Archive of Our Own ^beta

-

Louis should have seen it coming.

He’s on his weekly facetime call with the girls back home and he had already been passed around to each sister as well as a brief interaction with Dan before he left for the shops.

Then he was back with Lottie and the telltale expression of nonchalance and innocent curiosity really should have been enough of an indicator of what came next. 

“So, Lou… Are you seeing anyone?” she asks, casually. She’s twirling a strand of her hair around her finger absently and Louis freezes with his eyes focused on the platinum blonde length.

The inevitable blush that spreads across his cheeks is warm and prominent. He sputters, ducking his head. He doesn’t know why Lottie has to ask every single time. It’s not like the answer will change. 

“No,” he says firmly. “And I don’t plan on it, Lotts. You know this. I’m fine being single.” The last part may be a bit of a lie, but if it one day manages to break through to his nosy sister, he’ll forgive himself of the sin. 

Lottie sighs on the other end. “Okay, we won’t talk about it again ,” she says, sounding almost annoyed.

Louis bristles a bit at the implication. “There’s literally nothing to be talked about,” he retorts defensively. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

He can’t see but he’s positive his sister rolls his eyes at his reply. “When are you going to put yourself out there again?”

Can I put myself out there again if I never really put myself out there to begin with? “When I actually want to,” Louis says flatly. “You do realize that fourteen months of being single isn’t that long, right? Especially out of an almost six year relationship.” 

His heart pangs at the latter despite his best efforts. He’s over Jack, really, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still sad about it. They were supposed to be forever. 

Until Jack decided forever only went as far as him meeting his 'religious and spiritual soulmate' at the grocery store and dumping his long-time boyfriend whom he had been talking about proposing to for months. On Valentine’s Day. A month after meeting said soulmate. 

“Ugh, I know. I just hate seeing you so lonely,” says Lottie. “You need to get out there and have some fun, Lou. You never got the chance to meet tons of people and experiment and hook up and just go with the flow.”

Louis grimaces. “I dunno if I want that to be honest.” Especially the ‘hook up’ part. The idea of casual sex twists his insides uncomfortably. 

Well, the idea of sex in general twists his insides uncomfortably. 

That’s right. Louis is a virgin. 

Twenty six, and has absolutely no clue about anything in the bedroom beyond porn and unwanted, far too detailed descriptions from friends. 

When he was younger, he always thought he’d lose his virginity in uni. It was later than some of his friends’ dreams but he’d always been sort of a romantic with things like that. The only people he wanted to be vulnerable with would be someone he trusted wholeheartedly, someone who would value and appreciate him. That just doesn’t happen in sixth form. 

However, he arrived at uni with big expectations of finding the love of his life and pursuing a career in teaching. Five months later, he met Jack and within a few weeks, they were together.

Jack had at one point been the love of his life- Louis had sworn he was the one, the guy he’d spend the rest of his life with, settling down and having kids and growing old together. Jack seemed to agree. Soon they were a year strong and moving in together. 

Things were fantastic between them for so long which meant their parting came as a complete shock, though he supposes Louis was the one more shocked. They broke up and here he is, still reeling in the aftermath.  

Twenty six, a teacher to a whole troupe of enthusiastic and adorable little first years, and a genuine virgin. He hadn’t known in the beginning that Jack was a devout Catholic until he informed Louis about a week into their relationship that he was waiting for marriage. And Louis had been okay with that… sort of. In the beginning it seemed like no big deal since he had no clue how long they’d last. And as time went on, he made peace that he’d be waiting till marriage along with him. It didn’t seem like a big deal- it’s not like he had any idea what he was missing. 

But they never made it to marriage. 

And now the thought of sleeping with someone makes him want to curl up into a ball and hide. It’s honestly quite embarrassing. 

“You need to at least give it a try,” Lottie implores. “I know you, Lou. You want to settle down and get married and have kids… How are you supposed to do that if you won’t talk to anyone?” 

Louis flinches. She’s right, of course. And yet, the thought of ‘putting himself out there’ is still completely terrifying. “Maybe in a bit,” is what he settles on. Just like always. 

“Whatever you say,” is what Lottie replies. Just like always. 

They fall into an awkward silence before Lottie clears her throat and murmurs her excuses. Louis urges her on, calling out a quick, “Love you!” before he hangs up. 

Just like always. 

It comes up at least once every few weeks, a constant itch in Louis’ skin that he can’t escape. His sister’s desire to see him hitched is inescapable. He’d be endeared if it weren’t so annoying. 

Yeah, he really should have seen it coming. 

-

After finishing another set of grading, Louis takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes tiredly. Deciphering the messy handwriting of thirty journal entries is exhausting. 

He picks up his abandoned takeout, shuffling from his spot at the kitchen table to the couch and grabbing the remote slowly. He finds a rerun of Gossip Girl and curls up, pulling a nearby throw over himself even though it’s almost April and he’s already wearing a baggy sweater. 

Swallowing some noodles, he tries not to think too hard about how he wishes he was snuggled up next to someone else, sharing body heat and laughing, frowning, and making snarky comments about the forced dialogue. The company and the camaraderie. He misses that specifically more than he misses a lot of other things about being in a relationship.

When he’s long since finished eating and his eyes start glazing over, he pauses his third episode on a shot of Blair’s annoyed face. Then he wraps the blanket around his shoulders and shuffles to the bedroom. It’s not a long distance to travel. In order to afford living by himself in a flat that’s close enough to his school, he’s had to downsize considerably from his and Jack’s shared home. 

Flat, not home, he thinks bitterly. 

You don’t get kicked out on your arse from true homes. 

Sighing, he drops the blanket onto his bed and just barely holds himself back from flopping onto the mattress and not getting up again. He changes into his silk pajamas that Jack bought him on his birthday a couple years ago (they’re so soft he’d never give them up, bad memories associated with them or not) and then brushes his teeth. 

After moisturizing and tidying up the mess of his clothes that he left on his floor that morning in a rush to get out the door after sleeping in past his alarm, he grabs his phone and earbuds and slides into bed. 

He hums to himself quietly, seeking out the familiar blue app and pressing it. It’s like the action instantly soothes the festering anxiety in his stomach at the thought of having to sleep. 

Louis has been using the Calm app to fall asleep for close to eight months now. It started as a last resort to cure his insomnia that manifested as a result of having to sleep alone for the first time in four years and has quickly become an anchor at the end of a long day. He had always been the skeptic when it came to apps and subscriptions such as these, but after months of not sleeping well, he relented and tried it out. It felt like a miracle when he woke up from a full night’s rest for the first time in half a year.

The $70 annual fee left something to be desired though.

He scrolls through the stories, eyeing the new weekly story with interest. Through his time using Calm, he’s worked out a list of his favorite series and voice actors to listen to. He’s become pretty familiar with all the names of the regular employees, not really eager about listening to the celebrity stories unless it’s someone he knows and whose voice seems comforting. 

But this name is completely new which means it’s a new voicer. 

Harry Styles it reads. For some reason, Louis sounds it out silently, lips shaping around the bold and intriguing name softly. 

He scans over the description. It’s not like he pays too much attention to the story itself but he still reads the synopsis on principle. This week’s story seems to be one of those reader-insert types. They’re not really his favorite and he debates whether to just go with one of his constants, before deciding he should at least give this new guy a chance. 

Who knows, his voice could be the most soothing in the world and Louis wouldn’t know if he didn’t try. So he clicks on it, wriggling around under the blanket to get comfortable and adjusting his earbuds in his ears. 

His eyes flutter shut right as the telltale sound of the audio starting echoes in his ears and the man starts talking. 

“Hello, I’m Harry Styles and tonight I’m going to help you drift off to sleep.”

Louis’ eyes fly open, breath stuttering. For the next couple of minutes, he just lays there frozen. The man continues through the intro, deep voice slow as molasses but smooth like honey that seeps into Louis’ ears and leaves him dazed. 

“Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep?”

What the fuck , Louis thinks when his heart starts pounding. What the fuck? The guy- Harry Styles- doesn’t do anything particularly different from other regular storytellers. He’s just speaking words aloud completely normally and yet… 

And yet, it’s like every syllable he utters rings through Louis’ mind like a crisp note. Like every word sinks into his skin as a ray of warmth and safety. Like every sentence is being crooned directly into his ear, meant only for him. 

His voice is mesmerizing seems to be the final verdict. 

And God, Louis can’t focus on anything else but the low drawl curling into his insides like an embrace. Normally when he does this, he tunes out the actual words and lets the muted drone of someone speaking lull him into his dreams. But tonight it’s physically impossible. 

He’s hanging onto every single word, letters ingraining themselves in Louis’ head in the color of that hoarse timbre, overwhelming and entrancing. When Harry says, “Just me and you, ” Louis is pretty sure he stops breathing for a second. 

It’s at this point he realizes he’s flushed all the way from his cheeks down to his collarbones. It’s not visible in the darkness with only the blue glow from the screen to cast light but he can feel the embarrassed heat burrow into his skin like a marking. 

His fingers are clutching the sheets tightly, muscles so tensed he has to pry them from the fabric when he attempts to wipe the sweat off his brow. It’s like the temperature in the room has risen ten degrees. He always keeps it warm in here since his skin is perpetually cold, but this is another level of overheated. And he feels restless, his silk pajamas for once not feeling absolutely amazing against his skin and instead, foreign and disarming. 

None of it seems to matter though when the voice continues with the story. Louis tries to return to normal, attempting to slow his breathing and let the voice lower to the background as it should be. But it doesn’t work. Harry’s storytelling continues, slow and deliberate and overwhelming in every way possible. 

Louis fidgets in his position on his back, feeling suddenly very cramped and constricted in his soft pajamas. He rolls up the sleeves to his elbows, letting out an exasperated sigh when the earbuds get tangled up with his fingers. His eyebrows furrow as he undoes the cluster, but even through that, his attention doesn’t stray from the compelling voice. 

Frowning, he pauses the story and exhales. So he and Harry Styles aren’t a match apparently. Too bad, he muses. His voice is deceptively charming and alluring, but it’s almost too enchanting to put him to sleep. 

So he exits out and swipes to his saved collection of tried and true stories, picking a random one and hitting play. 

He’s out in three minutes tops. 

-

It’s a week later before Louis stumbles upon a second story from Harry Styles. He’s probably a full time employee, Louis realizes. Will probably end up with his own series like a ton of other Calm exclusive storytellers. 

He scrolls past it before hesitating, fingers stilling on his screen. 

His headphones are good enough that he can’t even hear the sound of his own breathing as he contemplates his reluctance to skip over this story. 

He already established that Harry’s voice wasn’t a good fit for him, much too distracting and confusing to make him relaxed despite it’s falsely soothing timbre. 

And yet, still he hesitates. 

Despite the week that’s passed, he can still remember the inflection of that deep voice perfectly. It reverberates in his mind annoyingly, lingering in the crevices of his thoughts as he taught his kids how to tell time and spell “because”. 

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. 

Before he can overthink it, he carefully scrolls back up to that new story. Biting his lip, he presses it quickly. His eyes flutter shut on cue.

Everyone- well okay, most people deserve a second chance. Maybe Louis was too hasty in his decision last week. Maybe he’s remembering incorrectly how distracting the voice was. Maybe it’s not as bad as he thinks it is. 

The first few seconds and the first sentence uttered in that intoxicating deep voice prove him wrong. 

He stills automatically, breath hitching and body shuddering as the voice registers in his mind and body. It’s just as distracting as he remembered, if not more so. But he’s still determined to give this guy a full chance. 

So he tries to get more comfortable, figuring he needs to adjust in order to fully relax and then fall asleep. He considers just biting the bullet and returning to a safer story, before deciding against it. He’s going to go through with this, he tells himself. Give him the best shot… 

It has nothing to do with the fact that the thought of losing Harry’s voice when he’s only listening to so little distresses him. 

He sprawls out a bit more than his usual scrunched up position, curled up like a sleeping kitten as his mum used to say. He spreads out far enough to feel some of the tension in his muscles disappear. Then he waits. 

It doesn’t work. 

The voice and story are still annoyingly distinct in his mind, words echoing in his brain like some sort of  anthem or nightmare. He feels jittery and restless and uncomfortable, aching to fall asleep and get the full eight hours he craves every night. 

“Thank you for choosing this story… and me. ” 

Louis shivers, squirming a bit at the sensation of having the words practically whispered right against his ear. Why does it feel so disgustingly intimate?

Scowling, he turns over onto his side, hoping the change will inspire some sleep. However, the movement has him freezing in place. 

Because that’s when he realizes he’s hard. 

He actually gasps out loud, body going rigid as the uncomfortable feeling sharpens into undeniable lust. Louis’ aroused. He’s laying in bed under his blankets in his pajamas listening to a fucking bedtime story and he’s turned on. 

Sitting up in bed abruptly, he rips the headphones out. He fumbles with his phone, pausing the story and cutting Harry off mid-drawl. The loss of that all-encompassing voice makes his senses expand again, slowly returning back to normal. 

His heart rate doesn’t slow down though, not when he’s worriedly running over the implications of what just happened. These stories are supposed to put him to sleep, not make him want to…  touch himself. 

Nothing he’s ever watched or seen that’s this PG has ever elicited such a physical, inappropriate reaction from him. But this story had . 

More accurately, this Harry Styles had. 

So this is why it didn’t work last time. 

In seconds, he’s out of bed and scrambling for the lamp switch. The sudden rush of light sends spots dancing over his eyes as he breathes unevenly. He scrambles to the bathroom, ignoring the urge to reach down and alleviate some of the pressure building up at his crotch. 

He takes a cold shower. At eleven o’clock at night.

When he’s done, he changes back into the same pajamas because he didn’t think about a change of clothes and dries his hair half-heartedly. He creeps back into the bedroom, eyes staring helplessly at the imprint of his own body on the mattress, sheets rumpled and tangled around it. His phone and headphones lie dauntingly right at the center in a sea of white. 

Stomach twisting nervously, he gets back into bed and puts the headphones on with quivering fingers. Then he lays back down, turning his phone back on and cringing when the familiar cover shot blinks back at him. It’s just a picture of a night sky with Dream With Me written in bold white letters, but it sends his heart racing again. 

Exhaling shakily, he exits out of the story and returns to his saved stories. He clicks a random one, hitting ‘play’ immediately and nearly crying out in relief as the familiar voice washes over him without making him tense up in interest. 

He lets the story lull him to sleep, his worries drifting away as everything dimmed in his mind. This thing that just happened cannot be ignored, true, but Louis will ignore it for now. 

Ignore it in exchange for a good night’s sleep. 

He doesn't think his fingers ever unclench from around the sheets, even long after he’s succumbed to sleep. 

-

Louis avoids Harry Styles and his stories like the plague. 

He still uses Calm of course, but he sticks entirely to the stories he knows and trusts. He gets his desired eight hours of sleep every night and everything is good. Everything is perfect, even. 

Except for the fact that that infuriatingly addicting voice is still flitting around his mind like a ghost trying to haunt him with those mortifying memories of his little… mishap. And the worst part is he’s developed a sort of longing for that voice and how it caresses his ear in the cover of the darkness. 

He misses it. 

It’s a horrifying realization which results in him not using Calm to fall asleep for the first night ever since the breakup. Well, technically, he never actually ends up falling asleep that night so it’s not like it worked. 

And now he’s hanging out with Zayn and he’s tired as fuck. His best friend has noticed, eyeing him with arched eyebrows and a look of concern. “You alright, babe?”

Louis rubs his blearily eyes distractedly, ignoring the burn he feels with each blink. “Yeah, just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Zayn frowns. “What happened to that app you use? Did it stop working?”

“No, I didn’t use it last night,” Louis admits. At Zayn’s look of confusion, he adds, “I wanted to see if I could and I couldn’t. But I’ll use it tonight, I promise.”

“Hmm,” says Zayn, but he returns his attention to the TV screen for their Princess Diaries marathon. They’re on the second movie already which means Louis has had the excuse to ogle Chris Pine for the past half an hour straight. 

Louis bites his lip, mulling over the pros and cons of what he wants to ask Zayn. His friend is now utterly engrossed in the story, eyes fixed straight ahead and leaning forward on the couch beside him. However, Louis knows that if he so much as said a word, Zayn would immediately switch his attention to him because he’s a fantastic friend like that. 

But the question is… should he ask the slightly odd and definitely unexpected question that’s been racing through his mind for the past few days, or should he just stay silent?

In the end, his eagerness to know wins out. He has no idea if Zayn will know, or if he’ll be honest if he does know, but he can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop self-analyzing his own feelings towards the topics and how it’s become all the more relevant. Can’t stop feeling ashamed about it. 

