”

“No,” Louis agrees, resisting the urge to reach up to feel his lips like he’s in some rom-com. “Not bad.”

“Okay, then,” Harry says. He nods decisively, then leans in again, placing a hand on Louis’s waist and kissing him again. Longer this time, but still soft and sweet. A proper goodbye. “Bye, Lou.”

The door closes, and Louis briefly contemplates death. Then he goes and has a wank.

Chapter Text

“So, I have something to tell you.”

Harry looks up from his salmon, mouth comically full and eyes comically wide. “Uhm,” he manages to articulate.

“It’s good news. Well, I think so. Hopefully you won’t feel like I overstepped.”

Harry swallows much too quickly, in an attempt to answer sooner, and winds up having a coughing fit. Louis hands over his water glass, bemused.

“What is it?” Harry finally asks, as he wipes his watery eyes. “You’re making me nervous, Lou.”

Louis splays his hands out on the table. They’re actually sitting at his tiny kitchen table for once, instead of in front of the television. There’s been a sudden surge of unheard of near-scorching late spring weather, and it’s too bloody hot to eat outside on this windless day, not that being indoors is much better. At least they have Louis’s old portable fan blowing on them.

It’s been two and a half weeks since they’d determined that the best hookup place is not Harry’s flat, where the other lads live. Since then, Louis isn’t sure what to make of the sheer amount of time that Harry’s been spending at his place. He comes over with dinner– or, ingredients to make dinner– at least one or two times a week. On top of that, they still maintain their Sunday hookups, and what had started as an hour or two of sex has somehow turned into a series of all-day television marathons (with plenty of sex on the side, of course).

Louis grins apprehensively. “I may have recommended you as the photographer for our project, and the team may have accepted.”

Harry sets his fork down. “Wait, what? The rut house? Le Milieu?”

“Yeah. Desmarais approved our final proposal last week.”

Harry’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks again. “But– you don’t have my resume, or work samples.”

Louis shrugs a little sheepishly. “I showed them some of your portraits from Instagram.” He’d even printed them out on fancy photograph paper and everything.

Harry furrows his brows. “Which ones?”

“The reflection series. And the one of your mum and sister. Everyone loved them. And honestly, Harry, they really depict the intimacy we’re going for with this advert series.”

Harry hums contemplatively, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “What’s the concept?”

“Well,” Louis begins, shifting in his seat proudly. “The theme is alpha-omega intimacy behind closed doors. Marketing to people in committed relationships who want a different rut experience, for whatever reason. The tagline is ‘For Your Eyes Only.’ We’re envisioning black and white close-ups of intimate body parts, or expressions of A’s and O’s that only partners get to see. Obviously, a bare neck for O’s. Or an alpha’s hands on their O’s wrists.” Harry nods along, but says nothing. “Nothing pornographic, obviously,” Louis adds, with a little nervous chuckle, “but definitely overtly sexual. I know you haven’t really… I mean it’s not the sort of work I’ve seen you do before.”

Harry’s eyes come back into focus. “No, that sounds amazing, Lou, honestly. I think capturing intimacy like that would be fascinating, not to mention really fucking good for my portfolio.” He exhales audibly and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’m just– a little taken aback. This– this isn’t about what I joked to you when we first slept together, is it? About considering me for some work at your firm?”

Louis shrugs. He won’t admit that the thought had crossed his mind. “I mean, you’re definitely being offered it because of our connection, obviously, but your work speaks for itself. Trust me, I wouldn’t put my own career on the line if I didn’t genuinely believe you were a good fit.” That part he isn’t lying about. He loves the personality and honesty Harry brings to his portraits.

Harry steeples his fingers together in front of his mouth. “What’s the timeline?”

Louis grimaces. “Well, we’re finishing up the castings now, and we aim to start shooting in Paris in two weeks’ time. Not this Thursday, but the one after.”

Harry bobs his head, considering. “I haven’t got my planner with me, but I think that’ll do.” He runs both hands through his hair. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. Fuck, I’ve never traveled outside of England for work before.”

“Well, first time for everything,” Louis says, as if he hasn’t only done it the once. “Can I send the contract to you tomorrow? Or, I could come to you, even. See your studio.” He’s been wondering what Harry’s workspace looks like, imagining it in his head when he pictures him there. He wonders if Harry does the same with him.

“Oh,” Harry says in surprise, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Oh, no, that’s fine. An email works just as well. I can print it off and bring it to you here, or at your office, maybe.”

“Okay,” Louis says slowly. “That’s fine too.” He pauses, moving his gone-cold food around his plate. “You know I’d act professionally during work hours, right? We wouldn’t have to be two people who sleep together.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry insists. “I didn’t mean to– it wouldn’t be you I’m worried about. It’s just, my partner–”

“Maura,” Louis supplies. The ruiner of their not-date, months ago. “I remember her.”

Harry flushes. “Yeah, her. She just...can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“Have you talked to her about me?” Louis interrogates, more playful than he actually feels. He’s not sure he wants to know what Harry’s been saying about him, especially if his objective is to keep Maura and Louis apart at all costs. He’s not going to press the issue, though. As usual, the mood between them has shifted so suddenly that he feels like he has whiplash. One moment they’re loudly arguing over which Avengers movie is the best, and the next Harry’s being cagey again about his life outside of this… whatever it is.

Harry rolls his eyes. “She just thinks she knows more than she does,” he says cryptically. “How was the fish?” He stands up with his plate and gestures for Louis’s. Louis hands it over, sitting back in his chair as Harry takes them to the sink.

“Alright. I’m not much for fish, meself.”

Harry’s shoulders fall. “Really? You coulda told me. I found this great chicken dish I’ve wanted to try that I’d’ve made instead!”

Louis waves him off. “It’s fine. I probably needed the omega-3’s anyway.”

“You’ll have even more energy for later.” Harry swings his hips in clumsy, yet enthusiastic, figure eights, tongue hanging out of his mouth. His cock bounces obscenely in his basketball shorts.

“This is over,” Louis says flatly. “I’m never sleeping with you again.”

Harry gasps over-exaggeratedly, hand over his heart. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” Louis insists, standing up as Harry advances on him. “No more of your ugly mug, or tiny cock, or–“ he yelps and dodges round the sofa as Harry lunges for him, “–or your genuinely, genuinely disgusting hobbit feet!”

“I’ll make you suck on them later,” Harry pants with a wolfish grin as he launches over the sofa.

If Louis shrieks like a little girl when Harry tackles him to the ground, no one else needs to know.

Two weeks later, the first day of the shoot has come. They’d ended up holding a formal meeting at Louis’s office to work through the details of Harry’s contract, which was both a proud and anxiety-inducing moment. To have Harry– the alpha whom everyone could smell on him, if they got close enough for a whiff– in his place of work had been jarring. Harry’d seemed impressed with the setup, though, and kept beaming proudly at Louis throughout the meeting, which was a definite plus.

And now here they are in Paris together, surrounded by their assorted team members, crew, and models hand-selected for the adverts.

And Louis can hardly take his eyes off of Harry. He watches him as he shakes hands with every single member of the crew, as he rearranges his lighting, as he talks softly with the models, as he grins gratefully at the beta woman who brings him a bottle of water, as he instructs the male omega model on how to pose. It’s something else, seeing Harry in a professional capacity. He’s equally as sexy wearing his photographer hat as is he when he’s performing on stage, or lounging naked in Louis’s living room. (Well, maybe not that sexy.)

Louis somehow manages to tear his gaze away from Harry long enough to keep an eye on the photos as they come through the monitor, each one as beautiful as the last.

“...what do you think, Lou?” Harry’s calling to him. Louis looks up to find Harry gazing contemplatively at him from the set.

“Sorry, what?” Louis ambles carefully over to them, stepping over the cords taped to the floor.

“I was saying to Matthias that maybe a shot from the front might look good. Maybe his hands up by his chest, sort of like–” he demonstrates on himself, one-handed. “Neck to the side?”

“Sure,” Louis agrees. “Don’t know if I’m much help with this part, though.” He’d been a bit more indispensable when Harry’d been shooting the alphas earlier in the morning. It was a little embarrassing describing his personal turn-ons to a professional team, including the man that he’s currently sleeping with. Harry’d rolled with it, taking close-ups of both the male and female alphas’ hands and forearms, and a few of their teeth roughly biting their lower lips, among other shots. The couple shots are tomorrow, which ought to make everything even more awkward.

Why did he think having Harry as their photographer was a good idea again?

Harry’s led Matthias to the bed and has him laying on his back. “Hands up, just like that– no, a little softer.” Harry kicks off his boots, then climbs up onto the bed to stand with each foot on either side of the omega model’s waist. He hovers over him and takes a few shots. “It’s not quite– Louis?”

“What?” Louis asks, a little more sharply than he intended, because he’s watching his alpha– or, as close to his as he can be– stand intimately over another nearly-nude omega.  Matthias’s scent is unassuming and fresh smelling. Harry’s remained entirely unaffected, it would seem. And Louis has been watching closely.

“Can you help explain what I’m looking for?”

“Sorry, mate,” Louis says honestly. “Not sure exactly what that is.”

Harry sighs, dropping his camera from his eye. Then he shrugs. “We’ll come back to it tomorrow, if there’s time. Just keep doing what you’re doing, Matthias.”

Louis wanders away after a beat, heading back towards the monitor, a little confused as to what Harry’d even needed from him.

“What a lovely way to start my afternoon.” Louis whirls around to find that Desmarais has entered the model room, flanked by a woman and two men in suits, and has made a beeline for him. Louis’d been forced to make small talk with him the night before, when he and his barebones crew had arrived at the studio to have a look around and begin setting up lighting for the shoot. Desmarais had given them a brief tour of the faux rut room decorated precisely as they will be once hotel construction is finished. “Hello again, Louis.”

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Desmarais.” He allows the man to grip him by the shoulders and pull him into an air kiss on each cheek.

“I’m very much looking forward to seeing your wonderful vision come together.” Desmarais still has him by the elbow. Louis raises his arm to gesture toward the monitor, effectively shaking off his hand.

“Have a look at what we’re in the middle of. This is Matthias, one of our omegas. We’ve wrapped with the individual shots of the alphas, and we’ve got a female O left to go before the couples tomorrow.”

The image on the screen is a close up of Matthias’s hard nipple, so close that his gooseflesh is visible.

Desmarais hums. “That is quite erotic.”

“There have been less… risqué shots too, of course,” Louis hurries to assure.

Desmarais waves away his concern. “No, no, dear. I assure you, I like this very much. This is just what I was looking for: risqué yet romantic. Ah, and this must be the photographer whom you raved about.”

Very suddenly, Harry’s in their space, standing so close to Louis that their shoulders brush. He smells strongly underneath the cloying hand soap from the toilets. Harry’s alpha is posturing right now, something Louis’s not sure he’s ever seen Harry do. He suppresses a shiver.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” Harry says politely, extending a palm. “My name is Harry Styles.”

Desmarais shakes the offered hand, and doesn’t immediately let go as he looks Harry up and down, nose twitching.

“Harry Styles,” Desmarais repeats pleasantly, letting go of Harry’s hand at last. “What little I’ve seen I very much like, Monsieur.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Desmarais laughs. “You can thank Louis for that. Although, I somehow suspect you already have.” He winks at Harry, whose smile freezes on his face. “Do not let me keep you from your work. Louis will keep me company.”

Harry looks from Louis, to Desmarais, and back again. Louis can sense his unease. He reaches out a finger and traces it softly against Harry’s wrist. “Thanks, Harry,” he says, as neutrally as possible.

Harry smiles stiffly, shaking hands with Desmarais one final time. “Nice meeting you.” He rests a hand on Louis’s shoulder as he turns, squeezing gently before he walks away.

Louis bravely meets Desmarais’s impish eyes.

“Mixing business with pleasure, I see,” Desmarais says bemusedly. “Tell me, do you regularly recommend your alpha for work with your company?”

Louis grapples for a response. He and Harry haven’t even slept with one another in almost a week for this exact reason. (Okay, three days.) He’s shocked that Desmarais has put it together so quickly. “This is the first time, honestly,” he says, because going with the truth is faster than making an excuse or feigning misunderstanding. “He was a good fit for this particular job.”

Desmarais hums in consideration, gazing back at the monitor at Harry’s most recent photographs. “I tend to agree. He certainly understands how to photograph omegas.”

In the most recent shot, Matthias’s eyes are closed, lips parted, and neck thrown back. Louis feels hot around the collar. “I’d like to invite you to dinner tonight,” Desmarais says suddenly. ”Your alpha is welcome as well, of course. I find an omega in a role such as yours incredibly fascinating.”

Louis swallows his rage and smiles sweetly. “Not much different from an alpha in my role, I must confess. And actually, I’m afraid I have to decline your offer. We’ve only got the one night in Paris together, you see, and my alpha has already made our plans.”

Desmarais laughs. “I understand. If you were mine, and we were in the city of love, I would do the same.” Thankfully, one of Desmarais’s employees interrupts them, speaking to Desmarais in French and holding out a cell phone. “Excuse me, please,” Desmarais says to Louis, turning his back and striding away.

Louis books it over to Harry’s side, who is removing his camera from around his neck as Matthias steps into his robe.

“Hey, Lou. Have you been keeping an eye on the shots? I think we’re almost there.  Matthias just needs to use the loo.”

“They’re so great, Harry. We’re all really pleased. It’ll be difficult to choose, honestly.” Harry beams at him. Louis steps closer. “Listen,” he says lowly. “If Desmarais asks, you and me’ve got a hot date planned, alright?”

Harry’s expression turns thunderous. “What, did he just ask you out or something? In front of me?” He steps around Louis, scanning the room. “Fucking old creep.”

“Easy, Alpha,” Louis chuckles, patting Harry on the elbow. “He’s mostly harmless. And you were invited, too.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Harry seethes, still searching the studio.

“I’m used to it,” Louis assures him. “He took the rejection well.”

“You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” Harry insists. “You should always be treated with respect, no matter what your gender.”

“Like you did when you first met me?” Louis arches a brow at him.

Harry blanches. “Those were extenuating circumstances! I was going into rut!”

Louis laughs. “I’m only joking, Harold.  Matthias is ready for you again.” He gestures behind Harry, where Matthais is lingering with uncertainty in the background.

Harry turns around quickly. “Oh. Sorry, Matthias.  Just a few more shots, I think, then it’ll be a wrap for you.” He steps closer to Louis. “Let me know if he bothers you again,” he insists lowly, eyes intense.

“I’ll cough three times if I need you to come running,” Louis promises teasingly. Harry glares at him, unappreciative of Louis’s cheek, but he does turn back toward Matthias, who has been watching them curiously throughout most of their conversation.

Louis returns to his post by the monitor, where he finds Bridget sitting, eating a pastry. “Craft services,” she tells him unnecessarily. “God, I love shooting days.” She gestures toward Harry with her eclair. “Lover’s spat?”

“No,” Louis says decisively.

“Bridget takes an enormous bite. “Planning your sexy Parisian evening?” she asks around her mouthful.

Louis rolls his eyes. “It was just banter. We’re professionals.”

“He looks at you like he wants to eat you. Or murder you. I can’t decide.”

Louis scoffs, but he feels heat rise up the back of his neck. “When the fuck did you even get here, anyway?”

They wrap for the evening a few short hours later, after they’re done photographing the female omega. They load the shots onto Louis’s laptop, and then meet in Bridget’s room back at the hotel afterwards, to look over them together in a brief conference call with Mo and a few of the design team members, who are back in London. Mo hasn’t got any complaints or suggestions on his end, so they wrap up the work day by 8:00 in the evening.

Bridget sees them out of her hotel room with an overzealous eyebrow waggle. “Have fun tonight, boys,” are her parting words as she closes her door.

Harry laughs, turning to Louis. “Well, we can’t let her down, can we?”

After a brief debate, they decide on simply eating at the restaurant connected to the hotel. Louis can feel the energy being sucked out of his body the longer he’s on his feet, and he’s sure Harry must be feeling the same way.

They don’t bother to change before going down. Louis is delighted to discover that Harry’s French is even more shit than Louis’s, and they spend several minutes laughing (perhaps a little immaturely) after their scandalized waiter walks away once Harry’s through butchering his order.

“You know,” Louis says as he butters his bread. “This is the first restaurant we’ve been to together without the lads.”

Harry freezes, wine glass mid-way to his lips. “Not true,” he says, after a beat. “We went to that chippy on our first– that first time we hung out.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Well, that hardly counts as a restaurant, does it?”

Harry gasps. “The chip king denouncing chippies as proper eating establishments?”

Louis shrugs, smiling a little falsely, because he sort of liked the idea of being at a fancier, sit-down place with Harry seated across from him, but Harry obviously doesn’t see the distinction. And that’s alright, why should he? They’re just two mates who fuck, out to dinner. “Yeah, suppose you’re right.”

“I was only making a joke,” Harry says, setting his wine glass down. “I’d love to do it again when we’re back home.”

“Really?” Louis asks hopefully before he can stop himself, then he internally berates himself for sounding so desperate.

But Harry only grins back at him. “Yeah.”

They talk for a bit longer about the shoot, until the food comes, and then they eat in silence for a while. The food is incredible, but then again, Louis has been famished since the afternoon. They stuff food in their mouths like starving men for several minutes. Once they’ve slowed down enough to hold a conversation again, Harry tells him, “So, I actually, booked a gig for two Saturdays from now.”

“Wicked,” Louis says. “Been a while, eh?”

“I’ve actually done a few since the last one you came to,” Harry says sheepishly. “Kept them on the down low because they weren’t exactly…” He squirms in his seat. “They were weddings, alright? Weddings.”

“No!” Louis gasps. “And you didn’t invite us to crash? Me and Nialler are the ultimate wedding crashers. Hardly had to pay our own money to get sloshed all through uni!”

Harry laughs. “Really?”

“We even started this new tradition, where at every wedding we’d go to, we’d get all the groomsmen to serenade the bride with Isn’t She Lovely. We were always the hit of the party.”

“I love that song,” Harry says, grinning. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It was,” Louis sighs wistfully. “Alas, I’m older and wiser now. No time for foolishness.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“Wait,” Louis says, finally processing what Harry had originally said. “You said two weekends from now?” Harry nods, sipping the dregs of his wine out of his glass. “Oh. Well. Ehm, never mind.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused. “Tell me.”

Louis scrapes a pattern with his fork into the leftover sauce on his plate. “It’s just– my heat’s meant to be in the final stages then. But it’s not a big deal, I can definitely handle it on my own. Seriously, Harry,” he adds on when Harry opens his mouth to interject. “It’s not like it’s necessary anymore for you to help me through them.”

Harry shakes his head forcefully. “No. No. I said I’d help you and I will.”

“Harry, I’m not making you miss your gig.”

Harry continues to shake his head insistently. “Look, I know the band that has the weekend after me booked. We’ll swap gigs. The managers of the pub won’t care, as long as they have coverage.”

Louis shifts in his chair, feeling like he wants to disappear into the floor for turning this into such an ordeal. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Lou.” Harry reaches out and grabs Louis’s wrist to still its anxious movements. “I want to be with you for your heat. It’s my– well, it kinda feels like my job.”

Louis sighs. “I didn’t intend for that to happen, you know.”

Harry is silent for several seconds. Eventually he lets go of Louis’s wrist and relaxes in his chair. “Well, I don’t regret a single thing. Do you?”

Louis thinks about how his feelings of lust have turned into something much, much larger and more convoluted. He thinks about what it would be like to not have Harry in his life at all, or at least, very minimally, like before. He thinks about what it’ll be like once they stop what they’ve been doing and move on.

“No,” he says. “I don’t regret it.”

There’s a charged sort of silence as they take the lift back up to their rooms after they’ve split the bill (their per diem from the company doesn’t even cover half of it). They’ve had an unspoken agreement that they won’t sleep with one another until their professional relationship is complete, but it doesn’t stop Louis from leaning a little closer in the confined space.

The lift door opens to Harry’s floor, and he sticks his foot in it before it can close.

“Do you think you could try something for me?” Harry asks out of nowhere. “I didn’t quite get the shot I was looking for today, and I was hoping I could stage it with you.”

Louis laughs. “This feels like a chat up line. Are you trying to get into my hotel room?”

Harry grins. “I know it does, but I promise I just really wanted this exact shot. I think it would be perfect for the campaign.”

Louis considers, then shrugs. “I won’t be as gorgeous as Matthias, but I’ll give it a shot.”

Harry scoffs at him. “Please. People stare whenever you walk into a room. Even Desmarais wants you.”

Louis snorts. “That is not a compliment.”

Harry winks. “What’s your room number? I’ll just go and get my camera, and meet you there.”

“1121,” Louis tells him, and Harry pushes at the sides of the doors so he can dart out of the lift. “See you in a minute!” he calls as the doors ding shut.

Louis hardly has time to frantically toss everything he’s spread out over the room back into his carry-on before Harry’s knocking on the door. He’s long since given up on attempting to tidy his own flat before Harry comes over, so he’s not entirely sure where the motivation has come from just now.

“Hi,” Harry says, when they’re stood face-to-face again. He’s got his camera around his neck and a sheepish grin on his face. “Thanks for doing this,”

“I’m not exactly sure what it is that I’m doing,” Louis admits with a shrug, backing up to let Harry into the room. Harry zeroes in on the lamps, turning on every light source in the room.

“It’s…” he trails off distractedly as he takes a shot of the empty bed, then frowns at the screen. “You do this thing with your hands. When you’re lying down on your back.”

Louis frowns, even as his pulse picks up. “You mean like, during sex, or…”

“Afterwards, usually.” Harry says. “But I don’t think we have to recreate the exact conditions.”

“Thank God,” Louis drawls sarcastically. It’s been difficult, keeping a professional distance in the week or so leading up to this. He’s looking forward to going back to normal. As soon as possible.

Harry tugs at the collar of his shirt, nostrils flaring. “Fuck, I can’t stay in here too long. It’s already making me go crazy.”

Louis can’t help but preen, still getting used to the fact that his scent has such a strong, positive effect on Harry. “In that case,” he says, stripping off his shirt, “we’d better get started.”

Harry’s eyes go dark as he scans Louis up and down. He reaches out to rub a finger over Louis’s left nipple, and Louis shivers, swatting Harry’s hand away. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns.

“It’s for the shot,” Harry insists, wide-eyed, though his shit-eating grin suggests otherwise. “Come to the bed and lie down.”

Louis takes a deep breath, intending to calm himself, but doing precisely the opposite, as he catches a whiff of his own pheromones.

“On your back,” Harry instructs, voice low, when Louis finally sits on the edge of the bed.

Louis leans back, resting his head on the pillow and stretching his legs out. “What do I do?” He feels stiff, and like his cheeks must be red from embarrassment and lust.

“Nothing,” Harry says quietly, almost reverently. “Just like that.” He lifts his camera and starts clicking. “Turn your head a bit. Show me your neck.”

Louis does as he’s told. All he’s doing is lying here, hands curled up on his chest. There’s nothing overtly sexual about it.

“Why this pose?” he asks, voice scratchy.

