Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tie my hands and I knock my knees as
I kneel down, I kneel down in the sea”

– Lady Lamb, Dear Arkansas Daughter

“How many patrons do we have here today?” Louis asks the bypassing waiter.

The young boy – maybe nineteen years old – looks at Louis with his greyish eyes wide open, clearly startled by the question, or the mere fact that the Boss has asked him about something. He composes himself quickly enough, and answers Louis’ question in one breath.

“As usual,” the boy, Mike – as the name tag pinned to his button down supplies – starts. “Full house, Sir.”

Stopped in his tracks, the waiter lingers in his spot, unsure if he has the permission to scurry away or maybe he ought to wait until his boss dismisses him.

Louis scans briefly through the cramped restaurant, nodding approvingly. Only when he’s finished with this perusal, his gaze comes back to the waiter standing unsurely in front of him.

“Good, thank you, you can return to your duties,” the blue-eyed man says in a clipped tone.

And just like that, the waiter vanishes through the door to the mayhem known as the kitchen, the heart of every restaurant.

Today, Louis decides to take a seat at the bar table located along one of the establishment’s walls. It’s his favourite spot, mainly because he has a perspicuous view of all the patrons wining and dining. It’s also relatively close to the bar, so it’s easier for the bartender to refill his glass of Macallan regularly.

He smiles upon spotting the little ivory card that reads Reserved in loopy font, sitting at the table top. Of course, with it being a full house most of the days, he can no longer go without having his favourite spot reserved. They don’t normally accept table reservations, especially since the establishment became more popular, but being theNOname’s owner has its perks. Like, who is going to stop him?

All it takes for Louis to receive his preferred glass of scotch on the rocks is just one look in the direction of the bartender. It’s the same spiel every day, after all.

Louis probably should be worried by the predictability ruling his life, but he opts to leave this worry for another day. Or the day after today. Or maybe the day after that.

He’s sure that there will eventually come a time when he will face all of this mess that some call life. But today’s not that day. He’s waited for it for the last five years, so there’s no harm in waiting some more.

When Louis moved to Berlin – just after his previous relationship ended – it was to seek new experiences in the capital of sin. Berlin is known, after all, as the place where you aren’t judged for the way you simply are. A place where you are almost invisible because everyone minds their own business. A place where you can be free.

Deciding to step away from the hospitality business for a bit, Louis wanted to explore what the city he found himself in had to offer. It shouldn’t be that hard with temptation hiding in every crevice of Germany's capital.

He tried to fully give himself to someone else. Someone new. He really did, but then, after another failed attempt, when he found himself once again left alone – be it on a date or in the morning in bed – he realised that not everyone is deserving of being as lionised as he was used to doing with his boy.

Well, not his anymore.

The awaited catharsis never knocked on his door, so here he is, trying to live his life while still waiting for said life to engulf him whole and spit him out clean, ready to face the world again. Ready to do something. Anything. Anything to break the stagnation he found himself in. Or rather, was put in.

 So, after a few months of trying to find a ray of sunshine to brighten the hollow of his heart, then drowning his sorrows in a sea of the Glenmorangie Signet and only sporadically checking on his restaurants in London and Manchester, he decided that maybe it’d be a good idea to commit his time to opening something in his new city. And it all started from there.

After countless months of preparing, searching for the right place to be put on the market, and finally seeing everything coming together, he was pleased that his idea seemed to work seamlessly with the milieu.

Granted, an establishment like that – described by many critics as the scene restaurant of Berlin – isn’t for everyone, yet Louis had a feeling that the people of Berlin would like it. And judging by the full house today, as well as on most of the days they’re open on, he was right.

First thing patrons are met with after entering the restaurant, is an emblazoned mural of a woman bound by carefully placed ropes, which is one of a few homages to Shibari – the Japanese bondage art – at theNOname. The place itself isn’t as spacious as other of Louis’ restaurants, but that, in his opinion, was required to keep the intimate mood set throughout the place.

On one of the raw, brick walls hangs a wall piece with the place’s motto – Louis’ really – no limits, no boundaries, no name – which is blending exquisitely with the tolerance, freedom, and enjoyment of life deeply rooted in the residents of Berlin, just as well as the city itself.

Actually, the atmosphere of the restaurant goes so well with the ambience of the capital of Germany that, after only three years on the market, it resulted in a Michelin star being installed by the entrance. And ever since, theNOname has been known as the place where sophisticated gourmet, paired with the best of winery products, meets kink.