So he does it. 

“Hey, Zayn,” he says hesitantly, fidgeting with the blanket draped over him haphazardly. 

“Yeah?”

“Do… have you ever been attracted to someone’s voice?” Louis asks quietly, ducking his head to hide his blush. “Like… sexually attracted.” 

When he gathers the courage to glance at his friend, he’s frowning confusedly. “Like just their voice?”

“Yeah… Like, you didn’t know what they looked like or it didn’t matter because their voice was so entrancing,” Louis explains, feeling more and more embarrassed by the second. 

Zayn’s eyebrows furrow and he bites his lip thoughtfully. “Can’t say that I have, no. I’ve been drawn to certain people’s voices but it’s more of an aesthetic thing, not a sexual thing.” 

“Oh,” Louis breathes, nodding. “Alright.”

“Why?” Zayn raises an eyebrow. 

Louis shrugs, sliding his hands under his thighs for warmth. “Just curious. Hey, after this do you want to watch Pretty Little Liars?”

Zayn doesn’t call out his completely unsubtle topic change and nods instead. Louis made the right decision in choosing to distract him with their shared guilty pleasure. 

They watch a few episodes, pausing at points to make comments and bicker when they inevitably disagree on something. The heavy feeling weighing on Louis’s chest dissipates almost completely. 

Almost. 

There’s still the slightest itch of shame lingering in his mind, the feeling that his reaction to a stranger’s voice is strange or wrong. Harry Styles is only trying to help people fall asleep, to use his voice to soothe and not to seduce. To put him up on a sexual pedestal feels indescribably immoral, and yet just the thought of it sends Louis spiraling all over again. 

Frustrated at the lack of conclusion, he ignores the thought altogether. He’s gotten pretty good at ignoring things that make him uncomfortable over the past few years. 

-

It’s been exactly thirteen days since Louis has tried a story from Harry Styles before he loses his resolve. The ache to hear that rumbling, deep drawl in his ear again has become too much for him to resist, mortification aside. 

It’s become more than that now too, though. He’s determined to get over it, whatever it is. Like a challenge. Louis will get through the story without making it anything sexual, he tells himself, even as his breath hitches when he clicks onto the app. 

He feels pathetic as he searches out the familiar name and presses the story. Fingers curled tightly into each other, he wills himself to stay in control . 

He cannot get so affected by a fucking bedtime story, he can’t. It’s weird and all sorts of morally questionable, he tells himself. Harry Styles reads bedtime stories to help people sleep- he’s never given permission to have his voice be used to get off on. That’s what Louis reminds himself over and over, trying to talk himself out of it as he stares at the illuminated story screen and the daunting pause button hovering over it. 

However, Louis is a weak, weak man. He hits play, fully aware of what is about to happen regardless of his internal turmoil. 

That addicting voice spills from his earbuds like a breath of fresh air. Louis nearly chokes on his exhale, body letting out a small shudder. 

Just like before, he finds himself growing more and more aroused. His erection strains against the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms, seeking friction and satisfaction. 

But Louis refuses to give in. 

It’s not like he never masturbates. When the ache grows too unbearable, he’ll resort to pulling one off in the shower lazily. On extreme occasions, he’ll try his fingers, biting down on the sheets to swallow his whimpers as he fucked himself with trembling digits. They’re too small, is the thing, and he’s never able to get the right angle, but sometimes the itch to be filled up is too immense to be ignored. 

But jerking off to a bedtime story sounds messed up and more importantly, it sounds definitely pathetic. Louis is tired of feeling pathetic all the time. 

His resolve only shrinks as the story progresses and Harry’s voice seems to drop lower and lower until its gritty tone is grating on Louis’ feverish skin like a great temptation. And he is getting more and more tempted. 

His breathing has long since gone flighty, desperately aware of every shaky inhale and shuddery exhale. His skin is burning under the cover of darkness, yearning for the presence of someone next to him. And his cock is really fucking hard. Harder than it’s been in the past fourteen months- well, let’s be real, three years . 

It gets to the point where Louis isn’t sure he could gather the strength to unclench his fingers from the sheets and hit pause without losing all restraint and palming at his bulge. 

His hips are shifting against the mattress, arse grinding back against the surface below him and pretending it’s another human. It’s embarrassing even though there’s no one to witness him fall apart from nothing but a low croon in his ear. This Harry Styles isn’t even trying, really. He’s just telling a bedtime story, blissfully unaware that one of his listeners is biting a pillow in an effort to not become a whimpering mess, rutting desperately into the bed all because of his voice. 

Louis has never been so out of control. He’s never felt like this- like the slightest movement would send him over the edge. Like he’s going to fall apart if he doesn’t get some relief. 

He hasn’t even touched himself yet, for fuck’s sake. 

And he won’t. 

He will not get himself off for the first time in ages by wanking to a bedtime story, no fucking way. He’s got some remaining dignity. 

Another five minutes and the conviction in his last declaration seems to have vanished. He’s biting his lip so hard, he tastes blood. He had just made the mistake of scooting up on the mattress. He was on his side which meant the movement made his pajamas graze over his cock eliciting a loud gasp that cuts through the room like a knife. 

And now the ache has doubled. He swallows the metallic taste and muffles his gasp against the pillow, fingers still clinging to the sheets. Turn it off, his brain says. 

Touch yourself, his cock says. 

Louis is a weak, weak man. 

With quivering fingers, he runs his hands over his chest softly, hissing when the pad of his pinkie brushes over his sensitive nipple. 

His body tenses as his fingers trace over his belly button and lower, lower, lower ... 

The first point of contact between his skin and his clothed cock feels like he’s been burned. He shudders again, resting his palm over his the shape of his prick oh so lightly. He doesn’t press down just yet, willing himself to reverse his actions and stop himself from doing something he’ll regret. 

Shame bubbles up inside him when his hand doesn’t move. 

Harry is still talking in his ear, voice completely all-encompassing and unrelenting. He’s telling a story about visiting Brazil or Spain or something- Louis isn’t really paying attention to the content, his mind zeroing in on the intonations and enunciations of every letter instead. 

Slowly, he shifts his hand, fingers curling into his pajamas. The small bit of friction quells his desperation for a few blissful moments before returning worse than ever. He whines quietly, palming over his cock and squeezing every so often. 

He’s already so hard and it’s been forever since he’s done this- since he’s been satisfied , so pushed to the edge pretty fast. He stalls there for a bit, stroking over himself teasingly as he balances over the cusp. 

Oh so carefully, he slides the pants along with his underwear down, hissing as it brushes over his throbbing length. He holds himself with shaking fingers, keeping his hand held in a loose fist as he strokes once, twice, three times. 

And then he comes. 

A loud moan follows as his body jolts at the sensation. It’s not a large orgasm by any means, but he feels it intensely in every inch of his tired body, cum dripping through his immobile fingers and getting on the baby blue silk along with the white sheets underneath him as he shivers. 

He waits a few minutes to settle down, breathing in and out deeply with his eyes scrunched shut. When his breaths even out again, he opens his eyes, staring dazedly at the ceiling. 

It’s then he realizes that there’s no deep drawl droning on in the background. He blinks languidly, nose twitching as he frowns. Now that he’s come, the shame and guilt has returned in tenfold, igniting in his gut and clawing up his throat and bursting through his sealed lips with a pitiful whimper. The hour long story is over. 

It’s at the point where Louis should definitely be fast asleep, but as he watches the ceiling fan turn lazily over and over again, he’s never felt more awake. 

-

He, once again, ignores Harry Styles’ section of stories in the app collection with deep conviction. His mortification with himself hasn’t lessened with time, in fact it’s only grown worse. He’s had more time to replay the pathetic moment in his mind over and over until the very thought of Brazil and Spain makes him want to keel over and never get up. 

The universe is definitely laughing at him when he checks his teaching outline for the next few days and realizes his main focus of the week is geography .

He also begins avoiding mirrors for some reason. It’s like every time he stares at his reflection, he can see the remnants of his sweat-slick skin and flushed desperation. Traces of his watering eyes and the echoes of his muted gasps and whimpers. 

It’s all very inconvenient. 

Not to mention, he’s still itching with the desire to do it again. Maybe intentionally this time . Where he can draw everything out longer and tease himself into oblivion. Where he can truly be satisfied, edged along by that deep, gritty voice and his own ministrations until it’s all just too much. 

Those sorts of thoughts leave a blush plastered to his face that refuses to fade away for hours. He’s never felt these kinds of… urges before. The desperation to pleasure himself usually repulses him but now it’s all he can think about. Though he figures it can’t be too odd, a sexually frustrated twenty-six-year-old virgin . 

That had been his first orgasm in months and he’s longing for another one. 

It’s why he finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before. 

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later. 

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button. 

Three… 

Two… 

One. 

Play. 

This week’s story is a lot more intimate than the last one, closer to the story he heard on his first attempt. He starts shivering at the first, “No one wants you to be happy more than me. I promise I’ll make you happy.” 

He doesn’t know what the story’s even about, but the reverent tone and conviction laced in his words has Louis whining into his pillow much faster than last time. It’s at times like this more than any other that Louis wishes he knew what Harry Styles looked like. He could technically do a quick internet search and probably find him easily due to his unique name, but that’s a line Louis refuses to cross. It makes everything too real and unavoidable. But he yearns to know anyway, imagining what it’d be like to attach a picture to the voice he’s grown so fond of.  

Before he knows it, he’s got his pajamas shoved down to his fuzzy socks, goosebumps speckling over his exposed thighs. 

His hands are shaking again, out of arousal and also out of resistance, of wishing he was strong enough to not need this as much as he does. He tries to grip his cock only to lose his courage and bite down into the cotton fabric again.  

Trembling, he turns over onto his stomach, careful not to jostle his headphones. He moves his phone to the nightstand right and presses his gaping lips against the pillow, muffling his mewls and moans as he awkwardly ruts against the mattress. 

The whole angle is off since Louis refuses to untense and get more comfortable. His fingers are curled into the sheets, bracing himself as he circles his hips into the soft fabric. They’re cool against his burning skin, creating the much needed friction he’s seeking. 

He’s never been more grateful for the mask of night hiding him from light and its accompanying shame. He’s never been so grateful that he lives alone. 

He ruts up against the mattress some more, letting that intoxicating timbre sink into his skin and tug him over the edge. 

A silent scream is pulled from his lips as he comes, body going rigid and hips stilling as he rides out the sensations. He slumps in place, lungs contracting as the stickiness on his cock and hips registers. He’s going to have to clean the sheets and wipe himself down. 

Instead, he falls asleep, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting on a muted yawn as he goes entirely lax in bed. He snuffles lightly, curling into himself a bit more despite the uncomfortable feeling between his legs and succumbing to his dreams. 

When he wakes up to cum dried on his skin and sore leg muscles from the cold, he immediately gasps, glancing at the clock to confirm his thoughts. He fell asleep… He slept seven hours. 

And it was after getting himself off, not because he listened to the bedtime story diligently. 

For the first time since all of this started, Louis begins to realize he could get addicted to a thing like this. 

It’s still not enough to stop him. 

-

Later that day he researches voice kinks.

He had put it off so long not of fear he wouldn’t find anything, but of fear that he would. 

And he did.

Endless articles, blog posts, random subreddits, and other murky sites detailing sexual attraction to someone’s voice. On one hand it feels much better knowing he isn’t the only one, isn’t an outcast.

But on the other hand, he just feels more embarrassed seeing his phenomenon acknowledged and confirmed in stark black print over and over again. 

By that, he means accounts from other people of experiencing the same overwhelming reaction to someone’s voice, even if their personality or looks weren’t as appealing. Even if they had no idea what the person looked like. 

He doesn’t find an official term to blanket the whole concept but there is discussion of something called audiophilia, or a fetish relating to recorded sound. That in particular is a lot greater than Louis wants to think about. It encompasses attraction to sounds that don’t include voices as well, like certain types of music or other seemingly aesthetic sounds that elicit aroused reactions from people. Louis is sure that that’s not quite what he has, yet he still spends his entire lunch break at school reading up about it. 

Another term he finds is auralism, or sexual arousal and excitement from sound which includes music, voice, and actual sex noises themselves. It’s a bit more vague which means it intimidates him less. 

But the biggest issue is that he doesn’t quite know what it means if this is the first and only time he’s experienced something like this. He’s heard deep, gritty voices that sound like they originate from around Cheshire or Liverpool like Harry Styles’ before, but none have affected him this much. None have even come close. 

Is he included in those terms if it’s only happened with one specific sound or voice? 

Does he even want to be included in those terms? 

And he doesn’t even want to overthink how even though he’s read countless stories and descriptions of other people’s experiences, he hasn’t seen anyone admit to wanking or getting off to a recorded audio of another, unknowing human. 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen- people are very shameless and open on the internet but they still don’t share everything. And the internet itself is such a vast, endless place, so maybe there is someone who’s admitted to doing the same. 

But he hasn’t seen it yet. It just makes him feel more ashamed and guilty. Is it messed up for him to be doing this? It’s not like he’s connecting the voice to a face and personality and feelings- he already established to himself that he’d never resort to finding out the man’s identity and making things more real and more wrong . 

To him, what he’s got going on now feels almost detached, like he’s dehumanizing him somehow. Like Harry Styles talking is just the equivalent of listening to the rain pattering against the window, unavoidable and immersive and there . 

He worries about it. 

The whole situation makes him anxious so he deletes the tabs and clears his history to erase it fully. Then he scrambles to finish his pasta salad as the last few minutes of his lunch break tick down and his six and seven year olds come rushing in with a litany of giggles, chattering, and unintelligible shrieking. 

-

Just over a week later, Louis has now gotten off to Harry Styles reading him bedtime stories a total of seven times. He doesn’t do it every day, but the frequency is enough that he can’t stop thinking about it as he goes through his normal routines. 

Can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to finally get the relief he’s been subconsciously craving for months now, how enchanting and enthralling Harry’s voice is, how completely and utterly ashamed he feels. 

He’s a twenty-six-year-old single virgin who’s resorted to getting off on the voices of unaware strangers because he’s so fucking pathetic. 

But he can’t stop. 

He’d tried to resist it last night and ended up tugging one off at 2 in the morning, biting down on the skin of his wrist as Harry crooned on about summertime and butterflies. And then he fell asleep within moments of laying down, waking up six hours later with a mouthful of pillow and drool dried to his chin. 

So now he’s pretty much accepted it. 

He’s a morally questionable, pathetic loser who might possibly go to hell. He didn’t even used to believe in that sort of thing before he and Jack dated. His boyfriend spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to convert Louis to the “light side” and have him renounce his sins and acknowledge purity. At first it just seemed like a suggestion since Jack was so devout and Louis was so… not. 

Like he wanted Louis to have that connection with him, or that he wanted to share what was one of the biggest components of his life with his future significant other. 

But it quickly became one of the biggest points of conflict between them, an excuse for Jack to lash out at him and tell him how he’s going to be punished for not accepting God’s existence and how his tattoos and his drinking habits (which were nowhere near the level of “damning” that Jack liked to claim) and his ‘defiant attitude’ would send him to hell. 

Louis really should have seen the warning signs before it was too late. 

Try as he might, the effects of Jack’s attempts of manipulating him into having the same religious beliefs (more like nightmares) have lingered. 

He feels like he’s committing some sort of sin every time he slides his pajamas down and shuts his eyes. Like he’ll be discovered and shamed for doing what he’s doing. 

But still he does it. 

Because yes, he’s become addicted. 

He’s thinking about all of this while he’s scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. The only reason he has the app is because Niall forced him to download it when he was stuck at 999 followers for two days straight. 

It’s not his favorite platform to use or look through, but sometimes he gets in the mood. He flicks through the collection of stories, scoffing when he comes across a shot of Niall trying to chug a glass of tequila while balancing on a single foot, drunk off his arse. 

He coos when he stumbles across his cousin’s story, an automatic smile curving his lips as he sees her young five-year-old daughter painting rocks in her backyard. Louis loves kids and he can’t wait for the opportunity to raise his own. 

You know, if he ever finds someone to raise them with. 

Humming an ABBA song under his breath, he continues his browsing. He flips past the Calm stories with an eye roll. He followed them ages ago just to keep track of any announcements or new features with ease, but he mostly ends up skipping the ridiculous amount of promotional content they post. 

Seconds later, he freezes. 

His mouth drops open in shock, fingers stilling on the screen as the moment replays in his head. He had flicked through the six stories super fast, but not fast enough to not hear a snippet of a voice. 

And not just any voice, his voice. 

Mr. Harry Styles himself. 

He’s swiping back to find it with anxious fingers before he can think through things properly. He finds it instantly, blinking in disbelief at the video. 

