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It’s amazing, really, that anyone out there genuinely thinks that Niall is the dominant one in their relationship. Harry's read pretty much all of the fanfiction out there under his name (it's interesting, alright?) with the exception of the truly weird stuff, and the vast majority has him flat on his back moaning 'daddy' while an authoritative blonde bobs on his cock. Which is fine, generally speaking; Harry is very much a fan of good head.
It's just that if the fans could hear how expertly Niall begs they would never put him in charge of a fictional tryst again.
"Harry, sweet Harry, darling Harry, please," Niall pleads, "please do this for me. Think of all I do for you. Don't I deserve this one thing? I'm your boyfriend."
"You're an annoying twat, is what you are," Harry breathes in return, lips barely moving. The trademark Styles Smirk is still in place, so if anyone is watching they probably won't be able to tell he's being crass at all.
Niall cackles in his slightly-less-signature way. "Yeah. But I'm an annoying twat that you're going to propose to in five weeks, even if I do break your heart."
"Niall, would you keep it down-"
"Relax, Hazza, I'm not going to get us in trouble. I like my paycheck, remember? But you're avoiding the entire point, which is you have to get us into the changing room."
"You're a bloody voyeur," Harry grumbles. They're currently sat in their seats in a draining football stadium, having just watched what Niall assures him was an exciting match between Man U and Man City. "What do you want back there for, anyways?"
"First of all, shirtless men. Second of all, I think I would probably die if I got to have a conversation with you-know-who."
He's referring, of course, to the outrageously fit Louis Tomlinson, star forward and Captain of Manchester United. Niall had developed an unhealthy schoolboy crush the instant Tomlinson had been transferred to United, and since then the obsession has only grown. Harry sighs. "Niall, we've discussed this. Some boys like boys, but some boys like girls. You're a boy. The boys who don’t like boys aren't going to fall in love with you."
"I'm not convinced he's straight, Harry, I just know something's off. Okay? Trust me, Tommo is at least a little bit queer. Now would you please stop changing the subject and bat your eyelashes at some guards until they let us through?"
Niall gives up the argument after that, probably because he knows just as well as Harry that he's going to win. Niall isn't just Harry's fake boyfriend, he's also his best friend of about 15 of their 20 years. Harry was out as gay long before he was scouted by one of London's top modeling agencies, which was a bit of a pain in the arse for his management, but they seem to be satisfied with just giving him a nice, wholesome boyfriend instead of letting him turn into a stereotypical gay male celebrity who loves the nightlife and getting into trouble. Niall immediately claimed his best friend privilege in getting dibs on the spot. “If it's a necessary evil,” he’d reasoned, “why can't it help both of us? You need a pretty boy by your side, and I need to get my name out there so that I can start properly producing music. Everybody wins. Plus, we already know that you're basically in love with me, so we should be able to pull it off pretty well.”
It's that charm and intimate knowledge of every thought in Harry's head that makes Niall smile so smugly as they walk away from their seats. He knows before he's even been handed the trophy that he's won this round, and that before half an hour is up, he's going to be standing in a room full of half-dressed men still sweaty from playing a great round of his favorite sport and potentially meeting the man of his dreams. He even holds Harry's hand as they walk as a silent gesture of appreciation.
It doesn't even take that much work. It really is almost reduced to Harry simply batting his eyelashes, because getting scouted by London's top modeling agency quickly turned into having one of Britain's best and brightest modeling careers, which turned into international renown, and now Harry Styles is a household name and his green eyes and deep dimples are a household face. It also doesn't hurt that his PR firm is the same one used by several of United's players. Anything to get their clients associating and creating more positive media is okay by them, and the young model and his charming boyfriend are ushered into the locker room almost immediately.
It isn’t so bad, after all; there are plenty of topless men wandering around slapping each other’s bums and shouting excitedly about their win. Both Niall and Harry should probably be ogling a little more subtly, considering that they’re madly in love to the point of proposal, but neither can be arsed to care. There aren’t any cameras around to substantiate it if someone got loose lips about their mutually wandering eyes. Besides, half the world thinks it’s an open relationship anyways, since apparently Harry likes all kinds of blondes bobbing on his cock.
He recognizes the tattoos before he recognizes the face. He's admiring the legs first, their shapely curves disappearing underneath a towel that unfortunately hides what seem to be delicious thighs Harry could see himself getting between. Then there's the hips, cut v lines pointing down towards the promised land and framing the tiniest hint of pudge before directing eyes upward towards a narrow waist. Things get interesting when the arms and chest are reached, because they're laced with tattoos. That's when Harry knows that the eyes he looks up at and locks gazes with will be those of one Louis Tomlinson.
“Well there’s Tommo for you, Ni,” Harry says dazedly, nudging the boy at his side and gesturing to the one before them without breaking eye contact. Louis isn’t looking away, no matter how long the starting contest drags on for, and Harry can’t seem to, either. Does he realize his eyes look like electricity? “Introduce yourself to your soulmate.”
Niall spins right around and grins at Louis, offering his hand at once for a shake that the footballer is forced to look away from Harry to accept. “Tommo, what an honor. I’m such a big fan, honestly. You played fantastic out there today, bloody brilliant.”
“Well thank you very much,” the man returns with a genuine grin. “Good to know I earn my keep. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Niall, Niall Horan,” he’s answered with a blush.
“And you,” Louis continues, turning to Harry, “you have a face I think I know. Do we know each other?”
“We could,” Harry answers without thinking. He kicks himself for the weak flirt almost immediately. Fuck you and your distractingly blue eyes.
Luckily he has Niall to keep him in line, which this time comes in the form of a sharp elbow to the rib cage and a notably more intelligent answer of, “He’s a model, so you’ve probably seen his face around.”