Harry lets the camera hang from the strap around his neck. Then he sits on the very edge of the bed, bum flush against Louis’s hip. He runs a finger over the 78 tattooed above Louis’s heart.

“Dunno,” he says, shrugging. “It’s so… you just look so beautiful, and vulnerable, and trusting, and it makes me feel so…”

“Virile?” Louis teases. Harry swats him in the pec with an embarrassed grin.

“That too. It’s just– it feels really intimate, is all. Something I immediately knew I wanted to capture once you explained the concept of the shoot to me.”

Louis hums, unsure of what to say in response. He solves the problem by tugging Harry down by the collar until their lips are inches apart. Then he waits.

Harry’s eyes scan from Louis’s lips to his eyes, then back down again. Slowly, he leans down the rest of the way, capturing Louis’s lips with his own in a long, lingering, chaste kiss.

“I just realized something,” Louis whispers when Harry finally pulls away.

“What?” Harry breathes back.

“No one’s gonna know whether or not the models in the photos are really alphas and omegas or not.”

Harry pauses, clearly taken aback, then he cackles. “God, and here I thought you were going to say something really important.”

Louis squawks. “That is important! This is the future of my career we’re talking about!”

Harry laughs, sitting up straight. “You are ridiculous, you know that? Why wouldn’t we use genuine A’s and O’s in the shoot? Besides, no one will be worrying about their true gender when they see the pictures, if I do say so myself.” He flips his hair dramatically.

Louis groans. “I’ve created a monster.”

Harry laughs. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, anyway, because the couple shots’ll seal it for everyone.”

“How do you feel about photographing soft core pornography, by the way?” Louis teases.

“No one is having actual sex tomorrow,” Harry insists with a grin.

“Including us,” Louis adds, and Harry’s expression immediately shifts into a pout.

“Don’t remind me,” he groans. “Speaking of, I should probably go. This pose is really doing it for me.”

“Yeah? Are you hard?” Louis teases. “Gonna go wank to my photos?”

Harry pinches Louis’s nipple, then stands, nose in the air. “That is none of your business.”

“You are!” Louis crows, sitting up.

Harry busies himself with replacing the lens cap on his camera, tucking his chin into his chest to hide his grin. “Maybe.”

Louis laughs. “Get out of my room, you freak. Go pull one off thinking of my wrists or whatever.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Not even my arse. Jesus.”

Harry perks up. “I’m totally open to photographing your arse. Just say the word.”

That reminds Louis of Harry’s offer to record his heat for him, and consequently, reminds him of what he’s been thinking about on a loop for weeks now.

“I want you to knot me again,” Louis blurts out. “Not now, but… next time. And during my heat.”

Harry stares at him, mouth agape. He pulls himself together after a few seconds, looking both hopeful and apprehensive as he says, “I thought you said you didn’t want to confuse your omega.”

The thing is, Louis’s been giving it a lot of thought, and he’s decided to give his heart and body what it wants. He’s going to enjoy Harry while he’s got him, and pick himself up off the floor whenever the time comes.

He shakes his head. “It won’t get confused.”

Harry steps toward the bed again. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”

Louis hesitates, then settles for some semblance of the truth, looking at his lap as he speaks. “It’ll be my first heat since… you know… finding out about all that shit with Matt. I think my omega might– I might need– some additional assurance.”

The bed dips as Harry sits down again so they’re facing one another, Louis with his back against the headboard, and Harry seated at his hip.

“I think that’s really cool that you’re admitting that,” Harry says slowly, reaching out to trace the It Is What It Is tattoo on Louis’s bare chest. “And I’m really happy that you trust me enough to be that person. It means a lot to me.”

Harry looks so sincere right now, eyes so wide and green as he looks Louis right in the face.

He’s such a good friend, looking out like this. Louis thinks he might be a little in love with him. He’s pretty sure he is.

He knocks Harry’s hand away, laughing awkwardly. “You’re only saying that because you want to knot.”

“Well, it’s instinct, innit,” Harry says, frowning. “But I’d never do anything that you didn’t feel was in your best interest. And I think maybe now is the right time to start knotting again.”

“What do you mean the right time?” Louis asks, as a sudden burst of hope courses through him. The right time, as in, their relationship is getting more serious? Because Louis has felt the subtle changes with every additional moment he’s spent with Harry in the last few short weeks– from the kisses hello and goodbye to the personally made dinners, to the lazy sex. He’s brushed them all off as wishful thinking until this moment.

“Oh. I just meant, like... we’ve been doing this for a while now, right?” Harry picks a bit of lint off Louis’s skinnies.

“Right,” Louis agrees, swallowing. Waiting.

“So, if you’re sure your O is ready for that...” Harry shrugs, nonchalant, and doesn’t continue.

“And your A can handle it too?” Louis presses on, even as the hope thins.

“Yeah,” Harry says firmly, nodding. “No confusion here.”

Louis resists the strong, strong urge to say something snarky in response, like ‘nice that everything’s so easy for you, then.’ Instead, he swings his legs around Harry’s body and gets off the bed.

“Brilliant,” he says. “Glad that’s settled, then.”

Harry stands too. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says lecherously, eyebrows waggling.

“Why?” Louis asks the ceiling. “Why does he have to ruin everything?”

“You know you love me,” Harry teases, doing some sort of shoulder shimmy in Louis’s direction.

“Get out,” Louis orders, with more force than probably necessary.

Harry goes, but not before he plants a quick kiss on Louis’s lips, followed by a gentle nip to his neck. And that– outside of sex, is very new. He doesn’t hate it.

“See you tomorrow,” Harry calls, as the door swings shut behind him.

Less than an hour later, when Louis’s freshly showered and searching the television channels for something that he can at least marginally understand, his phone vibrates with a text message from Harry.

It’s a photo of Harry’s lower stomach, covered in come, laurels and all.

Wrist pics did the trick :)

Louis groans, palming himself.

Thanks for the blackmail material, he texts back, dropping the phone and rolling over to grind into the mattress. Seconds later, he’s scrambling for it when it rings, knowing precisely who it is.

“You liked it,” Harry says immediately, when Louis accepts the call.

“Maybe,” Louis breathes, not even bothering to attempt to disguise what he’s up to. “Why the fuck didn’t we think of phone sex before tonight? And why the fuck did you wait ‘til you were done?”

“Was a little preoccupied,” Harry says, voice low and breath heavy. “Came so fast and hard looking at those photos.”

“You’re such a freak,” Louis repeats his earlier insult with a groan. “Keep talking.”

Harry does, and Louis comes, and afterwards they stay on the line, making up dialogue for the French talk show they’re both watching, in their separate hotel rooms, three floors apart.

Louis falls asleep with a smile on his lips, because, no, all hope is definitely not lost.

Chapter Text

Louis wakes up in hell. The sun is beating down through the open shades he forgot to close last night. His sweat is sticking him to the sheets. His arse is slick.

Ah, the joys of heat in the summertime.

The only thing he’d really done this time around was ensure that the fridge was stocked - although, it’s mostly leftovers from Harry’s last concoction, and a package of cut fruit. It’s different this time around, because Harry knows his way around the flat well enough to find what he needs.

He rolls out of bed, not even bothering to remake it (they’ll just be dirtying it up soon, anyway) and heads directly for the shower. He turns the water as cool as he can handle it without his teeth chattering as he makes short work of his pre-heat hair removal routine. They’ve had sex dozens of times since that first heat, and Louis doesn’t feel quite that same pressure to impress.

He resists the urge to finger himself while he’s down there. Harry’s fingers are longer, and he can get the angle just right.

He texts him as soon as his hands are dry.

It’s time

Harry’s been on high alert ever since yesterday morning, even though Louis told him his app was extremely accurate, and that it was pretty much a guarantee that he’d get through the workday without spontaneous heat activity. Even so, Harry’d texted all day for updates. Louis had ignored him, just to be a shit, and had paid for it with a lonely wank once he’d read back Harry’s increasingly dirty texts while he waited for Louis to text back.

Work has been mad for both of them in the few weeks since their photo shoot in Paris, Louis tying up loose ends in anticipation of his heat leave, and Harry, presumably the same. (Louis doesn’t like to think about how much work Harry has had to sacrifice to keep up their arrangement. Hopefully the paycheck and exposure from the rut house job will help make up for that.) He and Harry had only managed to get together twice, and on only one of those occasions had they actually had sex. The last time was a bit of dry humping and a glorious, much needed, three-hour nap in one another’s arms. Louis hasn’t been properly fucked in weeks. He’d be dying for it even if he weren’t in in heat.

Harry’d better live up to his promises from those text messages. Not that he’ll get to enjoy it for long. He feels ready to go under just thinking about being knotted. And he’s thought about it a lot.

He’s not nervous, per se. At least, not in the way he was the first time they did this. Because this has become more than just a fuck. He loves the way Harry makes himself at home in Louis’s flat, and the way Harry’s always humming when he isn’t speaking, and the way Louis can make him howl with the stupidest joke. Louis is fucking gone for him.

He’s pretty sure it’s at least a little mutual, too. Harry might not be totally at the same level as Louis, but his feelings have got to be stronger than friends with benefits at this point. All of the signs are there. Even Zayn agrees.

Poor Zayn, Louis’s only confidant in matters of the heart. Louis knows he can be dramatic, but Zayn takes it all in stride. Usually.

“He’s the alpha,” Louis had whined to him one night. “Why can’t he be the one to make it official?”

“I know you’re not pulling the weak omega card to get out of putting your heart on the line,” Zayn had responded coolly, not even looking up from his Chinese takeaway. And, well, he had a point.

On my way, Harry texts back, complete with eggplant emoji.

Louis stands in front of the open freezer in nothing but his pants, resisting the urge to wank in front of his frozen chicken nuggets, until it beeps at him to get his shit together, then moves on to the fan in the lounge. It’s where he’s standing when Harry knocks on the door, not even thirty minutes after they’d texted.

“Hi, baby,” Harry says by way of greeting, latching the door behind him and dumping his overnight bag on the ground before diving in for a kiss. He dips his fingers into the waistband of his pants to greedily palm his arse. Louis winds his arms around Harry’s waist in response, burying his nose into Harry’s chest and inhaling his alpha scent. “God, you smell good,” Harry groans into his neck. “Bet you taste even better.”

Louis shudders, but pushes Harry away just the same, turning around to face the fan again. “Too hot for a cuddle.” He’s only sort of playing coy. Harry, undeterred, crowds against his back. Louis can feel his erection against the swell of his bum, and he can’t resist pushing back to get it just where he wants it.

“Take a cool shower with me,” Harry suggests, as his lips trail from one of Louis’s shoulders to the other. “We’ll start slow today. I’ll open you up in there, and then take you to bed.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees breathily.

Harry tugs Louis’s pants down inch by inch, still plastered to his back. “You waited for me like I asked, I hope.” Two fingers prod at Louis’s hole, and he bites his lip to keep from whining. “Yeah,” Harry snarls. “You did. Fuck, baby.”

Louis lets his head fall back against Harry’s shoulder. His body is loosening, and he can sense his mind beginning to travel to that place it goes during heats, and all Harry is doing is rubbing his fingers against his hole and mouthing at his neck.

He’s nervous to go under. He’s been reassured that his actions during heat aren’t embarrassing several times now, and is about to have video proof, but he can’t fight that same feeling of dread and mortification when he thinks about what he’d so long thought to be true.

“Lou?” Harry’s hands and mouth have stilled, and his curious voice brings Louis back to the present. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis says automatically. “I’m ready.”

“We don’t have to do any of it,” Harry assures him, although he can’t help but grind his hard-on against Louis’s arse. “Or we could only do some of it. Whatever you want, baby. But tell me, now, before we both go all...” He trails off, but Louis gets it. Before they succumb to their instincts.

“I want it all,” Louis tells him decisively. He’s got to bite the bullet. He trusts Harry.

Harry doesn’t question him any longer, herding him down the hall and into the shower, and stripping quicker than Louis can blink. His heavy cock bobs with arousal, and Harry gives it a tug, smirking when he catches Louis staring.

“Wanna suck you off,” Louis confesses, getting to his knees as soon as the lukewarm water begins raining down. There’s not much room in his tiny shower, and his knees are already killing. The discomfort keeps him grounded in the present, even if the sight and feel of Harry’s huge dick in his hand fogs up his mind.

Harry growls and spreads his legs, steadying himself with one hand on the tile wall as he thrusts shallowly into Louis’s mouth. He runs a hand through Louis’s hair with the other, gripping the strands just on the edge of too-tight and guiding him where he wants him.

“Look so good on your knees. Your mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?” Harry mutters lowly, pulling Louis all the way off his cock by the hair unexpectedly. There’s a loud pop as the tight suction is broken. Louis splutters as water hits him suddenly in the face. “Oh, shit,” Harry curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He tugs Louis up by the armpits, then backs him the few short inches to the wall, slotting their mouths together. Louis allows his hands to wander, gripping Harry’s cock with one, and running the other along his subtly muscled stomach. Harry hitches one of Louis’s thighs up around his waist, and they nearly lose their footing, yelping in surprise. They stare at one another, wide-eyed, until they can’t help but laugh.

Shower sex is so fucking overrated.

“This was a bad idea,” Harry huffs, chuckling as he rests his forehead against Louis’s.  “I can hardly even smell you.” The water is doing a nice job of washing away Louis’s slick.

Louis licks his lips.  He doesn’t want to get out of the cool water.  He’s not feeling ready to go under.

“You promised fingers.”

Harry nods, reaching up to turn Louis’s head to the side.  “I did.” He trails open mouth kisses down Louis’s neck as he squeezes his arm between Louis’s body and the wall.  “I’ll make you come just like this, and when we’re through I’ll lay you out on the bed and fill you up.”

Louis nods, gripping onto Harry’s biceps and letting his head loll against the cold, hard tile as two of Harry’s fingers breach his hole.  He has to crouch a bit to get the right angle, caging Louis in even more. It makes Louis feel secure, having Harry’s strong arms wrapped around him while in a precarious situation.  He allows his mind to slip as Harry wastes no time finding that spot.

“Yeah,” Harry pants encouragingly in Louis’s ear when he moans with abandon.  “Let me hear you, Lou.”

Louis ignores him, his instinct to stay quiet to stave off any embarrassment later too ingrained in his head. He hisses, as a third finger joins the others.  It burns more than usual, with the water washing away his slick, but it’s just on the edge of too much. He bites down on Harry’s shoulder when his prostate gets prodded, and Harry nips even harder at Louis’s neck in retribution, doubling his efforts.  Louis comes easily a minute later, head swimming, swaying a little and nearly falling over, were it not for Harry crowded around him.

“You’re so ready for it.  Ready for my knot,” Harry growls, swiping distractedly at the come still lingering on both his and Louis’s stomachs.  He leans around Louis and turns the water off before it all washes away, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. They’ll be filthy again before they know it.  “But I’m feeling selfish, baby. I want you with me as long as I can have you.” He grips Louis’s arse, hard, with both hands, then guides him out of the shower stall and herds him, dripping wet and sans towel, into the bedroom.  Louis doesn’t have enough faculties to fight him on it, not that he’d want to. He sits down on the bed, then immediately crawls onto his stomach, presenting himself. Now that he’s out of the cool water, the sensation of his heat has returned tenfold.  He’s done being teased. He needs a knot.

“Fuck me now,” he pleads.  “I’m ready for you. Knot me.”

The bed dips as Harry joins him, finally, and Louis turns his head just in time to watch Harry lick languidly up the back of his thigh, collecting water droplets and slick along the way.

“I didn’t get to taste you yet,” Harry says, moving on to Louis’s other leg, tongue coming dangerously close to where it should be.  Louis jerks his hips back in an attempt to connect his hole to Harry’s mouth, but Harry stops him with a smack to his arsecheek. Louis’s hard dick rubs up against the sheets as his body jerks from the shock of it, and he scrambles for a pillow so he can whine into it.  “Dream about eating you out.”

“Then do it,” Louis orders, pulling his face away from the pillow.  “Please, Alpha, I’m–” He cuts himself off with a yelp as Harry spreads his cheeks and dives right in with fervor.  These aren’t kitten licks, he’s getting proper tongue fucked, and he can hardly breathe.

Harry pulls back just as suddenly as he began.  “Hang on,” he says shortly, and then he’s gone. Louis can hear him thundering down the short hallway, and then cursing when some part of his body collides with the kitchen island.  He rushes back into the room, setting his phone down on Louis’s bedside table. “For later,” he says simply, then he promptly spreads Louis’s legs again, which he’d closed in surprise, and gets right back to work.

Louis doesn’t even have time to begin thinking about what’s to come, when he’s good an out of it.  It’s all he can do to hang onto his pillow and moan as his arse is assaulted with tongue and now, fingers.

“Pull yourself off,” Harry says gruffly, pulling back just far enough to speak.  Louis can feel the movement of Harry’s lips against his spread-wide bum cheeks. “And the minute you get close I’m gonna shove it in.  Right where you need it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees hoarsely, lifting his hips up so he can get a hand on his own cock.  It’s not the most comfortable of positions, with Harry’s weight pinning his hips down, but he’s so far gone it doesn’t take much.  “Ah, ah, close,” he chants as he feels it build. Quick as lightning, Harry sits up and flips Louis over, yanks his thighs onto his shoulders and shoves that huge cock into Louis’s wet hole.

Louis’s ears ring, and his vision whites out, as Harry’s knot grows and grows.  He feels Harry’s lips against his own, hears murmured words in his ear, and then– nothing.

He and Harry are sharing a hammock on the beach, somewhere in the Caribbean.  It’s so fucking hot he can hardly breathe, but he’s got Harry pressed up against his back and a drink in his hand, so he can’t complain.  He turns his head and opens his mouth to tell Harry how lucky he is, but every time he does, someone starts up a chainsaw nearby.

“What?” Harry asks him, looking adorably confused.  He also hasn’t got any eyebrows.

“Your eyebrows!” Louis shouts, changing course.  “Where are your eyebrows?”

But Harry keeps staring at him, and the chainsaw keeps running, and it’s really bloody hot out.  He wipes a pool of sweat from his neck in frustration.

He blinks, and the beach disappears, only to be replaced by his sunny bedroom wall.  The chainsaw and heat remain, however, and Louis blinks in confusion for a while until he shifts and feels it– Harry’s knot.  His consciousness pulls fully back to the present, and he jerks around to have a look. Harry’s snoring peacefully, mouth open and drooling a bit.  He’s got both eyebrows.

“Thank God,” Louis breathes, relaxing back into Harry’s body.  He wriggles a bit, but he’s still locked tight. He can even feel Harry’s knot pulse with the movement.  It makes his own dick twitch.

Okay, so they’re not quite through.

“Hmm,” Harry moans behind him, arms tightening around Louis’s waist.  He latches his mouth onto the chapped flesh of Louis’s shoulder and rolls his hips lazily.  It’s on just the right edge of pleasure and pain– his areshole, while used to the stretch by now, has had just about enough.  “One more?” Harry rumbles, voice sleep heavy. Louis can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the way his– Harry’s– alpha instincts take over, even pulling him out of sleep, to give Louis what he needs.

“One more,” Louis agrees, voice scratchy from disuse, as he grinds carefully back against Harry’s hips.  Harry’s hand moves from Louis’s hip to his dick, and he purrs like a big cat behind him as he trails kisses and licks up and down Louis’s neck and shoulder.

It’s nice.  Much less rough (and only slightly less satisfying) than their other heat sex encounters that Louis can remember.. The frenzied desire Louis feels during his heats fades away when he comes for the final time, with Harry’s hand working him through it.  He relaxes against Harry as he comes down from his orgasm. Harry, like a true gentleman, shuffles them backwards out of the wet spot.

“Stop moving,” Louis orders him, swatting him on the flank.“You’ll only make it last longer.”

“Want it to last forever,” Harry growls at him, more playful than serious, smacking him back in the same location.  “You stuck on my knot.”

“Don’t think that’d be conducive to like, eating, or exercise.  Or shitting.”

Harry groans, even as he’s laughing.  “Think I like you better when you’re out of it.”  Louis stiffens– he can’t help it. Harry, recognizing his faux pas, immediately attempts to rectify it.  “Sorry Lou. Just a really bad joke.”

Louis sighs, frustrated with himself for continuing to be sensitive and insecure about this.  “You recorded it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, popping up to lean over Louis’s body to the bedside table, where his phone sits.  “Recorded a bit of the third or fourth round, I can’t remember. But I sorta fell asleep afterwards so there’s like three hours worth of me snoring.  Am I really that bad?”

Louis nods sagely, thinking about his chainsaw dream.  “You truly are.”

“Want to look now?  Otherwise I’ll edit out the snoring bits and email it to you or summat.”

“Not now,” Louis says, momentarily panicked at the thought.  Harry, sensing the change in Louis’s body language, wraps his arms tightly around his middle and squeezes.  

“No pressure, Lou.  Thank you for trusting me.”

Louis squirms, caught between pleased and embarrassed.  “You’ve said that already.”

Harry hums, nuzzling his face into the back of Louis’s neck.  “Still true.”

His knot shrinks moments later, as they’re just lying there, entangled.  Louis turns around on his other side, groaning as his muscles protest and his skin cracks from dried spit, slick, and come.  He ought to take a shower soon, but it feels so good to be held after a heat.

Eventually, they manage to pull themselves out of bed.  Harry rinses off first, then leaves Louis to take a longer shower, promising a fry up and clean sheets to fall into when he’s through.

The temperature in the flat is much more bearable now that he’s not in the throes of heat, so he quite enjoys his hot shower.  He takes his time, scrubbing himself clean of nearly all signs of his heat. His shoulder and neck are still bruised and raw, but most of the marks are low enough to be covered by his dress shirt.  And of course, he’ll still smell faintly like Harry for a while.

Louis’s quite confident that Harry won’t leave the flat without ensuring Louis still has his scent marking.  His omega is at peace about it, too. His last few heats with Harry, he’s spent his post-coital showers using the water as a cover for his tears, but this time both his brain and his omega are on the same page.

It’s strange, and wonderful, and he hopes it never goes away.

He checks his phone for the first time once he’s changed into a pair of soft jersey shorts and a sleeveless tee.  Harry was sweet and had plugged it in for him at some point. It’s barely afternoon on a Sunday. Just under 48 hours, same as the first time.

Louis eventually pads into the kitchen, where Harry is standing naked at the stove.

“This seems equal parts unsafe and unsanitary,” Louis comments mildy, smacking Harry on the bum before easing onto a kitchen chair with a grimace.

Harry laughs.  “You like it. You’ve tasted all of me, anyway.”

Louis makes loud retching sounds, even as Harry, beaming, sets a steaming plate in front of him.

“What the fuck,” Louis says, once he’s stopped taking the piss.  “How did you make this out of what was in my fridge?”

Harry waggles his fingers in an imitation of the steak seasoning meme.  “My cock isn’t the only thing that’s magical.”

Louis takes a large bite of egg, rolling his eyes.  “Surprised your massive head fits through the door.”

“It’s almost as big as this,” Harry leers, slapping his dick from side to side.