Because there is a man sitting in on an armchair lazily in the shot. And he’s talking. 

He’s talking and the voice coming from his mouth is Harry’s voice. 

Which means, this is Harry Styles. The holder of the sexiest voice Louis has ever heard and-

Louis swallows, eyes tracing over broad shoulders, short dark curls, and confident green eyes. And perhaps the most sexy appearance he’s ever seen, he realizes fearfully. 

Because Harry Styles is no longer a faceless stranger. He has a face indeed, a very attractive and handsome one. He’s all sharp lines and angles with soft bowed lips and fucking dimples. 

He’s gorgeous, is the thing. The most attractive man Louis has ever seen, no doubt. 

Very carefully, he raises his finger from the screen, unpausing the video.

“Today we’re interviewing one of our newest Calm storytellers.”

Harry grins at the camera, smug and confident and charming and genuine all at once. “Hi, I’m Harry Styles. I’m twenty-four and I live in London.”

London. Harry Styles lives in London. But Louis lives in London.

Fuck.  

“I’ve been working for Calm for about two months now,” Harry continues, voice just as slow and deep as it is in his stories, though it’s a little more bright and distinct rather than soft and suggestive. “And it’s been an incredible experience.”

The interview cuts in there, “For the full interview with Mr. Styles, swipe up.” 

Louis swipes up. 

He settles back into the couch, eyes fixated on the screen as he skips back to where he was in the interview. Harry Styles is sitting in a black armchair which matches his black button up and matching suit jacket, top two buttons undone. He looks immaculate and like he’s a guest star on a talk show, not being interviewed for an equally praised and criticized subscription for sleep improvement.  

“So Mr. Styles, what is working for Calm like? Describe an average day or recording session for us,” the interviewer asks.

“Well, uhm, most of the time it doesn’t take more than a few hours to record a story,” Harry starts slowly. He’s leaning back in the armchair with his leg bent across the other, self-assured and taking up as much space as possible. It’s exactly how Louis imagined him to sit. “Sometimes I even record more than one at a time. I only really have to go in a few times a month. They email me the stories and I read them through and sometimes practice them out loud to get a feel for it. Then I come in and record, usually with a glass of water next to me because it’s a lot of talking.” He pauses to chuckle, deep and bright. “I make mistakes all the time but they just pause and restart or replace the messed up audio with a new cut. It’s all very relaxed.”

“And you enjoy it?” 

“I do,” Harry says, “S’very soothing in a way, just reading out loud. I try to sound soothing and soft and usually it ends up lulling me into a sleepy state so I guess it works.” His talking style is just as smooth as ever, deep and slow and perfect. 

The lady smiles, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder before asking, “Is working for Calm your only job?” 

“No, actually,” Harry says thoughtfully, “I’m the proud owner of a local bakery.”

“A bakery?” the woman says, sounding shocked. Louis feels the same. He mouths it to himself. A bakery. His mystery man is a baker. 

Harry grins. “Yeah, it’s called Anne’s , named after my lovely mum. It’s a family owned business and my parents started it before handing the reins off to me. They still help out but they want a new generation to take the wheel. That’s my main job but I love doing this in my free time.”

“Just out of curiosity, what made a baker like you want to work for Calm?” the lady continues. 

“It’s actually sort of a cliche story but I swear it’s true!” Harry says, running a large hand adorned with a variety of eccentric rings through his hair absentmindedly. “I had an awful case of insomnia through most of my teenage years. It was all-consuming and miserable and I basically slunked my way through graduation. I looked like a vampire 24/7, gaunt skin and dark eye bags that only got worse with time. Everything I did or thought was sluggish or gloomy, it was awful. Nothing I tried worked: meds, meditation, music, pills, weird concoctions my mum found on WikiHow-”

The interviewer laughs accordingly, red lips stretching wide and pressing together thinly. 

“I talked to my therapist and my doctor and they both helped me realize that sometimes all I can do is wait it out,” he explains, shrugging. “So I did. Except one day I stumbled across one of those sleep audios that were being praised and relied on. I tried a few and actually found some that helped. It didn’t cure me or anything, but it made the monster a lot easier to tolerate.”

“That’s great to hear,” the interviewer says kindly. “And you’ve decided to repay the favor?”

“In a way,” Harry agrees, nodding slowly. Louis’ throat feels dry as Harry presses his lips together in a thinking face, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw. “I just hope I can help someone the same way these sorts of audios helped my younger self.”

“So many people are struggling with the same things you did growing up. Do you still struggle with insomnia or did you really just grow out of it?” the lady presses.

“I grew out of it for the most part,” Harry reveals, “but I mean, we all have our days. Luckily, I get a sweet employee’s discount.” 

They both laugh this time and Louis almost does too, but he’s so caught up in watching him on the small screen that his breath gets caught somewhere in his throat and he just ends up biting his lip, his eyes following the movement when Harry leans forward to take a sip of his water glass. 

“So, what would you say is the best part of working for Calm - is it what we just talked about? The satisfaction of knowing you could help someone struggling with the same misery and problems that you went through?” she asks. 

“I mentioned the employees’ discount, didn’t I?” Harry’s lips twitch. “No, you’re right. I just want to help people, as cheesy as that sounds. I don’t really do this for the money- everything I make from this gig goes straight into the bakery fund or I donate it to a charity of my choice.”

“Charity? That’s very generous of you.”

“Ehh, I’d say more ‘decent human being’ of me,” Harry grins. Louis’ heart flutters and he’s not sure if it was from his words or his bright smile. He’s pretty sure his face is flushed red as well, can practically feel the heat spreading across his cheeks. 

Either way, the verdict is he is so fucked. 

The rest of the interview wraps up quickly with a speed round of questions. Harry answers them easily. His favorite color is blue, he loves cats and dogs equally (so does Louis, he notes wistfully), he’s an Aquarius, and even though he’s British he still watches American football and is a Packers fan. He loves going to the gym and hates not being in charge of what he does. 

It ends with Harry thanking the woman- Liza, apparently- and saying goodbye (or “Good night,” as Harry had joked) to the viewers before the video ended, an action that activated Louis’ panic. 

Unintentionally or not, he just crossed the line he had been upholding. 

He knows what Harry Styles looks like now, knows how sexy he looks on top of how sexy he sounds, how he’s a baker, how he struggled with insomnia, how he donates to charity without being arrogant and self-absorbed about it, how his sense of humor is a bit cheesy but endearing, and how he lives in London. And how thinking about him instantly makes his heart race and his breaths hitch. 

Louis… may have a bit of a crush on him. Him and his voice and his eyes and his curls and his dimples and his slightest hint of tattoos hidden by those tight jacket sleeves and his confident body language and his broad shoulders and of course, his voice. 

He really should have seen it coming. 

-

As much as he wishes this new development would deter him from continuing his nighttime habit, he still gravitates to Harry’s stories without fail on days he’s desperate for comfort or relief or just being able to hear Harry’s voice. 

It’s mortifying, really. He’s so obsessed with this guy meanwhile Harry doesn’t know who he is nor what he’s been doing to the tune of his stories. 

The fact that he can picture Harry now, can picture what it would be like if he was actually there and leaning in close to whisper in Louis’ ear. That he can imagine those lips ghosting over his feverish skin in the darkness, breath fanning out and leaving goosebumps in its wake. That he can envision what it’d be like if it weren’t his hands and fingers touching him and spreading him apart, but longer, stronger ones. 

His next few orgasms are nothing short of amazing. 

However, things get more complicated much too quickly. 

Louis whimpers quietly, damp eyes fluttering open and mind sharpening as he realizes what just happened. He’s letting out little pants, mouthing wetly at his pillow and rutting up against the mattress again. 

Except two minutes ago he was asleep. 

Flashes of big hands touching his skin and curls brushing his neck and those lips ghosting over his collarbone make him shudder again, movements becoming more stilted and desperate. 

He pictures that deep voice whispering in his ear, urging him on and telling him how good he is as he holds Louis down by the hips, keeping him from squirming away. That’s the thought that ultimately pushes him over. He comes with a choked gasp, body convulsing almost excruciatingly against the sheets. 

Louis stills, breathing still increased and jagged as he reaches down to feel the dampness in between his thighs. He flushes in mortifcation. He just… came in his pants. They’re not his silk ones, thank god. He had quickly realized it’s much too complicated and too much effort to clean cum stains off of silk so he’s taken to wearing old threadbare shirts and cotton pajama pants to bed. But those cotton pants are now stained and wet, because he came in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

More importantly, he just had a wet dream about Harry Styles. 

This is definitely crossing a line, he thinks. Louis has never had a wet dream about someone- okay, maybe once or twice in secondary school, but definitely not in a good ten years. 

What the fuck? More importantly, what the fuck is wrong with him?

He can’t let this go on any longer, can’t keep listening to those stories and using them for his temporary relief. What if Harry’s very against stuff like this? What if he’s a devout Catholic like Jack (Louis saw his cross tattoo, it isn’t as far fetched as he would like) and he’d be disgusted at Louis’ action, at Louis himself. 

Soon, he’s crying in bed. Choking out quiet and strangled sobs and muffling them in his damp pillow, still sticky and sensitive but not wanting to get up and wipe himself down. 

He’s a terrible person, he thinks dimly. Just like Jack always said. 

He should have known. 

-

Louis goes a full week without using Calm. He’s completely exhausted, stumbling through the daily motions and adapting to using a concealer to cover his dark eyebags. His mood is teetering on the borderline of depressed, all those familiar insecurities and worries and self-deprecating thoughts rising to the forefront of his mind where he can’t escape them. 

And he still can’t stop thinking about Harry, no matter how much he tries. 

Zayn and Niall both notice his gloomy behavior and put it upon themselves to cheer him up. Zayn shows up unannounced Wednesday to watch more Pretty Little Liars but all it does is make him feel worse. It was impossible for him to relax fully next to Zayn on the couch, even when his friend reluctantly offered cuddles. He couldn’t stop thinking of what Zayn would think if he knew. 

If he’d confirm that Louis really is pathetic and slightly fucked up. 

Niall calls him various times over the week, begging for funny stories about Louis’ students and babbling his own anecdotes in return. However, he loses patience with Louis’ half-hearted efforts which results in him showing up Saturday to take Louis to lunch. 

Louis gives in, letting Niall herd him into the bedroom and make him change out of his pajamas and into something as “pretty as your face” as he described it. He puts on some mom jeans and a sweater, going for comfortable but still put-together. 

Awkward silences are always nonexistent when it comes to Niall so Louis finds himself being bombarded with hoards of random information, stories, and questions as they walk to their destination. 

Lunch goes pretty much the same way and Louis finds himself slowly untensing and even offers a smile when Niall makes a particularly amusing joke. He’s grateful to his friends for always being there for him, especially when he’s sad or miserable. 

He met Zayn in uni right around the same time he met Jack, so he’s been there through all of their ups and downs. Louis knows Zayn never really liked Jack- maybe he did in the beginning but that friendliness festered into resentment over the final two years very quickly. And he knows that while Zayn would never want Louis to be heartbroken and miserable like he’s been for the past year or so, he also knows that Zayn is relieved that they didn’t work out. 

Well, Louis can’t really blame him. 

Niall, on the other hand, is a fellow teacher at Louis’ school and they met when Louis started working there this past school year. Niall introduced himself on the first day, inviting Louis to come eat lunch with him in his classroom. He’s a second year teacher so their rooms are right across the hall from each other. 

Louis had accepted, nervous and lonely at a new school and a new teacher fresh off from getting his masters and fresh off from being dumped seven months earlier with slow progress of moving on. 

Their lunches quickly turned into a bright point in Louis’ days and he found himself opening up to someone new for the first time since everything happened. And now here they are approaching the end of the school year and Louis can consider him a close friend. 

He doesn’t eat lunch with Niall all the time since he needs his alone time, but this past week he didn’t eat with him at all. That was definitely out of the ordinary so Louis isn’t surprised that Niall’s been concerned. 

Niall pays for their meal which Louis protests but in the end, he just thanks him shyly, feeling warmed when Niall brushes it off with a sweet, “Friends treat friends sometimes.” 

Louis is confused when they walk outside and Niall immediately starts walking in the opposite direction from which they came. “Ni, where’re you going?”

“We need dessert!” Niall exclaims, glancing back over his shoulder at Louis who’s still standing at the entrance, bewildered. “C’mon, Lou! You won’t regret it!”

Louis sighs, but hurries to follow as Niall picks up his pace. When he catches up, Niall links their arms together and Louis huffs out a startled laugh, pleased by the grounding contact. 

“Here we are,” Niall announces excitedly. Louis glances up at the shop, eyes skimming over the 19th century style building with prominent navy eaves, large embellished windows with blue open shutters, and a balcony on the second floor where a couple were eating pastries at one of the three round tables. The soft sound of music is wafting through the air, soothing and sweet. 

Louis exhales, eyes straying to the larger windows of the first floor, revealing the black and white check pattern of the floors through the glass as well as the display case filled to the brim with breads, pastries, and other sweet delicacies. His eyes veer to the left to where a hanging sign lays swinging slightly in the breeze. Anne’s. 

He freezes. 

“This is my favorite bakery,” Niall explains, oblivious to Louis’ tension. “A friend brought me here and now I go every few weeks. Their pastries are-”

“Niall,” Louis interrupts, voice pinched and face pale. “I’m not that hungry.”

Niall pouts, before grinning brightly. “Well, I am hungry, so do you mind coming in with me for a few minutes anyway? I’ve been dying to introduce you to my friend, H. He runs the place.”

H. Harry. Niall’s friends with Harry. It seems more shocking than it should- Niall’s friends with everyone after all. 

Louis really, really should have seen this coming. 

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to spout off another bullshit excuse when Niall cuts in. 

“Please, Lou? I promise he’s nice! And if you change your mind, he’ll probably give us something on the house,” he grins, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “I already told him I’d be stopping by today.”

Louis scrambles for an excuse but comes up short at the sight of Niall’s hopeful expression. He sighs. It’s not like Harry has any idea who he is. To him, Louis is just any other customer, or Niall’s friend he supposes. “Okay,” he says, resigned. 

Niall beams at him, holding the door open for Louis to walk through. 

No one is in line so they walk straight up to the counter, Louis falling behind Niall shyly. There’s no one behind the counter right now but there’s a bell sitting near the register threateningly. Louis stares at, masking a flinch when Niall rings it jovially, the loud sound reverberating through his brains and rattling his insides. 

The panic bubbles up full-storm as they hear some rustling and a familiar voice calls from the back, “I’ll be right with you, give me a second!”

Louis shivers, biting down on the inside of his cheek painfully. His heart is pounding like a drum in his chest, so loud it feels tremendous amid the quiet, softer sounds of the shop. There’s a surprising amount of people here, whispering and chatting among themselves in the many booths. Everyone is smiling and laughing and eating sweets, looking carefree and the opposite of how Louis feels. 

A winding old-fashioned staircase most likely leads to a similar scene on the second floor. 

The telltale sound of a door squeaking open jolts Louis back to the present, body going rigid as a familiar figure strides in from the back and up to the counter. He’s frowning down at a notepad, a smudge of flour on his defined cheekbone and a stray curl draped over his forehead. His sleeves are rolled up revealing toned, tattooed forearms and he’s wearing an apron with the store logo printed in fancy, looping script.

There’s a pen tucked behind his ear which is almost knocked over as Niall yells, “H!”

Harry looks up abruptly, lips parting in surprise. And God, his face is even more perfect than Louis remembered. A wide smile curves those lovely lips as he laughs. “Niall! How are you, mate?”

“I’m ace,” Niall says, before gesturing to Louis. “This is my mate, Louis. Lou, this is Harry.” 

Louis realizes he’s blushing much too late as Harry’s eyes meet his, widening in surprise. Louis manages to croak out a soft, “Hello,” before blushing even harder. He doesn’t think he’s been this embarrassed, ever.

Harry is staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face and for a second, Louis panics at the idea that he somehow knows. But then he’s grinning and nodding. “Nice to meet you, Louis. Niall’s told me good things about you,” he says. It’s like his voice softened specifically to talk to Louis and the low, sweet tones sink into Louis’ skin like honey.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Niall didn’t tell me anything about you.” He stills, eyes widening as he realizes what he just said. He opens his mouth to apologize because that was fucking rude, Louis!

But Harry laughs, loud and deep and abrupt as if he wasn’t expecting it either. Niall is cackling next to him. “He’s right,” Niall jokes, “I only talk about how good your bread is.”

“Using me for my baked goods, I knew it,” Harry jokes, feigning hurt. “What would you guys like today? I just made a fresh loaf of Challah bread with rosemary if you’re into it.”