“Fuck, yeah, you’re- Henry, is it? Henry Styles? Am I getting that right?” Louis says with a snap of his fingers. “Yeah, I saw you in that advert for the shower line. I bought three sets.”
Harry blushes down to his toes, mostly because the advert in question involved him posing naked in a shower, sudsed up from head to toe with the spray from the showerhead running down his chest. It also involved a suggestively placed loofah that he got paid double for.
He can’t even think of anything meaningful to say, which is a shame because he should probably thank the man for buying the product in the advert, since that’s money in his pocket, in the end. At the moment, though, he’s mostly just trying to keep his cool. He’s seen Louis Tomlinson before, of course, enough times to recognize him by his ink, but largely speaking it was from Niall showing him clips of the player’s amazing shots during the latest game and Harry had never had more than a polite interest.
Now, though, his presence is dampened neither by the medium of a screen nor by the tedium of pretending to care about football, and Harry pretty much wants to devour him.
“The shampoo smells really nice,” he winds up saying brilliantly. “It’s Harry, though, Harry Styles.”
“Good to know, Harry Styles,” Louis replies slowly, the smirk on his face a little too devious for him not to have at least some idea of the effect that he’s having on his audience.
“Did you buy it for your girlfriend?” Niall asks. He probably thinks he’s sly, prying into Louis’ personal life.
Harry’s wry snort lets him know otherwise. “It was a men’s line, Niall,” he says with great amusement. “The ad was in a women’s mag so they’ll buy it for their significant others.”
“I saw it at an industry mixer,” Louis rushes to explain, a delicious flush rising to his cheeks. “I don’t typically look in women’s mags. Just before you go teasing me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” replies Harry. “Didn’t come back here to tease, we came back here to fangirl. Well, Niall did, anyways.”
Louis finally flicks his eyes back towards Niall once more. “Oh, is that why I’ve got models and their friends wandering into my locker room? Here I thought it was just my lucky day.”
“Boyfriend,” corrects Niall at once. “I’m his boyfriend. We’re gay.”
Harry flicks his eyes up towards the ceiling and vows to teach Niall at least the definition of subtlety when they get back to the house. When he looks down again, however, he could swear that Louis has a smaller smile on his face than before. “In that case, I’m sorry,” the tattooed vision is saying weakly in Harry’s direction once again. “Didn’t mean to wind up as your boyfriend’s soulmate or anything.”
“As long as he’s not leaving me for a prettier model, I’m alright,” Harry jokes dumbly. “That would just look bad professionally, eh?” He sincerely hopes that made more sense to Louis than it did to himself because he's sort of having a hard time not staring at Louis' v-lines, which he would perhaps like to lick his morning iced coffee out of.
Luckily the tension of the moment is broken when another player walks by, unabashedly naked. Harry doesn’t even flinch -honestly, attractive naked men are a little commonplace in his line of work- but Niall’s head follows like a cartoon minus the pop-out eyes. “Is that Liam Payne?” he murmurs in awe. “He’s the best keep in the league, and -Christ, he’s fit.” And with that he’s gone, in typical Niall fashion, chasing down his next idol-victim and leaving an exasperated Harry and a bemused Louis in his wake.
Louis shuffles a little closer to Harry and runs a hand over the stubble on his jaw contemplatively. “Maybe this is out of line, but shouldn’t your boyfriend be a little less excited about naked men that aren’t you?”
“Well I can’t blame him for enjoying pretty things,” Harry replies reasonably. “That’s just human nature.”
This does not appear to impress Louis. “Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but… You’re a pretty thing, so if he wants to look at pretty, naked things it ought to be his boyfriend. And only his boyfriend.”
He’s got this look on his face like he’s offended on Harry’s behalf, and it warms Harry down to his toes. “Don’t be cross with Niall,” he defends mildly. “He’s not- you’re with Harmon Inc. for management, right?”
“Er, yeah. Why?” Louis is looking at Harry like he’s the most absurd creature on the planet, which may be true. They’ve spent the last few minutes standing in a room full of men in various states of undress, Louis himself naked except for a towel, perfect strangers, discussing the morality of looking at people other than your significant other and now jumping around to topics like management labels with no warning whatsoever. To be fair, it is pretty absurd.
So Harry takes pity on him. “Me too! We’re brand buddies. I think that means I can tell you,” he whispers, leaning in close, “that Niall isn’t really my boyfriend. He just looks good on my arm.”
The frown has disappeared from Louis’ face when he pulls back, replaced by a wide grin. "Really? I thought they only gave fakes to gay men when they need to hide them being gay.”
“That ship sailed long before they found me.”
“Guess they do what they can. So, um, you’re single, then?” he asks slyly, picking at a hangnail like he’s having the most casual conversation in the world.
Harry follows his lead, runs a hand through his hair and bites back a little grin. “As a pringle.”
“Hard to see how, with humor like that,” Louis snorts. “I’m glad, though. Makes me feel less guilty about positively drooling over that shot of you in the shower.”
All of a sudden Harry’s mouth is a little dry, thinking about Louis looking at his ad and feeling -what, attraction? “I thought you had a girlfriend.”
“We’re brand buddies,” Louis whispered in an unabashed mockery of Harry’s earlier words, “so I think I can tell you that Eleanor’s not my girlfriend. And I’m about as straight as a rainbow.”
Harry’s first thought is that he sincerely hopes Niall never finds out, because he’s going to be insufferably smug about it. His second thought is that this greatly increases the odds that he’s going to get his mouth on certain parts of Louis, specifically parts now covered by his towel, and Harry’s pretty happy about that in a way that pushes all thoughts of Niall out of his head.
“Do you wanna get some coffee sometime?” he blurts out before he can think to stop himself.
Louis flushes and looks around them. “Well we’re both ‘happily taken,’ so. Plus coffee is disgusting.”
“Is that a no?”
“That’s-” Louis’ flush deepens. “That’s a- well what would management think?”