Louis sighs bemusedly, as Harry cackles at his own joke.  He’d walked right into that one. It may have been on purpose, just to watch Harry laugh.

Harry brings his own plate round to the other chair and scoots himself as close to Louis as he can get.  They knock knees, and the hand not occupied by Harry’s fork roams up Louis’s thigh, and along his neck and shoulder.  Louis allows it, inwardly preening.

“So,”  Harry says, after he swallows a mouthful.  “I know it’s midday on Sunday, and you were probably planning on going in tomorrow, but I was sorta hoping you’d be up for playing hooky with me.”

Louis knows at the root of it, Harry’s alpha just wants a buffer day, to insure the O he’s just knotted is unequivocally out of his head and definitely smelling taken.  But he thinks it’s probably also desired by Harry, himself. They have a lot of fun together. It’s worked out well that they’re so compatible.

We would make great mates, says his omega.  And, well, Louis doesn’t disagree.

Louis just smiles.  “You’ve dropped some mushroom in your lap.”

Harry looks down curiously, then back up at Louis with a shit-eating grin a moment later.  “There’s two, actually. Hope you’re hungry.”

Louis sets his fork down and stares, nonplussed.

“Get it?” Harry prompts, laughing.  “Mushrooms? Cuz of my–“

“Oh, I got it,” Louis says mildly.  “Considering no longer sleeping with you, but I got it.”

Harry pretends to pout.

Louis can’t help but look, now that Harry’s brought attention to it.  “Jesus! You’ve got a semi!” Harry shrugs with a smug smirk. “How?” Louis demands.  The thought of fucking right now makes his arse ache even more.

“What?” Harry asks, laughing.  “You’re really hot! And you smell so good.”  He pulls Louis in by the back of the neck and mouths at his exposed collarbone.

“Easy, Alpha.”  Louis chuckles, pushing him away.  “Same to you, but I just got off your knot!  Aren’t you a bit, like... chafed?”

Harry shrugs again.  “Dunno, it’s not too bad, actually.  Didn’t go as many rounds as the first time we did it.  My knots lasted for ages. Why I kept falling asleep.”

“Hmm.”  It’s interesting, but probably meaningless.  “Strange.”

“So, hooky?” Harry prompts again, poking Louis in the thigh.

Louis sighs, feigning resignation.  “I suppose so.”

Harry gives a little cheer, and plants one directly on his lips.

They spend the rest of their Sunday lazing about, moving from the sofa, to the bed, and back again.  Harry manages to pull some sort of dinner concoction together for a late supper, and then they watch a film in Louis’s bedroom, tucked under the fresh sheets.  The room still smells like their knotting, and it stirs a little something in Louis’s belly when Harry rolls onto his side and pulls Louis into his arms after the television is turned off.  They manage to keep their hands to themselves, though, Harry in particular showing remarkable restraint even as his half-hard cock bumps into Louis’s arse as they get comfortable.

It’s the first time one of them has stayed the night since the near-disastrous sleepover at Harry’s flat weeks ago. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel at all stilted this time.  Louis falls asleep quickly, and stays that way until the morning.

He wakes up alone on Monday morning.  He calls out for Harry without thinking when he sees the spot beside him is empty, then kicks himself for being an idiot when there’s no response.  He and his omega spend several minutes moping miserably under his duvet, before he thinks to check his phone. There’s a text waiting for him from Harry, sent an hour ago:

You slapped me when I tried to wake you, but I’m popping to the shops and arranging a courier for work.  Brekkie when I return!

Louis bolts out of bed to take a piss, brush his teeth, and arrange his hair into just-sexily-woke-up-like-this bedhead.  Rationally, he recognizes that Harry’s seen him in much, much more compromising positions. But, no need to let the mystery completely die.

He falls asleep while he’s waiting, reawakening to the smell of bacon and the feel of a hand trailing up his thigh.

“Morning,” Harry says, far too cheerfully.

Louis surreptitiously wipes the drool that’s collected on his chin as he feigns a yawn.  “More bacon? You trying to fatten me up?”

Harry only laughs and smacks him on the arse.  Louis’s not quite sure how to take that.

He pulls Harry down to hover over him in the bed, and kisses him, just because he wants to.  Then he pulls away, wrinkling his nose. “You smell different.”

Harry chuckles– and, is that… guilt Louis hears in his voice?  “Well, I was out in public.  Lots of people about today.”

“No,” Louis insists, letting his omega out against his better judgement.  “You smell like one person. Specifically.”

Harry’s brows pull together.  “I mean, I saw my mate Rick for a mo, because I didn’t want a courier coming to your flat?  We met at the bakery three blocks from here.”

“You saw your mate Rick,” Louis repeats flatly.  Fucking Rick. He hates him on principle, his omega certain he’s a threat.

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly, evidently catching on to the sudden fire in Louis’s eyes.  “He brought me a contract for a client I need to sign by tomorrow.”

“Do you work with him?”

“No,” Harry hedges.  “Well, sort of. He’s consulting with us, and he was around.  He’s a beta though, so it’s probably not him you’re smelling.”  

Oh.  A beta.  His omega’s a little soothed by that.  Louis can’t be sure, of course, what Harry’s attraction is to alpha and beta men, but he’d assumed O’s were his preference.  But, you never know…

“Oh, yeah,” Harry is saying.  “I bumped into someone in the produce aisle.  Omega lady. Maybe that’s it.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees after a beat, still thinking of whether or not Harry could be into betas.  “Probably.”

Harry’s looking at him with a little smile on his face and a strange gleam in his eye.  He bends to kiss Louis again. Louis resists the urge to pull him down onto the bed and rub up against him.  He settles for sticking his tongue down his throat.

“You’re hot when you’re jealous,” Harry says against Louis’s lips.

“Am not,” Louis argues back on instinct.  “Jealous. I’m always hot.”

Harry laughs.  “That you are, baby.  Come and eat now, it’s probably already gone cold.”

Louis follows Harry into the kitchen, pushing down his omega’s lingering suspicions.  He’s certain it’s just their tie making him behave this way.

They begin a Marvel movie marathon, and fuck on the couch in the middle of Thor.   Louis can’t help it– even though he’s still sore from his heat, watching an attractive alpha kick ass on screen, while he’s seated next to another incredibly fit alpha in the flesh does things to him, okay?  What had started out as a heated makeout session had turned into Harry yanking Louis into his lap and seating him directly on his dick (because they’d both been naked, as Harry’s habits have apparently rubbed off on Louis– no pun intended).  

Now, they’re knotted, and coming down from their orgasms.  Louis rests his forehead against the back of the couch as he leans all his weight into Harry, who’s busy marking and scenting him, probably in preparation for going their separate ways tomorrow.

“So,” Louis says after a few minutes, because he can hear the movie playing in the background but isn’t quite ready to ask Harry to reposition them, and risk losing Harry’s full attention.  “Gig this Saturday. Good to be back in pubs and clubs? No more Bar Mitzvahs?”

Harry nods.  “Weddings,” he corrects.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis asks curiously, as he sits there, rubbing his bottom lip against the warm skin of Harry’s bony, bare shoulder.  Harry hums in assent, fingers moving up and down Louis’s spine as if he were playing a piano. “How come you never pursued the musician thing? Like, as a performer? You’ve got the voice for it.”

Harry hmm’s and shifts, and the knot still inside Louis tugs a bit.  Louis whines and clenches, and Harry soothes him with a tiny kiss to his bare shoulder, although he quickly gets distracted, licking and biting at the skin there.

“Harry.  Harry, focus.”

“Mm, sorry.  What was the question?”  He gives Louis’s shoulder one last little kiss, and Louis could die at how wonderful and domestic it all feels.  

“Why you didn’t become a real singer.”

“Oh.  Well.” He clears his throat. “I’ve tried, you know, a bit.  But I think at the end of the day, you can have all the talent in the world and just not be marketable.”

Louis sits up straight to look Harry in the eye.  “I resent that, actually. I think you’d be very marketable.”

“They wanted me to be a womanizing rock star, Lou,” Harry says.  “I’ve been to the meetings. And I think– maybe, if I’d discovered my passion when I was a teenager, that I’d have been alright with that.  But now that I’m older I’m not interested in being anything other than myself, you know? Yeah, I’m an alpha, but I like men, and, y’know, relationships and that.”

Relationships.  Louis wonders, if Harry’s so big on relationships, why he hasn’t ever tried to make this thing between them more than just casual.  He wishes he had the balls to ask. Maybe tomorrow.

Tuesday comes all too soon.  He wakes up once to Harry’s alarm, then twenty minutes later to his own, with the sound of Harry singing in the shower in the background.

“Morning,” he greets Harry as he enters the bathroom, and Harry yelps in surprise, yanking back the curtain with one hand over his heart.

“Jesus, Lou.”

“Better not be using all my hot water,” Louis warns, flicking Harry on the nose.  Harry grins sheepishly. Louis groans. “Get out! What on earth are you doing in there, shaving your legs?”

“Does that turn you on?” Harry asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Louis pauses, considering.  “Dunno, actually.”

Harry grins and sticks his dripping wet, hairy leg out the side of the curtain, toe pointed coquettishly.  “You can do the honors sometime.”

Louis yanks the curtain farther back and squeezes in next to Harry.  “So fucking weird,” he says under his breath, feeling very much endeared.

They’re both running late by the time they’re dressed and ready to head out the door, and although it’s a part of Louis’s M.O. at this point, it’s out of character for Harry.  He still spends several minutes obsessively scent marking each doorframe in the flat. Then he holds Louis close, running his hands up and down the back of Louis’s dress shirt, and licking one final time at his neck.  Louis, a bit bewildered, wipes the excess saliva off his neck with a kitchen napkin as Harry rushes around collecting his things.

“So you’re coming on Saturday, right?” Harry asks as he bends to put on his beat up leather boots.

“I’ll be there,” Louis assures him.  “Wait, will we not see one another until then?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says apologetically.  “I’d really like to try. But for sure Saturday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes, feeling their little bubble of solitude they’d created during his heat pop.

“Call me,” Harry tells him, kissing him goodbye.  “Shit, I have got to go. Have a good day, Lou!”

Tuesday and Wednesday pass with no contact, aside from a picture text of a pigeon eating a fallen ice cream cone with a crying laughing emoji from Harry midday on Wednesday.  Come Wednesday evening, Louis cracks first. When they’d first tied, he’d painfully waited Harry out, but it didn’t work out for him then, and it doesn’t seem to be working out for him now, either.  He ignores the little voice that reminds him Harry doesn’t feel the same pull from the tie that he does, instead focusing on the memory of Harry rushing back to kiss him one last time before he left the flat on Tuesday morning.

He waits until he’s thrown on some trackies and heated up leftovers to eat in front of the telly before he calls, tapping his fingers nervously on the coffee table while he waits.

Harry picks up on the fourth ring.  “Hullo?” He sounds tired, and not altogether enthusiastic at being rung.

“Hi,” Louis says, losing what little nerve he had.  “Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No,” Harry hurries to say.  “I’m just at the studio still.  Finishing up.”

“Oh, shit,” Louis says, glancing at the digital clock on his cable box.  It’s nearing eight in the evening. “I should let you go so you can get home.”

“No!” Harry insists again.  “No, I need the distraction, actually, to clear my head.  How are you?”

“I’m alright, yeah,” Louis says hesitantly, unsure if he believes him.  He’ll keep it short and sweet. “Just wanted to erm, say hello. Nothing pressing.”

“Yeah?” Harry says back, voice gone softer.  “Did you have a good day today?”

“Fine,”  Louis says.  “Busy. Oh, we’ve been greenlit to push the adverts through, so you can use some of the shots for your own promotion, if you want.”

“Wicked!” Harry says happily.  “I really think it’ll open some doors for me.  Not that I have the time to take much on right now.”

“That’s shit,” Louis commisserates.  “Anything I can do?”

“This is helping, right now,” Harry says, smile in his voice.  Louis smiles too. “Sorry I haven’t called. I came home last night and crashed.”

“Hang on,” he says suddenly.  “You’re not massively behind because of my heat, are you?”

Harry hesitates.  “I mean…”

Louis rubs a hand down his face in frustration.

“Fuck, Harry.  You shouldn’t have to stay late at work because of me!”

“It’s not your fault!” Harry argues.  “It would have only been Thursday and Friday had I not chosen to take Monday too.  That was my decision, Lou.  Besides, summers are always massively busy.  Everyone wants to take advantage of the few weeks of decent weather for their local shoots.”

“Right,” Louis says slowly.  “If you’re sure.”

There’s the sudden sound of murmuring low voices in the background.  “Thanks,” Harry says to someone on his end, then there’s the click of a door and a rustling of paper.  “Sorry,” Harry says into the phone again. “Rick’s just brought me a sandwich since we’re working through dinner.”

“I would’ve done that,” Louis says, probably irrationally put out that Harry’s taking favors from someone who’s not him.  “We could’ve fooled around in the dark room.”

Harry grants him with a sharp burst of laughter.  “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Do you even have a dark room?” Louis wonders.  “In the digital age and all?”

“I do, actually,” Harry says.  “I love working with film.”

“Cool,” Louis says.  “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright,” Harry says through a mouthful.  “I’ll pencil you in for dark room sex in the autumn.”

“You’d better give me the friends and family rate,” Louis teases.  Harry giggles.

“I’ll try to pop by tomorrow night, like usual.  Can’t promise a gourmet meal, or anything.”

“Why don’t I cook?” Louis offers.  On the other line, Harry is silent.  “Oi, you prick, I can manage one meal!”

Harry dissolves into laughter.  “Whatever you say, Lou,” he says once he’s collected himself.  “I’ll look forward to your culinary masterpiece.”

Louis spends a large part of his workday on Wednesday frantically scouring the internet for a decently easy meal, to the delight of his purposefully unhelpful coworkers, and had settled on ground turkey stuffed yams.  Frankly, it sounds more than questionable, but it’s got rave reviews, and it’s something Harry won’t expect.

He heads directly to the shops after work, and spends a harrowing amount of time in the spice and herb isle.   He gets double of everything, just in case the first batch is shit, and adds one of those pop-in-the-oven complete meals while he’s at it, just in case.

Shockingly enough, he doesn’t fuck up too terribly.  The yams bake nicely while he browns and seasons the meat, then he spreads the meat mixture on top and pops them back in with a bit of cheese on top.  He’s a proper Jamie Oliver, if he does say so himself.

At half seven, Harry arrives looking weary as he toes off his boots and tosses his rucksack on the floor.  But he makes a beeline for Louis, pulling him in for a tight hug and nosing at his neck.

“Hello to you too,” Louis breathes out dramatically.

“Sorry,” Harry says quickly, loosening his hold, but not letting go.  He ducks his head and mumbles into Louis’s throat, “So good to see you.  I’ve had a shit day.” He inhales deeply. “You smell just how I left you.”

Louis closes his eyes and laces his arms around Harry’s waist.  “Glad you could make it.”

Harry pulls away after a few more seconds.  “Sorry. It’s just really good to see you,” he says again, a little sheepishly.  “My alpha doesn’t really like being apart from you.”

“Really?” Louis wonders, moving to the oven, ostensibly to check on the food, but mostly as an outlet for his fidgety energy.  Aside from Niall’s offhand comments all those months ago, Harry’d pretty much seemed mostly unaffected by the emotional aspects of their tie.  “You seemed to handle it just fine before.”

Harry scoffs.  “Are you kidding?  I was just trying to respect your boundaries.  Remember when you visited me backstage after a week apart?  I’d have mounted you right then and there if you’d have let me!”

Louis feels himself flush, and it’s not from the heat of the oven.  So Harry is affected by the tie. Good to know.  “Well. I might’ve let you. Dinner’s ready.”

Harry sniffs the air, peering around Louis’s shoulder.  “That actually looks really good, Lou.”

Louis smacks him with his oven glove.  “Don’t sound so bloody surprised!”

The meal is quite good, actually, if he does say so himself, even if he completely forgot the side dishes to go with it.  Harry nearly licks his plate clean, and Louis’s pretty certain it’s not just because he’s being nice. Harry takes over the conversation, mostly bitching about his day, but Louis doesn’t mind.  He’s filled with nervous energy, determined to discuss the specifics of their relationship. At some point. After dinner, probably.

Harry belches and pats his belly.  “That was amazing. Where did you get the recipe?”

“Called up me mum, it’s an old family recipe,” Louis jokes.  Harry’s eyes go wide.

“Really?”  He looks so endeared that Louis hates to crush his spirit.

“Nah, just the internet. Mum’s not much of a cook, either, to be honest.”

Harry chuckles.  “Well, it’s the thought that counts, anyway.  We should definitely do this again.”

“Like coming home to a hot meal waiting for you, do you?” Louis teases, then has a momentary bout of panic, due to all that it implies.

But Harry just laughs, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Are you offering dessert as well?”    

Louis grins salaciously.  “I am. There’s a few options on the menu tonight.”

Harry’s relaxed face goes dark, and he growls quietly.  “Yeah?”

Louis nods.

They retire to the bedroom quickly after that, leaving the dishes for Louis to deal with tomorrow.  It’s not until after Harry’s whispered dirty, flattering, encouraging words in Louis’s ear while he fucks him deep from behind– words like ‘I could do this every night’ and ‘fuck, nothing better than your arse’– that Louis makes his decision final.  He’s going to tell Harry how he feels. He wants this every day, coming home to one another and speaking about their day, sharing a meal (preferably not always cooked by Louis) and a fuck.

Harry slumps over once he’s come, knot still pulsing as he groans tiredly behind Louis.  Louis can’t help but feel partially responsible for Harry’s exhausting first half of the week.

“You know, there’s drugs that make it so you only have one heat a year,” Louis tells him, angling his head a bit so Harry can lick and nuzzle weakly at his neck.

“Hmm,” Harry says sleepily.  Then, once he’s fully processed what Louis’s said, he becomes more alert.  “Wait, once a year? Is that safe?”

“There are side effects,” Louis hedges.  “But it’d make everything easier, wouldn’t it?”

“For who?” Harry asks.  “For you?”

“And you.”

Harry sits up on his elbow, so he can lean over Louis and look him in the face.  “What are you on about?”

Louis sighs.  “I don’t want be responsible for your lack of productivity.  You’re clearly exhausted, and overworked. And I know– I know you said it’s busy like this anyway, but it’s not a great time to have to be away for you, is it?”

Harry frowns at him. Louis has to look away.  Their faces are so close he’s going cross-eyed.

“Lou, people expect alphas to take heat and rut leave, just like omegas.  It’s part of life.”

“Yeah, for alphas in relationships,” Louis says, then snaps his mouth shut, because it clearly sounds like he’s whining about their lack of label.

Harry is silent for several loaded seconds.  “What are you saying?” He sounds apprehensive.

“I dunno,” Louis says quickly.  “But maybe, erm… maybe we could talk more about it.  Some other time. When the animal part of your brain isn’t all lit up.”

“Okay,” Harry says.  “Yeah. I think that– yeah, that’s a good idea.”  They lie there awkwardly in the darkening bedroom, still knotted together.  “If I’m gone in the morning,” Harry says suddenly, “it’s just because I’ve got to get to a location straight away.  Not for any other reason.”

“Oh,” Louis says.  “You’re staying?”

“Well, I don’t have to.” Harry makes as if to shift away from him, and Louis whines at the tug.

“No, you can,” Louis insists.  “Just surprised, is all.”

“Okay,” Harry says.  “Good. I’m just so–” he cuts himself off with a yawn, “–knackered.”

Louis laughs at him.  “Go to sleep, you knob.”

Harry’s snoring softly not a minute later, but the butterflies in Louis’s tummy keep him awake until Harry’s knot slips out of him.  He’s not sure what to make of Harry’s reaction to their upcoming discussion, but he can’t help but feel optimistic as the alpha he loves sleeps peacefully beside him.

Chapter Text

Louis enters the club precisely seven minutes before Harry is due to start his set. It’s a remarkable feat, considering he’d stood in front of his closet for at least thirty minutes, and in front of his mirror even longer.

He and Harry hadn’t managed to connect again the rest of the week, unfortunately, and Louis misses him. As much as he’s looking forward to watching Harry have a great time on stage, he doesn’t want to have to share him with their mates, the groupie girls, or Harry’s bandmates. He knows Harry usually goes out with his band afterwards– but at least they’ll have Sunday together. And he has significant plans for Sunday.

He’s thought a lot about the setting for their big conversation, and also cracked and confessed everything to his coworkers over an extended lunch on Friday. They were extremely supportive, and also surprisingly romantic, as they helped him plan the perfect moment. Louis figured, and they’d agreed, that he might as well go big or go home.

They’d discussed a romantic dinner out, but Mo, ever the practical one, had suggested that going out in public for big conversations was always risky given the off chance they didn’t turn out the way one intended. Bridget had helpfully added that even if things did go as well as planned, one might not want to be too far from the bedroom, in that case. And Louis, remembering how Harry’d melted at the thought of Louis recreating a family recipe for their dinner earlier in the week, had an epiphany.

So, Louis found himself reluctantly calling his mother on a Friday evening to ask for the recipe of the one decent thing he remembered her making when he was younger– a cinnamon walnut coffee cake. He’d been forced to relay the (mum-safe) details to her about Harry, and she was equal parts shocked and excited, demanding that Louis bring Harry up to meet them as soon as it became official– and it would, because her baby s a catch, and no one says no to her baby.

Saturday afternoon was spent buying ingredients and making a mess of his kitchen, burning the first attempt, and giving up and calling it good enough on the second. The completed cake is currently sitting under a large mixing bowl on the worktop, as Louis doesn’t have one of those fancy cake stands with a glass cover. Perhaps Louis should have sprung for one, like he sprung for the expensive coffee grounds that he knows Harry likes, but rarely indulges in. (Truly, Harry’s preference for coffee over tea is his worst flaw.)

He already feels exhausted– from using his brain in ways he’s not used to– even though the sun’s not yet fully set. And now he’s got to see the cause for all of this stress, probably looking gorgeous, whilst Louis is wearing his second least favorite pair of skinnies and less-than impressive locks.

He dodges an alpha with lingering eyes, then sees Niall, at his usual table near the stage.

“Oi, oi!” Niall shouts Louis’s patented greeting at him when they make eye contact, raising his drink in the air in celebration. “Tommo’s in the house! The fuck are you here for already?”

“It’s quiff Louis!” Liam says gleefully, sidling up to Louis and reaching out a hand to touch his painstakingly made creation. Louis slaps his hand away. “Is quiff Louis too posh for tequila shots?”

“Are you fucking barmy?” Niall yells back. “Quiff-tequila-shot-Louis does stripteases on top o’ the bar!”

“That was one time,” Louis argues. “Did you lot do some pre-drinking and forget to invite me?”

“Nah, didn’t even bother,” Niall says back with a shrug. “We know you’re busy.”

Louis’s jaw drops. He hadn’t realized he’d been neglecting basically anyone who isn’t Harry, or work. He hardly even sees Zayn these days, although that isn’t entirely his fault. “Never too busy for you, Nialler. And Payno!” He pulls them into an awkward hug, and gets beer sloshed down his back for his effort. That’s alright, though. He’s a bit starved for Harry’s touch, and he’ll take any scent masker he can get to hide his constant mild level of arousal.