Challah bread with rosemary. Louis feels like he’s just met an angel. “Yes, please,” he blurts, blushing when Harry’s eyes slide over to him again. 

“A Challah appreciator, now it’s even nicer to meet you,” Harry says, fixing Louis with a charming grin. Louis’ insides burn traitorously. 

“Okay fine, we’ll get a loaf,” Niall says. “And I want a chocolate éclair and a box of macarons for later.” 

“Coming right up,” Harry says, ducking down to gather their items. Louis is pretty sure he stops breathing when Harry reaches over the display case to hand him the loaf of bread, wrapped in a branded napkin. 

Harry flashes him another smile right after and Louis’ heart flutters yet again. He’s so, so fucked. 

“Hey, H. You don’t look too busy right now so if you want, feel free to come join us outside,” Niall says and Louis internally screams. 

“Actually, Chelsea’s going to show up any minute now so I think I’ll take you up on that,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair absently. Louis traces the movement despite himself, following the strong line of his forearm to the outline of his defined bicep hidden by that unfortunate sleeve. When he glances back to Harry’s face, he sees the man smirking at him. 

Louis blushes, hurrying to follow Niall outside. 

They take a seat at one of the free circular tables and Louis resists the urge to slam his head into the warm surface. Instead, he unwraps the Challah bread and rips off a substantial chunk, shoving it in his mouth and chewing aggressively. 

Eating through his stress may be a bad idea, but Louis does it anyway. 

Harry does end up joining them for a bit. He’s kind and charming and confident and everything Louis is attracted to and he finds himself wearing a permanent blush from how many times Harry looks or smiles at him and that one moment where he winks at him. 

Niall and him eventually say goodbye as the afternoon rush hour starts trickling in and Harry has to return to his post. They walk home and Niall teases Louis about his shyness and pink cheeks, because of course Louis is awful at being subtle. 

He waves to Niall from the door to his flat building, before going upstairs with dragging feet. 

Hours later at night, he shamefully listens to Harry’s newest story and fingers himself, biting into his pillow. When he’s finished, he doesn’t bother wiping himself down before turning over and curling up meekly. 

His pillow is damp against his cheek from saliva and tears.

-

Sometimes when Louis wants to treat himself while also supporting authors and small businesses, he goes book shopping. 

He’s always been a big reader but over the past year it’s been hard to find time for his other hobbies while balancing grading papers, binge-watching TV shows at an extreme rate, and moping. 

But he’s determined to find a few books that catch his eye while he’s out. Whether it’s fantasy, sci-fi, or romance, he just wants a good read. 

There’s three local shops that he frequents the most and he makes his way through all of them. He’s collected a total of five books already when he reaches the final store. It’s a bit cramped but with tall shelves packed to the brim with hardbacks and paperbacks. Louis feels the familiar giddiness at the possibility of so many books to look through, starting at the nonfiction section and working his way around. 

He’s reading the synopsis of the Handmaid’s Tale when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He jumps, spinning around and freezing in place as Harry Styles grins at him. 

It’s been nearly a week since he and Niall talked to him at the bakery, and Louis has wanked to him twice since then. The burning mortification and guilt claws up his throat but he tamps them down enough to blurt out a soft, “Hello.”

“Hey, Louis,” Harry says back, voice just as entrancing and intoxicating as always, maybe even more so in the daytime when Louis can hear the hints of happiness in his tone. “Come here often?” he jokes, gesturing around. 

Louis bites back another grin, endeared. “I guess so, yeah. What about you?”

“Not as much as I should,” Harry admits, running a hand through his curls like he always does. He’s dressed in black flare trousers, a white shirt with a low neckline, and a black fur lined coat jacket. And even though it isn’t too sunny yet in London, there’s a  pair of sunglasses resting in his hair, almost jostled by his fingers just moments before. “Especially considering my best mate is the owner.”

“Liam’s your best mate?” Louis exclaims, surprised. Liam seems very nice but they’ve only talked a few times, mostly typical pleasantries while he checked him out at the register. It’s mostly because of how shy and anxious Louis gets around new people. Anxious like he feels right now, feet shuffling and skin itching with the need to get away. The now familiar sensation of guilt licking up his insides. “Small world.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Harry says, eyes focused intensely on Louis. 

He feels a blush spread across his cheeks at the direct attention. Harry notices, smirking. “Have you found anything today?” Louis asks hurriedly, turning back to the shelves to hide his growing flusteredness. 

Harry holds up a paperback: Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Louis muses, words spilling from his lips before he can second-guess them. He stills, afraid Harry will be offended. 

But he just chuckles, peeking into his basket. “What’ve you got?” 

Louis blushes.“Oh... Some Christina Lauren… a romance writer duo, Brandon Sanderson, and Leigh Bardugo,” he says. 

Harry looks intrigued. “Never heard of any of them, maybe you’ll have to give me some recommendations. Help me broaden my horizons.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, mind catching on the word ‘broad’ in particular. 

“I’ve always loved literature,” Harry continues. “Writing, researching, reading.” 

Louis’ fingertips hesitate over the spine of the book he’d been about to pick up, his face coloring at the mention of reading . 

“Really?” He asks, his voice gone high and airy. 

“Yeah, reading to other people too. I just have this, like, compulsion to try to help people I think?” Harry goes a bit bashful, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Anyway I can, really. Whether that’s sharing information or just, y’know, calming them down when I can. Sometimes reading really helps with that. It helped me a lot too when I was younger.” 

Trying for nonchalant, Louis continues down the shelves without making eye contact. He’s already beginning to sweat a little, nervous at the idea that maybe Harry is pushing for information. Louis wonders if he knows . There’s no way he could - except that he’s friends with Niall and he may have mentioned it to him and maybe Harry put two and two together and he knows that Louis’ some kind of freak that gets off to the sound of his voice and-

“Uh,” Harry says, looking shy all of a sudden. He stops them both in the middle of the small aisle, his mouth open as he runs his eyes over Louis’ face. “I wanted to ask last week but I psyched myself up too much. I think you’re really lovely, Louis. Would you want to get dinner with me sometime?”

Louis blinks, frozen in place. Did… Did Harry, Harry Styles,  just ask him out? 

It takes him a second to realize that he’s just standing there, gaping at Harry like an idiot. 

He shakes out of his stupor, blushing bright red. “Yes! Yes, sure…” He trails off, embarrassed at his awkward reply. 

However, Harry looks pleased, grinning widely and stepping even closer. He holds out his phone shyly, “I promise I won’t spam you with cat pictures.”

“You have a cat?” Louis exclaims excitedly as he takes the offered device, eyes widening. He loves cats, loves all animals really. At Harry’s confirming nod, he narrows his eyes. “Well now I expect regular pictures.” He blushes again when he realizes how that sounds. 

Harry looks amused, maybe a little endeared. “Alright then, if you’re into it,” he jokes, smiling when Louis hands him his phone back, now newly inputted with a simple Louis :)

Louis ducks his head shyly, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. He’s got some kind of compulsion to spill the truth, to get it off of his chest before - if - things go too far.  I listen to your stories , he wants to say. I touch myself to your voice. 

His lips stay sealed shut. 

A hoarse, “Harry!” is called from somewhere in the back, urgent and exasperated. 

Harry sighs ruefully. “Liam probably needs my help moving a bookshelf, sorry,” he explains. “I’ll see you soon hopefully.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Louis says faintly, momentarily distracted at the thought of Harry’s biceps straining as he lifts a large bookshelf with ease. He fidgets with his sleeves awkwardly, still flushed and flustered. His other hand clutches his bag of books close to his chest, protective. “Bye, Harry.” 

“Bye, Lou,” Harry says softly, before backing away. He doesn’t turn away until the last possible moment, staring at Louis with kind eyes before he disappears behind a row of shelves. 

Louis stays frozen for a few more moments before exhaling in a rush. His heart is racing and his insides flicker with excitement and nerves. 

Things just got way more complicated, he realizes. Fuck. 

-

Harry takes Louis to a fancy restaurant for their date. Louis was shy at first, stammering his order to the waiter and then mumbling his answers to Harry’s questions as they had dinner. But Harry’s charm and patience eased some of Louis’ nerves, slowly getting him to relax and then open up. 

At the end of the night, Harry drove Louis home and kissed his flushed cheek at the door, murmuring in a low, soothing voice that he’d really like to see Louis again if Louis wanted. 

Oh, Louis wanted.

And now, Louis sits tucked into Harry’s side, a warm blanket draped over their laps and hands clasped over Louis’ knee as they watch Pulp Fiction because Harry’s sister, Gemma, said he was uncultured for never having seen it and Harry was disgruntled. 

It’s been two months of lovely dates, soft kisses, and tender cuddles and Louis has never felt happier. Harry’s other hand is brushing through his fringe softly, actions tender and gentle as he moved to scratching Louis’ scalp. 

Louis leans further into Harry’s side, turning into his body so he can lay against his chest. Harry tugs him closer, head ducking down to press an affectionate kiss onto the top of his hair. Louis hums appreciatively, lips curling into a smile despite himself. He’s never felt so safe.  

So cherished. 

And yeah, it’s only been eight weeks, but Louis has been struck with the arrow of love, falling hard and fast for the other man before he even knew him and even harder and faster once he did. He’s felt more in the short time he’s had with Harry than he ever had with Jack. He hasn’t listened to one of Harry’s stories since their first date- a feat he’s equally astonished and proud of. 

He’s had the urge to, definitely, especially since he had gotten used to his more frequent routine of, um, pleasuring himself . But he wouldn’t dare continue his taboo practices when Harry and him started dating. He still uses Calm to fall asleep, but Harry doesn’t even know about that. It would be weird if Harry knew he uses Calm and somehow missed seeing Harry’s name or series which have become pretty prominent in the app selection. So he had played dumb when Harry first brought up his second job last month. 

Louis had gone rigid in his chair at Anne’s, spoon filled with creme brulee poised to his parted lips when Harry uttered the words. Then he had proceeded to lie as he asked curious questions about what kind of stories Harry told and if the app worked. 

He had cooed in sympathy when Harry confessed his own past with insomnia, feeling like the shittiest person alive and then confiding that he too struggled with it over the past few years after his last breakup. He revealed that it had been getting better, but once again, he didn’t explain the reason for that improvement. 

Sometimes he feels like Harry notices that he doesn’t share a lot about himself. It’s not just the Calm thing, it’s his secrecy about his last relationship where all Harry knows is that it lasted a long time and ended badly but Louis was ready to move on (very true). It’s his habit of freezing up whenever Harry’s hands strayed too far down while they were snogging or how he got flustered whenever Harry tried to touch him beyond the standard points for cuddling. 

He definitely doesn’t know Louis is still a virgin and Louis is terrified to tell him. He’s twenty six for fuck’s sake. Harry’ll probably think he’s pathetic. 

Or… no, he won’t. Because Harry is so kind and open minded and gentle- he’d probably be nice about it, urging Louis to do whatever made him comfortable but slowly growing more and more annoyed internally until he won’t be able to take it anymore and break up with him. 

That, that’s Louis’ biggest fear. Well, maybe the Calm thing, and then that. 

“You okay, Lou?” Harry mumbles, leaning his head on top of Louis' gently. Louis shivers at the feeling of Harry’s curls ghosting over the tips of his ears. 

Louis stills, worry that Harry can somehow read his mind (he seems to do it so many other times that it’s not so far fetched) and know what he’s been thinking. “Yeah,” he croaks, hiding his burning cheeks against Harry’s chest. 

Harry chuckles, looking endeared. “You’re so cute.” 

It’s not Louis’ fault that he blushes even harder. 

A large hand cradles the side of his face and his breath hitches, head tipping back slightly so he can look up at Harry under his lashes. Harry’s staring at his lips. 

Heart racing, Louis makes a small, soft sound as their lips slot together. Harry tilts his face where he wants it, biting down gently on Louis’ bottom lip and licking into his mouth once his lips part on cue. 

This- as in snogging- they’ve done many times. Kissing is fine. Louis adores kissing, especially when it’s Harry kissing him. He kisses like he does everything else: slowly and thoroughly, just as attuned to how Louis is feeling as he is to himself. 

Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ jaw before tugging him forward. Louis follows easily, clambering onto Harry’s lap and straddling him. They’ve done it like this a couple times too but it still feels poignant. Louis feels jittery and wound up in Harry’s lap, fingers curling into Harry’s hair timidly.

For his part, Harry slows the kiss down, back to slowly and sensually sliding his lips against Louis’, tonguing into his mouth expertly. There’s no doubt he’s done this many times. 

The thought brings that ripple of insecurity and self-doubt back, prickling his insides and making him falter. Harry stills, no doubt noticing how his soft little noises stopped, but Louis just kisses him harder, willing him to drop it and ramping down on the evil feelings as best as he can. 

Which is really not very well at all.

He feels Harry grow hard underneath him, the outline of his cock sliding between Louis’ arse cheeks through his threadbare joggers easily. The sensation is intoxicating, eliciting a shiver and whimper that Harry greedily swallows up. 

Louis can’t even help but squirm into it, marveling at the sheer size of Harry’s cock- he really is big all over, god. But then Harry grinds up into him, one hand detaching from his jaw to slide under his shirt. It rains over his back reverently before fingers are dipping in near his waistband.

And that’s when Louis freezes, panic bubbling up inside him. He practically falls out of Harry’s arms, barely managing to keep himself from tumbling off of the couch and increasing his already exceedingly high levels of embarrassment. Cheeks burning, he curls up onto the couch and hides his mortified face in his knees. 

“Baby,” Harry whispers worriedly. Suddenly he’s close again, warm breathes fanning out on Louis’ exposed  nape and gentle fingers skimming over his sides cautiously. “Baby, is everything okay?”

Louis doesn’t answer, shame and humiliation clawing up his throat. He shrinks in on himself, trying to disappear as much as he can when Harry’s close to draping himself over his body. 

“Lou, what happened?” Harry asks urgently, running a hand over his head concernedly. Louis shies away from the touch, missing Harry’s hurt look. 

He keeps his mouth sealed shut, the words crashing into his lips and trying to break free to no avail. I’m a virgin who has no idea what he’s doing and can’t give you what you need, that’s what happened. 

Harry stays silent for a minute, the quiet becoming oppressive much too rapid for Louis’ dignity. He’s extremely close to screwing it all and hiding away in his bedroom to escape his embarrassment. They hadn’t even done anything yet for fuck’s sake, but Louis still freaked out like the pathetic lover he is.

God, Harry’s going to break up with him and Louis will be heartbroken and lonely again. He’s going to lose Harry’s kindness and his humor and his patience and his intelligence and his Challah bread. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Harry lets out a distressed sound, immediately wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle and hoisting him back onto his lap. The good news is Harry seemed to have lost his erection thanks to Louis’ pitiful display.

The bad news is Louis’ pitiful display. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, wet face buried in Harry’s neck. He’s quivering, fingers trembling as they dig into Harry’s sleeves. 

Harry just hushes him, rubbing large soothing circles onto his back with his massive perpetually warm hands. “Why’re you crying, darling?”

The term of endearment just makes him sob harder, choking out strangled cries and most definitely cementing his embarrassment by getting snot all over Harry’s shirt and skin. 

“Harry,” he breathes when his lungs finally expand again. His voice is hoarse from the force of his sobs, cheeks stained with salty tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? You have nothing to be sorry for,” Harry soothes. He frowns. “If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I clearly made you uncomfortable and I should have noticed that you were distressed.”

“No, I wasn’t distressed,” Louis insists, stomach churning uneasily. “I liked it,” he admits, blushing. Then he ducks his head, swallowing heavily. “I’ve just never done this…”

Harry looks understandably confused which Louis can’t fault him for- it’s the last thing someone would expect, his blatant lacking skills aside. 

“Because,” Louis starts slowly. He needs to just say it and get it over with. He physically cannot keep dragging this out and if it means Harry dumps him, then he might as well endure the heartbreak now and not later on when he’s even more fragile and enamored. “I’m a virgin.”

Thick silence follows his statement, pulsing dramatically between them like a living beast. It seeps into Louis’ mind, morphing into fear and panic and more embarrassment. Harry is staring at him with parted lips, eyes widened in shock.

Louis squirms, hugging his knees to his chest protectively. He waits. 

“Louis,” Harry murmurs instantly. Louis flinches, not capable of meeting his eyes despite his kind and prompting tone. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

He can’t. He keeps his eyes locked into the worn out patches of fabric from his joggers on his knees, the black material blurring in his mind to a shade of gloomy gray. 