“Management will think that they’ll get twice the publicity for the price of one pap,” Harry says smoothly. “Not like one of us is single and we’ll start up rumors, right?” Louis still doesn’t look entirely convinced, so Harry folds his hands behind his back and bumps his hip into Louis very gently, barely enough to make the athlete stumble. “I’ll buy you tea and sweets, since you don’t like coffee. You can’t turn down tea and sweets.”
“I don’t even know you,” protests Louis. “You literally just walked in five minutes ago and started chatting me up while your boyfriend tried to hide his boner for me, and now you want me to go out on a date with you?”
“Not a date. You’re straight and I’m going to attempt to make Niall my lawfully wedded husband in like a month. But he’s going to take a job in America and leave me in the dust, so I should probably make a friend before then so I have someone to hold my hair when I binge drink my sorrows away. Just tea, between friends. Totally normal.”
The amused snort lets Harry know that his joke landed, and he grins widely while he waits for an answer. It takes a minute, but with a tiny shake of his head, Louis gives in. “Just tea,” he says firmly. “And sweets.”
…………………
Predictably, ‘just tea and sweets’ doesn’t stay just tea and sweets.
They’d started out the afternoon –a sunny day about a week after they’d first met there in the locker room- at a fairly low-key hipster coffee shop where they would likely get seen but not mobbed. The venue choice was the work of Harry’s handler at Harmon Inc., Zayn Malik, a young man from Bradford with the face to be a model and the brains to be Harmon’s future CEO. It’s a good choice, too; they get the few cursory requests for fan pics but for the most part they’re allowed to sip their tea in peace.
“Funny how they always recognize either one of us or the other,” Harry muses after a girl with thick frames but no lenses walks away. “No one recognizes us both.”
“Fashion and sport are sort of opposite ends of the spectrum, though, innit?” Louis replies easily. “Someone who’s interested in one probably isn’t interested in the other.”
Harry squawks his protest. “That isn’t true! I’m interested in both.”
“Harry, you just confessed to me yesterday that you had headphones in during my City match.” Louis’ referring to one of the many conversations they’ve had via text this week, which usually started out as innocuous smalltalk about their plans for tea but quickly turned into ruthless banter. He notices Harry’s grudging silence with a smirk. “The only thing you like about sport is the fact that sometimes we take our shirts off at the end of the match.”
He has a point, unfortunately, but Harry doesn’t give up the battle. “Well there are athletes who care about fashion, I’m sure. Everyone has to wear clothes. Are you going to tell me that you don’t care about how you look?”
“I own uniforms, training clothes, a suit, one pair of jeans, and about five tee shirts,” Louis counters. “I practically live at the arena, and I’m naked most of the time I’m home. I’ve got more important things to worry about than whether my uniform makes my bum look good.”
(His uniform makes his bum look fantastic. With a tremendous amount of willpower, Harry refrains from sharing this opinion.)
“I guess we’re both a bit biased,” Harry settles on saying. “We’ll leave it to the people to decide.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“Don’t feel bad that you’ve lost, though. The fact that twice as many of my fans have come over than have yours doesn’t mean your sport thing isn’t important.”
Louis’ jaw drops open with a startled laugh. “You’re damn right it doesn’t! We’re in a fucking hipster shop, the sample is biased. Let’s go to a sports bar, then we’ll see how many people recognize your stupid mug.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Harry says easily.
A flush starts making its way up Louis’ neck. “I’m trying so say that you’ve got unfair criteria. I’ve got a contract that guarantees me a job for the next three seasons, what have you got?”
“A paycheck that’s probably twice yours.” In reality Harry has no idea how much football players get paid- can’t be but so hard to kick a ball around a field, can it? –but he mostly just wants to see Louis all riled up.
It works. “Oh please,” Louis scoffs, draining the last of his tea with a pointed eye roll. “My bank account is plenty fat, thank you.”
“Prove it.”
Louis leans over the table with eyes that glimmer with mischief. “What is this, a pissing contest? Should I go get a ruler?”
Harry has absolutely no control over his own actions when he licks his lips and replies, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
They both catch their breath in the same second, holding it for long beats until finally Louis exhales with a blush and shakes his head. “You’re- you’re ridiculous. Didn’t you promise me sweets? I’ve had my tea and now I want my sweets,” he says hurriedly, a last ditch attempt to bring the conversation back somewhere safe.
“I was actually thinking we could do dessert back at my place,” Harry replies without a flinch. “I have treats there for you.”
It’s all over now, and Louis swallows as the final glimmer of restraint he has left leaves his body and disappears into the summer air. “I’ll follow you there.”
…………………
The drive back to the house that Niall and Harry share isn’t an excessively long one, even with traffic, but Harry still makes sure to text Louis the address in case they get separated. There isn’t any need. Louis’ about an inch from his bumper the entire way there, and he’s out of his car and waiting by Harry’s in the driveway before Harry has even unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Someone’s an eager beaver,” Harry grins, taking his time walking down the little cobblestone path around the side of the house and unlocking the side door. “It’s a little messy here, sorry,” he apologizes as Louis follows him inside. “I try to keep it tidy but Niall’s an absolute slob- ah!”
The door has barely been shut behind them when Louis is pressing their mouths together in a crushing kiss, tossing his keys and phone on a nearby surface –what appears to be a kitchen table –and fisting his hands in Harry’s shirt at the waist to tug him close. “I don’t really care much about how your house looks,” he murmurs into Harry’s mouth, “as long as you’ve got a bed.”
“Jesus, where’s this coming from?” Harry says with a startled half-laugh, half-gasp even as he grabs a belt loop on Louis’ jeans with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. “What happened to demanding sweets?”
“Oh shut up,” scoffs Louis in answer, rolling his hips into Harry’s. “You’re not fooling me with your ‘dessert at my place’ bullshit. Like I didn’t know you were talking about having a shag.”