Speaking of, Liam pulls out of the boisterous hug, only to lean in again for a sniff.

“Oh, shit,” he crows, and his eyes turn into little slits as he laughs. “You smell just like H.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Where is he, then? The man of the hour?”

Liam jerks his thumb in the direction of the bar. “Liquid courage, last I saw.”

Louis frowns, following Liam’s gesture. He supposes he hasn’t been intimately acquainted with Harry long enough to know for certain, but he didn’t think Harry typically drank anything but water before going on stage. Performing just seems to come so second nature to him. But sure enough, there he is, chin in one hand as he leans against the bar on his elbow. He’s got what looks like whiskey in his other hand, and he’s dimpling at the man standing next to him. The man pats Harry on the shoulder, and Harry smiles down into his drink, before tossing his head back and draining it.

He and the other man turn from the bar, and he and Louis make eye contact. Harry’s gaze is so fucking smoldering that Louis is glad Liam has taken a few steps away from him, certain his attraction would be caught out. Harry makes a minute gesture with his head toward the door to backstage, and Louis nods, throat suddenly gone dry (but other things– not so much).

Louis swivels on the spot, heading directly for the stage door without so much as a farewell to his mates behind him, as he follows his omega’s instincts. He feels a presence behind him and turns his head, to find Harry moving swiftly to catch up, propelling Louis with a hand to his back once he does so.

“Eager much?” Louis teases, though it gets lost over the pulse of the speaker directly next to the stage door. He’s got butterflies, knowing that Harry is as restless for him as Louis is for Harry.

Louis allows himself to be pushed against the wall as soon as the door clicks shut, and they’re shrouded in near-darkness. Harry bends his head to nose at Louis’s neck, and Louis’s certain he feels a tiny little lick, before he pulls back, sheepish.

“Sorry. Hi. How are you?”

“Alright,” Louis says with a smirk. “Did I pass your test, then?”

Harry flushes. “Sorry,” he says again.

Louis arches his back and exposes his neck coquettishly, without even realizing he’s done it. He reaches out a finger to trace it along the sliver of pale skin between Harry’s black skinny jeans and his very sheer, slightly-too-small, just-a-bit-glittery dress shirt. “Don’t be. Your buttons are done up wrong.”

“Fuck, really?” Harry looks down at himself hastily, then swears again, fumbling for the buttons to re-do them. “That would’ve been embarrassing.”

Louis resists a snort, but only just, because Harry’s outfits are always at least on the edge of ridiculous (and sometimes very far beyond). Leave it to Harry to find mismatched buttons to be the kicker.

He doesn’t mind the view as Harry does himself up correctly, leaving the top several buttons unfastened per usual.

“How do I look?” Harry asks when he’s through, holding out his arms.

“Like a rockstar,” Louis tells him honestly. “Feeling nervous?”

Harry shrugs. “Not about the singing.”

Louis laughs. “Well, what else is there to be nervous about?”

“Erh,” Harry hedges, bringing his hand up to rub at his nose. “Dunno, really. You’re staying the whole time, right?”

Louis hesitates, picking up on Harry’s sudden anxiety. “Was planning to. Why?”

“Good, good,” Harry says quickly. “Just wondering. You’ll get to meet Rick, then. He’s here, too.”

“Great,” Louis says slowly. “Listen, are we still on for Sunday? Thought you could come over for afternoon tea.”

Harry swallows. “Yeah. Your place?”

“Unless you had a different idea?”

Harry shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck. “No. I thought maybe dinner out? But we could always do both.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees. And then, because the air for the past minute has been heavy with unexplainable tension, he jokes awkwardly, “Maybe I can finally wrestle that porno we made from you. You haven’t posted it online or summat, have you?”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Shit. Course not, Lou. I’ve been meaning to send it to you, but I thought– well, maybe I’ll send you it before we meet up tomorrow.”

“Why?” Louis asks suspiciously. “Did I do something stupid?”

“No!” Harry insists, pulling Louis closer by the back of the neck. “No, you were perfect. It’s me. I sound like a fucking idiot, jabbering away.”

Louis relaxes, but only a little. “Well, I think your dirty talk is perfectly average,” he teases soothingly, patting Harry’s chest.

“Heeey,” Harry whines, dimpling. Their faces are so close together, it’s only natural for them to snog a little. They lean in at the same moment, identical grins on their faces, but are interrupted by a loud cheer.

“Hey!” One of Harry’s bandmates calls from the end of the hallway. “Oi, you two! Quit with the necking, would you? We’ve got a show to put on!”

Louis plants one on him anyway, tossing the nameless band member a middle finger over Harry’s shoulder, to the raucous laughter of the other bloke.

Harry nips one last time at Louis’s neck before pulling away. “See you out there?” he asks.

“Yeah, see you,” Louis agrees. “Break a leg. Is that proper well wishes for a music act?”

“Nooo,” Harry wails, covering his face with his hands. “You’ve cursed us all!”

Louis can’t not laugh at his antics. He shoves him down the hallway towards his tiny green room. Harry sends him a wave over his shoulder, his laughing expression flickering into apprehension for a split second before he turns around.

Louis frowns, wishing Harry would’ve entrusted him with what’s making him so anxious. He’s never seen him so intimately before a show before, so he can’t be sure if this is typical behavior for him, but somehow he doubts it.

The man who’d been at Harry’s side at the bar is now standing with Niall, Liam, and three girls the lads must’ve chatted up while he’d been occupied. One of the girls smells sharply of bleach over the assorted perfumes the other beta women are wearing. They smile knowingly at one another. Louis gets it. He’d occasionally used temporary scent blocking spray when going out, particularly in uni when he and Zayn would go out to the clubs.

“Tommo!” Niall cheers as he approaches. He hands him a tequila shot. “This is Amanda, Nicola, and Thea.”

The girls wave at him in unison. Behind them, the band, minus the main attraction, assembles on the small stage to plug in and test their instruments. The noise level increases twofold.

“What was that, mate?” Louis shouts, stepping closer to the new beta bloke, who’d opened his mouth to speak just as a guitar riff blasted through the club.

“I said, I’m Rick,” the guy shouts back, extending the hand that isn’t holding his own shot. “Nice to meet you, Louis.”

Louis had suspected this was Rick. Louis shakes his hand, sizing him up as quickly as possible. He’s nice enough looking, taller than Louis, with light brown eyes. meticulous brows, and a Peaky Blinders cut. He’s wearing an unfortunately patterned collared shirt that looks like it could be a reject from Harry’s closet.

“Is that Harry’s shirt?” his mouth asks before his brain has a chance to catch up.

Rick glances down at himself. “Yeah,” he laughs. “Afraid I don’t pull it off with quite as much aplomb as H, but I didn’t have time to go home and change.”

“Well, least I can’t see your tits,” Louis says dryly.

Rick guffaws. “True, that.”

“C’mon, ya skirts– no offense, ladies– drink your fucking shots!” Niall encourages loudly. “Payno’s got the next round!”

Louis downs his drink as instructed, grimacing at the taste, and Rick does the same beside him.

The club music cuts off abruptly, and the lights dim ever so slightly as the band begins playing the opening notes of Harry’s first song. The man in question sashays onto the stage moments later, looking cool as a cucumber, and the crowd cheers, led by Louis and the lads, and the smattering of groupies by the stage.

“Oh my God,” the omega girl beside Niall yells over the music. Louis can’t recall her name. “Is that your mate?”

“Yeah, that’s Harry,” Niall confirms.

“Trust me, he’s not interested,” Rick adds with a smirk, which honestly seems a bit mean-spirited. But the girl pouts only for a second, then shrugs, turning her full attention back to Niall. “Harry looks great tonight, doesn’t he?” Rick says to Louis, grinning, and Louis frowns at him in return.

“Hi, erm, I’m Harry. How is everyone tonight?” Harry is saying from the stage, during the instrumental part of his opening song. Louis claps and hollers along with the rest of the crowd. Liam beckons the shot girl over and starts unloading more drinks in front of everyone, and Harry sends a wave and raised eyebrows in their direction.

One more shot and half a rum and Coke later, and Louis’s feeling it. Harry’s only four songs in and has a few more to go, and Louis estimates that at this rate, by the time he’s off the stage, their group will be utterly sozzled. Speaking of...

“You know,” Niall says loudly, slamming his empty pint onto the table and yanking Louis toward him. Louis welcomes being manhandled, if not just to get away from Rick, who seems to have decided that Louis is his new best friend. “I’ve gotta tell ya. I’m really fucking glad this worked out.” He gestures from Louis to the stage, where Harry’s prancing around like an utter loon. “Thought for sure you’d ruin everything.”

“Me?” Louis demands. “Why me?”

“Remember when I was slagging you about it?” Niall laughs, like the memory is the funniest shit in the world. Louis doesn’t recall it in quite that way. “Remember?”

“I do fucking remember,” Louis says back. “And I demand an explanation.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Thought you were taking advantage. Dead obvious how much he wanted you.”

“Really?” Louis wonders, unable to stop the grin that blooms across his face. In retrospect, it does makes sense.

Niall grins back. “Didn’t account for you feeling the same, though.”

Louis ducks his head, swiping at his nonexistent fringe. “Yeah, well, nothing’s official.”

“All I’m saying is don’t come crying to me when things go tits up,” Niall says, laying a drink-heavy hand on Louis’s shoulder. “They always do.”

“Thanks Nialler,” Louis says dryly.

Niall’s face lights up again. “You know what he asked me last week? Where the most romantic restaurant in London was! Like I’d fucking know!”

Louis’s jaw drops, as his heart thunders. “Yeah?”

Niall shrugs, looking like the cat ate the canary. “Told him that new Italian place, though. With the rooftop.” He winks exaggeratedly. “Be surprised.”

“Giuseppe’s?” Liam shouts loudly, making Louis jump when he wraps his arms around his waist. Louis punches his forearms until he releases him. “The lasagna was good.”

“You’ve been there?” Louis asks.

“With who?” Niall demands, shoving him playfully in the chest. “Your mum?”

“Hey now,” Liam warns, broadening his shoulders in faux-alpha posturing. Niall only laughs. “Nah, I only ate Harry’s leftovers.”

Niall and Louis make vaguely panicked eyes at one another.

“What?” Niall asks, as Louis demands, “When?” simultaneously.

Liam shrugs, grinning as he gazes from one to another, entirely unawares. “Dunno, couple days ago? Him and Rick went, Harry said.”

Louis’s heart, which had been rabbiting with excitement milliseconds before, stops abruptly and sinks into his stomach.

“Well, fuck,” Niall says succinctly.

“What?” Liam asks, looking from one to the other. “You going there? Rick can probably give you details.”

“No, Payno–” Louis starts, but Liam’s already shouting across the table at Rick, who’s been watching Harry on stage raptly.

“Oi, Rick! The lads were wondering about that place you and Harry ate at the other day!”

Rick grins at them, glassy-eyed. Going shot for shot with the lads has had its effects on him. “You taking someone special out, Niall?”

Niall cackles. “Maybe someday, mate!”

Rick laughs. “It’s a good choice– got them fairy lights all around, and the candles on the table. And cloth napkins!” He shoots Louis a knowing grin that Louis doesn’t appreciate one bit, given the context.

Harry’s taken Rick out for a romantic dinner. With fucking fairy lights. On a week he claimed he was too busy to see Louis. Rick brings Harry food when he works late. They even saw one another during Louis’s heat.

Rick is wearing Harry’s shirt like it belongs to him.

It hits him like a sack of bricks. Harry and Rick are seeing one another.

“Hi,” Harry says into the mic, and Louis turns toward the stage on autopilot, even as his heart breaks. “I want to thank all of you for supporting my original music. I know it’s not always what people look for when they come to gigs like this, so uh, thanks. As a reward, for our final song, we’ll treat you to a cover of a song I haven’t been able to get out of my head for a while now. We’ve only rehearsed it just the once, so it might probably be shit.”

“Lou,” Niall says into his ear. “You alright?”

Louis swallows, as the opening notes of The Cure’s Lovesong start up. Fuck his life.

“Yeah,” he says. His mouth feels full of cotton. “Just feeling a bit poorly.”

“Tequila and beer’ll do it,” Liam agrees jovially, slapping Louis on the back. Louis hasn’t had any beer tonight, but he nods tightly in agreement.

On stage, Harry closes his eyes, and begins singing, “Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again.”

Why would Harry do this? Why would he bring Louis to this place, and encourage him to meet the man that he’s seeing, make him watch him sing a love song to him on stage?

The answer is clear. Louis means nothing to Harry. He’s just the omega he fucks because his real boyfriend can’t take a knot.

“I need to leave,” he says aloud. “Nialler, I have to go.”

“What?” Liam cries in affronted disbelief, but pauses when he sees Louis’s face. “Oh, Tommo, you really don’t look so good.”

“Lou,” Niall says, concerned, looking more sober than Louis has seen him all night. “Is it because of that?” His eyes dart quickly to the stage, where Harry, totally unaware of Louis’s life crashing down around him, sings his heart out, eyes still closed.

“No,” Louis lies. “It’s the drinks. Might be coming down with something. A migraine.”

Niall raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Allergies too?”

“Maybe,” Louis hedges. “Lovely to meet you,” he calls over to Rick. The words taste like acid on his tongue.

“Oh, do you really have to go?” Rick asks, looking genuinely disappointed. “H was really proud of this one.” And, of course, Rick would know about the cover songs Harry planned to sing.

“Mate, I’m seconds away from projectiling,” Louis tells him, which isn’t even a lie. His gut is roiling. He needs fresh air, and to get away from Harry’s sultry, raspy voice.

“Do you want to me take you home?” Liam asks him, crowding into his space to shield him from the others, alpha mode engaged.

“No,” Louis insists. “Just need some fresh air and time with the toilet, I think. I’ll call a car.”

Liam frowns. “If you’re sure.”

The song is winding down. Harry will be off stage soon.

“Gotta go.” He waves to the lot of them, avoiding looking at the stage as he makes a beeline for the doors. Someone darts in front of him, blocking his path at the last possible moment before escape.

“Hi,” the alpha says. “I saw you came in alone, and can’t help noticing you’re leaving alone–”

“Move!” Louis shouts, pushing past him. He’s got to get away from the sound of Harry’s voice as he thanks the cheering crowd. And he’s got to get far away from Rick, the person Harry’s dating, who he has romantic dinner dates with, then afterwards comes over and fucks Louis at his flat in secret. Harry might even love Rick, judging by the lyrics of that song. Fuck, Louis loved that song. And now he’ll never be able to listen to it again.

He pauses once he comes out of the club, considering heaving up the contents of his stomach right there on the road.

“Ew,” a girl says idly as she passes by him with her mates, carefully sidestepping him on the walk where he’s bent over with his hands on his knees.

“Started a bit early, mate?” One of the blokes with her teases good naturedly.

And, fuck, it’s not gone ten and the sun hasn’t even set.

“Fuck,” he says aloud. “Buggering fuck.” He walks a few blocks before he calls for an Uber, lest any of his mates come out of the club and see him loitering around like an idiot.

Returning to his flat that still smells like Harry is torture, and discovering his made-with-love coffee cake sitting prominently on his worktop only adds fuel to the fire. He swipes it into the bin impulsively, then tosses the fancy bag of coffee too. He can’t believe Harry was planning to show up to Louis’s home in just a day’s time to tell him he’s seeing other people.

Louis opens all of the windows to help air out Harry’s scent, then decides to fuck it all, and digs the coffee cake out of the bin. He shovels the cake (that’s really fucking good, thanks very much) into his gullet like a man on a mission. He’s always either eaten the entire house, or stopped eating entirely whilst stressed, and Harry stress seems to make him want to eat. So, great. He’ll be too fat to even get a boyfriend by the time he’s over it.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table. He debates ignoring it completely, but doesn’t have such willpower. He’s both relieved and disappointed to see that it’s only Liam, checking to see if he made it home alright and hoping he feels better. Louis send him a thumbs up in return and tosses the phone back down.

Moments later, his phone is buzzing with an incoming call.

“Shit.” His hands are covered in cinnamon crumbs, but he won’t answer it either, because he can see that it’s Harry from here. It rings and rings, and finally goes silent, only to buzz again with a voicemail notification.

Because he has no self control, he licks his fingers clean and wipes them on his top, then grabs for his phone.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry’s voice says. He sounds out of breath, like he’s maybe still coming down from the stage high. Or just finished snogging Rick. “The lads said you left in a hurry cuz you were ill. Just wondering if you needed anything, like soup or medicine. You’re probably sleeping though, so… if I don’t hear from you tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow. Erm, bye.”

Louis chooses not to respond. He’ll deal with it in the morning.

Sleep, of course, is elusive. He watches Black Mirror on Netflix into the wee hours of the morning to keep his mind distracted, and wakes up to sun streaming into his eyes and the black ‘Are you still watching Black Mirror?’ screen.

He checks his phone with apprehension. It’s nearing eleven, and there’s a text waiting for him from Harry.

Morning! Hope you’re feeling better! Alright if I come by around 2?

No, Louis does not want him coming by around two. Preferably ever, if he can help it. He wonders what Harry could possibly be expecting from this conversation. Maybe he’s planning to tell Louis all about Rick.

And that’s the shitty thing about all of this. Why wouldn’t Harry think it was alright for him to see other people? They’d explicitly stated that this was just a fun, no strings attached sort of relationship. And Louis had balked every chance he got to tell Harry how he felt. Of course Harry would think that he could just go start seeing someone without any blowback from Louis.

But– he’d really thought things were changing for the better, and getting more intimate. He knows he felt it, and he was sure Harry had felt it too. Harry had been giving into his instincts much more lately. Then again, they’d recently returned to knotting.

Louis jumps when his phone buzzes in his hand. It’s only Niall, and Louis reluctantly accepts the call.

“Hiya, Nialler.”

“I’m hungover as fuck,” Niall announces, “but I’m trying to remember if we found out H is two-timing you last night.”

Louis groans. “No. Stop.”

“I knew it!” Niall hisses. “Fucking cunt.”

“Woah,” Louis chastises. “It’s not Harry’s fault I got in too deep. We were never exclusive.”

“Weren’t?” Niall repeats. “You’re over now?”

Louis just sighs. “Haven’t thought that far. All depends on him and Rick, I suppose.”

Niall snorts ruefully. “Never trust a man with perfect eyebrows.”

Louis rubs a hand down his face. “They are perfect, aren’t they?”

Niall is silent for a few seconds. “I just– I’m really surprised. I thought you two really had something. He was always so taken with you, before.”

“Well,” Louis says wryly, “why buy the cow when you get the milk for free, innit?” Niall huffs, and Louis can’t help but chuckle a bit at his outrage. “Niall, a few months ago you were ready to bite my head off when you thought I’d taken advantage of him.”

“Well, I reserve the right to change my mind,” Niall says stubbornly. “And this time, he’s in the wrong.”

“I also seem to recall you telling me, just last night, not to come crying to you when things go tits up.”

Niall clears his throat. “Well, pissed me is a smartarse.”

“He’s not, though,” Louis insists, returning back to Niall’s first point, and wondering even as the words are coming out, when he decided he was going to defend Harry’s actions. “In the wrong. Not really. It was just supposed to be fun. For all I know, he was planning on ending it today.”

“So, he had no idea you were this into him?”

“Well, I thought he had, but–”

“Oh, fuck,” Niall hisses suddenly. “Hang on.”

There’s commotion on the other end, then a muted conversation with another person who’s obviously Harry. Louis can hear the slow, low timbre of his voice through the phone that Niall must have pressed into his shoulder, and it makes his heart ache.  A door closes, then Niall’s back.

“Shit, that was a close one,” he breathes.

“I hope you weren’t too bloody obvious.”

“Cool as a cucumber,” Niall insists. “He had no idea. Seemed real chipper, actually.”

“Great,” Louis drawls.

“He, uh... had flowers with him. In the interest of full disclosure.”

“Oh. Like, for him, or from him?”

“From him, I think. He didn’t make to put them in water.” Louis closes his eyes, and briefly wishes for death. “Maybe they’re for you,” Niall says hopefully, after a beat.

Louis snorts. They’re probably consolation flowers. Sorry I’ve moved on. “Yeah. Maybe. Listen mate, seriously. Don’t treat him any differently. This is between us, and besides, you’re the one who has to live with him.”

“But Tommo, if you’re gonna have a problem with it–”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Louis insists, to himself as much as to Niall. “It is what it is. Heartbreak is basically my primary emotion these days.” He laughs, but Niall doesn’t join in.

“You have dated some shit people, haven’t you?” Niall sympathizes. Louis can see how it may look that way. He doesn’t decide to have serious relationships often, and when he does, they always inevitably crash and burn.

“They weren’t shit,” Louis insists. “I had my own stuff to work through, some of which Harry helped me with, so I have him to thank for that. Maybe next time’ll be the real thing.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “Listen, we’ll go out this weekend, just you, me, Payno, and Zayner. It’ll be like old times, yeah? Maybe we’ll even find a party to crash.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, alright.”

They say their goodbyes, and Louis feels much better, until he remembers he’s still got Harry’s text to respond to. He knows one thing for certain: he’s going to put this conversation off as long as possible, until he’s better able to handle the results.

Still poorly, actually. Raincheck? I’ll call you.

He isn’t anticipating the call that comes through moments later. Doesn’t Harry realize it’s poor etiquette to call someone back when they’ve texted you first? He’s got no choice but to answer. Harry knows he’s by his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi Lou,” Harry says. “Still ill?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Louis says, using his near-death voice that occasionally worked on his mum when he was a teenager. “Don’t think we should meet up today.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Harry says. “I can bring you soup, cuddle you up in bed?”

“No,” Louis says quickly. “It’s actually, erm, diarrhea. Explosive. Really nasty.” What the fuck, he mouths to himself as Harry makes a faint disgusted sound on the other end of the line. “If it doesn’t stop by tomorrow, I think I’ll go in.”

“That sucks, Lou. D’you think you might feel well enough for supper tonight?”

“Maybe,” Louis hedges. “I’ll call if I do.”

“Alright,” Harry says, sounding disappointed. “I actually, erm… I sent you that video. To your personal email. I thought we were getting together today.”

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “That’s fine. We don’t have to watch it together. Might be weird, actually.” He laughs awkwardly, and Harry joins in.

“Okay,” he says reluctantly. “Just, uh, if you watch it, will you call me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis agrees, a bit confused, though he remembers Harry’s comments about it on Saturday.

“Okay,” Harry says again. “I’ll let you go. Get some rest, then. Let me know if I can do anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, mate. Bye.” He hangs up before Harry can say anything else, then exhales loudly. “Fuck,” he says aloud.

He takes a shower, then polishes off the rest of the coffee cake, standing at the island in his kitchen. He calls Zayn, but he doesn’t answer, so he puts on his shoes and heads out the door.