“Baby, look at me,” Harry whispers, placing a solid hand on his shoulder and turning him slowly. Louis sucks in a breath, heart beating like a drum against his ribs. 

His eyes raise up to meet Harry’s softened ones, brimming with more tears despite his best efforts to control himself. 

Harry grips his other shoulder with his second hand, thumbs rubbing at his collarbone soothingly. He leans in close to rest his forehead against Louis’. “It’s okay,” he says, “That’s perfectly okay. You’re perfect either way.”

Louis exhales in disbelief, mouth opening to protest only to be cut off as Harry kisses him, capturing all his embarrassment and shame and turning it to pleasure. 

He pulls back after a moment, resting his forehead against Louis’ and breath fanning out against his flushed cheeks. “You don’t have to be ashamed, Lou. There’s nothing wrong with waiting.”

“I didn’t want to wait,” Louis whispers bashfully, “My ex, though, he did. And I never got the chance to…” He blushes, “But I want to eventually… with someone I care about.”

The unspoken with you settles between them, pulsing and poignant. 

Harry thumbs over his wet cheekbones, looking reverent and soft. “ If and whenever you want to, I’d be happy, and honored, to be your first.” 

Louis blinks dazedly. “Okay,” he whispers, heart filling with adoration and relief. 

He didn’t see this coming, but how that he thinks about it- thinks about how kind and good Harry is both to him and to everyone- he really, really should have. 

-

While confessing to Harry made things a lot more easy for Louis, it didn’t do anything to quell his growing desperation. It’s also increased his guilt at hiding the other truth from him another painful several notches. 

He hasn’t touched himself beyond rushed one-offs in the shower for three months now, and he’s getting very, very frustrated about it. His and Harry’s relationship is going strong and better than ever, but gosh, Harry really doesn’t make it easy for Louis. There’s been too many times where they’ve been making out and one or both of them have gotten worked up and had to halt things to calm down. 

Louis has never felt so perpetually flustered and wound up. Everything seems to affect him- the way Harry touches him- so tender yet firm, the way he kisses him- deliberate and careful, like Louis is meant to be treasured and treated with care, and of course his voice. 

So hoarse and low after they’ve been kissing for a while. Or fond and soft when Louis says or does something ‘cute’ in Harry’s words. The different ways Harry’s voice morphs and changes does little to diminish his effect on Louis. 

However, Louis comes to learn today that Harry’s morning voice is by far the sexiest. 

They had been watching movies at Louis’ flat late into the night, cuddled up together on the sofa. But apparently they both fell asleep which is why Louis wakes up pressed into the back of the couch with Harry caging him in, warm breaths tickling the nape of his neck. 

He doesn’t move at first, just lays there and basks in the feeling of Harry wrapped around him. Harry’s practically vibrating with warmth and comfort and safety and Louis hasn’t woken up so content in a long, long time. 

Harry stirs from sleep slowly, breathing hitching almost imperceptibly had Louis not been paying attention. His grip around Louis’ waist tightens, fingers spread out against his stomach protectively. Louis feels something else stir at the action, shuddering quietly. 

Then Harry kisses his neck softly, lips lingering on his nape like he wants to leave an imprint in its wake, a reminder. 

Louis lets out a soft sigh, leaning back into the touch and alerting Harry to his consciousness. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Harry whispers and Louis nearly moans. 

His voice is deeper than ever, gritty and blanketed in sleep, and smooth like syrup. He doesn’t just say, he drawls , borderline croons. It sends a shiver up Louis’ spine, seeping into his skin and making a home there, overwhelming him completely. 

It takes him a minute to realize he hadn’t replied, but he figures he can blame it out the drowsiness. “Good morning,” he whispers. 

Slowly, he turns over. It’s difficult since Harry’s pretty much got him pinned against the back, but he manages. Harry’s so close like this, breath ghosting over Louis’ lips. Louis’ eyelashes practically skim over Harry’s cheeks in the proximity, lips close enough to brush if Louis leaned up a little. 

He doesn’t in the end. Harry leans down himself, large hand coming up to tilt Louis’ head where he wants it. That’s another thing Louis likes- how Harry immediately takes control, guiding Louis gently and confidently. It makes him feel inexperienced but in a nice way, a way where he doesn’t have to feel ashamed or inadequate because Harry will lead the way.

Harry is the one to slot their lips together and he’s the one to part Louis’ lips with his tongue and deepen their kiss. Louis moans quietly, letting Harry tug him down until he’s laying flat on the couch and Harry’s planking over him, forearms braced on either side of his face.

He curls his fingers into Harry’s sweatshirt, pressing into his side as Harry grips his jaw. He slides one hand down to Louis’ neck, his thumb brushing over Louis’ pulse featherlight before pressing down firmly.

Louis jumps, gasping at the feeling. 

Harry swallows the sound, biting down on his bottom lip. 

Whimpering quietly, Louis shudders from the pleasure. He’s hard already and it would be embarrassing had he not be able to feel Harry’s own length pressing against his thigh and hip. To make things worse, Harry spreads his legs and slips a thigh between Louis’. 

Louis jolts, hips bucking up to chase the sudden friction. He lets out a small whine, nails digging into Harry’s shoulders. 

Harry stills, breaking the kiss automatically. He looks horrified. “Lou, baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“S’okay,” Louis murmurs, heart pounding. He’s flushed all the way down his neck and undoubtedly everywhere else too. He winces as Harry’s bulge brushes against his hip again, temptingly big and suggestive. He closes his eyes, trying to stop himself from blurting something stupid like show me how to come and not feel ashamed about it. 

Harry sits up and puts some greatly appreciated distance between them by scooting to the opposite end of the couch. He picks up Louis’ feet carefully and takes a seat under them, resting his socked heels on his lap. 

Louis breathes in and out deeply, ignoring the tremble in his fingers when he clasps them together sheepishly. “What do you want for breakfast?” he asks, blushing. 

After breakfast, Harry leaves to open the bakery, but he leaves behind a very restless and horny boyfriend. Louis is aching for a good release, but not just an orgasm - he wants to be properly filled up again, which means fingers. 

Fingers require a lot more work than just tugging one off, and before he can lecture himself, he’s got Calm open on his phone to Harry’s newest story. 

He hasn’t used it for this sort of purpose in months, even more guilty now that Harry’s his boyfriend, but he can’t deny he’s been yearning for it. 

Every time Harry’s looked at him a certain way, a little hungrily like he wants to devour him. Every time he’s called Louis baby, sweetheart, darling, sunshine, angel, or his personal favorite, little one. Every time he’s effortlessly made Louis fall apart only to put him back together again. Louis has been yearning for it. 

And he can’t hold out any longer. 

He makes a pit stop at his room for supplies: a bottle of lube, a rag, and his headphones. While grabbing the lube, he eyes the dildo that Jade gave to him a few Christmases past nervously before shoving the drawer closed, not wanting to make the inevitable guilt even worse. Then he goes searching for his headphones only to realize he misplaced them. Frowning, he considers his options. 

As expected, his desperation wins in a landslide. 

Lube and rag in hand, he creeps back to the living room. He doesn’t want to mess up his sheets again since he changed them the morning before, but also the lingering remnants of Harry’s cologne- tobacco and vanilla and a hint of leather- provide another layer of ambience to his set up. 

He doesn’t bother taking off his clothes, just shoves his joggers and boxers low enough for him to access. Uncapping the lube and then gripping his phone tightly, he presses start. 

Like always, Harry’s low and soothing storytelling voice immediately sinks into him like honey, bleeding in through his senses and overriding his systems until all he can think about is harryharryharry. It’s an entirely different experience listening to a story in broad daylight and without the cover of headphones. Harry’s voice easily envelops the entire room, reverberating against the walls as much as it does in his mind. 

Exhaling shakily, he spends a few moments palming over his cock through his pajamas. He bites his lip to suppress his little whines and whimpers. When he’s been coaxed to full hardness, he reaches for the lube with shaky fingers. 

It’s cold against his sweaty, feverish skin but the contrast is almost intoxicating. He leans forward on the couch, propping his phone on the coffee table in front of him with a clean hand before his other one slips down to his hole. The first touch to his rim elicits a full-body shiver, heart rate spiking. 

He eases it in slowly, letting Harry’s voice lull him into relaxing enough for his finger to glide in. Whenever he fingers himself, he likes to take his time and draw it out. 

Panting quietly, he stays at one finger for a bit, getting more and more worked up when he’s unable to reach the angle he wants. That’s the downside to having small, slender fingers, and he’s never felt it as distinctly as now. 

In the story, Harry talks mildly about going for a walk in a forest, together. Louis moans, inching a second finger in.

It doesn’t take long for his position to become uncomfortable, fingers feeling cramped as he tries in vain to get the angle he’s seeking. He’s leaking, precum bleeding through the thin fabric of his shirt where his cock is slapping against his stomach. 

He just needs a little bit more. Gritting his teeth, he teases a third finger to his rim, scissoring the first two at a faster pace and stretching himself open. He slides in his ring finger to the knuckle, fucking in slowly and dragging the movements out. 

So fucking close, he thinks, going even faster now. He feels the familiar build up, insides contracting and pulsing as he’s pulled over the edge on a silent cry. 

He’s so overwhelmed he misses the telltale gasp coming from the door. 

But he does hear the small, “Louis,” that makes him freeze in place. 

The story still isn’t finished, voice echoing into the silent room loudly, undeniably. Louis raises his head, horror coursing through him when he sees Harry standing at the door to his flat, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

Louis lets out a strangled noise, almost slapping the screen in his haste to hit the pause button as his face flushes in mortification and shame. He pulls his pants up fully and stumbles to his feet. Harry’s still staring at him like he can’t quite believe what he’s just seen. 

“Louis, what -”

He doesn’t let Harry finish, inching farther and farther away until he’s at the door to his bedroom. Then he bolts inside and slams the door behind him. The action vibrates in Louis’ ringing ears, breath going choppy. 

“Louis,” Harry repeats, softer this time. He sounds closer, like he’s right outside the door. The thought makes Louis crumble, sinking against the door and falling to his arse. 

Tears brim in his eyes as he realizes this is it. Harry’s disgusted and he’s going to break up with him and Louis will be lonely again. 

He’s still sticky from his release, the wetness feeling uncomfortable underneath his shirt and joggers, yet he can’t make himself move to clean up. God, he left the lube and rag outside. 

More importantly, he left his phone on the table- paused over the decal of Harry’s name and story. Harry knows. 

He knows what a shady and messed up creep Louis is, fuck. He’s never going to want to see Louis again, probably thinks he’s so pathetic- too much of a coward to participate in person so he’s resorted to getting himself off on a fucking bedtime story instead. 

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. 

“Louis, baby, listen to me,” Harry says. Louis flinches at the term of endearment. Why is Harry still calling him that if he’s truly disgusted? “Sweetheart, can you let me in?”

“No,” Louis blurts, voice cracking. “No, Harry, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Lou,” Harry says gently. Louis’ heart skips a beat. It’s okay? A small creak is heard as Harry sits down and leans up against the door, mirroring Louis’ position. 

“You’re not… horrified?” Louis whispers, pressing his cheek to the wood shyly. 

“No, darling, I’m not,” Harry soothes. “Honestly, I’m kind of flattered. I’m sorry for barging in by the way. I forgot my phone on the table and the door was unlocked- which by the way, is dangerous, baby, how many times do I have to tell you to remember to check the door? I don’t want anything happening to you. You live in a safe area but there’s still all kinds of-”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, lips curling into an endeared smile despite himself. “I’ll lock the door next time, I promise.” He pauses, biting his lip and blushing a bit more. “But you don’t know the whole story… This isn’t the first time I’ve done this…”

Harry sounds confused when he says, “That’s okay, baby. I don’t mind- all I want to do is make you feel good.”

Louis’ blush grows, voice dipping to a mumble. “I… no. I mean, I used to do it… before I knew you.”

The silence that follows his confession is deafening and Louis hunches into himself, hugging his knees to his chest and willing the tears away. That’s it. If he wasn’t disgusted before, he definitely is now.

“You mean… you use Calm?” Harry asks, bewildered. 

“Yeah, I lied to you,” Louis admits, voice muffled against the door. “I’ve used it for months now. I had trouble sleeping after Jack- after he left, so I tried it out and it actually helped me. But then I tried listening to one of your stories and…” He trails off, face burning. “I’m so sorry, I know it’s messed up but I couldn’t help it. Your voice is just so…” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I understand if you want to break up with me.”

There’s absolute silence for a while before Harry says abruptly, “Why would I break up with you?”

Louis blinks, stunned. “Because,” he blurts, “I got myself off to your voice for weeks without you having any idea or giving consent.” 

“Louis,” Harry starts, “I’m not going to lie and say I’m taken off guard, because I am. I didn’t expect that at all, but I’m definitely not disgusted or breaking up with you. I’m… Baby, it’s not like you’ve committed a crime.”

He flinches. “It feels like it.”

“I’m a grown adult and I willingly told those stories for the aim of helping people sleep better,” Harry says, “If getting off to my voice helped you relax and then ultimately sleep better, then I think it’s fine…” 

“Seriously?” Louis blurts. 

“Well… I’ll admit I’m biased because it’s you. I don’t know how I’d feel if I found out that someone else I don’t know was doing it but I’d also never find out so I also shouldn’t worry about it,” Harry says, a small thump being heard as his head slumps against the door. “As unexpected as it is, it’s something that happens- that people do. So if you’re wondering if I’m mad, I’m not. Not at you, no. I do wish you would have told me that you knew me before we actually met, but,” he breathes in and out, “I know you, Louis. I know that you had some issues with your last relationship too and doing this probably helps you feel more comfortable with your sexuality and if that’s true, then I’m okay with it.”

And - fuck, Louis hadn’t even considered that. This whole time he’s been so ashamed of himself and terrified of the idea of being intimate with someone else, but listening to Harry and Harry in general have helped him feel so much more comfortable with himself. He still owes him a huge apology, but maybe Harry’s right- maybe it’s helped him in ways he hadn’t even known. 

Louis swallows heavily, relief and guilt warring in in his stomach. “I- I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything before. I was ashamed.” 

“It’s okay, baby,” Harry soothes again, “I already said I’m not mad, so don’t be sorry. You’ve clearly been beating yourself up about it all this time.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, blinking dazedly. An understatement. He hesitates. “Does this mean you’re okay with me… continuing to do it?”

“I mean, sure,” Harry says slowly, “but I was actually thinking we could explore this a bit.” 

Louis stills, a shiver running down his spine. “Explore?”

“To be honest, you getting all worked up just from my voice is hot,” Harry confesses, voice lowering suggestively, “Except you don’t need those stories anymore, baby, because you’ve got me.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere morphs and Louis feels overheated, sweat beading at his forehead. “What?”

“I know you don’t like talking about it but I can tell how embarrassed you get about stuff like this,” Harry murmurs, “But there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Lou. Sex and masturbation are both natural and you shouldn’t feel ashamed about wanting or doing it. And I’d love to help you see that.” 

“How?” Louis whispers. 

“You like my voice, right?” Harry says thoughtfully, “How about the next time you want to get off, you call me . ” 

“Call you?” Louis echoes, taken aback. 

“Yeah, call me and I’ll talk you through it,” Harry says, sounding close to eager. “I’d love to be the one making you feel good... I’ll give you a discount for a personalized story and everything,” he jokes.

Louis blushes again, but smiles at his lightheartedness. At this point he’s sure his cheeks will never lose their redness, a permanent reminder of how flustered Harry makes him feel. “You… really?”

“Really,” Harry repeats, sounding like he’s smiling. “Now can you please come out so I can hug you?” 

Wincing at the stickiness that’s now drying on his skin, he bites his lip. “Give me a minute.”

He wipes off using another random rag and changes into some leggings and another shirt. Then he slowly opens the door, opening his mouth to apologize again only to be swept off his feet and into a warm embrace. 

Sighing in contentment, he wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, burying his flushed face in his neck. 

Harry’s holding him a few inches off the ground with a single strong arm around his waist, his other hand spreading out on the back of Louis’ head soothingly. “Just be honest with me, little one,” he murmurs, “I promise there’s not much I can’t let you get away with.” 

Louis giggles, hiding the sound in Harry’s shoulder. “Is that a good thing?”

“Probably not,” Harry admits, grinning. “I don’t care though.” 

“Noted,” Louis whispers, kissing Harry’s shoulder lightly. Harry sets him down gently, looking rueful. 

“Okay, I do actually have to go open the bakery now- I’m already late,” he says sheepishly. 

Louis just herds him to the door, grabbing his forgotten phone on the way. He presses it into Harry’s hands and opens the door to push him out. 