A blush paints Harry’s cheeks, but he doesn’t stop kissing Louis back. “Oh. Uh-”
“Seriously, I got the fifty thousand hints that the only sweets you have for me is your cock.”
“Louis, I-”
“It’s okay, babe,” Louis shushes. “I’ll gladly take that for dessert.”
“Louis.”
The older man pulls back from their fevered kisses, startled at the tone and confused by the metallic crinkling sound coming from somewhere beyond Harry. After a few disoriented blinks he sees that he’s pressed Harry up against a kitchen counter and that the model is reaching behind himself to pull back the tinfoil on a tray of fresh-baked brownies. Harry clears his throat. “Dessert at my place,” he says sheepishly.
According to the movies one’s life only flashes before the eyes when death is imminent, but apparently extreme mortification is sufficient because Louis finds himself slapping a horrified hand over his mouth and staring at the brownies with wide eyes as he briefly reconsiders every choice he’s ever made. “Oh my fucking god,” he whispers. “I’ve just made a complete arse out of myself, haven’t I? Oh my god.”
“We can have whatever kind of dessert you like though,” Harry rushes to add.
“I just thought- cause you were flirting, and like- you always wink at me when we text, and- and you looked like you wanted to devour me in that locker room so I just thought-”
“I did. I do,” Harry says with a bite of his lip, running his hands down Louis’ back til they’re right at the crest of his bum, waiting for the go-ahead. “Seriously, whatever dessert you’re after you can have. I’m absolutely alright with that.”
“I’ll never be able to look at you again,” Louis groans, even though he’s started up again grinding their hips together to give some friction to both half-hard cocks. “I’m so bloody embarrassed. I thought you wanted to fuck around-”
Harry dips down to lick his tongue into Louis’ mouth, then grips beneath Louis’ bum to lift him up and spin them around to plop him on the counter. The brownies almost clatter to the floor, but neither boy pays them any attention. “If it helps, my master plan was to seduce you with delicious baked goods and then politely ask permission to choke on your cock.”
“Jesus Christ,” Louis simply swears, reaching down to unzip Harry’s jeans. He pushes them as far down Harry’s thighs as they’ll go –the damn things are so tight Louis assumes he’ll need scissors to get them properly off –and reaches out to palm at Harry’s length through his briefs. “You top or bottom?”
“We’re gonna-? Oh, fuck. Either one. Whatever you want. I don’t care.” Harry doesn’t, honestly, because Louis’ reached inside his pants and started working Harry’s cock and dark curls have gone tumbling as Harry drops his head onto Louis’ shoulder.
Louis takes that as encouragement and works his hand faster, laughing delightedly as Harry rises up on his tiptoes to fuck into Louis’ fist like he can’t get enough. “Alright. Fuck me, then, if you’re so eager. That sound alright?”
“I know we’ve had our difficulties, but shagging my soulmate on the kitchen counter while I’m home? That’s low.”
The Irish lilt comes from the doorway and Louis startles about a foot off the countertop probably as he jerks his hand away from Harry’s cock at once. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Niall, right?” he stutters when Harry makes no move to address the situation, just whining at the loss of Louis’ hand and continuing to mouth at the stubble on his jaw. “This is really awkward, I swear I had no idea you were home- Harry, why didn’t you say he was home?”
Harry ignores the heated hint from Louis to back off and unabashedly replies, “Well to be fair, I didn’t know you were gonna try to hop on the second we got in the door.”
Niall pretends to gag and shoves past the two of them, seemingly unconcerned. “I’m taking these brownies as consolation for having to see your dick in action. Again.”
“Whatever, Niall, just go downstairs,” Harry snorts, teasing at Louis’ throat with his teeth and humming at the whine it brings forth.
“I’m eating the whole pan.”
“Yes, Niall, fine.”
“And you owe me a pint.”
“Bloody hell, Niall, would you just go down to the den and put headphones in?” Harry says exasperatedly, finally turning around to look at his housemate. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.” With a raucous laugh Niall grabs the food and disappears down a stairwell into the basement, and Harry plants a slow, sweet kiss on Louis’ swollen bottom lip. “Sorry about him. Thinks he’s very funny.”
“Should you really be agreeing to fuck me while your husband-to-be is in the house?” Louis teases, working a hand into Harry’s hair and experimenting with how much force he has to tug with in order to make Harry pliant and tilt his head back like he’s putty in Louis’ hands.
Not much. “Never gonna marry him,” he chokes out while Louis licks at his throat. “In two months he’s gonna get a job in America and break off the engagement. Plus, he’s downstairs with music on. Won’t hear a thing if I take you upstairs and make you shout my name.”
Louis’ cock gives a hard twitch at that and he’s reminded that he’s still got all of his clothes on, which is about 100% too much clothing. “Well don’t be a bloody tease, then, get me upstairs.”
Without any further prompting Harry pulls his jeans back up and holds Louis to his chest, carrying him like a child up the stairs –seriously, who knew models were that strong? –and into what Louis assumes is the master bedroom. Everything is bright and clean and modern, right down to the fluffy white duvet atop a bed so high it comes up to Harry’s belly button. He has no problem tossing Louis on top of it, though, letting the athlete lay back propped up on his elbows as he sheds all but his briefs and joins him atop the mattress. Louis’ clothes come next, black jeans and soft cotton tee shirt disappearing along with his converse so he’s naked except for his tattoos and his boxers.
“Hi,” Harry says a bit ridiculously as he leans in to kiss Louis, gentler than before.
“Hi yourself,” answers Louis with a breathless laugh. “Are we doing small talk? Sure. Did you catch that Man U game yesterday? Pretty impressive sportsmanship.”