Both Zayn’s flat and studio are within walking distance of Louis’s place. Louis hasn’t spent much time in Zayn’s workspace, only because that’s where Zayn goes to focus and not to entertain, but today he has no qualms about letting himself into the large, open space. Zayn’s there alone, per usual, blasting artsy Bollywood-esque music as he kneels beside an enormous piece of wood, standing taller than he is. He’s been carefully placing pieces of reflective glass into some sort of pattern onto the painted piece.

Louis hits pause on Zayn’s ancient pinwheel iPod to alert him to his presence, and Zayn jerks in surprise. He sits back on his haunches when he sees Louis, and pulls the safety goggles from his eyes.

“Well, this can’t be good.”

Louis tugs at the bottom of his band tee, unable to meet Zayn’s eyes, suddenly supremely embarrassed. “Sorry, bro.”

“No, don’t do that, bro,” Zayn says kindly, jumping up off the floor and rushing to Louis’s side. He pulls him in for a quick, tight hug. “Here.” He hands Louis a hammer and removes the safety goggles from around his own neck, gently placing them over Louis’s eyes. “You can take your aggression out on that mirror over there. And tell me everything.”

It’s cathartic, actually, even if it only takes a few hits to get the pieces exactly to Zayn’s specifications. He sits on the floor next to Zayn and organizes the pieces into sizes so Zayn can place them whilst he tells him about everything that’s happened, from the Monday he and Harry had spent in their own little world, to Harry’s somewhat peculiar behavior the days following, to the events at the club yesterday. Zayn listens patiently like he always does, waiting until Louis’s finished spewing to offer his perspective.

“So, Harry visited this bloke right after your heat, went on a romantic dinner with him, then introduced him to you at his gig. Why would he do that, though? You’d think he’d want to keep you two far away from one another to keep from finding out.”

“Unless he’s keeping it casual with both of us,” Louis considers.

Zayn shakes his head. “Still, you don’t introduce one to the other, unless both are cool with it. Did Rick seem cool with it?”

Louis shrugs. “He seemed friendly enough. Not like he was faking it.” Zayn nods, lips pursed in thought. “He was wearing Harry’s shirt.”

Zayn grimaces. “Maybe he doesn’t know about you either? Oh– no. The heats.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “Harry met him just a few blocks from my flat while I was still sleeping off my heat.”

Zayn gives him a consoling pat on the leg. “Well, there’s always the possibility that they’re just friends, and some lines have just gotten crossed.”

“You think so?”

Zayn shrugs, offering Louis a doleful smile. “Dunno, mate.”

Louis sighs. “I just keep thinking– I know him. We’ve practically… it feels like we’ve been in a relationship for a while now. He’s not– I don’t think he’d intentionally hurt me.”

“I don’t think so either,” Zayn agrees, after mulling on his thoughts for a bit. “You know me and him don’t click, but I don’t think he’d do that.”

“Which means that this really is just a casual thing for him until he finds someone.” He has a sudden thought. “Do you think it could be like an arrangement for them? Let Harry get his fill of knotting before going home to a beta?”

“Not every alpha needs to knot,” Zayn says, almost defensively. “At least, mine doesn’t.”

Louis’s mouth drops open. “Zayn Malik, you’ve been holding out on me. Who is it?”

Zayn rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, his tell. “It’s early days yet. We’re just talking. Feeling it out, y’know?”

“Who is it?” Louis demands again. “And how long have I been in the dark?”

Zayn laughs. “She’s the curator of that gallery I got a piece in a few months ago. The one about urban artistry.”

Louis raises his hand for a fist bump, and Zayn obliges, flustered. “Fucking your way to the top, I like it.”

“It’s not like that,” Zayn insists, but he’s grinning now too.

“Shit,” Louis says seriously. “Sorry for always unloading on you. I haven’t given you a chance lately to do the same.”

“You’d listen if I needed it,” Zayn assures him. “Like I said, it’s a new thing. But I can’t get her out of my mind. As you can see.” He gestures to the piece in front of them with a smirk. Louis leans back to really take it in for the first time.

“You’ve made me a co-creator on a giant, glittering vagina, haven’t you?”

When Zayn’s finally composed himself enough to string a sentence together, he asks, “So, when are you meeting up to talk about this?” Louis picks a bit of lint off his shorts. “Lou! Seriously, you’ve got to take the bull by the fucking horns here. This isn’t going to solve itself if you ignore it.”

“Maybe if I ignore it hard enough, it will,” Louis says stubbornly.

“Yeah, if you ghost him.”

Louis perks up. “D’you think that would work?”

Zayn hits him over the head. “No, Lou. This is the alpha that you want in your life, yeah? You’ve got to be willing to stick your neck out for it, if you want it.”

Louis swallows. “And if he doesn’t want me?”

Zayn sighs. “I’m pretty sure we had this exact conversation ages ago. Hate to say it, babes, but you’re used to moving on from heartbreak. You’d get through this one too. And if he lets you go, he doesn’t deserve you. Probably already doesn’t.” Louis pulls a face. Zayn leans closer. “Alright, here’s what you do. You wait ‘til you’re calm. Maybe get high or something. You ask him lots of open-ended questions. Don’t start accusing right away. Let him tell you where he stands first, then you can save face if you need to.”

It seems easy enough, in theory, but in reality, it’s scary as fuck. Any way you slice it, Louis knows things can’t stay the same after this conversation. He also knows that he hasn’t loved anyone like this in a long time. And he’s afraid.

He manages to stay busy the entire day on Monday. Bridget and Mo take one look at his face and ask no questions. He doesn’t call or text Harry on Monday, and Harry doesn’t call or text him, not even to ask if he’s feeling well. The silence doesn’t last long, however. Harry calls him on Tuesday afternoon just as Louis is packing up to go home. He lets it go to voicemail, but sits in his office and listens to it immediately.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, “I’m just doing the shopping and wondering how you feel about shrimps? I know you said no seafood, but I’m thinking about giving up red meat for a while. I watched this documentary about meat processing the other night, and it got me thinking. Anyway, I think I’m gonna get them and make you try ‘em anyway? There’s always the emergency cereal cupboard, right?” he snickers. “Okay, talk to you later.”

Louis chuckles bitterly, because Harry’s just so fucking wonderful, apart from him seeing other people. He waits to text back until he’s already home and reasonably relaxed. Might as well bite the bullet.

I’ll try anything once! See you at the usual time tomorrow. Will be good to have a chat.

Harry texts back minutes later.

Feels like it’s been ages! Do you still smell like me?

Louis scoffs, then tosses his phone onto the other side of the couch. He knows Harry’s attempting to flirt right now, but it feels dirty... tainted. For once, he’s feeling glad that they’re going to be getting everything out of the way tomorrow. Louis’s now preparing himself to lay it all on the line.

He’s hardly present all day at work Wednesday, going over dozens of possible scenarios in his head for the evening. He considers writing some things down so he doesn’t forget to say them, then decides to wing it, like usual. His best ideas seem to come to him that way anyway.
He, Bridget, and Mo are just finishing up their final draft for a local tie company, when Allison comes to find them.

“Sorry to ask this of you, but we’ve got a big potential client who’s in town tonight and wants to do drinks.”

The clients have heard good things from Desmarais, as it turns out. They own an elite wine subscription company and are looking to expand into international markets. It’s an incredible opportunity, and Louis and the team agree to the meeting– they don’t have much of a choice. Louis reluctantly texts Harry to cancel their plans: Sorry mate, looks like we’ve got a last minute client dinner we have to go to. What’s your day like tomorrow? He genuinely feels regret this time. He’d prepared himself to get it over with and now it’ll be hanging over them even longer.

Harry doesn’t respond until Louis’s just taking the first sip of his drink, nearly an hour after Louis’d texted him.

Are you sure about that?

Louis feels the back of his neck flush as he stares down at his phone. It’s sometimes difficult to detect tone via text message, but he’s fairly certain that Harry’s giving him attitude right now.

?? Sorry, you know how it is with work shit!

Harry texts back immediately, OK, with a thumbs up emoji. And that– no one uses Louis’s patented passive-aggressive thumbs up against him.

“Would you excuse me?” he asks his colleagues and the two clients, both older male alphas, naturally. Bridget shoots him a look, but he waves away her concern. He’s boiling mad, which isn’t the best of times to have this conversation, but he can’t stop himself from finding Harry’s contact and hitting the call button.

“Hullo?’ Harry says, answering on the second ring.

“What the fuck,” Louis hisses, “is your problem?”

“Nothing,” Harry says mulishly. “Just wondering if you’re even out for work at all.”

“What, do you need me to take a photo of the menu as proof?” Louis snaps in response.

“You’ve obviously been avoiding me,” Harry says loudly. “First you run out on me at the gig, then you cancel our plans and don’t even call–”

“I was ill.”

“You were not,” Harry insists. “I know what your voice sounds like when you’re lying, Lou.”

Louis sputters. “Well, you were avoiding me last week too!”

Harry pauses. “That was different.”

“Was it?” Louis demands. And then he does precisely what Zayn advised not to. “I know about Giuseppe's, Harry,” he accuses. “Rick told me.” There’s a moment of silence, where one could hear a pin drop.

“Rick told you,” Harry repeats dumbly. He exhales loudly. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t sure what it meant,” Louis admits. “What does it mean?”

Harry sighs. “I… I want to be in a relationship.” Oh. So, there it is then. He really has chosen Rick. Louis closes his eyes tight to quell the sudden stinging. “Louis?”

“Yeah,” Louis says tightly. He takes a deep breath to collect himself. He was partly expecting it, of course, but the confirmation of it stings. “How long has it been, since you felt that way?”

“A long time,” Harry tells him quietly.

Louis scrubs a hand over his face, and turns to face the brick wall of the building as a group of people pass by him on the street. He can’t believe he’s doing this here. “Since Paris?”

Harry hesitates. “Before.”

Fuck. “I asked you to start knotting me again in Paris.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I should’ve told you then. I’m sorry if you feel… I’m sorry. I thought we were sort of on the same page here.” He sounds legitimately sad, like he hadn’t meant to break Louis’s heart, and that only makes it worse. It’s true, even. Louis’d told him that night in Paris that he’d be able to handle the emotions that came with knotting.

“Well,” he says, as dismissively as he can manage with his heart currently breaking, “This thing had to come to an end anyway, right?”

“You want to stop?” Harry asks sharply.

“I mean,” Louis flounders for a second, flabbergasted. “Yes, obviously. If you want to be in a relationship, we can’t exactly keep having sex, can we?”

Harry snorts derisively. “You fucking would see it that way.”

Louis scoffs, hackles rising and hurt pooling. “If you mean having some fucking respect for myself, then yeah, I do see it that way!”

“Respect for yours– who the fuck do you think you are?” Harry yells. “I’m not some everyday alpha, Louis. We shared stuff with each other! You trusted me– or, I thought you did! And you’re just gonna throw that away because you’re scared of taking a risk?”

“Taking a risk?” Louis all but screams back, barely cognizant of being in public, and at a work function, at the moment. “Is that what we’re calling it these days; me just being around for you to pop your knot in when you feel like it, like some dirty little secret? All because your actual boyfriend can’t satisfy your stupid fucking alpha urges?”

“Louis?” He whirls around at the sound of Mo’s voice. “You alright?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Harry roars on the other end of the line.

“Is that your alpha screaming at you?” Mo asks, voice hard.

“Who is that?” Harry demands.

“It’s Mo,” Louis tells him. “I’ve got to go.”

“Does your alpha know he’s causing a scene for you, in public, at a work event?” Mo asks loudly, close enough to the microphone so Harry’s sure to pick it up.

“He’s not my alpha,” Louis tells him, hitting the end call button. “Not anymore.” He turns his phone all the way off and tucks it back into his trouser pocket.

“Louis,” Mo says sadly, reaching out to grip his elbow. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to go? We can make your excuses.”

Louis sighs, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears that threaten to fall. “No. You’ve already pulled my dead weight enough.” Mo opens his mouth to object, but Louis waves him off. “Give me a moment to collect myself and I’ll be there, alright?”

Mo nods, even as he frowns, and he turns to go back into the restaurant. Louis follows him after only a moment, making a beeline for the toilets, where he splashes his face with cold water. He nearly cracks, when he sees his own devastated face in the mirror, but he pastes on a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and goes to rejoin his group. The show must go on.

Chapter Text

Louis doesn’t dare turn his phone on, not even as he takes a car home after his work evening.  He’d done his best to be present, but he knows Bridget caught on to his dark mood without being told, and he’s certain their potential clients picked up on something heavy in the air as well.  Still, they’d managed to get some good information in the end, despite the palpable tension, and made plans to set up a bid soon.

Mo had said nothing about what he’d overheard, though he looked like he wanted to, and Louis is grateful.  After having to just sit there for nearly three hours, with no way to outwardly express or deal with what transpired between him and Harry, Louis feels mostly numb.  He leans heavily against the mirrored walls of the lift as it ascends toward his floor, then trudges out toward his door, stopping short when he sees the items on the floor by his doorway.

He glances furtively around, heart beating wildly, but Harry is nowhere in sight.  His scent lingers, however, almost as though he’d marked the doorway with his scent, like he does after Louis’s heats.  He probably had.

Louis can’t resist picking up the bouquet of flowers and bringing them to his nose.  He’s always loved flowers, but never had been one to prioritize buying them for himself.  He brushes the petals of a tulip across his cheek, sighing. Part of him wants to throw the flowers directly in the bin, but he knows he won’t.

There’s also a reusable bag filled with plastic containers– the dinner Harry’d planned for them– and, bizarrely, what looks to be one of Harry’s old, grimy white tees, clearly unwashed, and smelling so sharply of Harry that Louis has to steady his body against the door whilst he gathers his wits about him.  

What the fuck would Harry do that for?  Louis snorts derisively.  Of course, Harry probably had to claim his territory one last time.  Remind Louis what he’ll be missing. Fucking knothead.

He balls the shirt up and dumps it in the bin the moment he lets himself in the door.  His flat is mostly free of Harry’s scent by now, thankfully, and the closed bin lid keeps the scent of Harry’s shirt from permeating.  Harry hasn’t smelled that strongly since the day Louis first met him. Louis knows now that his first impression of Harry’s behavior that day were wrong, but the memory of it still brings unpleasant feelings to the surface.

He unpacks the bag of food with force, slamming each container down onto the worktop with satisfying smacks.  There’s a still-warm container of shrimps in some sort of garlic sauce that Louis dumps straight into the garbage, directly on top of the shirt.  He’s not in the mood to broaden his food horizons today. In the next container are a few slices of homemade pepperoni and jalapeño pizza, likely a backup in case the shrimps crashed and burned.  He saves those, because he’ll never say no to perfectly good pizza, no matter who made it, under whatever circumstances– even when he’s dying of a broken heart. Lastly, he pulls out two little perfectly proportioned containers of trifle.

He stares at them, flabbergasted.  It just doesn’t make any sense, the effort Harry’s gone to for these meals.  Who would go through the trouble for a person they only fuck? Wouldn’t something like this be more worthwhile to do for Rick?   Perhaps , his badly wounded omega wonders for him, these are leftovers from the meals he makes for Rick.  Rick, who Harry’d known he wanted to be with since at least Paris, where Louis’d been stupid enough to think he and Harry might have a shot.  He remembers thinking then, that he’d just enjoy what they had and pick himself up off the floor when the time came that Harry decided to move on.  Past him is so fucking stupid.

The rational part of him just doesn’t believe Harry would be that cruel, to knowingly use Louis for sex, especially after Louis’d ask him to knot him again, and how meaningful that was.  What Harry’d said on the phone was true– they really had gone through a lot together in these past few months, and Harry’d done exactly what was asked of him when Louis’d needed him.  They’d made a fucking sex tape together, for God’s sake, one that Louis hasn’t been able to bring himself to watch, and certainly doesn’t want to think about now.  It’ll forever be a reminder of what he’ll never experience again with Harry.

Yes, Harry’s a good person, Louis decides reluctantly, because feeling angry is much more cathartic than feeling sad about being made a fool.  Harry’s a good person, who had no reason to believe that Louis wanted anything other than a fuck buddy. Why shouldn’t he feel as though he had the right to work through his feelings for Rick while also fucking Louis?  But why in the world would he want to continue that relationship while also dating Rick? And how on earth is Rick alright with sharing Harry? Louis wants to die just thinking about it.

He stands for far to long at his kitchen island, utterly despondent, before he wills his body to move.  He takes the pizza and a beer out onto his tiny patio, because it’s stifling in the flat, and the shirt in the bin is still lingering, even though he’s gone and thrown garlicky shrimps on it.  Why the fuck did Harry leave his smelly, alpha-soaked shirt, if not to torture Louis with it? Look what you can’t have anymore.  Smell it one last time before you die alone.  

He won’t die alone, he tells himself bravely.  There’s no shortage of men willing to take him on, and now especially with his whole heat thing figured out (probably, anyway, as he hasn’t watched that vid yet, and is uncertain as of now if he’ll ever get the stomach to do so), it should be easy peasy to collect a new alpha.  But he won’t have the one he wants.

He’ll also have to be the bigger person about this, eventually, once he’s through allowing himself to wallow.  As tempting as it will be to make Niall choose him over Harry, he isn’t that much of a knob. He’ll have to go to parties, and suppers, and events where Harry and Rick will be present, and he’ll have to keep it together.

Maybe Louis will need that new alpha sooner rather than later.  That’ll show ‘em. Harry may not want to date him, but he sure wasn’t interested in sharing him either.  All the more reason for it to be totally fucked up that Louis was expected to do so.

(It turns out, his inner omega feels just as ill thinking of Harry touching someone else as it does thinking of Louis touching someone who isn’t Harry.  He’ll have to work on that once the immediate pain dies down.)

He goes back into the flat and brings back another beer, both trifles, a cigarette and lighter, and his cell phone.  It’s still turned off, and he’s dreading turning it back on, but he really, really, wants to call Zayn. That, and he’ll need his alarm for work tomorrow morning.

He also knows, deep down, that for both his and Harry’s sakes, they should try to discuss this like adults.  Louis deserves some answers, he thinks, and maybe needs to explain himself a bit as well. He’s not sure he’ll be able to remain calm and rational tonight, however, not with everything so fresh and the early morning hours steadily approaching.  No good thoughts come in the midnight hours.

He eats through both trifles, then smokes the cigarette to the filter, before turning his phone back on reluctantly. He kicks himself for both hoping for, and dreading some sort of message from Harry.

It takes a while for his phone to load, and even longer for any sign of notifications.  There’s a few text messages, and a voicemail. He goes for the voicemail first, but it’s only from his mum, wondering why he hasn’t rung her to share what happened with that alpha he was seeing and if there’s anything she can do.  Leave it to mums to just instinctively know when something’s gone wrong. He’ll call her back sometime this week, when he can get through the details without crying.

There’s one text each from Bridget and Harry.  He gnaws on his lip and opens Bridget’s first to stall for time.  She’s only asking for dirt on what’s gone on tonight, though. Louis closes his eyes and sends her a random emoji, just to throw her off.  There’ll be no way out of having to discuss this with her and Mo tomorrow anyway.

Finally, he takes a deep breath, and opens Harry’s.

Didn’t mean to harm your job pls let me explain

It isn’t what Louis was expecting.  It isn’t the way Harry normally texts, either.  It seems rushed, almost panicked. Perhaps he’s projecting, but he gets a small amount of satisfaction knowing that Harry’s in some sort of pain right now as well.He decides to leave it until the morning.  It’ll make Harry sweat a bit, and give Louis a chance to compose what he wants to say.  He also decides against calling Zayn, suddenly bone tired from all of the heavy emotions that have passed through him in the last few days.

He takes a long, hot shower, so he can have a good cry, then falls into bed, thankful that he’d changed his sheets on Sunday. Now he can sleep without Harry’s scent permeating his subconscious.

He dreams about him anyway, of course.  He doesn’t so much toss and turn as he does experiment with multiple scenarios in his sleeping hours.  In one of them, Louis confesses his feelings to Harry, who laughs at him and leaves on vacation with a faceless other man.  In another, Louis watches Harry fuck someone else from the corner of the room, only to get closer and realize it was him being fucked all along.  And most painful of all is the third, where Louis gets lost in a giant water park whilst late for his wedding, only to discover that Harry couldn’t wait and married Rick instead.

He can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s been glad for his alarm to wake him, but this morning is one of them.  Being awake isn’t any better than being asleep, he realizes quickly. He avoids his reflection in the bathroom mirror, certain that looking at himself will make everything more fragile.

He composes his response to Harry while he stands at his kitchen island eating coco pops, starting and deleting every attempt.

Okay.  Let’s talk tonight?

That should not have taken ten minutes to decide on.

He’s got to relay the entire thing to Bridget and Mo, of course, when he goes into the office an hour later.  It’s sort of nice, although definitely unfair to Harry, to have two people so clearly biased to his side of the situation.  He allows himself to bitch a little because of it, in a way he couldn’t do with Niall or Liam, or even Zayn. Bridget and Mo have only met Harry the once, and briefly at that.

It gets to be too much, though, after an hour of skiving off work to talk about relationship issues, and listening to Mo rant about treating omegas with respect, when in reality, Louis’d been just as heated in the moment when Mo had walked in on his sidewalk phone blow-up.

They buckle down and have a meeting with design about their current project, then have a midweek meeting with the partners that definitely could’ve been handled in an email chain.  Things are good though, business-wise. The firm has had a record year, in part from bringing Louis on and booking the Desmarais account, so Louis has that to be proud of.  His personal life may be going to shit, but at least he’s got a fulfilling career, with a decent bonus check to look forward to at the end of the year.

Louis checks his personal phone apprehensively at lunch time, but finds nothing– neither a missed call, nor a text back from Harry.  Harry’s a lot like Zayn in the sense that he isn’t always the most reliable person to get a hold of, especially when he’s working, but he’d always expected Louis to be available every minute of the day.  Louis reckons that could have been part of the reason he’d had such attitude with Louis the other night, because it’d been a while since they’d truly connected. Alpha instincts and that.

Speaking of instincts, he’s feeling the withdrawals from his neglected tie.  He’s been so consumed with dejection and angst that he hasn’t felt the yearning.  But it comes back now, in full force, whilst he stares at his phone screen. He hasn’t been in Harry’s physical presence since Saturday, and it’s been even longer since they’ve knotted.  Over a week, in fact. It won’t be much longer until the tie fades completely. He’ll have to wait that out, just like he’s waiting for Harry to get back to him.

Harry still doesn’t reply by the time Louis is home from work.  He doesn’t reply once Louis’s watched far too much television and eaten far too many crisps, and he doesn’t even reply by the time Louis wakes in the morning after a rough night of sleep.

He doesn’t even fucking reply by Friday night, nearly a full 48 hours after their fight.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” Louis complains to Zayn for probably the tenth time.  They’re out at a pub, because Louis couldn’t stand to sit in his flat a moment longer.  He also needed a drink or five. “He asks me to let him explain himself, and then he fucking ghosts me?”

“To be fair, you thought of ghosting him first,” Zayn snarks, shrugging with a hint of a smirk when Louis only glares at him. “And you’re certain the text went through?”