“Can I come over later?” Harry asks hopefully, using his weight and bigger figure to his advantage as Louis tries in vain to crowd him through the door. 

“Sure,” Louis says, still astounded that Harry really wants to stay- that he thinks Louis masturbating to his voice is hot. 

“Great, now stop worrying about it,” Harry says, ducking down to peck Louis on the lips before backing out the door. “Bye, baby. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“Bye,” Louis whispers belatedly, but Harry’s already down the hallway.

He closes the door with a sigh, staring at the chipped wood in disbelief. 

Before he can stop it, shocked laughter is spilling from his lips. He nearly doubles over with the strength of it, body shaking and tears returning to his eyes. He stands there laughing for a few minutes at least, struggling for breaths and panting violently.

He follows the fading footsteps and turns the lock on the front door before he forgets, his head thunking back against the wood softly. Ignoring the small leftover anxiousness in his tummy, he tries to focus on the positive. This, he thinks for the first time, has the potential to be really, really good. 

-

The first time they try phone sex, Louis is nervous. 

Well, that’s maybe a slight understatement. He’s quite literally trembling as he dials Harry’s number. He’s already set up in his bed, naked from the waist down and wearing one of Harry’s shirts on top because being fully exposed is too much.  

A bottle of lube is brushing his elbow and he’s got the sheets pushed down to the end of the bed. He squirms as he waits, the ringing bleeding into his ears and bouncing off his mind. It’s not like this is spontaneous or anything. It’s been nearly a week since the whole disaster happened and he’s had plenty of time to psych himself up. He spent the entire morning pacing his flat and considering the implications of letting Harry be there- letting him listen and hear Louis as he falls apart. 

Letting him be the one to take Louis apart. 

He’s never done anything like this with anyone and he has no idea what he’s doing, but he also really, really wants to try. He trusts Harry and he wants what he had told Louis- wants to feel less embarrassed and ashamed, wants sex to stop feeling like a taboo topic, wants to feel like a normal twenty-six-year-old. 

So he’s going to try. 

Even though Harry had said just to call him, Louis still texted him an hour ago to let him know that he’d be calling soon. Harry told him he had some bread in the oven but it’d be out in thirty minutes so he’d be ready. 

Louis waited an extra thirty minutes due to some last second panicking but Harry doesn’t seem to be bothered when he finally picks up, greeting Louis with a warm, “Hey, sunshine.” 

“Hey,” Louis whispers, feeling his nerves grow. God, is he really doing this?  

As if sensing his panic, Harry softens even more, “Are you sure you want to do this? If you don’t and you want to stick to the stories, that’s fine too, baby. I’d never want to pressure you into anything.” 

“No, I want to,” Louis mumbles, clearing his throat, “I want to.” 

“Okay,” Harry breathes. There’s some rustling on his end like he’s settling down on a couch or bed or something. “Where are you right now?” His voice has lowered to that hoarse drawl that drives Louis crazy, and he shivers at the words. 

“In my bed,” Louis says quietly. 

“Is the door closed?”

“Yes,” Louis breathes, feeling his skin tingle at the dark edge in Harry’s tone. 

“Both of them? I don’t want anyone but me hearing you right now,” Harry says, and Louis shudders, fingers curling into the mattress. He’s got his phone on speaker, propped right next to him so it feels like Harry’s whispering in his ear. 

“Yes,” he says again, already breathless and flushed. He squirms against the mattress, feeling himself slowly grow hard. 

“Good,” Harry murmurs, “Good boy.”

Louis jolts, gasping. “ Fuck, ” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Do you have lube?” 

He nods before remembering Harry’s not actually there. “Yes,” he says softly. 

“We’re not using that yet, baby. How about you get your fingers nice and wet for me?” Harry whispers, “One at a time, get them all nice and wet with your mouth.”

Louis whimpers, raising his hand to his lips and doing as Harry commanded. He starts with the index finger, inching it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. It’s only been a few minutes and it’s already so much better than when he does it by himself, insides contracting and heat licking up his sides. He sucks his middle finger, then his ring finger, pinkie, and finally his thumb, lips slick with saliva and some of it dribbling down to his chin. 

He doesn’t wipe it off, lets it stay as a cool reminder of how powerless he feels right now, like Harry could tell him to do anything and he’d do it instantly. 

“Finished, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” he confirms, chest heaving.

“Okay, touch your prick for me, baby,” Harry whispers, “Gently, just hold it. Don’t move yet.” 

Louis obliges, hissing at the abrupt pressure. His heart is pounding so loudly he can feel it in his head and in the tips of his toes, limbs quivering from desperation. 

“Touch the slit,” Harry says, “Get yourself even wetter for me.”

He thumbs over his slit, spreading the precum like Harry asked. Fuck, he’s so wet- cock achingly hard and leaking steadily between his thighs. He whines, biting his lip. 

“Don’t hide, darling, let me hear you,” Harry croons, “Sound so good for me.”

Louis moans this time, preening when Harry’s breath hitches in his ear. “M’wet,” he breathes, “Harry, please. ” 

“Alright, baby, you can stroke now,” Harry whispers, “Go slow- do it like you’d want me to do it if I was there.”

Whimpering again, Louis tightens his grip and starts jacking himself off. He squeezes a bit on the upstroke, imagining his hand was Harry’s bigger one- enveloping his entire length with his palm and fingers. 

Harry’s breathing harshly on the other end, occasionally grunting something like, “Good, good, baby,” or  “So sweet for me, doll,” all of which sinks into his skin and sends him shuddering as he speeds up. He’s already so close. 

“Doing so well,” Harry croons, “Take a couple fingers from your other hand and suck on them for me, baby.”

Louis exhales jaggedly, but obliges. He envelopes his middle and index finger of his other hand into his mouth, sucking carefully and revelling in the sensation. Whining, he shoves them further back, loving the way his throat constricts and tightens around his fingers. 

“Feels good. Doesn’t it, angel?”

He whimpers his response, gagging around his fingers while he tugs at his cock sloppily. Soon Harry’s voice fades into a pulsing thrum as Louis arrives on the cusp of his release. 

“Harry,” he whimpers, “M’gonna… please, can I come?” 

 “Yeah, baby. Come for me,” Harry breathes right as Louis twists his hand and comes on a choked cry. “Good boy, did so well,” he praises and Louis basks in it, head tilted back and lips parted. 

Harry waits for him to catch his breath before he’s guiding Louis into sitting up and wiping himself down, telling him to drink a glass of water and to pretend he’s there pressing kisses all over his face like he wants to. 

“Thank you,” Louis tells him later, empty water glass in hand and a curling sense of satisfaction settling in his stomach. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime,” Harry breathes, “Seriously, Lou. God, you sound incredible.”

Louis blushes, phone pressed to his ear as he stands in the middle of the kitchen, grinning dopily like an idiot. “Really?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m so lucky I get to hear you like that, so lucky,” Harry says firmly, “Thank you for trusting me to do this with you.” 

“Thank you for being patient with me,” he murmurs back, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “One day…” He trails off - they both know. 

“One day,” Harry agrees. 

This time Louis can see it coming. He doesn’t know when or how, but he knows. 

-

It becomes a routine. 

Well, a routine as in it becomes frequent and comfortable, not that it’s scheduled. Sometimes it happens only once in a week and other times it happens up to three or four. 

Harry still mostly focuses on Louis during their calls but he’s also begun to get off himself, letting out deep groans and grunts as he jerks off that just make Louis even more pliant and desperate. 

Louis slowly gets more comfortable and soon he’s letting Harry talk him through fingering himself, crooning dirtily in his ear to imagine that it’s Harry’s fingers stretching him out, spreading him open for his cock. 

They don't do that every time. Sometimes it’s just a quick hand job or Harry coaxing him into humping his pillow and pretending it’s his leg. Sometimes Harry tells him to touch his nipples. The first time he suggested it, Louis had been shy and reluctant, but he still let Harry guide him through flicking and squeezing his nubs until he was gasping and rutting down onto the mattress, leaking steadily and desperate to come. He never knew his nipples were so sensitive, or that touching them could make him feel this way. 

He never knew any of it would feel so good, so freeing.  

In fact, he can almost feel himself start to believe Harry, believe him when he says sex is natural and healthy and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed, believe him when he says masturbating and sex can make him feel amazing. He does feel amazing after these little sessions and he really hopes that continues. 

All those comments and lectures from Jack about being pure and revolting against sinful temptations are drowned out by Harry’s words, his praises, his reverence. His insecurities seem inconsequential when Harry’s telling him good he is, how perfect. He’s never enjoyed being vulnerable around other people, never wanting to feel like a burden, but Harry makes him feel like being vulnerable is okay, is good even. 

He slowly begins to gain confidence, and today he invites Harry over for their session. 

Not quite ready to have him be present from the beginning, Harry promises he’ll stay in the living room, nothing but a wall separating them as Louis dials his number. 

He’s got the bottle of lube next to him, along with Jade’s gift because he confessed to Harry that he wants to try it and Harry’s eyes had immediately darkened with lust. “Want something to fill you up better than your fingers?” he had murmured, voice lowering to an almost growl. Louis had nearly whimpered right there, which had been particularly embarrassing because they were at the bakery and Chelsea was sweeping the floor three feet away, humming under her breath. 

When Harry says, “Hey, baby,” into the phone, Louis can hear two versions- one in the phone and another, more muted echo through the wall. It feels shockingly intimate knowing Harry’s so close and he’s about to touch himself. 

“Hi,” Louis breathes out, feeling worked up already. 

Harry guides him through stroking his cock to full hardness before slicking up his fingers and pulling a leg up to expose his hole to the cool air from the vents. He shivers, gliding one finger in to the knuckle as Harry goads him. “Go slow, sweetheart,” he says, “Pretend it’s my finger stretching you open, getting you ready for my cock.” 

Louis whimpers, sliding in and out at a faster pace, body tensed and quivering. 

“Good, that’s good, doll,” Harry praises, “You can add another one, baby. Go slow.”

He obliges, inching his index finger in alongside his middle finger. He scissors them slowly, in his mind making room for Harry’s cock, not a poor silicone substitute. 

Harry coaxes him into a third finger and soon he’s gasping out, pleading for more. He’s harder than ever, wet and leaking and throbbing. “M’ready, please, please, ” he begs, fingers fumbling for the toy. 

“Okay, take your fingers out,” Harry directs firmly. There’s something so dominant and sure in Harry’s voice that always has Louis easily submitting to him and right now is no different. He slides his fingers out, whining at the loss. His hole clenches around nothing, aching at the emptiness. “Get my cock ready, darling. Can’t wait to split you open.”

Louis bites his lip hard enough to taste tangy, metallic blood, slicking up the dildo with plenty of lube and even going as far to stroke it as if it really were Harry’s cock. His eyes flutter shut again, head tilting back as he guides the head to his hole. “Ready,” he says. 

“Ease it in slowly,” Harry whispers, sounding hoarse and affected, “like I’d do it if I were there… I’d make sure you felt every inch, filling you up so well.”

“So well,” Louis echoes, voice slurring. He slides it in just as slowly as Harry would, body jolting at the intrusion. Harry’s soft praises urge him on, body relaxing enough for the toy to glide fully in. He pauses when it’s buried to the hilt, squirming. “Move,” he whispers, “Please?”

“Just wait a second,” Harry commands, breathing harshly into the speaker, “Get used to the feeling, baby. Want you to remember this- how good it feels, how filled up you are. If I was there, I’d fill you up even better.”

Louis moans. 

“You’d be feeling it for days,” Harry continues, “look in the mirror and see the marks I left on your skin. Everyone would know you belonged to someone, to me.”

“Harry,” Louis breathes, eyes watering from how overwhelmed he feels. He squirms, movement jostling the dildo and hissing at the pressure. “Harry, please. ”

“Okay, you can move,” Harry relents. “Pull it out slowly, then push it back in harder. Like I'd do it- right, baby?” 

Louis whimpers his agreement, imagining it really is Harry’s cock sliding out slowly and then ramming back in. He exhales shakily, stunned at how much he wants it, wants Harry to fuck him, wants him to be his first. 

God, he’s never wanted to have sex with someone this bad. He fucks the dildo in faster, breathing going erratic. The angle is slightly awkward and his wrist starts to strain much too quickly but Louis is too desperate and wound up to notice. 

It doesn’t take long for him to be pulled to the edge, coming right as Harry murmurs, “Wish I could see your pretty face and your pretty hole right now, little one. Wish I could mark you up and make you mine.” 

“Already yours,” he slurs, laying lax and spent in his own release. In his mind, he’s thinking Do it. But he isn’t sure he’s ready. 

“Good,” Harry breathes. “So good, angel.” 

“Harry,” he whispers, grabbing his phone and pressing it to his ear. 

“Hmm?”

“Can we… I want you to be here with me next time,” he blurts out, face flushing at the confession. 

For a second, Harry’s stunned silent. Then his breath hitches and he’s exhaling deeply, “Are you sure, sunshine?”

“Yes,” Louis says, confident, “Please.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, then chokes. “Can’t wait.”

He hangs up then, letting Louis have his privacy to clean up and change into fresh clothes before going out and joining Harry back on the couch to watch a film and later order takeout. It’s so achingly normal, yet so groundbreaking- being able to do something as seemingly monumental as come and then have everything return to normal right after. Like it’s normal, routine. 

And Louis loves it. Loves how easy it feels. Loves how good Harry makes him feel, how he makes himself feel. 

Maybe… he’s starting to love Harry too. It’s not a jaw-dropping revelation, more of a slow realization. And he doesn’t feel scared like he thought he would, just excited. 

He’s pleased to say he saw this coming, but he didn’t know until now how nice it’d feel to fall for someone new. 

-

It happens a few days later. And by “it happens”, Louis means he stresses about it for forty-eight hours straight before deciding he needs to have it happen as soon as possible so he can stop being so scared and anxious about it. So he texts Harry Wednesday morning before class and tells him he wants to do it today when Harry comes over later. 

They’ve been spending more and more time together, always at each other’s flats to watch movies, eat, or laze around. They still go on dates, aiming for at least one per week unless they’re too busy. But Louis appreciates all of their times together- when they’re watching TV, or talking about their days, or when Louis is grading papers from his summer school classes on the kitchen table while Harry moves around in the kitchen, the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. 

Louis has also met Harry’s family. He came over to Harry’s parents’ two weeks prior for dinner, finally being able to meet the namesake of Harry’s bakery who’s just as lovely and warm as Harry himself. In fact, all of them were and Louis could easily see how Harry was raised to be as amazing as he is. 

Harry’s talked to Louis’ siblings over the phone and once on FaceTime when Lottie called him while they were watching a film and then demanded to see Harry once Louis let it slip that he was right next to him. He’s sure that he’ll meet them all in person soon enough too. 

And he appreciates how much Harry wants to know every part of his life. He let Louis introduce him to Zayn, Perrie, Jade, Leigh-Anne, Jesy, and his other friends (he’s met Niall of course). And in turn, Louis has met Liam, Kacey, Sarah, and Mitch. 

Harry even stopped by at Louis’ school to see his classroom and talk to his coworkers. 

Considering Jack never took it upon himself to involve himself in Louis’ life more than he had to, Louis appreciates all of it so much. 

He appreciates every glance, every fond smile, every brush of their hands, every kiss, every hug, and, yeah, every orgasm. 

Despite his confidence and trust in Harry, he still spends way too much time stressing while teaching. He had been persuaded by Niall to teach for a few summer school sessions in August to truly cement himself in the school culture and also to get some extra cash- something any sensible primary school teacher wouldn’t say no to. It’s a lot more lax than the normal school year but he’s still meant to maintain a level of discipline and standard, something he doesn’t quite achieve on this day. 

His students don’t seem to mind though, all too young to notice the tension in his limbs and the frazzled look in his eyes. At lunch, he calls Zayn and vents. 

Unfortunately for Zayn, Louis has no qualms giving too much details about his and Harry’s relationship so he’s all caught up by the time Louis finishes his salad. 

“Babe, it seems like Harry cares about you a lot,” Zayn says wisely, “and it’s not like he’ll be disappointed- he’s already heard what you’re like. And you said he said you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen- I doubt he was kidding.” 

Louis sighs, “I’m not worried about my appearance… well, okay, maybe a little. But mostly that he’ll change his mind about me and decide he doesn’t want someone as inexperienced or messed up like me.”

“Louis,” says Zayn scoldingly, “You’re not messed up for being inexperienced. It’s not even your fault anyway. Jack’s the one who refused to do anything sex-related with you, even though technically the only official requirement for waiting till marriage is waiting for intercourse. And not to mention he brainwashed you into thinking that masturbation or sexual urges in general are wrong and something to be ashamed of.”