“I did, actually, watched the whole stupid match on TV.” Harry’s running his tongue over the ink on Louis’ collarbones, since the idea’s been distracting him all week. It’s well worth the wait to feel Louis’ breath get shallow. “I think they won. I was mostly just paying attention to the cute one, to be honest.”
“Who, the goalkeeper? Yeah Payne is alright, I suppose.”
“The captain is more my type,” Harry says smoothly, slipping his hand down Louis’ boxers to run the backs of his fingers up and down his length with agonizing slowness. “Niall can take Liam, for all I care. Is he queer at all?”
Louis has his eyes closed, looking a little lost in the sensation of the hand down his pants. “I’ve heard him insist on multiple occasions that he’s ‘a hundred percent not gay.’”
“So gay, then.”
“Definitely gay.”
Harry laughs and Louis moans, probably due to the fact that Harry is starting to stroke him in earnest, his big, warm hands squeezing Louis’ length as best he can without anything to slick him up and ease the way. “Dunno why you’re so interested in talking about Liam while you’re in bed with me,” Harry murmurs while Louis pants into his ear. “A boy could get his feelings hurt, with you talking away like that.”
“Get your fingers inside me and I swear I won’t say a name but yours,” Louis just weakly replies.
He’s briefly disappointed when Harry seems to take that as a cue to leave the bed, but is mollified when the model returns just seconds later with a bottle of lube. With one hand Harry removes Louis’ boxers and tosses them over the side of the bed once and for all, and with the other he pops the top on the lube and drizzles some directly on Louis’ entrance. Louis inhales sharply at the cold, then shivers at the feeling of already having a mess between his thighs. Being closeted makes it awfully hard to date, and it’s been far too long since Louis’ been able to feel this.
Apparently Harry doesn’t feel that same sense of urgency, because instead of pressing into Louis he just rubs his fingers back and forth across the mess around Louis’ hole, making the area slick and causing Louis to wiggle whenever a fingertip passes over his entrance. “C’mon, don’t tease me,” he finally has to insist.
“You’re the bossiest little shit I’ve ever met,” Harry grumbles in answer.
“Enough sweet talk. Lie back on your pillows.” Louis’ words cause Harry to blink in confusion, but apparently he’s pushed Louis to the brink and has lost the privilege of being in charge. “Lie back,” the older man repeats, and sends Harry scrambling to obey.
Once the fresh white pillowcases are adorned with messy locks and flushed cheeks, Louis moves to straddle Harry’s shoulders. Harry eagerly licks his lips. “What do you want out of me, then?”
“Well I wanted your fingers, but if you’re going to be difficult then I suppose you could just blow me while I do it myself.” They’re bold words, maybe a little cutting. Harry’s bigger and maybe stronger, could probably pin Louis down and go at whatever agonizing snail’s pace he wanted to, but instead he just looks up at Louis with hazy eyes and parts his pink lips eagerly like there’s nothing he wants more.
Louis keeps his hips still as Harry leans up and takes Louis into his mouth, causing Louis’ eyes to drift shut in satisfaction at the warm, wet feel. One hand grips the headboard, the other trails back and between his thighs and wets his fingers in the lube. Unlike Harry, Louis isn’t in the mood to tease, pushing in one fingertip as soon as he’s able. He’s tight, but not so tight that he can’t work the rest of his digit in fairly easily. Harry can’t even properly use his hands with the way Louis’ pinned him with his knees, but he grips Louis’ hips as best he can and moans around his mouthful and Louis works in a second finger rather quickly, purely to hurry things along.
It’s getting harder and harder to let Harry control the pace as finger three starts to go in and Louis starts to get a little drunk on the feeling of fullness, self-control only weakened by Harry’s sloppy, satisfied slurps. It’s getting obscene, and Louis’ stomach is fluttering a little too much for a man who hasn’t even been fucked yet. Eventually he has to remove his fingers from himself and his cock from Harry’s mouth and take a deep breath.
“Y’alright?” Harry asks, his voice all low and sugary with arousal. It makes Louis want to wreck him.
“Open your mouth,” Louis instructs, reaching out to grab at Harry’s jaw even though he’s already been obeyed. He takes one hand and guides the tip of his cock to rest on Harry’s tongue, pushing his hips forward gently to slide in deeper and looking to Harry for permission. He gets it in the way Harry shudders, opening his jaw wider and closing his eyes in a silent plea for Louis to take control.
He wants his mouth fucked; Louis would know that even if Harry weren’t literally gagging for it beneath him. He would know it just from knowing Harry, this wild-eyed cherub with flushed cheeks who just begs you to look past his elegance and see all the things he really craves. Louis could have guessed from the moment they met that Harry would lay here all trusting like this if Louis only asked.
Maybe it makes Louis a little power-drunk, because he’s busy delighting in the way Harry squirms every time Louis pushes his hips forward and sighs every time he pulls back long before reaching Harry’s throat. Now it’s Louis that’s the tease, giving Harry just the tip when he wants so much more, and after barely thirty seconds of it Harry furrows his brow and turns his face away so he can keep his mouth free long enough to complain. “Have you quite finished? Can I fuck you already?”
Louis doesn’t answer, just throws his head back and laughs wildly, the sound cut off in a gasp as Harry sits up and upends them both. There’s a quiet oof as Louis lands on his back on the mattress, then Harry grabs one of Louis’ knees and brings it up to his chest and rolls him over onto his stomach, all spread open with is face in the duvet and his breath still coming out in airy laughs.
Harry presses down on Louis’ back in silent message -stay right there, don’t even think about moving- and leans back for a moment. There’s the sound of foil ripping and Louis’ heart starts to quicken in anticipation, fingers twisting in the smooth bedding and muscles tensing as he waits for the feel of pressure at his entrance-
Finally he feels it and before he can even react Harry is pushing in, filling Louis up slowly but relentlessly, pushing in all in one smooth go until his hips meet the rondure of Louis’ bum. He drapes himself over Louis’ and kisses at the top of his spine, where the man beneath him has developed a sheen of sweat and is panting irregularly. “Y’alright?” he asks for the second time this evening, this time with no tease and all steady kindness.