“It says delivered,” Louis insists, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his messages with Harry to show Zayn.  “I just can’t believe that he’d just move on like this. Okay, he doesn’t want me like that, fine, whatever–” he waves his hand around, “–but to just leave it like this, after everything we’ve–” he stops to collect himself.  He’s definitely had just on the edge of too much to drink. “After what we've been through together, with the knotting, and Matt, and the job and that. He literally ghosted me. I got fucking ghosted by my alpha.”

Zayn winces in sympathy.  “I know, I’m sorry.”

Louis sighs. “I just didn’t think I meant so little to him.”

They sit in silence for a bit.

“Well, I think you should try again,” Zayn says suddenly.  “Even if he never responds. You deserve to tell him how he’s made you feel.  Get it all off your chest if you never get to say it to his face.”

“You know what?  I should tell him,” Louis agrees.  “I’ll call him right now.”

“That,” Zayn says, snatching Louis’s phone out of his hand, “is not what I meant, and also a very bad idea.”

“How is it not what you meant?” Louis argues.  “You said tell him how I feel.”

“Yeah, like in a text, or a letter.  When you’re not tipsy.”

Louis frowns, considering.  “What about in an email?”

Zayn shrugs.  “Even better. Stop drinking now, so you can be clear-headed.”  He pulls the pint out of Louis’s hand.

It’s not a terrible idea.  It’ll give him an outlet for the energy when he inevitably won’t be able to sleep restfully tonight, and it might allow him a bit of peace, too.

“Yeah,” he says belatedly.  “Can’t hurt to try.”

Zayn walks him home, makes Louis drink two full glasses of water, then discreetly makes the wilting flowers on the kitchen island disappear whilst Louis is in the toilet.  He offers to stay the night, then hugs Louis tight and says goodbye when he declines. Louis very bravely keeps his tears in check until the door closes behind his friend.

After a few minutes of pulling himself together, he settles into bed with his laptop, and opens up his email.  Buried amongst shop offers and bill reminders is Harry’s video attachment. He hits reply, ignoring the thumbnail picture of his own back.

Hi,

Firstly, I want to apologize for freaking out on you on Wednesday.  I know it was supposed to be this no strings attached thing, but I’ve been trying to think of ways to tell you for a long time that it’s been more for me.  Honestly, I really thought you were starting to want more too, so I was really gutted when I found out you’d been seeing Rick for a while now. I wouldn’t have let you knot me again if I’d known, and something tells me you knew that and did it anyway, which is pretty fucked up.  I don’t understand why you’d keep fucking around with me while seeing him, and even introduce us to one another like it’s cool to just keep me as a side piece. If it’s not clear by now, that’s not for me.

I don’t understand why you asked to explain yourself and then went completely ghost on me, but I needed to write you so you’d know how I felt.  Maybe you’ll never read this. In that case, fuck you. And please don’t try to speak to me when we’re forced to be together. We’ll just go back to how it was before.

Louis

It’s not the most mature thing he’s ever written, but it’s honest, and he does feel better having said it.  He’s just got to have the balls to hit send.

He counts to ten and then does it.  What does he have to lose at this point, anyway?

He’s not expecting a response by the time he wakes up in the late morning, and his instincts are correct.  His phone is empty of any new notifications.

He’s startled when it buzzes in his hand an hour later.  He’d been lazily scrolling through Twitter whilst still in bed, and nearly drops the phone on his head when the incoming call screen lights up.

“Hiya, Payno,” he says into the phone.

“WE FUCKING DID IT!” Liam roars on the other end.  “Tommo, we got a fucking top ten!”

Louis puts the phone back to his ear, wincing.  “A what?”

“A top ten song, on the charts!  One we wrote and produced!”

“That’s so sick, Liam!  Going places, I tell ya.  I’ll buy it off iTunes right now.  Which song?”

“Wolves,” Liam tells him excitedly.  “The one we gave to that indie band? It’s a bit faster paced than the demo you probably heard.”  

He’s got the pre-recorded demo, actually, with Harry’s voice on it.  He should probably delete that now.

Louis puts his phone on speaker while he opens up his iTunes store. “You’ll be a household name yet.  Fuck, here it is! Shit, Liam, this is bloody fantastic!”

“Thanks, mate.  Listen, we’re going out to celebrate tonight.  Drinks on me!”

Louis chuckles.  “Something tells me you’ll regret that.”

“I’ll be raking in the dough soon, won’t I?” Liam laughs.  “I’ll text you with the place. Prepare to get wild, Tommo!”

Louis groans.  He’s getting too old to party every weekend.  “Alright, Payno, I’m in.” He’s suddenly struck with a thought.  “Wait– is, erm, I mean, I suppose Harry’ll be there, won’t he?”

“Harry?” Liam asks, like he’s never heard the name before.  “Oh, fuck, Harry. I completely forgot! He told me to tell you he was going into rut so he wouldn’t be around.  Sorry.”

Louis’s mouth drops open in shock.  “Wait, what?”

“It was really strange, actually.  He came home all sweaty and shirtless?  Looked like he cut it pretty close. Rick drove him to a rut house.”

“Fucking Rick,” Louis swears, sitting up and taking the phone off speaker.  “Liam, mate, I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

“I just told you,” Liam says.  “He came in and said he was going into rut and that I should tell you.”

“Yes, but how did he say it?  Was he acting angry, or upset, or…”

“He was a bit frantic, yeah,” Liam says slowly.  “I’ll be dead honest, I was high at the time, so I’m not totally sure what went down.  But I do remember he was shirtless and sort of… pacing. Real aggressive, too. If I hadn’t been high, we might’ve gotten into it.  He could hardly put a bag together, and he kept saying– shit, he made me promise to tell you. I fucked up.”

Louis groans.  Harry’s in rut.  He’s not purposefully avoiding Louis.  He meant for Louis to know where he is.

The fucking email.

“Christ, Payno.  You’ve really mucked it up for me, d’you know that?”

“I’m sorry!” Liam cries again. “I don’t understand what’s going on, but I’m sorry!”

Louis scowls.  “Does Niall tell you nothing?  Fuck, the three of you act like strangers who just happen to live together.  Honestly.”

“Funnily enough, our lives do not revolve around you, Tommo,” Liam points out haughtily.  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?”

“Not,” Louis says.  “As punishment for what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Exactly.”

Liam huffs, but doesn’t argue.  

Harry’d obviously come to his flat to drop everything off before he went to his rut house, at the last minute, according to Liam.  Perhaps he’d waited as long as he could before it was unsafe. He highly doubts Harry planned it, based on his refusal of Louis’s suggestion to be rut partners.  But why didn’t he just call or text? Louis’s phone was off, but a text or voicemail would have gotten through once he turned it back on.

He has a sudden thought.  “Liam,” he says. “Don’t ask questions.  But why would Harry have left his shirt for me to find the night of his rut?”

“What?” Liam asks, confused.

“The day he went into rut, I found his t-shirt in front of my door.  It smelled like…” he trails off, suddenly realizing why the scent of the shirt brought back such strong memories of the day they met.  Harry’d been close to rut then, too.

“Damn,” Liam is saying.  “I’ve never, I mean… I suppose it might’ve been the best way his alpha could think of to scent mark you.  Stake his claim, and that.” More carefully, he says, “I didn’t realize you were that serious. I would’ve definitely tried harder to tell you.  You must’ve been worried.”

“It’s fine,” Louis says.  “We weren’t. We’re actually not, erm, doing it at all anymore.”

“Oh,” Liam says.  “I know you said no questions, but can I ask– why’d he try to scent mark you before his rut, then?”

“Dunno.  Probably because he can’t do it to his beta.”

“His beta?” Liam repeats.  “Who’s beta?”

“Harry’s.”

“Harry has a beta?”

Louis sighs.  “Rick.”

“Harry’s seeing Rick?”

“Yes, Harry’s seeing Rick.  You’re the one who told me about their date to that Italian place.”

“Huh,” Liam says, after a beat.  “I suppose that makes sense. Is he the reason you’re not together any longer?”

Louis scrubs his free hand down his face.  “I said no questions.”

“Okay, I get it,” Liam concedes.  “Listen, I know this is our thing, like, where we sort of just tease each other, but if you ever wanted to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

Louis groans.  He loves having everyone’s attention, don’t get him wrong, but he’d rather not have their sympathy.  Maybe he needs to stop flapping his mouth about Harry. There’s a thought.

“Sure, Payno, I’ll keep it in mind.  See you later.”

“Alright, see you tonight, Tommo.  Love you.”

Louis tosses his phone down and collapses right along with it.

Fuck.  Harry’s in rut.  His omega shivers, imagining Harry out of control with lust, knotting and coming over and over again while Louis just takes it–

“Rick dropped him off at the rut house, you idiot,” Louis informs his dick.  “He didn’t choose you. And now you have to go get tested, shit!”

What a knothead.  Of all the things Louis’s angry about, Harry’s continued decision to go bare with Louis whilst seeing other people makes him the most upset.  Knotting isn’t fun while wearing a condom, so it’s more likely he used protection with Rick, but it’s still a significant, serious concern. Here’s to hoping they haven’t fucked yet.  He’s prepared to read Harry the riot act when they next see one another. At least that night won’t be tonight. He needs an evening to blow off steam, and get ratted.

Thinking about potential STIs cools things down for his dick, but certainly does nothing to cool his mood.  He remains in a state of teary rage all throughout the day and into the evening, even when he gets himself ready to go out, and Zayn comes by to share a car to the club.  Louis tells him about the recent events while they have a smoke under the awning of Louis’s building and wait for their car.

“Good thing he won’t be there tonight,” Zayn says with feeling.  “Won’t have to stop myself from knocking him on his arse.”

Liam and Niall seem to have invited everyone they’ve ever met, and considering Niall, in particular, has friends seemingly in every corner of the world, the place is packed so tightly there’s little room to move comfortably.  Supposed expensive champagne is thrust into Louis and Zayn’s hands by Liam upon arrival, and they all clink glasses and down them like a shot, because there’s only one goal tonight. Louis takes a few gulps of Niall’s pint before he braves the overcrowded bar, intent on drowning his emotions with alcohol.

It doesn’t work; not really.  He’s typically one for performative drunk happiness whilst being privately miserable– doing the crazy dares, impromptu karaoke, and the like.  Anything to distract himself. It’s certainly a wild party surrounding him, so he has no excuse to find himself zoning out of conversations. He’s in a roomful of people, and he feels lonely.  And angry. And terribly, terribly sad.

He turns it on for Liam, who claps him on the back and kisses his cheek aggressively before offering him a shot.  They cheers and link arms before they down them, and then hoot and holler once they’re finished. Aside from Zayn, who’s loyally stuck close to him all night, the others haven’t seemed to notice his low mood.  They’re rightfully focused on their own achievement.

“Lou,” Zayn says into his ear.  His body’s suddenly gone rigid, and he’s got Louis’s elbow in a tight grip.  “Lou, he’s here!”

“Who?” Louis asks, panicked, even though he knows exactly who Zayn means.  “Where?” He cranes his neck wildly, searching over the heads of the crowd.

“Stop,” Zayn orders.  “Be cool. Under the Guinness sign.”  He turns Louis by the shoulders until he’s pointed in the right direction.  It takes him a few seconds, but finally he spots him. Harry’s hair is pulled into a tight, tiny bun, with an elastic headband to hold back the flyaways.  He looks exhausted, yet focused, as he scans the loud, dark room.

Louis’s heart races, he can’t help it.  His omega claws at his insides in anguish.  Harry’s here, come directly after his rut, searching for someone.  Is he here for Louis?

“Who’s that with him?” Zayn asks, and Louis tears his eyes away from Harry to focus on the man beside him.

“Rick,” Louis says, abruptly turning away.  “He brought Rick. Turn the fuck around before he sees you!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Zayn seethes, even as he turns away.  He glares over his shoulder. “Cunts, both of them. He knew you’d be here!  He’s doing it on purpose. Louis, what–“

Louis drags Zayn a ways through the crowd, spurred by the need to put some distance between him and Harry.  He can’t seem to catch his breath. His body is vibrating with adrenaline.

“He brought his fucking boyfriend,” Louis hisses.  “And I’m alone and sad like a fucking loser.”

“You’re not a loser,” Zayn says hotly.  “He’s just a fucking prick.”

Louis glances around the crowd of people again, and finds Harry and Rick standing near Niall and Liam in their VIP corner.  They’re laughing, all of them together, entirely unaware or uncaring that Louis is suffering.

He knows a way to make Harry suffer in return.

Harry may be seeing someone else, but he’s still an alpha, and his inner alpha has staked a claim that his body won’t forget, not yet.  

He marches onto the dance floor, ignoring Zayn’s shout of objection, and shoves his way through the grinding bodies until he finds a spot where he’s sure he’ll be seen.  And then he starts moving his hips. He’s rebuffed or ignored the advances of at least ten people since his arrival at the club. He won’t have to wait long.

It takes less than twenty seconds, in fact, before a man puts his hands on Louis’s hips.

“Hey, baby,” the knothead says in his ear.  “You look a little lonely.”

Louis turns his head slightly, to expose his neck as little as possible.  “How did you know?”

The bloke chuckles and pulls Louis even closer, until his arse is flush against his groin.  “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got the greatest arse they’ve ever seen?”

“Stop talking and dance with me,” Louis orders him.  Thankfully, the guy does as he’s told, tightening his grip and moving them along to the beat a little more sensually than the song calls for.

It feels wrong, and not a bit sexy.  Louis’s stomach roils as his omega expresses its utter revulsion of this plan.  It doesn’t last much longer, however. They’re startled apart by raised voices and then a loud “Hey!” as the crowd parts and Harry appears, looking more enraged than Louis’s ever seen him.  Liam rushes up to flank him on his right, looking like he’s been shocked into sudden sobriety.

The alpha pawn shields Louis behind him on instinct.  “The fuck, mate?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Harry shouts back.  “Get the fuck away from him!”

“I saw him first,” the guy sneers, gripping Louis by the elbow as he turns his back on Harry.  “Find your own.”

Several things happen in quick succession: Louis wrenches his arm out of the guy’s grip, offended; Zayn, appearing from out of nowhere, pulls Louis out of the fray; and Harry roars.

“Put your hands on my omega again and I’ll fucking kill you!”  He shoves the man in the chest, hard enough for him to stumble backwards.

“Bitch doesn’t smell like any alpha,” the guy taunts, getting in Harry’s face.  “Not my fault he’s looking to take a real knot.”

“Oi,” Louis shouts, swaying in Zayn’s hold.  “Watch your mouth, pal!”

Harry and the stranger shove at one another a bit, either equally matched in terms of strength, or reluctant to get into a legitimate fistfight on the dance floor of a club.  Louis can only watch in open-mouthed horror. He’d expected Harry to sulk, not get territorial. His omega preens. Real life Louis waffles between offense and arousal.

“Fuck this,” Louis’s dance partner says finally, as he swerves out of Harry’s grasp, stumbling to right himself.  “Wasn’t that great anyway,” he directs toward Louis.

“Tell that to the greatest arse you’ve ever seen,” Louis calls after him as the bloke shoves his way through the crowd.  Most people around them have already lost interest. This was a rather tame alpha-alpha brawl. The night is young.

“Louis,” Zayn chastises sharply.  “Shut up.”

“Thank God,” Liam says, shoulders sagging.  “I really didn’t want to get blood on this tank.”

“Louis,” Harry says urgently.  “Lou, please–”

“No,” Zayn says firmly, tugging Louis along.  “Fuck off, Harry.”

“Your omega,” Louis snorts loudly, veering towards Harry as the group of them weave through the crowd back toward their table.  Even in the packed club, Louis can smell his sharp, heady, post-rut scent. It’s enough to make him go cross-eyed, but he pushes through it.  “Did you hear that, Zayn? He called me his omega.  He’s got a fucking boyfriend and he wants to claim me.  Isn’t that a fucking riot, Zayn?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”  Harry reaches out for him, then pulls back when Zayn glares at him.  “Louis, I came here for you, so I could explain.”

“Not a good time,” Zayn informs him.  “He’s off his face, and you’re a prick.”

“I saved him from that alpha!” Harry cries.

“No one asked you to!” Louis shrieks back at him.  “You’re not my alpha, and I can do whatever I want, you possessive freak!”

He starts moving again, pushing against the crowd with Harry hot on his heels.

“Louis,” Harry calls again, grasping Louis’s wrist to halt him.  Louis’s omega shudders. “All I want is you! I read your email– I know you want that too!”

Zayn steps between them again, and Harry snarls at him.

“Whoa, whoa!”  Liam steps in then, pushing Harry back by the shoulders.  Harry releases Louis’s wrist, eyes wide.

“Sorry!  Sorry, Zayn.”

“It’s not safe for you to be here so soon after rut,” Liam chastises.  “You’re putting yourself and everyone else in danger!”

Harry tears at his hair, pulling some of it out of its bun.  He looks almost crazed. “I know, but I had to see him. Lou, baby, please.  You said in your email that you wanted to talk about everything. Give me a chance to explain, please.”

“Oh, so you had time to read my email, but not to call or text me?” Louis demands.

“Louis, I’ve been out of rut for like three hours,” Harry says.  “Check your phone.”

Louis tosses his head, but does as he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and waking up the screen.  Sure enough, there are half a dozen missed calls, and several texts and voicemails.

“Lou,” Harry says, seeing the doubt flicker on Louis’s face and stepping forward again.  “The first thing I did when I came to was find you. The only thing I thought of during my rut was you.”

They stare at one another.

“He came with you here tonight.  You– you saw him during my heat.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly in consternation, as Liam gasps behind them.

“You’re right, Lou, and I can explain all of it, I swear.”

“You saw Rick during Louis’s heat?” Liam demands, aghast.

“It was after, and it doesn’t concern you!” Harry snaps at him.

Liam scowls at him.  “Need I remind you that we’re in a public place, on my day?”

“Fuck,” Louis groans, scrubbing at his eyes to quell the sudden urge to cry.  “This is all so fucked up.” He pulls his hands away from his face, sighing. He’s desperate to hear what Harry has to say, can’t help but grasp onto the sliver of hope he sees when he looks into Harry’s eyes.  “I’ve got to sober up first.”

Harry nods, relieved.  “I’ll call a car when you’re ready.  Back to yours?”

Louis nods.  “I’m not sleeping with you,” he warns, because he may be willing to hear Harry out, but he doesn’t want him getting any ideas.  

Harry nods once, swallowing.  “I know. I’m not… I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Let’s go back to the table,” Zayn says, squeezing Louis’s elbow.  He looks resigned, but not particularly angry. “Get you some water.”

Harry leads the way, although he turns back to keep a watchful eye on Louis every few seconds, as if he’s afraid he’ll run off.  Louis’s traitorous heart beats a bit faster every time he does it. Maybe he was all wrong. Maybe there is an explanation for everything.

“Hey lads,” Niall cheers, entirely oblivious.  “What’s the craic?” They all gaze at him somberly.  Niall’s grin doesn’t falter. “That good, eh? Well, nothing another round won’t fix!”

“Please,” Liam begs dramatically, reaching for Niall’s drink and taking a large swig.

“Actually,” Harry says, clearing his throat.  “Me and Lou are gonna take off soon.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Really?” To Louis, he says, “You know he came with Rick, right?”

“For Christ’s sake,” Harry cries, throwing up his hands.  “He’s my friend! He gave me a bloody ride. You all were here already!”  

“Really?” Niall intones, unimpressed.

Harry snorts disbelievingly.  “Well. Nice to know whose side you’ll all be on in the future.”  

Louis sticks his tongue out at him.  “Ha.”

Wait– in the future?  So Harry’s hopeful that they’ll be together again?  He tries not to get his hopes up, but can’t help imagining a best case scenario wherein every single suspicious event can be factually explained away.

He’s not anywhere near sober, but he’s anxious to get this over with, so he chugs the two tall glasses of water that Zayn brings him from the bar, and excuses himself to the toilets to relieve himself and splash some cold water on his face.  He’s conscious of Harry’s eyes on him as he weaves through the room back towards the table. Only Harry and Zayn stand there now, in awkward silence. Louis can hear Niall’s loud cackle over the din of the music.

Zayn pulls him aside as Harry goes to say their goodbyes for the both of them.  “Are you sure you’re good?”

“Still drunk.  Gonna need some coffee and food.”

“Make him buy you some food on the way, then,” Zayn urges.  “Call me, okay?”

Louis exits the club with Harry in silence, crawling into the backseat of the Uber when Harry opens the door and gestures for him to enter.  The car ride is excruciatingly silent for the first several minutes. Even the beta Uber driver wisely says nothing, obviously sensing the palpable tension in the cabin.

Harry’s scent, still thick from his rut, fills the small space, and quickly becomes overwhelming.  Louis rolls down the window to hopefully quell his body’s inevitable reaction.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“Why’d you leave your shirt?” Louis blurts.  “At my flat.”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair, which he’d pulled loose sometime at the club.  “It seemed appropriate at the time. I wasn’t thinking straight. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there before I saw you and things got…” He grimaces.  “Guess my alpha just needed to... I don’t know.”

“Claim me?” Louis supplies dryly.

Harry rolls his eyes.  “Don’t make it sound so dirty.  We’re tied. I love you. It’s not weird to want to mark my territory!”

It’s deadly silent for several seconds.

“Oh, shit,” says the driver.

“What the fuck?” Louis squeaks over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.  “You what?”

Harry bravely looks Louis in the eye.  “I love you. You’d know that if you’d watch our fucking sex tape.”

The driver physically turns in his seat to look at the both of them, eyes wide.

Louis feels frozen.  “You told me you loved me in our sex tape?”

Harry continues on, “And what sort of person doesn’t watch their sex tape right away?  I’ve wanked to that thing like, a dozen times by now.”

Louis scoffs, offended.  “You know I have issues with how I act during my heats.”

“And I’ve told you you’ve got nothing to worry about!  Your ex was a fucking prick, Lou. I want to knock his teeth out for hurting you like he did.”

“What’d he do?” the driver wonders.  Louis flips him off.

“So, you’re in love with me.  Okay. Then why haven’t you just told me in person?”

Harry punches the headrest of the empty passenger seat in front of him.   “I’ve been trying to! Everything keeps going to shit.”

Louis opens his mouth to retort, then realizes they’re parked in front of his building.  “Mate, how long’ve we been sitting here?”

The driver shrugs.  “Few minutes. Didn’t want to interrupt.  This is easily in my top five most interesting customer conversations.”

Louis glares at him, opening his door.  “No tip for you. Harry, do not fucking tip him.”

Louis marches ahead of Harry into the building, head spinning.  Harry’s just told him he loves him. Harry loves him.  He desperately hopes it’s not manipulation so he can keep Louis.  He punches the up button for the lift as Harry strides up to him. “I just need a minute when we get in, alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees softly.  “Alright.” He sounds almost disappointed. Louis glances at him in the mirrored reflection of the lift once they’re stood next to one another and ascending.  He’s tugging aggressively at his lip with his thumb, and looking determinedly at the ground.

Once inside the flat, Louis directs Harry to the sofa and then escapes to his bedroom, closing the door behind himself.  He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls up Harry’s email with the video, taking a deep breath before he hits play.