Louis blinks, mouth dropping open. “You couldn’t have thought to mention this sooner?”

“Didn’t you already know?” Zayn says, and Louis knows he’s raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, to some extent, yeah,” he admits, “but it didn’t do much to stop those feelings.”

“Of course not- he was nailing it into your head all the time,” Zayn says incredulously, “It doesn’t just go away! You have to work to replace those feelings with better feelings and you’re already doing that with Harry. You’re going to do that today with Harry.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, nodding, “You’re right.” 

“I know,” Zayn says smugly, “But hey, if you’re still worried, just talk to him, okay?”

Louis sighs, “I know, I just don’t want to be even more of a burden.”

“You’re never a burden, babe,” Zayn denies, “Pretty sure Harry’d agree with me. In fact, I’d think he’d agree that you’re one of the best people in the world- sexually experienced or not- and we’re both lucky to know you.” 

“Sap,” Louis whispers, but he’s grinning. 

-

Though his talk with Zayn soothed most of his worries, he still takes it upon himself to take a nice bath, scrubbing all the dirt and grime from his skin and using his favorite body wash and conditioner so he smells like honeysuckle and caramel. 

He makes sure he’s shaved too, liking the look and feel of soft, smooth skin. He wants to feel Harry’s hands on his freshly shaved legs, warm and calloused from all his bread kneading. 

Harry texts him that he’s on his way up right as Louis is drying his hair. He finishes quickly, changing out of his robe and into some sleep shorts and one of Harry’s shirts right as a knock sounds at the door. 

Louis opens it slowly, letting Harry tug him into his chest for a hug. He smells like tobacco and vanilla and leather, all scents that make Louis relax instantly. 

“Hey, angel,” he greets, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ damp head. “Mmh, you smell so good, baby.”

“You too,” Louis whispers, words muffled against Harry’s shirt. He’s practically leaning his whole weight onto Harry, arms wrapped loosely around his middle as he inhales and noses into the soft material. “Harry, I’m nervous,” he blurts. 

Harry squeezes him. “Do you still want to do it?”

Louis nods, “Yes, yeah, I’m just… anxious.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Harry soothes, “I promise I’ll take care of you.”

He shudders quietly. He knows Harry will. 

They walk to Louis’ room with their hands linked. Every step has Louis’ insides churning and his heart leaping to his throat. Harry takes off his shoes and drops his phone on the nightstand, tugging Louis onto the bed with his grip on his hand. 

Louis is rigid as he lays back, tensing when Harry crawls over him. 

“Just gonna kiss you for a bit,” he whispers, ducking down to slot their lips together. 

Harry licks into his mouth softly, covering Louis’ entire body with his own and caging him in against the bed. Louis gasps when he bites down on his bottom lip, soothing the sting right after with tender kisses. 

His hand slides under Louis’ shirt, skimming up his sides and leaving goosebumps in his wake. Louis shivers when Harry breaks the kiss. “Can I?” he asks. 

Louis hesitates, panic bubbling up inside in a rush. He nods anyway, throat feeling dry as Harry tugs his shirt off leaving his upper half exposed. 

Harry’s eyes roam him unabashedly, darkening with every second. He leans down and kisses him once on the lips before trailing kisses down his jaw and neck to his collarbone where he stops to suck a mark. 

Louis’s hands are clenched around the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric tightly. He’s stiff and awkward as Harry’s lips ghost down to his nipples. 

Right as Harry’s lips part around his right bud, he jolts. “I can’t,” he blurts, sitting up. His eyes are watery and he’s shaking. 

Harry’s face pinches with concern, moving off of him to sit on the bed himself. He pulls Louis to his chest right as the first sob claws through his throat. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby,” he soothes, running a big hand down his back comfortingly. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want-”

“I do want,” Louis interrupts, distressed, “I do want. I’m just… I don’t know, I’m sorry.” He buries his face into Harry’s chest. 

Harry sounds thoughtful when he suggests, “Will you feel better if I take off my shirt too?”

Louis thinks about it carefully before nodding, not bothering to move his head until Harry gently pulls him away so he can strip off his shirt. Louis sucks in a breath, eyes raking over Harry’s chest and his vivid tattoos, taut muscles, and glimmering skin.

He feels his cheeks go hot, flushing even stronger when he sees Harry’s smirk.

“Fuck off,” he whispers, but it comes out weak. 

Harry cradles his face, looking serious now. “Do you want to keep going?”

“I… yes,” Louis says, “I think.”

Frowning, Harry thinks. “I have an idea,” he announces. 

“What?”

“How about you watch me jerk off,” Harry says, “and if you want, you can touch or join in. But only if you want to. I just want you to feel more comfortable.”

Louis blinks, mind going a bit hazy at the thought of seeing Harry and Harry’s cock. “Okay,” he breathes, fidgeting with the hem of his shorts.

“Okay,” echoes Harry. He scoots back a bit so he’s leaning up against the headboard. “I’m going to take off my clothes now, alright?”

He nods. 

Harry slides his sweats off slowly, revealing a pair of tight, black briefs that leave little to the imagination. Louis’ mouth goes dry as his eyes trace over the tented fabric, Harry’s length prominent and big underneath. His heart beats like a drum against his ribs, his senses heightening and narrowing in on Harry. 

He crosses his legs, waiting anxiously as Harry pulls his briefs down. His cock slaps up to his stomach, long and thick and hard. Louis just stares at it for a moment. He’s never seen anyone’s cock besides his own save for when he used to watch porn as a teenager. That was pre-Jack and pre-insecurities.

“All good, doll?” Harry checks, looking serious. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, blushing. 

“Okay,” Harry breathes, and then he trails one hand down his chest before gripping his cock firmly. He grunts, eyes fluttering shut. 

Louis watches with bated breath as Harry thumbs over his slit and spreads the precum that’s beaded at the tip to smoothen the glide. He himself prefers to use lube to lessen the roughness but Harry apparently likes it mostly dry. 

He starts moving his hand up and down, groaning quietly. The sound sinks into Louis’ skin like syrup, making him feel dizzy with arousal. 

Harry’s so gorgeous, all big and broad and angled but still soft and glowing at the same time. Louis gets entranced by the sight of his abs tensing as he strokes himself, squeezing on the upstroke and twisting his hand every once in a while. 

Suddenly, Louis realizes he’s moved closer, only a foot or so away as Harry speeds up. 

“Louis,” he breathes out, “Fuck.” 

Louis’ skin prickles, a flush rising on his cheeks at the thought of Harry thinking of him and getting off on the idea of seeing him naked, of having him. His fingers twitch, an urge to touch overtaking him. Before he can doubt himself, he reaches out. 

His slimmer fingers cover Harry’s larger ones, making the other man still. His eyes flicker open, meeting Louis’ with barely concealed shock. 

“Can I?” Louis whispers. 

Harry nods slowly, eyes hooded and dark. “Touch it, baby.”

He shudders, letting Harry retract his hand and replacing it with his own. The weight of Harry’s cock in his hand is so different yet intoxicating, big and red and real against his palm. His fingers look so small wrapped around it, the entire hand barely covering the length. For a moment, he just sits there, marveling at it all. 

“Get me off,” Harry commands quietly, “C’mon, sweetheart.” 

Louis bites his lip, moving so he’s sat in between Harry’s legs. Starting slow, he slides a hand up his length, tightening his grip to provide more friction. 

Harry hisses. “Good,” he grunts, “Keep going.”

He does, slowly gaining confidence until he’s jacking Harry off at a controlled pace, letting the other man guide his pace and tell him when to squeeze or twist his hand. 

Harry comes with a guttural groan, body spasming and head tilting back to expose the strong line of his jaw and the glimmering skin of his throat. Louis’ eyes linger on the bob of his Adam’s apple, not even noticing that his hand is covered in cum until Harry closes a hand around his wrist. 

He stills automatically, cataloguing how Harry can circle his wrist with his fingers easily. 

“Put your mouth on it,” Harry says, looking serious and a bit wild. 

Louis falters, taken aback. He glances down to his sticky hand, face burning. “My mouth?”

“Do it,” Harry says, and Louis knows that if he really didn’t want to, all he had to do was say no and Harry would relent, knows that Harry already knows that he’d do it. 

He does. Exhaling shakily, he raises his hand to his parted lips, timidly sticking his tongue out to taste Harry’s cum on his index finger. He swallows, blinking slowly. It’s… strange, but not unbearable. He sucks his entire finger into his mouth, then adds another, and another until he’s sucking on three.

Harry watches him the entire time as he licks the final two fingers and then his palm, gaze heavy and heated. 

For maybe the first time ever, Louis feels confident and sexy, like he’s putting on a show and doing it well. When his hand is clean and Harry’s wiped off, he tugs Louis to his chest and mouths at his pulse. 

“Want me to return the favor?” he whispers, breath tickling Louis’ throat. 

Louis curls his fingers into Harry’s shoulder, sighing softly before saying, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he repeats, firmer this time. His body is thrumming with adrenaline and eagerness, cock hard in his shorts and skin itching with the need to be touched, touched by Harry. 

Harry pulls him into his lap, sitting cross-legged. He slots their lips together as a welcome distraction for Louis, fingers slipping under the waistband before slowly tugging the shorts and his underwear down. 

Then he grips Louis’ prick with his big hand, gentle but firm as he starts stroking him. Louis is already so wet from how worked up he is, but the slide is still a lot rougher than he’s used to. He finds that he doesn’t particularly mind, especially when Harry breaks their kiss to suck a bruise on his neck. 

He can’t see them but he already knows they’re big and obvious. The thought of parading around with them on display- with the imprint of Harry’s lips and teeth branded on his skin- makes him convulse in pleasure. 

Jack never went beyond just kissing his neck and even then it never strayed too far from innocent, never wanted to leave reminders of his desperation and devotion. 

Louis never realized how much he wanted to be broken into pieces and then mended back together again, not until he met Harry. 

He comes right as Harry bites down on his nipple, body spasming with the strength of his orgasm. Harry soothes him through it, running his large hand up and down his back tenderly and pressing wet kisses to his chest, neck, shoulders, and lips. 

“So good,” Harry rasps, voice low and gritty, “Good boy.”

Eyes burning with tears from how overwhelmed he feels, Louis pulls Harry into a kiss, ignoring the stickiness and how Harry wipes his hand on his sheets. 

Harry takes over instantly, cupping his face and tilting it where he wants. Louis lets him, surrendering his control but also his worries, his insecurities, his embarrassment and shame. 

And quite possibly, his heart. 

-

They’ve been dating for nearly five months by the time Louis gathers enough courage to tell Harry about Jack. 

It’s Saturday morning when Louis stirs awake spontaneously and savors the feel of Harry’s chest plastered to his back, six feet of sweaty warmth holding him close with an arm around the waist and a hand pressed over his heart. 

His own hand is on top, fingers filling in the gaps between Harry’s. 

It feels like complete bliss- the way he’s awoken entangled with another body, a sharp contrast to the feeling of waking up alone. They’ve been sleeping over at each other’s flats a lot more frequently over the past few weeks. 

Summer has ended and it’s September now, and Louis starts his second school year next week. Harry’s been helping him redecorate his classroom. He hadn’t had the time or mental energy to do it the prior year but new Louis, new classroom. 

He’s painted the walls, hung up posters and vibrant pieces of art courtesy of Zayn, gotten a new desk chair (one that doesn’t make his arse feel numb after a few hours), added a soft rug for storytime, and installed new shelves. 

Well, Harry installed them and Louis watched from his comfortable new desk chair, ogling his boyfriend’s exposed muscles straining as he put the shelves together and nailed them into the wall. 

Louis has never felt so happy. 

They’ve also been getting off together more often. Louis slowly becomes more comfortable with Harry seeing and touching him, letting Harry press praise and sweet compliments into the skin of his neck as he tugs him off. They haven’t tried fingers yet- if Harry’s going to put his fingers in Louis’ hole, he’s going to have to put his cock in right after because Louis wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

However- Louis muses- that time may be happening a lot quicker than Harry thinks. 

They're in a fantastic place, closer and better than ever. Louis never thought he could feel this much for someone else, but he’s been proven wrong by Harry. 

In fact, Harry’s proven him wrong in so many ways. 

He couldn’t be more pleased about it. 

The only thing is, Louis wants them to last a long time and in order for that to happen, he needs to be completely honest. They’ve grazed over the topic of exes and past relationships briefly in the past, Harry describing his uni flings and smattering of serious relationships. 

Louis had only two to offer up in return: his sixth form boyfriend and Jack. 

And he hadn’t told Harry anything beyond his name and how long they dated (as well as the previously revealed information about how he was waiting till marriage) but Louis can tell that Harry can tell there’s more to the story. 

Well, he’s getting that story. Today. 

As if sensing that Louis needs him, Harry stirs awake behind him, yawning quietly before pressing a soft good morning kiss to the nape of his neck. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says, voice blanketed in sleep and laced with grogginess. 

Louis revels in the domesticity and intimacy of it all, smiling privately to himself. His smile fades as he clears his throat. Is now the best time? he wonders. Probably not but he’d really rather just get it over with. He turns over slowly, raising his head to meet Harry’s bleary eyes. “Good morning,” he says, some uncertainty bleeding through his voice. 

Harry furrows his brows, instantly realizing that something’s up. “You okay?” 

“I want to tell you about my ex,” Louis says before he can chicken out. 

“Oh,” Harry breathes, understanding flashing through his eyes. “Right now?”

“Do you want to wait until later?” Louis asks, beginning to second-guess himself. 

“No, no, now is fine,” Harry assures him, looking pensive, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Louis brushes off. And so he does. He starts with uni, explaining how he met Jack and he instantly hooked Louis in with his endless charm and charisma and confidence. How he didn’t care that Jack was waiting till marriage because he didn’t know how long they’d last… and how over time he grew to believe it didn’t matter because he genuinely believed they’d be married one day. 

Then he talks about the hard part. The relentless preaching and lectures, the snobbish opinions about certain people and how he was above them, the slut-shaming of random people on the street, and the snappish comments about his behavior or the way he dressed. Louis had used to wear things like crop tops and sheer shirts before Jack told him to stop, berating him for wearing such provocative and obscene clothing. 

It’s not like he believed any of the stuff like that, but he submitted to it anyway. And slowly Jack leaked into his mind and poisoned his thoughts, festering this complex of shame and guilt and insecurities that he’s only now just begun to unravel. 

The worst part is that he knew to some extent that it was wrong while it was happening, but he ignored it because he was naive and in love. 

He let Jack brainwash him and then when he was dropped without a second glance, he realized the extent of what Jack had left him with. A big, complicated mess of self-doubt and conflicting feelings about sex and pleasure with a dash of insomnia just for kicks. 

Harry listens while he goes from telling to ranting very quickly. He listens even when Louis’ voice goes wobbly and weak, cracking as he describes what it felt like to have Jack sweep the rug out from under his feet and tell him he’s leaving him for a girl he met a couple months ago. 

“You know,” Louis says almost hysterically, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he cheated on me. Not sexually, but maybe kissing and groping. No one dumps their partner based on a ‘spiritual connection’ no matter what they say.”

Understandably, Harry looks simultaneously pained and furious at that. 

Well, he looks simultaneously pained and furious about the entire thing actually, brows furrowed and lips flattened into a grim line. 

“It’s fine though, I’ve moved on,” Louis placates. The funny thing is that it feels like the truth- he hasn’t been thinking about Jack beyond a few stray thoughts here and there, hasn’t been dreaming about him or losing sleep over him, and now thinking about their relationship and specifically their happy memories makes him feel wistful, but not sad. 

He’s not sad anymore. 

“I just hate that you hurt for so long,” Harry whispers, brushing his fringe out of his eyes tenderly. “But I’m also proud of you.”

Louis smiles. “Thanks, H,” he whispers, before blushing softly. “I’m proud of myself too,” he admits, feeling something unwind inside of him, pride and relief replacing the remnants of heartbreak that had lingered for so long. Pride, relief, and new affection for the man holding him so gently. He hesitates. “Actually, that’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What?” asks Harry. 

“I think I’m ready,” he whispers. 

Harry blinks at him, green eyes intense and irrevocably fixed on him like always. “Oh,” he breathes. There’s no need for clarification because they both know. “Are you sure, baby?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. I’ve never been more sure. “I am.” Since he was a teenager, he had always wanted to lose his virginity to someone he cared about and who cared about him in return, who’d treasure and cherish him. Harry is the right person, he feels it deep in his bones. 

“When?” Harry asks. 

“Tonight?”

“Whenever you want,” Harry promises, sliding his hands to cradle Louis’ face and kiss him softly. 