The ache inside of Louis puts a request of give me a minute, please right on the tip of his tongue, but there’s a thick sort of pleasure in his gut that Louis doesn’t know what to do about other than beg for more of it. “I’m fine, you tit, move,” he pants instead, clutching the fabric in his hands tighter to anchor him in place as Harry draws out and pushes in again, forcing a low moan right out of Louis’ mouth.
He could fight it, could taunt Harry and make it known that even while he’s getting fucked he can be in charge, but Harry’s got him by his hips and is doing such a fantastic job of fucking the breath out of him that Louis would rather just let go and enjoy it. He lets Harry rearrange him at will, pulling him up to elbows and knees for a change in angle, lets the noises that fall out of his mouth be as obscene or as breathy as he wants. He focuses on the feeling of strong hands on his waist and soft lips on his shoulders and a thick cock filling him up and doesn’t even try to fight off the pleasure starting to tighten his belly.
“Could come soon,” he announces to the duvet he’s buried his face in, and Harry must be able to make out the muffled words somewhat because he speeds up the pace a little and whines into Louis’ sweat-damp hair. “Harry? You close?”
“I’ve been on the edge for ten minutes now, have you seen yourself? Fuck, just wanna make you come first.”
One of Harry’s hands comes to rest on Louis’ stomach, fingers rubbing in the precum smeared there from Louis’ cock, and maybe it’s the beautiful target Harry’s presented but Louis pushes his hips back to meet Harry’s thrusts a handful of times and finds himself coming all over the back of Harry’s hand and dripping onto the sheets below.
Harry reacts instantaneously, his hips twitching and then slamming forward into Louis as he hits his own orgasm with a shout. His weight falls to rest on Louis as he grinds his hips through the pleasure and they both collapse forward, Louis crushed between the mattress and Harry and too busy gurgling Harry’s name to be bothered by it.
It takes a long time for them both to finish shuddering through it and even longer for their breathing to even out, but as soon as they’re both relatively stable Harry’s pulling out and pressing a soothing hand to the space between Louis’ shoulderblades. “Hold on, hold on, stay,” he says breathily as he climbs of the bed and walks stiffly into the adjoining bathroom. Louis doesn’t have the willpower to protest. A moment later Harry returns without the condom and bearing a damp rag, cleaning Louis off with just enough pressure to make the man hum in approval at the sensation before tossing it aside and rolling Louis over onto his back.
“Hi,” Harry says shyly. “How are you?”
“I’ve had worse days,” Louis says lazily, eyes starting to feel droopy already from the rush of hormones. He can’t even be arsed to tease Harry for his weird conversation skills. “You?”
The dimple swiftly appears. “I’m fantastic. Can I kiss you?”
Louis nods and Harry leans in to capture his mouth in a tender kiss. “You already kissed me quite a bit tonight. Your permission didn’t expire, you know.”
Harry takes his time spreading out on his back next to Louis. “Sometimes kissing is just a prelude to sex,” he explains as he crosses his arms beneath his head like they’re gazing up at a sky of stars instead of a plain white ceiling. “Didn’t know if you still wanted kisses after the sex happened.”
“You think a lot.” Louis scratches his chin, considers. “I rather like your kisses. You can keep them coming, if you’d like.”
It earns him a kiss on his shoulder, the part of him nearest to Harry. “I suppose I owe you as many as you’d like, since you’ve gone and bought all those sets of my shower line.”
“I still have those stupid things, I hope you know,” Louis pretends to grumble. “I’ve only got sisters, who the fuck am I going to gift those to? I just felt guilty not buying the product when I so thoroughly enjoyed the ad.”
“‘Enjoyed’ it, eh?”
“Biblically.”
Harry laughs, a single burst of wild, unabashed laughter, then rolls over to tuck his head into Louis’ shoulder. Louis smirks and tucks the sound into the back of his mind.
…………………
In five weeks Harry proposes to Niall in a very public, very flashy scene in a courtyard sparkling with starlight. The media lauds them as the world’s next power couple. Harry celebrates his engagement by riding Louis on the floor in their kitchen.
He doesn’t take the breakup particularly hard either, when that comes along three weeks later. Zayn looks like he could throttle Harry for going out the next day for coffee and beaming at everyone he sees, because “You’re meant to be heartbroken, Harry, could you at least pretend this was devastating?”
But it’s difficult, see, when he can text Louis a fire emoji and a wave emoji and have a warm kiss land on the crook of his neck as Louis climbs into the hot tub beside him half an hour later. “You’re the worst ex-fiance ever,” comes the light, teasing commentary. “Niall’s probably sitting in his New York hotel room wiping his tears with his moneybags, what with you all over TMZ looking like a smug bastard.”
Harry doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, just smiles widely. “My best friend is finally getting his dream job and you were waiting in my bed for me, how was I supposed to look sad?”
“You’re getting spoiled.” A foot nudges at Harry’s knee and Louis’ voice is farther away now, chiding him from the other side of the tub. “You’re too used to me sucking your cock just because I like you. You’re forgetting that you actually have to do your job sometimes.”
“They literally pay me to look pretty, Lou,” giggles Harry, opening his eyes at last. He was of course right; Louis is sitting across from him playing with one of the jets, nude as can be and still flushed from the practice he’s just come from. “If I could act, I would have been an actor. Don’t worry about it, you know Zayn can spin anything.”
Louis nods his assent. He’d recently taken on the handsome man as his own manager as well, since Zayn was the company’s unofficial coming out expert and quite frankly, it was time for Eleanor to go. The Mirror had reported their amicable split two weeks ago, and already Louis had fake dates lined up with people of both genders to ease the public into the idea of his bisexuality. Zayn had an eighteen-month plan drawn up to make it all go smoothly.