The camera pans from Louis’s lower back down to his arse.  Harry’s straddling his hips and has one hand around his erection, already wet with Louis’s slick.  The room has an orange glow to it, like the video was taken at sunset. In the video, Louis can hear himself panting as he bucks his hips back, chasing the weight of Harry’s cock nestled in between his cheeks.

Harry slaps Louis’s arsecheeks with his cock a few times, then sticks just the head into Louis’s hole, and pulls it back out again.  Video Louis whines quietly at the loss.

“Yeah, baby,” Harry says, voice impossibly deep and scratchy.  “I’ll give it to you soon. Just wanna–” he spreads Louis’s arsecheeks one handed, exposing his stretched hole. “–remember this forever.  Fuck, you’re sexy.” He shoves two fingers in, and pumps them in and out for a few minutes. He pulls them out and his hand disappears from the frame.  There’s a wet, sucking sound, and then Harry’s hand is back on Louis’s hips. “Up, baby. Up on your knees so I can knot you.” He helps Louis into position, and then the camera goes blurry for a few seconds until it comes into focus again, aimed at the wall.  “Fuck,” Harry murmurs as he messes with it, then Louis’s body from thighs to head comes into view. Harry must've set it up on the bedside table somehow. Louis looks closely at himself in the frame. Video him is on his knees, but his head is hanging between his elbows, and he’s wiggling his arse, presenting it to Harry.  

Harry returns in the frame, climbing back onto the bed with his dick in his hand.

“You’re so gorgeous, baby,” he praises, running the other hand down Louis’s spine.  “Fuck. I don’t deserve you.”

“Alpha.”  Louis is startled by his own quiet voice, scratchy from disuse.  “Alpha.”

Harry shoves in, and video Louis’s yelp turns into a moan by the second thrust.  He lifts his head for a moment, and his eyes are glassy, almost unseeing. Real life Louis suppresses a shiver.  It’s a bit creepy.

He’s wet.  He can feel himself through his jeans, and suddenly becomes aware that he’s been rocking his arse against the bed for the past several minutes.  Harry’s right, it is really hot to watch.

On the screen, Harry alternates between pounding into him hard, and pausing to lean forward and drape himself over Louis’s back, so he can lick and suck at his neck and shoulders.  He keeps up a constant stream of murmured praise that makes Louis’s omega squirm with pleasure.

A particularly hard thrust jars a moan out of on-screen Louis, who has been shockingly silent during this entire encounter.  Harry’d told him he was quiet, but he wasn’t expecting this.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, thrusting again and again.  His skin is glistening with sweat, his abs and arm muscles straining with the effort.  “You want my knot? Come for me, baby. Come on my knot.”

It doesn’t happen immediately, but soon Louis is watching himself arch his back and wail, coming untouched.  Harry’s body stills, and he comes with a low growl, face going taut as his knot begins expanding. Then he curls himself around Louis’s back to drop kisses to his neck and shoulder. “You’re mine, baby,” he murmurs in Louis’s ear.  “Wanna make you mine forever. God, I love you so much.”

Louis stares, open mouthed, at his phone in stunned shock.  He’d been expecting it, obviously, but hearing it in person is a different beast entirely.  Harry loves him. He wants them to be together!

On the screen, Harry’s pulling them onto their sides to spoon, but Louis’s hardly paying attention.  Harry loves him, or at least believed he did in the moment. But then, what about Rick, or all the other times Harry insisted it was just meaningless sex?

He abandons his phone on the bed and makes a beeline for the lounge.  Harry jerks to attention when Louis rounds the corner, having been sat with his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.

“I watched the video,” Louis tells him.

Harry nods nervously, nose twitching as he glances down at the crotch of Louis’s trousers.  “Figured that’s what you were doing.”

Louis adjusts himself, uncaring.  “You really did say you loved me.”

Harry nods again.  “I did.”

“Did you mean it?”

Harry looks him dead in the eye.  “Lou, I’ve wanted you to be mine since the moment I saw you.  I asked you out, even. To that concert.”

Louis blinks at him.  “That was a date?”   

Harry scoffs.  “Well, I thought it was a date, until Zayn implied otherwise.”

It had felt like a date!  Louis had been certain at the time that Harry was flirting with intent, until Maura had gone and brought Louis back down to reality.

“Wait.” Louis shakes his head.  “But, in the chippy, with your coworker, she said you were meant to be on a date with the omega you fancied!”

“Yeah, you!  I played it off cuz you said you didn’t want a boyfriend!  Plus, I didn’t want to let on that I’d told someone about what we’d done when you asked me not to.  I thought you might want to stop if you knew.”

“I only said I didn’t want a boyfriend because I was worried about looking too obvious.  You let me think you were settling for me! Always going on and on about friends with benefits.”

Harry chuckles sadly.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Louis sighs, sinking down onto the opposite side of the sofa.  “Well, same for me, I suppose. It’s not all on you.”

“You’re the one that kept saying it was only your omega who was confused,” Harry reminds him.

“I thought it was, at first,” Louis admits.  “But you acted like our tie meant nothing to you in the beginning.  You didn’t even call me that first week!”

“I was waiting for you to make the move!” Harry insists.  “I didn’t want to come on too strong. Trust me, it was killing me.”

Louis remembers back to his phone conversation with Niall, that first week, when Niall had said that Harry was having as terrible a time as Louis with being separated.  He wishes he would have taken Niall at his word then, and maybe they wouldn’t be in so much shit now.

“It was killing me too,” Louis agrees.  “But I was so happy when we started to knot again.”

Harry picks at the pulled yarn on the throw blanket over the back of the sofa.  “I thought things maybe changed for you around Paris.”

Louis swallows.  “They did. That was when I was sure.”

Harry looks up sharply, searching his face.  “Sure about what?”

Louis hesitates, then edges forward until their knees are touching.  “That I loved you, too.”

Harry’s grin slowly spreads across his face.  “Yeah?”

Louis nods, unable to keep his own small smile from blooming, despite the questions he doesn’t yet have answers to.  “Yeah. I told myself then, that– that I would be okay with you not loving me back.”

“How could you not know how into you I was?” Harry asks, incredulous.

“Well, sometimes I’d think you were in the same boat as me, and then you’d go and take off right after we fucked, or summat!  You’d fuck me, and hurry up and leave, but before that you’d kiss me goodbye like you never wanted to let go. It was confusing,” Louis tells him defensively.   “You sent such mixed signals, Harry. And Rick was the fucking icing on the cake.”

Harry sucks air through his teeth.  “Listen, Lou, I know I fucked up a lot.  I can’t believe how much I probably bruised your omega with what I did.  But truly, I was only afraid I’d scare you off. And fuck, if I’d known he’d cause this much trouble, I’d never have made friends with him.”

“Yeah, Rick can go fuck himself,” Louis agrees.  “Why did you go see him during my heat?”

“After your heat,” Harry corrects defensively.  “That one was genuinely work related, and I needed to get groceries anyway.”

“What about the shirt he was wearing at your gig?  And the fucking Lovesong cover?”

“The song was for you, obviously,” Harry scoffs.  “Wasn’t expecting you to rush out of there so quickly.  I was hoping to grease the wheels for the next day, which, before you ask, was when I was planning to bring you flowers and ask you to dinner.”

“But instead you took Rick.  To the most romantic restaurant in London, I hear.”  He’s taking the piss a little, if he’s being honest. He’s mostly angry for getting so angry, and for the lost time from both of them being too frightened to ask for what they really wanted.

“It was for practice!” Harry cries.  Even he’s grinning a little, at this point.  “I wanted to be sure that it was perfect, and I didn’t want the other lads getting a whiff of it, because everyone knows they take your side for everything.”

“They don’t tell me shit,” Louis scoffs.  “Except for Zayn. Liam didn’t even tell me about your rut.”

“I know,” Harry says darkly.  “I’ll make him pay for that later.”

“And Niall yelled at me that one time, when he thought I’d used you for your knot,” Louis reminds him.

“Which, in fairness, you had,” Harry points out.

Louis shrugs.  It’s not entirely untrue.  “I didn’t know you were into me then.”

Harry grins.  “Played it cool, did I?”

“Actually, I was pretty certain you hated me.  Or maybe wanted to wear my face as a mask.”

Harry doesn’t even look surprised.  “I’ve heard that before, actually.”

Louis pastes on a stern face.  “What about the shirt, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes.  “He was at my flat and looked like shit, so I gave him a glow up.  You wear Zayn’s clothes all the time. Should I be worried?”

Louis sighs.  Fair enough. “I don’t know.  Something about him gives me bad vibes.  Are you sure he’s not into you?”

"Pretty sure,” Harry says, frowning.  “Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell.”

Louis frowns right back, but he gets it.  Everyone wants to impress Harry. Everyone wants to be his friend.  “Well. I’m gonna try not to be that guy. But I’ll be keeping tabs.”

Harry squeezes Louis’s knee.  “You can be that guy if you need to.  You’re my priority, Lou. I want everything with you.  The cuddles, the knotting, the romcom marathons, and all the bad food you’re gonna make me.”

“Oi,” Louis protests, slapping his bicep.  “You said you liked that dish!”

“I did!” Harry insists, laughing.  “But something’s bound to go wrong the next time, innit?”

“Actually, I made a lovely cinnamon walnut coffee cake the other day,” Louis sniffs.

Harry looks skeptical.  “You did?”

“Mum’s recipe and everything.  Was gonna be part of the package before you ruined everything by bringing Rick to that romantic dinner.”

Harry leans back, huffing.  “Never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

Louis shakes his head, grinning.  “Not til we’re old and grey.”

Harry tugs Louis’s legs up and into his lap.  “I like the sound of that. Are you saying you want to try again?  The real thing?”

Louis rearranges himself so he’s fully straddling Harry’s lap.  He buries his hands in Harry’s hair and tilts his chin up so they’re looking into one another’s eyes.  Harry wets his lips with his tongue, eyes alight.

“Seriously, though, who brings a platonic mate out to a romantic dinner for practice?”

“Argh!” Harry cries, letting his head fall back onto the sofa.  “You ruined our romantic moment.”

Louis smirks at him.  “So, un-ruin it, then.”

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’s hips, then heaves them off the sofa.  Louis yelps and tightens his legs around Harry’s waist as Harry walks them through to the bedroom.  Louis lands on the bed with an ‘oof,’ with Harry’s weight on top of him.

“Harry,” Louis says quickly, interrupting Harry’s attempt to lean down and kiss him.  “You understand why I was upset, about Rick and everything?”

Harry’s smile disappears, and he nods seriously.  “Yeah. I get it. If I were you, I would be angry too.  I promise you, I’ll never make you feel that way again.”

“That means not taking anyone else’s numbers when you go out.”  Harry chuckles awkwardly, and Louis rolls his eyes. “I’ll be forced to retaliate by dancing with other alphas.”

Harry glares at him.  “No. That wasn't cool.  I wanted to murder him.”

“No, your reaction wasn’t cool,” Louis argues.  “You could’ve been hurt, or arrested.”

“I’m just coming out of rut, remember?  I wasn’t thinking straight,” Harry insists.  “But I’d do it again if someone put their hands on you,” he adds, under his breath.  “Rut or not.”

Louis should probably put up more of a fight about it, but it was sort of hot, if he’s being honest. It’s not as though he hasn’t seen physical fights over omegas, either.  They’re par for the course in most clubs. But he’d like to see Harry take out that possessiveness on him, in the bedroom, rather than in public. Maybe they’ll make that happen someday.

Louis sighs, moving on.  “Suppose we really need to work on our communication, if we want to stop hurting one another.  We have to learn to tell one another how we’re feeling, instead of making wrong fucking assumptions left and right.”

“We really do,” Harry agrees.  “I really want this to work, you know,” he adds earnestly, bringing a hand up to tuck Louis’s fringe behind his ear.  “You’re my omega.” Louis lets him kiss him this time, as his omega sings with joy. Harry’s lips are soft, yet insistent, and he still smells a bit like his rut.  Louis bucks his hips up a little, and Harry grinds his down in response. “That knothead said you didn’t even smell like me anymore,” Harry breathes as he pulls away, already going for Louis’s neck.  “Mind if I rectify that?”

“Please.”  Louis closes his eyes and exposes his neck, sighing as Harry licks and kisses at the sensitive skin there.  “I love you.”

Harry pulls back to look Louis in the eyes, and his own are glassy with sudden unshed tears.  “I love you, too. Fuck, Lou, I really thought I’d lost you.”

Louis hums.  “I thought you’d fucked him, you know.  Thought you might’ve risked unprotected sex with both of us, for a minute.”

Harry actually looks affronted.  “I would never expose you to danger like that, Lou.  Much less sleep with anyone else when I’ve got the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

Louis leans up to kiss him again.  “I believe you, love. It was a low moment for me, alright?”  He kisses Harry’s forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips, over and over again until Harry’s scowl has been replaced by desire.  “Enough talking now. I want you to fuck me until the sun comes up, then after you make me breakfast, we can talk some more.”

Harry honks with laughter.  “Good plan, baby.”

Hours later, as the early morning sun creeps into the room, Louis snuggles closer to his alpha, careful not to strain the knot that connects them.  Harry snores away behind him. They’ve still got things to talk about when they wake, but they’re both determined to work through their issues together, and that’s something that Louis wouldn’t have even let himself dream about just yesterday.  

He brings the hand Harry’s wrapped around his own up to his lips.  If they could make it through all of that, they can make it through anything.

Louis is sure of it.  

Chapter Text

“Not Your Grandfather’s Advertising Firm.”  Liam reads the article title of the magazine aloud.  “Could they be any cheesier?”

“And why does it look like an advert for the benefits of polyamory?” Zayn adds, poking his head around to look as well.

Louis yanks the magazine out of Liam’s hands and holds it to his chest.  “Haters.” Liam only blinks, and grabs a few from the stack on the worktop, handing one to Zayn and taking another for himself.  “You didn’t need to buy every copy, you know.”

“We didn’t, obviously,” Niall snorts.  “Harry did the preorder online weeks ago, didn’t you, H?”

Harry looks up from his own inspection of the article.  “It’s my omega’s first magazine cover. Of course I’m gonna buy them all.”

“First, and last, hopefully,” Louis says, mostly for show, because he quite liked being under the lights and fussed at, and especially likes the final product.  “And it’s just an advertising journal. Not like it’s People.”

He thinks they look quite good, actually, despite the lads’ teasing. Yes, they were posed and styled a bit sexily, but it works well for them.  Bridget wears a deep red gown that only brings out the color in her tightly coiled strawberry blonde hair. Louis is in a perfectly tailored deep blue suit complete with suspenders, and Mo’s got on a light pink sport coat.  Bridget is seated, legs crossed and turned to the side alluringly, on a stool in front of the men, holding onto the arm Louis has tucked around her waist. Mo stands close behind them, a hand on either shoulder.

Actually, they do look a bit like a threesome.

“A throuple,” Zayn suggests, sniggering.

“I’d watch that sex tape,” Niall adds.  Harry’s head snaps up sharply, and he gives Niall his best glare, which is considerably terrifying.  Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Just jokin’ mate. Fuck, you’re edgy lately.  When are you leaving again?”

Harry only frowns, always moody this close to his rut.  It’s put Louis on edge too, if he’s being honest. The last few days have been tense between them– but last night’s sex was really fucking hot.

“We’re taking the train tomorrow,” Louis answers for him.  “Finally cashing in on that comped room.” It’s been a long time coming, too, and Harry’s continued reluctance to go through with having Louis present during his rut, is undoubtedly a part of the tension.  It’s been decided now, however. Louis caught him at a weak moment, Harry’d agreed, and the trip was booked.

Upon the grand opening of Desmarais’s rut house, Le Milieu, he’d shown his thanks by giving the firm a dozen packages for three free nights to stay.  Except for Louis. Louis received a gift basket full of wine and cheese, and a seven night stay in one of their suites.  

“About time,” Liam comments mildly.  “Ha! Listen to this: Tall drink of water Batton, is unfortunately taken, but there’s an equally gorgeous alpha and omega each who are up for grabs.  Thompson and Tomlinson are both unmated and looking!”

All the boys but Harry cheer lewdly.

Louis scoffs.  “We did not ask him to write that.  We were talking off the record about how us being attractive gets more business.”

“It is a good angle, though,” Zayn says.  “Mentioning you’re a single omega.”

“It’s not a good fucking angle,” Harry argues hotly.  “It causes creeps to seek him out just because they want to see if they can get summat out of him!”

“Woah,” Louis shouts defensively.  “You make it sound like I’m a bloody prostitute!”   

“Don’t do this,” Liam mutters.  “Not in front of us.”

“Hide the breakables,” Niall jokes, chuckling awkwardly.

“Sorry for being upset that people try to take advantage of my unmated omega,” Harry scoffs, tossing the magazine back onto the island with such force that it skitters off the other side.  

“Don’t act like you hate it just because your alpha is posturing,” Louis challenges.  “You don’t seem to think it’s such a bad thing whilst you’re insisting our new flat have two bathrooms.”

They’ve lived together for nearly the entire year they’ve been officially together.  The move-in process had been a long one, with most of Harry’s belongings slowly migrating over to Louis’s flat until Harry’d realized, months later, that all he was housing at his old flat was a bare mattress and a smattering of furniture.  Louis’s place is now full to the brim with more photographs, framed or otherwise, than Louis could ever imagine displaying. It’s cluttered and cramped, but Louis grew up with that sort of lifestyle, so he feels right at home.  They‘ve been talking of getting a larger place, with a few extra bedrooms, as Louis has a well comfortable salary, and Harry’s business is at its peak success. He’ll be a bit sad to leave his first London flat, and the rooms in which he and Harry fell in love, but a larger place will be needed for the future.  A future where, hopefully, children will be involved.

“I have lots of products,” Harry insists mulishly.

“It got you more recognition too,” Louis continues on.  “Look.” He shoves the page where one of Harry’s photos for the rut house campaign is featured right under Harry’s nose.  “Where would you be without my whorish ways, hm?” Harry opens his mouth to retort, looking as though he may regret his initial statement, but Louis’s on a roll now, and he’s got no intention of stopping.  He lashes out when he’s defensive. Harry should know this by now. It serves him right. “Besides, if you wanted me to appear unavailable, you’d fucking do something about it.”

“Oh, shit,” Niall yelps.  “Shots fired. Everyone out.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry bellows, as their mates scramble over each other to get out of the room.

“We’ll be at the pub,” Niall calls over his shoulder.  “No fucking in my flat!”

“Are you seriously pretending like I don’t want to mate you right now?” Harry demands.  “I tell you every time we fuck!”

“You could just be saying that.  Dirty talk to get me hot. You know what I think?  What the fuck is wrong with you that you don’t want to share your ruts with your omega?”

“Really fucking rich coming from you,” Harry snorts, and that gives Louis pause, because– well, he’s not wrong.  Harry was more than understanding when Louis had told him about the reason for his reticence to have a partner during his heats.   “Besides, ruts are different than heats.”

“Oh, don’t turn this into an alpha superiority thing–“

“Don’t go all defensive omega on me, and fucking listen!  Ruts are different. With heats, yeah, it’s hard to resist.  But if I wanted to, I could get away from you.”

“Not if I drug you, or if you’re wasted,” Louis argues.  “Omega on alpha assault happens, you know.”

“Christ, I swear you argue just to fucking argue sometimes,” Harry groans as he rubs both palms down his face.  “It’s just fucking different, alright? It’s a bloody fact that the average omega can’t fight off the average alpha in rut.”

“What does that even have to do with us?” Louis cries.  “I want to be with you in your rut.  I even offered back when I thought you could barely fucking tolerate me, I was so wet for it.  You’ve even done your ruts with other boyfriends. Why not me?”

“Because I’ve never loved someone, or wanted someone as much as you!” Harry explodes.  “I don’t know how much control I’ll have, and the worst thing in the world would be to hurt you, especially when I won’t even be capable of properly looking after you afterwards.”

Louis opens, then closes his mouth.  It’s not the first time Harry’s said something like this, but it stuns him every time just the same.

“Well,” he says after a beat.  “If you don’t want to do your ruts with me, then you could mark me during one of my heats.  We’ve got options.”

“No,” Harry says definitively.  “If there’s one person who deserves to remember that moment, it’s you.  I’m not taking that away from you.”

“This is the perfect opportunity then.” Louis changes tactics, stepping between Harry’s widespread knees on the kitchen stool.  He runs his hands up Harry’s pecs, and Harry’s arms automatically settle low on his hips. “Romantic room in Paris, with safety measures in place–”

Harry snorts.  “Yeah, I do not want to to be the guy who makes his omega hit the panic button during sex.”

“Harry.”  Louis tugs on the tiny curling hairs at the back of Harry’s neck.  He cut it short a few months ago and hates it, and is trying desperately to grow it out again.  “You know I like it rough. Besides, when I’m in heat I can sense you there with me. I can hear you reassure me.  You don’t think I’ll have that same effect on you?”

Harry sighs, and tucks his head into Louis’s neck in resignation, pulling Louis even closer.

“I just love you so much,” he says into Louis’s skin, and Louis closes his eyes and squeezes him harder.

“Love you, too.”

“You know that I want to mate you, right?” Harry asks, pulling away to look Louis in the eye.

Louis nods.  He does know.  They’ve been on the same page since virtually the beginning, but spoke infrequently of it, because try as they might, they’re still fairly shit at communicating important things to one another.  But Harry’s sister had confirmed it for them when she’d turned to Louis at Christmas dinner and said, “so I hear you two are ready for the bite.”

“You know I’m not off whoring myself at my job, right?”

Harry huffs.  “Touché. Sorry.  Rut talking.”

Louis raises an eyebrow.  “Speaking of…” he knocks his thigh into the hard line of Harry’s erection.  “When a simple hug turns you on, you know you’re close.”

Harry groans as Louis drops to his knees, and tugs his own shorts down to expose his cock.  They won’t have sex again until tomorrow evening, as Louis will be sore enough as it is, but this’ll at least take the edge off.  Plus, Louis has the added bonus of going expressly against Niall’s wishes.

“Wait,” he cries, just as Harry’s hand starts to guide Louis to his destination by the back of the head.  “I need pictorial evidence of this.”

“You are not sending a picture of yourself giving me head just to piss off Niall,” Harry orders.

Bright and early the next morning, Harry herds Louis into the window seat as they board the train, then sits heavily beside him, sighing.  His rut’s just about in full swing. He made Louis wear one of his dirty t-shirts today, and Louis hadn’t even bothered to argue, seeing the dark, troubled look in his eyes and the flare of his nostrils as he struggled to contain his reaction to Louis’s scent.  Being around so many people with his omega in tow is putting Harry’s alpha on edge enough as it is. Louis dozes on the the train with Harry’s heavy hand on his thigh. He only has to push the hand away once or twice as it creeps further up his leg.

They take a car to the rut house from the station.  The uber driver is an alpha, which is almost a problem, especially when he reads the address and his eyes cut sharply to Louis.  Harry just closes his eyes and squeezes Louis’s thigh, tight enough to bruise. His self control has been astounding thus far. Louis is impressed.  