And here, wrapped in his favorite silk sheets and Harry’s warm embrace, enveloped in the scent of tobacco, vanilla, and a hint of leather, Louis feels the farthest from lonely. 

He feels loved. 

-

Even though Louis hadn’t expected much considering he only told Harry that morning, he’s surprised when Harry returns from his evening shift at the bakery with a bouquet of red and white carnations- red for passion and lust, and white for purity and luck. 

Louis puts them in a vase and they sit down to have dinner. Harry had suggested they go out but Louis felt that he’d get too nervous if he had to dress up and go to dinner, the anticipation being too distracting while he’d be trying to appear composed in public. In lieu of that, Louis spent the afternoon making homemade pizza. 

Normally if they eat at home, Harry cooks because he loves to and Louis is usually too tired and lazy. But when he wants to, he can whip something incredible which is what he aims for tonight. He makes their favorite: Italian sausage, pesto, and feta cheese with basil as a garnish.

Harry praises it endlessly and Louis brushes the compliments off, flustered and tense. 

They have red velvet cake from Anne’s for dessert which is Louis’ favorite and then it’s finally time. 

Harry backs him up against his bedroom door, leaning down to seal their lips together. Louis curls his arms around his neck, whimpering softly when Harry grips his hips firmly. Those big hands that drive Louis insane slip around to his arse, grabbing two fistfuls and kneading at his cheeks firmly. 

The wood is hard and unforgiving behind his back especially when Harry hoists him up and he wraps his legs around his middle, head tipping back and hitting the door with a clang. 

“Are you still sure about this?” Harry asks, murmuring the question against his lips.

Louis nods, pulling him closer. 

Harry frees one hand and uses it to open the door, carrying Louis’ weight completely as he switches the light on and staggers to the bed. 

He lays Louis on the mattress gently, moving down to slide his socks off and massage his soles tenderly. Then he takes off his own socks and then all of his rings, setting them carelessly on the nightstand before crawling onto the bed and over to Louis on his knees. 

Slotting their lips together again, Louis pulls Harry closer until he’s planked over him and covering his body with warmth and security. Harry bites his bottom lip, keeping the kiss slow and sensual and soothing. 

Louis gets restless pretty quickly, tugging at Harry’s shirt to tell him silently that he wants it off. Harry shrugs it off quickly, letting Louis place his palms flat against his chest and feel the muscles flex and shift beneath them. 

He’s seen Harry naked plenty of times by now, but he’s still overwhelmed by his sheer beauty every time. The sharp lines of his face and jaw, the bow of his lips, the depth of his stunning green eyes, the slope of his nose, and the curve of his throat. All so perfect. He’s like a statue etched by an artist, so classically handsome Louis is eternally astounded by it.  

His pupils dilate as he admires Harry, his staring getting disrupted when Harry leans down to suck at his pulse. He lets out a choked whine, falling lax as Harry licks over his skin. 

The thought of Harry feeling how fast his heart is racing under his lips makes him shiver. 

“Can I?” Harry asks after a bit, large hands sliding under his shirt and roaming over his smooth sides, warm against his cold skin. 

Louis nods, moving his arms to Harry can slowly push his shirt up, trailing kisses on the exposed skin as he goes. He throws it off the bed, ducking down to suck Louis’ left nipple into his mouth. 

He lathers both buds with attention, sucking and nipping and flicking them with his fingers until they’re raw and sensitive and Louis is conflicted between squirming away and into the touch. 

“Please,” Louis breathes, panting as Harry continues his ministrations. He’s fully hard already, cock straining up against the material of his jeans. He’s quivering from all the sensations, body jerking every few seconds from how overwhelmed he is. “Harry, please.”

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby,” Harry whispers, lips ghosting down his chest before pressing a soft kiss to his belly button, then again and again. “Love your stomach,” he murmurs, biting down on the curve of it hungrily. 

Louis jolts, mewling quietly. His hands are clutching desperately at the sheets but he detaches one to reach for Harry’s hand. Harry takes it gently, intertwining their fingers and squeezing reassuringly. 

He kisses down to the waistband of his jeans, glancing up at Louis for permission before unbuttoning and sliding the zipper down. Then he pulls them down leisurely, sucking marks into the revealed honeyed skin of Louis’ thighs. 

“So gorgeous, baby,” Harry praises, biting down on his hip bone. 

Louis shivers, thinking about how these marks and bites will be imprinted on his skin for him to admire in the mirror for the coming days. 

Harry pulls his jeans all the way off his legs and then runs his hands reverently up the smooth skin of his calves and thighs. He spreads them carefully, settling in between and leaning down to press a wet kiss over the tented fabric of Louis’ boxers. 

He whimpers, hips bucking up helplessly. Harry stills him with steady hands on his hips, hot breath fanning out against his inner thighs. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes weakly, “Want you.”

Harry coos at him, pressing another kiss to his belly button before leaning back to unbutton his own jeans and shove them off along with his briefs. Louis sucks in a breath as Harry’s hard cock flops between his legs, angry-red and thick. 

Then he’s sliding his fingers underneath Louis’ underwear and tugging them down oh so slowly. Louis hisses as the fabric brushes over his aching prick, spurting some more precum. Then he’s completely bare, vulnerable to Harry’s awed gaze that washes over him like a breath of air. 

He grabs Harry’s hand again, squeezing as Harry reaches over to the nightstand with his long arm for the lube which Louis set aside earlier. 

They decided that they wouldn’t use a condom a while ago. If Harry’s going to be his first, Louis wants to feel him properly. Harry’s clean (and Louis is too, obviously) so Louis had no qualms. 

When Louis first mentioned it, Harry had been shaken to the core, immediately scooping Louis up to spin him around. Louis should’ve known a possessive caveman like Harry would be pleased to not only be the first inside him, but also being able to do it bare. 

Harry looks just as eager about it now, dropping the lube on the bed and covering Louis again. 

He’s all over him, kissing his shoulders and his throat and his collarbone while Louis runs his fingers over his tattoos, tracing the swallows and the moth and the ferns above his hips. Harry kisses him, wet and sloppy as he slicks up his fingers and teases them at Louis’ rim. 

“So pretty, so delicate,” Harry whispers, “Gonna open you up now, darling.”

Louis shivers. He’s been thinking about how it’d feel to have Harry’s long, steady fingers inside him for months now, much better than his own in every way. He exhales abruptly at the first breach, body tensing at the intrusion until Harry soothes him with his lips. 

The only sounds in the room that can be heard is their harsh, erratic breathing and the slight squelch of Harry’s finger as he slides in and out, circling the rim before driving it back in. He mewls as Harry speeds up, a second finger easing into his hole alongside the former. 

Harry bites Louis’ earlobe, scissoring his fingers and crooking them enough for Louis to squirm, body trembling from desperation. “So tight and perfect, baby,” Harry murmurs, “Gotta stretch you open for my cock.”

Louis shudders, keening high in his throat. And then Harry hits his prostate and he’s coming, eyes brimming with tears and gasping out loudly.

Harry fingers him through it, massaging his prostate and squeezing their linked hands. “Good boy,” he breathes, “so good for me.” 

He inches a third finger in, moving down Louis’ body to nose at his inner thighs and watch his fingers disappear into Louis’ hole. He looks mesmerized, green eyes dark and hazy with intensity and lust. 

Eventually the stimulation becomes too much to endure. “M’ready,” he bites out helplessly, head lolling back on the mattress as Harry hits his prostate again. “Harry, please,” he begs, hips rolling back into the sheets shakily. He’s already growing hard again, urged by the incessant pressure on his prostate and Harry’s dedicated movements. 

Harry bites his inner thigh but slides his fingers out, soothing the sting with a wet kiss. He spends a few moments nuzzling at the soft skin there, humming low in his throat. “Little one, I love your thighs,” he breathes, sitting up to grab the lube again. Slicking up his cock, he continues, “Love your hole.” To emphasize it, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to his rim, nipping at it playfully. 

Louis cracks a smile despite himself, but it turns into a gasp as Harry aligns himself and eases in. He goes slowly, pausing every few seconds to let adjust and reaching his second hand up to Louis’ parted lips. He slides two fingers inside which Louis gladly sucks on, slowly letting Harry in and whining when he bottoms out. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing, angel,” Harry grunts. “Love that I’m the only one who’s had you like this.”

“M’ready,” Louis pants, squirming, “Go, Harry, please. ”

Harry leans down and kisses him on the lips firmly before pulling back. Louis chases his lips, body heaving. 

And then, Harry pulls out slowly before thrusting back in, deliberate and letting Louis feel every inch just like he had promised all those weeks ago. He moans, body jolting up the mattress as Harry rams into him. 

He picks up speed quickly, babbling on about how pretty Louis is, how good he feels, how he’s taking Harry so well, how he’s so, so good. The voice Louis has fallen in love with is deep and hoarse and laced with so much feeling and raw want. 

Louis digs the fingers of his free hand into Harry’s bare shoulder in response, other hand squeezing Harry’s excruciatingly hard. Whimpers, moans, and whines slide from his mouth like honey, goading Harry on. 

Harry changes angles, gripping one of Louis’ thighs and slinging it over his shoulder to deepen his glides. “Love that I’m the only one who’s had you like this, all flushed and pliant and stunning,” he grunts, brows furrowed from exertion. “Love that I’m the only one who’s made you feel like this.” 

Louis whimpers as he feels Harry’s cock breach him farther than before. Harry’s shoving into him almost animalistically, sweat beading at his skin and muscles contorting as he thrusts in and out and in and out. 

He finds Louis’ prostate again, eliciting a loud yelp and jolting Louis’ body up the mattress. He maintains the angle, pressing in again and again until Louis has literal tears falling from his eyes. The bed is creaking, headboard rattling and hitting the wall on every other thrust, but all Louis can focus on is HarryHarryHarry. 

And even though he’s being rough, Harry’s also overwhelmingly gentle. So thorough in his movements, fucking Louis with intent and feeling. It’s almost like… he’s making love to Louis, like he’s been making love to him all night. 

Imprinting his devotion into every kiss, bite, and thrust. Embedding his adoration into Louis’ skin and mouth and shoving it deep inside him. 

“Love your lips,” Harry grunts, slamming back in. Louis keens, clawing at the sheets helplessly. “Love your eyes and your sinfully long eyelashes.”

Louis gasps as Harry bites into the skin of Louis’ lower thigh which is right next to his face. “Love your skin and your legs.” 

He slams inside and pauses this time, grinding up against Louis’ prostate. “Love your smile and your laugh. Love how smart you are, how funny, and how sweet you are.”

“Harry,” Louis breathes, feeling like his lungs are contracting against the strength of his pulsing heart. 

And this time he sees it coming. 

Harry drops Louis’ leg and leans forward to press their foreheads together, pace not faltering. His newly freed hand grasps Louis’ neck loosely, pressing down enough for Louis to jolt. He slots their lips together and mumbles into Louis’ mouth. “Love you. ” 

Louis comes. 

He’s crying, full on sobbing by the time Harry comes a few seconds later, filling Louis up with his release but also officially, his love. Harry loves him. 

He loves him!

Harry looks concerned, wrapping him up in his arms and pressing soothing kisses everywhere he can: his temples, cheeks, nose, chin, throat, shoulders, collarbone, and his gasping lips. He doesn’t seem to understand that Louis is crying because he’s bursting with happiness and emotion, heart swelling so big he’s surprised it hasn’t beat right out of his chest. 

God, Harry loves him!

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry frets, thumbing over Louis’ wet cheekbones and holding him close, unbothered by the stickiness on Louis’ tummy.

“I love you too,” Louis hiccups, grabbing Harry’s face with shaking fingers and kissing him breathless. 

Harry groans into it, hands coming down to Louis’ hips to pull him onto his lap. His fingers slide under Louis’ arse and between his cheeks, feeling around his rim as Louis winces from oversensitivity. 

“Caveman,” he mutters, breaking the kiss. 

Harry chases after him, biting his bottom lip and smiling smugly. “You love it. You love me. ”

And Louis can’t deny that. He does, he really does. 

-

Somewhere over the past six months, Louis has begun to associate the smell of bread with the smell of home. 

He’s sitting at the counter at Anne’s , nibbling at a freshly baked loaf of Challah bread and grading some very imaginative journal entries. The funny ones he reads aloud to Chelsea who’s sitting a few stools away working on her Psych homework during her break. 

Louis has taken to hanging out at the bakery after school ends so he can get free snacks and talk to Harry in between customers. 

Speaking of Harry, he’s talking to a customer right now- an elderly woman who bought a baguette and a box of macarons to share with her husband. That’s the gist Louis has gathered from the bits of conversation he’s caught from ten feet away. 

Harry always chats with the customers which holds up the line sometimes, sure, but also makes the experience a lot more personal for the person buying. There’s a reason no one ever only comes once to Anne’s.  

When she finally walks away, lips curved up in a wide smile, Harry ambles over to them, ripping a piece out of Louis’ loaf and ignoring his glare. His brows furrow as he glances at the paper Louis’ reading. “Jesus, is that a dick? ”

Louis scoffs, “No it’s supposed to be a firehose. Joey wants to be a firefighter when he grows up. They’re six, Harry.”

Harry stares at the drawing. “It looks like a dick.”

“You’re just dirty-minded,” Louis denies, “It’s a firehose.”

“Chelsea, does this look like a dick?” he asks, because of course . He even picks up the paper to show it to her. 

The poor girl blinks, clearly taken aback. Her eyes shift from Harry to Louis who’s rolling his eyes. “I mean… yeah, sort of.”

“Ugh, fine it does look like a dick but don’t think about it like that- it’s a firehose! He’s a child!, ” Louis complains, moving the bread out of Harry’s reach when he moves in for another piece. 

“How many times does this happen?” Harry wonders, “I mean, most six year olds can barely draw, right?”

“They’re very dedicated and enthusiastic,” Louis defends. 

“But how many times do you see them draw stuff that looks a little inappropriate?” Harry presses, eyes sparkling with amusement. 

Louis huffs, “It’s happened a few times.”

“A few…?”

“Okay, it’s happened quite a bit,” Louis admits, “But I don’t think about it like that because I’m not perverted like you.”

“It’s funny,” Harry insists. 

“You’re infuriating,” Louis says, crossing his arms and hitting him with a scowl. The corners of his mouth twist up despite his best efforts and he smiles exasperatedly. “It’s a little funny, yeah.” 

Harry leans over the counter and kisses Louis’ forehead. “Thanks, baby.”

“Why do I even listen to the words that come out of your mouth anymore?” Louis asks dryly. 

“Because I’m very intelligent,” Harry answers, before smirking, “and we both know you love the sound of my voice.” 

Louis blushes, smacking Harry in the chest weakly. “Fuck off, arsehole.”

Harry’s smirk grows, leaning back over the counter with a dark look. “I’ll fuck off into your -”

“Guys, please,” says Chelsea, looking equally amused and traumatized. 

“Look, you’re scaring your favorite employee,” Louis tsks, taking another bite of bread. He marvels at how easy it was making jokes about their sex life in public - well, in front of Chelsea anyway- when half a year ago he’d be mortified if someone even mentioned having sex. 

He’s no longer that person anymore, the person who thought sex was something to be ashamed of and spent all his time hiding away. He’s more confident now, more secure in his own self-worth and in his now very active sex life. 

Harry rolls his eyes at his last comment, patting Chelsea on the shoulder as he heads for the back. “I’m checking on my Focaccia. Remind me later we’re taking some puff pastries back today for your family tomorrow.”

Louis is finally going to bring Harry to Doncaster to meet his family. They’re going to stay the night and Louis is going to take Harry around to all his old haunts and backdrops to his fondest childhood memories. 

He can’t wait to bring his new home to his old home. 

“I will,” he confirms, pretending to catch the kiss Harry blows at him and stuffing it in his pocket. 

“You guys are adorable,” says Chelsea casually. 

“Yeah, we are,” Louis agrees, smiling a bit dopily. They are adorable- adorable and amazing and perfect together. He never thought he’d find someone who he’d fit with this well, like two puzzle pieces reunited or two halves of one heart. 

He knows it’s early, especially considering the length of his previous relationship, but he also knows what they have is something rare, something special. He can picture the future like it’s crystal clear: moving in together in a new, more spacious flat than either of their current ones, christening every surface of said new flat, getting another cat or a dog or both, getting married, having kids, growing old together… 

It’s going to be perfect, he thinks. Perfect in that he has no idea if any of that will happen or if it will but differently than he imagined. He’s got no clue what’s in store for them beyond his best hopes and wishes, but for once he’s okay with the unknown. 

After all, he never saw this coming but he’s so unbelievably glad it did. 

-