Not that Louis can be arsed to care very much; the team is playing insanely well this season with him at the helm, and most of the time that he’s not on the field is spent in moments much like this one -all cozied up with a beautiful man who doesn’t demand anything except the attention that Louis so willingly gives.
“We’ll have to be extra careful now,” Louis says thoughtfully, skimming his toes down Harry’s calf beneath the water. “We’re both officially single now, people will talk. Especially when I start going out with boys.”
“Right,” Harry snorts, “wouldn’t want them to get any wrong impressions. They might think we’re secretly fucking or something.”
“Insane, I know, but there you have it. People are always jumping to conclusions. They’ll think that now that you’re back on the market, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
“You can’t, though, can you?” Harry’s smile turns into a smirk and it makes Louis’ stomach flutter. “You’re insatiable.”
“I’m touching you right now, am I?” defends Louis. “We’re both naked and I’m not touching you at all. I have excellent self-restraint, thank you.”
“Are you sure about that?” Harry pushes off of the bench and drifts across the hot tub until his face is just inches from Louis’, hands gripping the shiny wood on either side of his shoulders where he’s leaned back so casually. His knees float to rest on either side of Louis, a watery sort of straddle that makes Louis’ eyes dilate with want no matter how hard he tries to deny it.
It takes him about fifteen seconds to cave and reach for Harry’s cock, which is warm from the heated water and already half-hard. “Not a single word out of you,” Louis says preemptively before those smug lips can curl into a simpering I told you so.
Harry lifts one hand to his lips and mimes zipping it up and throwing away the key, which Louis takes as victory enough for him to start stroking.
The silence doesn’t last very long, because even with the water slowing down his movements and the chlorine adding friction to each slide, Louis is still mouthing at Harry’s neck and giving attention to his cock and Harry can’t help but moan a little at that. Soon he’s bucking up into the circle of Louis’ hand, gripping at his biceps and holding onto him like an anchor. He does at least try to keep his mouth shut, pressing his lips together and fighting back a smile when Louis tries to work a kiss out of him.
But finally he caves and give Louis’ tongue entrance into his mouth, and as the taste of him fills Harry’s senses he gives a sigh that’s half satisfaction and half resignation and comes, pressing forward to trap his cock and Louis’ hand between them and grind his way through the orgasm. Louis is already trying to stand and take Harry with him before the aftershocks are even done, and the cool air on Harry’s damp skin makes him shiver and dig his nails into Louis’ arms in protest even as he’s being forced to walk backwards.
“Lou, it’s fucking freezing, take me back to the hot tub,” Harry says with teeth chattering. “It’s October and I’m wet.”
“And I’m hard,” answers Louis with a grin. “Bed, please? There’s lube in bed, and I want to fuck you.”
Like Harry could say no to that.
They stumble across the deck to the screen door which leads to the master suite, both shivering intensely by the time they’re shut inside. “Bed, covers, blankets,” Harry whimpers, turning around from locking the door to find Louis already burrowing into the luxurious fabric. “The chlorine is going to ruin those sheets,” he adds by way of conversation.
Louis lifts one corner of the duvet and lets Harry into what is quickly becoming a toasty pocket of warmth. “We’ve already ruined a lot of sheets, you and I. What’s another set?”
Harry just giggles. He rolls their hips together where they’ve huddled for warmth, noting the toll that the cold seems to have taken on Louis’ readiness. “You gonna be okay over there?” he teases gently.
“I’m in bed with a naked model, I’ll be fine.” Louis rolls his eyes and grabs Harry by the back of the neck to pull him in for a kiss with finality.
Their wet skin makes the sheets cling to them, the space under the duvet growing almost unbearably warm as their kisses turn more passionate. Soon Louis is fully hard once more, grinding into Harry’s hip as Harry blindly runs his hands beneath the pillows in search of one of the ever-present bottles of lube. “I can’t find it, Louis, get the one from the drawer.”
“But the drawer is so far away-”
“Would you like to be inside of me or not?”
Louis huffs and ventures out to retrieve lube from the nightstand, along with a condom while he’s at it. Once he’s back to the safe haven beneath the sheets he wastes no time, working his knees between Harry’s thighs and nudging them apart to gain access to what he wants.
It never takes long to work Harry open, not because he isn’t tight (he’s tight enough to make Louis consider taking up religion just so he can thank god personally) but because he knows just how to relax for Louis. They’ve done this countless times now, relaxing and letting each other ease into their bodies before allowing tension to fill them up and bring them to the top. Harry just exhales calmly and licks into Louis’ mouth as Louis slides his fingers in one by one until Harry is full and ready. Finally, a foil packet is pressed to Louis’ chest rather insistently, and he pulls back with a grin.
Harry’s hard again, gently tugging at his cock from his vantage point on his back as he watches Louis work the condom on. “C’mon, Lou, I want you,” he goads ever so gently, already missing the warmth of Louis against his body, and it is far beyond Louis to deny him any demand as he leans back down and pushes inside.
Together they set a hard and fast pace that makes Harry writhe so much that Louis has to pin his hips down in order to keep the angle right. Harry is flushed from nipples to hairline and his eyes refuse to stay open, and Louis feels plenty lightheaded himself, the familiar, beloved feel of muscles straining filling his head and egging him on faster. Even through the condom the friction on his cock is heavenly, and Louis can feel the finish line drawing near.
But then Harry pulls in a ragged, uneven breath and uses the exhale to moan Louis’ name quietly, and the mood, the room, the whole world shifts a little. Louis’ hips slow and his lips find Harry’s a beat later, some strange fluttering in his stomach making him want to press even closer to the boy beneath him, despite already literally being inside of him. Maybe Harry feels it too, because his hands move from fisting the sheets to sliding up Louis’ back, holding him close while their bodies find this new rhythm.