Louis had toured Le Milieu before the grand opening, but it’s a different experience entirely as a customer.  They approach the entrance together, holding hands tightly. They’ve read up on the pamphlets they’d been given with their vouchers, and of course, Louis is aware of the safety protocols due to his involvement, so they know what to expect when they’re stopped in the entryway.  One of the two security guards gives instructions in French, then heaves a long-suffering sigh when Harry tells them haltingly that they don’t understand.

“Alpha through this door.  Omega this way.” He gestures behind him to the glass doors behind him.  “You will check in separately.” To Harry, he says with an air of practiced indifference, “Your omega will be treated with respect at all times.  You need not worry about his safety. You will be reunited shortly.”

The little speech appears to have done nothing to alleviate Harry’s anxiety, but he nods bravely anyway, hitches their travel bag further up on his shoulder, then pulls Louis in for a quick peck on the lips and a covert lick to the neck.  The guards look on nonchalantly. They’ve probably seen much worse.

The lobby Louis steps foot into is minimalistic, yet lavish, with marble floors and walls, and fresh flower arrangements in large floor vases.  The air smells clean, like the scent blockers Louis knows is being piped through the vents. It’ll keep the scents of other omegas from spreading.

“Bonjour,” he says to the smiling beta woman at the front desk.  “Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis,” she repeats with a pleased smile, no doubt picking up on his English accent with his french sounding first name.  She types his name into the computer, then her eyes widen. “Ah. Monsieur Desmarais would like to extend his warmest welcome, Monsieur.  It seems you have been booked in the best suite.” She looks him up and down swiftly, clearly taking in his slouchy trackies and t-shirt and wondering how the fuck he managed the best suite in the joint.  Louis just smiles and shrugs. The woman clears her throat. “I have papers for you to sign. Please read carefully.” It’s quite a lot, actually. It takes him at least ten minutes to look through all of it.  Most of it details how the hotel is not responsible for injuries, the policy if an omega or alpha should need to be removed, etc. Louis initials and signs where he’s meant to. He knows the sign in process is easier for alphas, as there is less chance of risk, but he can’t help wondering what the staff do if an alpha comes in that’s too far gone to consent.  He hands the paperwork back to her and she smiles again.

“Excellent.  And now the fun can begin.”  She lays out a map between them, which shows the layout of the rooms.  Louis’s seen this before, and knows how it works, but it’s a nice refresher.  She points to the vestibule that separates the room from the hall. “There is one entrance and exit to the suite.  You will be escorted through this door, here. When the door is closed behind you, it will not open from the inside until the rut is over.  When that first door has closed, you will have access to the door to your rooms. This door can be opened by your bracelet, here.” She gestures for his arm, then attaches as thin plastic cuff to his wrist.  “We remove this after your stay. This allows you to access any materials that you request from the staff, which will be left for you in the entryway. Should you need immediate assistance, there are buttons in each room for you to press.  Here, here, and here.” She circles them with her pen. “Please, we urge you to only use these in the case of absolute emergency. Have you any questions for me?”

“No,” Louis says.  “Well done.”

The woman flushes.  “Merci, Monsieur.”

She gestures behind her, where a beta man is standing, waiting for him.  “Gerard does not speak English, I am sorry.”

“Oh, no worries, mate,” Louis says easily.

“Gerard will take you to the dressing room now.”

Louis doesn’t remember this part from the tour.  Perhaps this is a part of the presidential package.

“Okay,” Louis says.  “Lead the way, Gerard.”

The dressing room looks more like a spa than anything.  Gerard gestures to a tray of chilled champagne, which Louis declines, then points to an adjoining shower room.  Louis does as he’s told, and finds a fully stocked shower, toilet, and changing area with a fluffy white robe and slippers waiting for him.  Louis snorts at the cheese factor, but he gets the idea. You’ve got the opportunity to wash any lingering smells off of you, and then change into an outfit which is easily removable before being reunited.

Something tells him Harry would much rather see him wearing his own clothes, but he does go for a quick rinse and relieves himself before putting on his travel clothes again.  Gerard doesn’t look surprised to see him in his same outfit when he emerges from the dressing room. He leads them to a bank of lifts, and consults a clipboard before pressing the button for the top floor once they’re inside.

Everything has been eerily quiet so far, with not a single other guest in sight.  It stays that way as Gerard leads them down a short hallway and stops at room number 701.  Gerard uses a key card to open the first door, then Louis steps into the vestibule alone, heart beating fast.  Harry is on the other side of that door, waiting for him. They’re about to do a rut together. Louis is going to be mated.

Louis turns back to Gerard, who provides instructions in French whilst gesturing with his arm to show Louis how to work the unlocking mechanism using his bracelet.

“Ah,” Louis says.  “Got it.”

Gerard nods at him, cracking a smile for the first time.  “Bonne chance,” he says. Then he closes the outer door, effectively locking Louis in.

Louis leans his ear against the heavy door, straining to hear any signs of life on the other side.  All he can hear is the blood rushing through his ears.

He takes a deep breath, then waves his bracelet in front of the lock.  The mechanism clicks and a little light turns green, and he opens the door.

Harry pauses mid-step, clearly having been stalking around the suite, scent marking the walls with his bare shoulder if the scent of the room is anything to go by.  He’s scowling, too, and he crosses the room quickly, in nothing but a threadbare pair of pants, half-hard cock leading the way. Louis’s body stirs with arousal as he shuts the door behind him.

“What took you so long?” Harry demands, pulling Louis into his arms and burying his face in Louis’s neck.  He inhales deeply, and his shoulders relax minutely.

Louis cards his hands through Harry’s hair.  “Reckon I had more disclaimers to sign than you.  And I took a shower.”

Harry stiffens again.  “Where?”

“Dressing room off the lobby.  It’s a nice touch, really.” He pulls Harry’s face up to kiss him on the mouth.  Harry moans and shoves his tongue in with significantly less finesse than usual. Louis resists the urge to snicker, because there’s no chance it wouldn’t set Harry off on a pout.  “Getting close, love?”

Harry ignores him, trailing behind Louis with his hands possessively on his hips as Louis looks around the suite.  Everything is sparkling, and expensive looking. It smells clean, underneath Harry’s rich scent. The front room is a sitting area with high end white leather furniture that Louis is sure was chosen because it’s easy to clean.  He tests out the softness of the ottoman that doubles as a coffee table, certain that he’ll end up bent over it before the rut is up. There’s a large television behind glass in the wall, and a minibar with a sink in the corner.  Louis opens the cupboards to find a fully stocked fridge with pre-packaged fruit and meats.

Louis goes into the attached bedroom and finds what was once a trail of rose petals to the bed, trampled through by Harry.  The furniture is sparse, but high end. The floors are shiny, and probably extremely hard on the knees, Louis thinks with a grimace.  There’s another television behind protective glass in the wall, and a wardrobe with fresh linens. There are bottles of mineral water on seemingly every flat surface.

“Harry, Harry,” Louis chastises, pulling his trackies back up over his arse.  They catch on Harry’s naked cock on the way up. His pants are already damp from his slick.  “You can’t just put it in me like that.”

Harry glares at him, dick in hand through the flap of his pants.  “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Louis only laughs at him.  “Just one more room, then I’m all yours.”

He takes his time looking in the bathroom, just to be a shit.  Harry makes occasional whining noises and wraps himself around Louis’s back as Louis observes the shower (with a seat and conveniently placed handrails, excellent), separate tub, toilet, and bidet, which will most definitely come in handy.

“Nice place,” he says finally, then shrieks as Harry picks him up off his feet and carries him back into the bedroom and tosses him on the bed.  “Wait,” Louis cries between giggles as Harry wrestles him out of his shirt. “Don’t you want to, like, plan this out? First, christen the sitting room, and then–“

Harry wrenches away from Louis, panting.  He’s fully naked now, and his cock stands straight at attention, already thickening at the base.

“What?” Louis sits up in concern as Harry just stands there, aroused yet pained.  He can’t resist giving his dick a tug, though, which would be funny if he didn’t look so serious.   Louis suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and exclaim, “This again?”  They’ve talked through Harry’s concerns as recently as last night at the lads’ flat, and then again just before they boarded the train.  It hadn’t ended super productively, as Louis reminded Harry that he had done this before and knew what to expect, and Harry’d responded by pulling them into a corner of the station to just to lick at his neck a little more.

“Harry,” Louis says instead, softening his voice and his body.  “You're going to come back over here, and you’re going to let me take care of you, like you take care of me during my heats.”  Harry hesitates, but settles back down on the bed between Louis’s spread legs. “Let me take care of you.”

Harry closes his eyes, growling low in his throat as Louis gets a hand around his cock.  He ruts down hard into Louis’s fist, then pushes him down, flopping down onto the bed before rolling onto his side and bringing Louis with him, so they’re face to face.

“Pants,” Harry grumbles lowly.  “Pants.” He tugs Louis’s underwear down, and Louis kicks them off swiftly, narrowly avoiding kneeing Harry right in the bollocks.  Harry squeezes a handful of Louis’s arsecheek, hard, as Louis continues to wank him. They stay like that, breathing heavily into one another’s mouths, until Harry can’t take it any longer.  He rolls them over again until his weight rests heavily on top of Louis, and he nips at Louis’s lower lip before yanking Louis’s legs up his waist, reaching for his cock, and easing it into Louis’s hole.    He’s not far gone enough to just shove it in, for which Louis is thankful. Rather, he stares directly into Louis’s eyes as he waits for him to be ready. It’s almost too much, to be gazed at like that, so Louis closes his eyes and breathes through his nose and waits for his omega body to do its job.

The pace at which Harry pumps into him builds and builds, until Louis’s bracing himself with both hands against the tufted headboard.  Harry grunts and growls, and bites down on Louis’s shoulder, only inches from where he’ll do it for real, hopefully soon. He’s making no attempts to get Louis off, which is different from their usual, but it’s hot.  When he whines his approval, he’s startled to find Harry’s thrusts slow significantly, and he opens his eyes to find his boyfriend staring back at him with uncertainty, as if Louis’s voice had startled him back into the present.

“It’s alright, darling,” Louis assures him, petting his cheek.  “Let go.”

Harry closes his eyes and shudders, exhaling loudly.  When he opens them again he looks determined, and he starts thrusting again with renewed vigor.  He dips his head down and sucks at Louis’s neck while Louis chants below him, “Yeah, yeah. Knot me, Alpha.”

Harry does, only a few thrusts later.  His knot feels larger than ever before, and Louis barely suppresses a scream as it fills him.  Harry’s cock pulses inside of him as he collapses on top of Louis, practically purring with contentment as he fills up his omega.

Louis’s dick is still hard, but flagging, and he finds that he doesn’t mind not having come yet, instead enjoying the pleasurable shift of Harry’s stomach brushing against him as he rocks his hips minutely.  There’ll be plenty of time for coming later.

He’s warm and sleepy, and feeling so safe in his alpha’s arms, so it’s easy to nod off underneath Harry for a bit while his dick pulses pleasantly inside him.  He’s woken abruptly what can only be an hour later, when Harry’s knot suddenly deflates and is removed from his body. Louis barely has time to blink his eyes blearily before he’s being bodily flipped over to his front.  Harry yanks him onto his hands and knees and shoves his way in with a growl. Louis keens and throws his head back. His leftover slick and Harry’s come make for an easy glide, just on the edge of painful. Harry shoves Louis’s upper body further into the pillow, and Louis collapses back down onto his elbows, shifting so he can reach down and pull himself off in time with Harry’s thrusts.

Even instinctual, rut-wild Harry likes to smack Louis’s arse around.  He gets a couple good whacks in before Louis comes, and the tight clench of his hole pulls Harry right over the edge as well.  Harry bites hard at Louis’s shoulder, mere inches from his mating spot, as his knot swells.

“I love you,” Louis assures him.  “You’re doing so well.”

Harry pulls them onto their sides so their backs are facing the doorway, and shields Louis’s body with his own.  “Baby,” he mutters into Louis’s shoulder between licks. “Omega.”

When Harry’s knot has deflated enough to slip out, Louis does the same, sliding out of the bed before Harry has a chance to catch him up in his arms.  Harry trails him into the sitting room, growling the whole way, and after he lets Harry drag him onto his lap on the sofa, Louis feeds him grapes while sat on his knot.  Harry keeps both hands firmly around Louis’s arse whilst he sucks obscenely and unnecessarily on Louis’s fingers each time he’s fed, looking up at Louis with big, unseeing eyes.

He’s well sore by round five, and tired, too.  The sun has long since set, and Louis yawns behind his hand as guides Harry back out of the toilet after relieving himself.  He’s never had someone try to stick it in him whilst he pissed before. Harry freaks out every time Louis even looks in the direction of the bathroom, apparently gravely concerned in that alpha brain of his that Louis will wash away all his hard work in the shower.  He desperately needs one, though. His thighs practically stick together when he walks, and his stomach is tacky to the touch, and they both reek of sex. Perhaps if he makes a dash for it, then gets on his knees for him in the shower…

Maybe tomorrow.  Harry’s leading him to the bed and fluffing up the pillows, as if he’s recognized Louis’s cues. He directs Louis onto his side, curls up behind him and carefully arranges his mostly-hard cock between Louis’s arsecheeks, then promptly falls asleep, snoring wetly against Louis’s bare shoulder. Louis can’t help but huff out a little laugh.  He tests the strength of Harry’s arms around him after a minute or two, and gets a heavy leg draped over his own for his trouble. So, no sneaking away to have a shower, then.

He wonders idly, as he begins to doze off, why Harry hasn’t done it yet.  From all Harry’s worrying, he’d have thought that the moment his alpha took over Louis’d have been claimed.  But Harry’s only been as possessive as he ever is. Louis’s neck looks just as it does when he comes out of a heat.

Maybe Harry’s alpha needs more encouragement.  Maybe he needs to be told explicitly that Louis wants him to mate him.  That’s what he’ll do, he thinks, as sleep finally begins to overtake him.  He’ll figure out a way to let Harry know it’s what he wants.

The morning sunlight is barely streaming through the windows when Louis’s awoken with gentle licks to his neck and a heavy weight on his chest.  He blinks his eyes open to find himself on his back, with Harry hovering over him, holding himself up on his elbows as he continues his saliva marking.

“Harry,” Louis greets, voice hoarse.  How long have they been sleeping? Had they fucked overnight and Louis hadn’t known?

“Lou,” Harry says back.  “Omega.”

“Harry.”  Louis pulls Harry’s face up off Louis’s neck so they’re forehead to forehead.  “Alpha. Claim me. Mate me.” Harry’s eyes seem to clear a bit, as he pulls his head back and searches Louis’s face.  He wraps Louis’s legs around his waist and grips his own cock in his hand, preparing to push in. Louis’s hole clenches, slick in anticipation.  “I love you.”

Harry thrusts in with a growl, leaning over Louis possessively as he grinds.  Louis does his best to meet him thrust for thrust, whining his approval as he feels Harry’s knot begin to swell in no time.

Louis’s heart beats wildly in anticipation as Harry’s knot locks them together.  As he begins his release, Harry lowers his head, and Louis exposes his neck with a whine.  Then, he’s seeing stars and coming hard, untouched, as pain and pleasure ripple through him like he’s been electrocuted.  He’s heard from other omegas, and learned in school, what it’s like being mated, but nothing could compare to the real feeling.  It’s indescribable, the pure joy and contentment that Louis feels, even through the pain.

He’s mated.  To Harry.

Once Harry’s done lapping at the wound he’s created, the rest of the rut passes in a bit of a blur.  Louis almost feels as though he’s been nudged into a heat-like state. Everything is hazier and more pleasurable.  At some point, Harry, now that his alpha is certain that Louis belongs to him, gives Louis’s areshole a break and stands over him, gripping his knot tight in his fist as he comes all over every inch of Louis’s naked body, from head to toe, and then helpfully rubs it into Louis’s skin, and especially his still-bleeding mating mark.

They have no choice but to bathe after that, although Harry’s apprehension is clear, so Louis sits him in the two-person bath and rides him reverse-cowboy-style until they’re knotted, then fills the tub up with bathwater.  He lies against Harry’s chest and sighs as Harry holds him tight and licks at his mark.

In the early afternoon, just 48 hours after the rut began, Louis wakes from a much needed nap with a significantly clearer head, and an awake and coherent Harry lying beside him, one arm tucked under his head, and the other around Louis’s stomach.

“Hi,” Louis says with a smile, turning on his side to face him with a wince.  Everything aches.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry says back, smiling almost shyly. His eyes fall on the mark on Louis’s neck, and he turns Louis’s head carefully, leaning forward so he can peer at the scabbing mark on Louis’s neck.  He brushes a finger over it gently, and when Louis hisses, murmurs his apologies, then attaches his tongue instead, laving away the lingering traces of dried blood.

“Did it hurt?” Harry asks finally, voice husky, once his alpha is satisfied with the cleaning.

“Yes,” Louis answers honestly.  “But it felt right,” Louis answers.   “Do you remember doing it?”

Harry’s eyes scan from the mark, to Louis’s lips, to his eyes.  “I remember the feeling.”

“Yeah?”  Louis whispers back.  “How did it feel?”

Harry leans forward until they’re forehead to forehead.  “It felt right. Perfect. I can’t believe we’re mates now.  Forever.”

Louis’s rumbling stomach ruins the moment, and they break apart, laughing.

“I’ll order food.  Make good use of this free stay.  You go wash your hair.” Louis goes to roll out of bed, but Harry stops him, settling a sweet kiss on his mouth.

“Steak, please,” he says against Louis’s mouth.  “Medium rare.”

Louis scoffs.  “I know what you like by now.”

Harry hums and waggles his brows, and Louis swats at him as he gets off the bed.

Once the food’s ordered with concierge, Louis slips into the shower behind Harry, delighting in the way he shrieks in surprise when Louis’s cold hands touch his back.

“So, how was it for you?” Harry asks, allowing Louis to take over with washing his hair.  “You sore?”

“Obviously,” Louis says.  “But it was good. Nothing to be nervous about.  You did well. Gave me a break when I asked for it, even.  You came all over me. Literally– all over me.”

Harry grins lasciviously.  “I’d like to see that.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Rinse.”

Harry turns into the water to wash the soap out of his hair.  When he turns back around, he’s serious again.

“You’re happy, though?  With everything?”

Louis winds his arms around Harry’s waist.  “Of course I am. You know I’ve been ready to mate you since before I thought you even wanted me.  And now I’ve trapped you for life.”

Harry laughs.  “I’ve trapped you, more like.  Sometimes I– I mean, I know you’re too good for me.  So sometimes I think it’s not fair to you to be stuck with me.”

Louis pinches his nipple until he yelps.  “Too good for you how? I make you cook for me and clean up after me, and I keep you from hanging out with your friends–”

“That’s not– well, the first bit is true.  But you haven’t kept me from doing anything.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him.  “What about Rick?” Louis still thinks about him, on occasion, and how he played a role in keeping Louis and Harry apart for that much longer.  Harry’s no longer in touch with him, and hasn’t been in the full year they’ve been together, to Louis’s knowledge. He hadn’t set a hard and fast rule about it, but figured Harry’d just decided it wasn’t worth it.

Harry shrugs.  “Well, you were sort of right about that.”

Louis gasps, only a little exaggeratedly, attempting to pull out of Harry’s arms, but Harry tightens his grip.  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

“Why’d you think I stopped speaking with him?”

“I don’t know, because I’m a controlling monster?”

“No.”  Harry shakes his head.  “He told me he thought he might have feelings for me, after you and I became official, like.  He realized it after, when I stopped calling him for advice.”

Louis’s jaw drops.  “That cunt. I knew it.  A man never wingmans that hard for another bloke. And you cut him loose?”  Harry nods. “Well. I suppose I’m impressed. Character development, that.  Wish you would’ve told me.”

Harry’s gotten much better, in their time as a couple, about learning to establish boundaries with interested parties, even though he’s a certified flirt– and Louis’s learned to control his reactions.  Sort of. He’ll always be a bit resentful of the double standard that Harry expects Louis to never even blink in the direction of another alpha.

“Sorry,” Harry says.  “I just wanted to move on from it.  And he understood. He’s seeing someone now, anyway.”

“How do you know that?” Louis demands suspiciously.

Harry rolls his eyes.  “We still run in the same professional crowd, Lou.”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest.  “Can’t believe you’re telling me this now, after one day of being mated.”

“Sorry, Lou,” Harry says again.  “I just– didn’t want you to be worried about anything.  I fucked up a lot in the beginning.” He hides his head in Louis’s neck and kisses their mating mark.  Louis feels his anger dissipate almost immediately. He wonders if it’s the hormones, or if a little reminder that they’ve chosen one another forever is all it’ll take to soften him up.  “I love you.”

Louis sighs.  “I love you too.  But to be clear– you still fuck up.  Just now, in fact.”

Harry ignores him, instead growling low in his throat.  “Omega.” He brushes his hips against Louis’s, cock twitching.  “One more?”

Louis considers.  “After we eat.”

Harry concedes.  They get out of the shower and Louis wraps up in a fuzzy robe.  Harry prefers to go nude, as usual, and they sit on the sofa in the sitting room to eat, once Louis’s opened the first door of the vestibule and brought in the food.  They sit hip to hip, even though there’s plenty of room, and find a Friends rerun dubbed in french on the television.

“D’you think being mated will be any different from how it was before?” Harry asks him after swallowing a particularly large chunk of meat.

Louis wipes his greasy fingers on the robe.  “I don’t think so. I mean, we might save more money for taxes.”

Harry laughs.  “Yeah.”

“You’ll still make us dinner, and we’ll still watch shit telly together–” Harry makes a noise of objection and gestures to the television, mouth full, “–and I’ll play football on the weekends.  And you’ll attempt to play football on the weekends.”

“Hey!” Harry yelps in amused protest.  “But don’t forget about kids.”

“Who could forget?” Louis teases.  “You remind me all the bloody time.”

“I’ve been thinking I’d let Maura take over a bit more, when they’re little,” Harry says thoughtfully.  “Just so I don’t have such long evening shoots.”

Louis squeezes his thigh.  “I think that sounds lovely.”

Harry’s hand comes down to trap Louis’s on his leg.  “You forgot one thing that won’t change.” He pushes Louis’s hand higher and higher, until a finger grazes the soft, fuzzy skin of Harry’s ballsack.

“Hmm. What’s that?”

Harry bends his head to nip at the bond mark.  “All the fucking.”

Louis yanks his hand away.  “Joke’s on you. Now that we’ve mated I don’t need to put out.”

Harry laughs loudly, then throws his arms around Louis and rolls them right off the sofa and onto the floor.  “I smell it on you, baby. How much you want me.”

They snog for a while, lying there, but Harry gets distracted by the mark again.  He rolls his hips minutely against Louis’s as he inspects it.

“Being mated looks good on you.”

Louis smiles.  Then he grimaces.  “Fuck, I think I’m laying on a shoe or summat.”

Harry cackles.  “We’re gonna have the best life.  Let’s get out of here and go home, yeah?”

Home with his mate.  Nothing could be more perfect than that.