“I’m close,” Harry whispers, voice cracking. I’m close, you’re close, we’re close. We’re closer.
Louis refuses to stop kissing him even when Harry’s trying to gasp and moan his way through his orgasm, capturing every single sound in his mouth and swallowing it down, claiming it and keeping it forever. He refuses to feel sorry a few minutes later when his nails open little scratches on Harry’s hips as he comes inside of him, because Harry has his hands on either side of Louis’ face and is kissing him like his very life depends on it.
Eventually Louis pulls out and tosses the condom in the general direction of a trash can and Harry rearranges the sheets so they’ll be laying in a semi-dry patch, but they don’t say another word, just kiss each other until their lips are bruised and fall asleep with their heads on the same pillow and their fingers intertwined somewhere between them. If either finds it strange, they don’t mention it.
…………………
It isn’t all about sex with Harry and Louis.
It isn’t even mostly about sex, despite how often they find themselves falling into bed together over the next few weeks. Mostly it’s about spending time together doing anything and everything, and the way that they couldn’t get enough. It’s about the little things, like the way that Harry delights in getting up early like this and making Louis breakfast in bed simply because he loves how crinkly-eyed and happy Louis gets every single time.
This breakfast in particular is sure to be a hit, a full English with all the dressings and a hot mug of tea just the way Louis likes. Harry nudges the door to Louis’ bedroom open with one shoulder and slips quietly inside. “Louuu-iiiiiis,” he sing-songs softly.
Louis doesn’t even open his eyes, kicking the blankets off so he can stretch his limbs and rubbing a hand over his face as he smiles sleepily into the room he can’t be arsed to see. “Mmm. Posh Spice, get over here and suck me off.”
Okay, maybe it’s a lot about sex with them.
Harry laughs and puts the tray on the dresser, coming to perch on the edge of the bed next to Louis. He wants to reach out and touch the line of Louis’ jaw where it’s hidden beneath stubble, so he does. "If I'm Posh Spice, that makes you David Beckham. Does that mean you're going to get a modeling career, too?"
Now Louis opens his eyes, so he can give Harry that crinkly smile. "You think I'm pretty enough to be a model?" he asks contemplatively, stretching out on his side like a playboy bunny and dropping one eyelid in a comical wink.
"I think you're about to ask me to draw you like one of my French girls."
Louis takes the pillow from behind his head and swats it at Harry quite violently. "Twat. Seriously, though, do you think I could pull off being a model?"
Harry chooses not to answer that question, because Louis could pose next to a sack of shit and Harry would still buy that, and Louis probably knows it, too. He does get up to fetch the tray of food and bring it to Louis, though, accepting the grateful kiss with a crinkly smile of his own.
They eat together in silence for a few minutes, until Harry happens to glance over at Louis and his stomach flutters so insistently that he can’t keep quiet. “What are we, Lou?” he breathes.
Maybe Louis saw it coming, because he doesn’t seem all that shocked as he puts down his fork and swallows his mouthful. He just smiles rather gently and trains his eyes on where their hands have wound together of their own accord again. “I dunno. Friends, I suppose? With benefits.”
“We’re not friends,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “Nor have we ever been.”
“I know.” Louis squeezes his fingers tight around Harry’s and shrugs. “We could be anything, if you wanted. We’re both single, we’re both out. We could be anything, if we tried.”
The laugh Harry gives is a little nervous. “Right. Nice and convenient. We could be something, if it suited us, since it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
And of course Louis understands his tone, hears the uncertainty and the hope that are caught up in Harry’s voice that way. Of course he reaches up with both hands to take Harry’s face and press a kiss to his pouting mouth. “I want to be something. I want to be anything, with you.”
…………………
Zayn makes it all happen. Blessed Zayn, who could make a sex scandal in the Vatican look God-sanctioned, works his magic on their story to make it more PR-friendly than either had dared to hope. They’d met while they were both in relationships (lie) and it had all been completely platonic until both of them found themselves single (massive lie) and it wasn’t until later that they decided to take things slow and see what the relationship could hold for them (big fat juicy whopper of a lie), but in the end they couldn’t help but fall in love (undeniable truth). Zayn had spun them into the world’s next power couple.
Not that it was particularly hard. How could the world not fall in love with their love, when they were making heart-eyes at each other at every opportunity? When Louis wears a rainbow sweatband on the field despite backlash from some of the sports community? When Harry has to stop doing nude shoots because he has Louis’ name tattooed on one hip? Even in a world that is not always kind to them, they can’t be bothered to get upset about it because it isn’t the world that they come home to at the end of the day.
The flashbulbs always seem particularly bright to Harry at events where Louis is by his side. It’s almost blinding, strolling down the red carpet at the movie premiere with Louis’ sweaty palm in his, talking more to each other than to any of the reporters shouting their names. “Don’t see you at many events for this side of the business, Harry,” one calls. “Are you excited about seeing the movie?”
“We’re here for Louis, actually,” Harry stops to answer, smile wide and unabashed. “He loves this series more than he loves me.”
“Not strictly true, but it is a close race,” Louis chimes in. “Did you see the third one? That was fucking amazing.”
“He witheld sex until I got us an in.”
“Also not strictly true, but it was plan B.”
Their heated banter makes more than a few interviewers blush, but at least they’re rewarded when Harry leans in and gives Louis the tenderest kiss E!News has probably ever seen and Louis returns it with a gentle hand on the cheek. “Have a nice night,” Harry tells the cluster of reporters politely as they pull back and start to make their way down the carpet again, hearing the chorus of their names called out once more.
There are flashbulbs and noise, there are soft beds and quiet mornings, there is Harry and Louis and clasped hands that never let go.