Louis is brought out of his reverie by a raucous laughter coming from one of the few indoor tables. He turns his head towards the noise and is met with a head of bouncy chocolate curls and a pair of lively gesticulating hands.

He looks at the moving figure and is instantly mesmerised by it.

There, at one of the tables in the middle of the place, are seated two men. One of them, the one facing Louis, is an old one with grey hair covering his head, and all of his life-boredom successfully blemishing his features. If not for the surely expensive suit, someone could think that the man is one of the myriad of ordinary people you’re meeting throughout your whole life. Well, he as well can be if the indignation written all over his face is anything to go by.

And then there’s the boy. Or an angel. Although Louis can’t see his face from his position, he has a clear view of the pale expanse of his shoulders confined by some blouse, or maybe a corset tied with a royal blue ribbon. But even from his spot, Louis can tell that the boy is telling some sort of story if the wild gesticulation of his hands here and there is anything to go by.

Since spotting the pair, Louis can’t seem to take his eyes away from them. No, scratch that. He can’t seem to take his eyes away from the boy.

After watching them for a while, he notices that the chocolate-haired beauty seems to be squirming a lot in his seat. His pale skin shimmers in the dim lighting, moist with sweat. It’s as if something is bothering him from the inside.

It reminds Louis of all these times he was playing with his boy – not his anymore – in public. Be it with a vibrator or some anal beads. So the display of unrest in front of him is quite interesting.

Meanwhile, the older one, albeit decidedly better at keeping his somewhat collected appearance, is looking more troubled than it’s probably acceptable in a public setting. Or required for a casual date with a pretty boy in a nice restaurant.

Everyone else is lost on Louis, when everything he seems to be able to focus on is the way the boy acts.

The curly-haired angel’s voice grows in volume every once in a while when he gets a tad too excited by the story he’s telling. His squirming picks up as well.

But Louis is still watching him, as if entranced.

Due to him gathering his curls to one side, the blue-eyed man is now able to see the sweat glistening also at the back of the boy’s slender neck. It doesn’t last long, though, when the hair returns to its natural position in no time.

The courses are successfully exchanged throughout the whole encounter that Louis is following with rapt attention from his spot at the table. The squirming of the boy pulls a smirk on his lips because although Louis is aware that their food is superb, it surely shouldn’t be a reason for such agitation.

So if it’s not the food’s doing, and especially not the angel’s companion, if the frown on his face is anything to go by, it must be the boy himself.

Louis tries to focus on his posture – gesticulating arms, squirming body, one tapping leg and the other one going up and down the man’s thigh, curls flailing everywhere– wait, the leg, now pressing down on the man’s crotch, purposefully, teasingly, with the lone stiletto left on the floor.

Such a minx, Louis thinks to himself, watching the scene unfold.

The older lad looks like he isn’t enjoying the teasing, though, but nor does he appear to be able to stop it.

A brat then. And a very impotent tamer.

Just when Louis is taking a sip of his refilled scotch, the greying man’s eyes meet his. The restaurateur considers looking away, but he can’t help joining the teasing the boy has going on. Or maybe we should call it taunting? So he lifts up one of his eyebrows, maintaining eye contact with the already troubled man.

The man’s cheeks turn into ripe apples. He redirects his gaze at the boy and with hand wandering under the table, grabs the curly’s ankle and carelessly lets it fall to the floor with an audible thump. Then he proceeds to say something to the boy, as if scolding him, which results in–

“You can’t be serious,” comes the deep voice of the chocolate-haired angel. All teasing gone, replaced by indignation.

Louis doesn't need to see his face to know that an utter bewilderment marres the boy’s features.

“Mein Häschen–” the older man seated in front of the boy tries under his breath. His brows are furrowed, but his mouth, on the other side, turned into a nonchalant smirk, not matching his demeanour in the slightest.

A facade, then.

Louis’ assumption is only confirmed when the lad chances a look in his direction, as if to check if he’s still being observed.

If he only knew that he’s not the one who captured Louis’ attention in the first place. That the azure-eyed man couldn’t give less of a fuck about him.

“What do you mean?” interrupts the boy without even giving the man a chance to finish the sentence. “I am not your anything, so don’t you dare to call me that,” he finishes with a mockery palpable in his voice.

The man’s response is lost on Louis, though. Just as the greying man is opening his mouth, a waitress passes by Louis, surely on a mission to stop the scene from escalating.

“Aahna,” Louis whispers, addressing the waitress who instantly stops and turns to face him. “Don’t.”

She looks curiously between Louis and the table that’s causing the scene, but seems to know better than to argue with her boss. Especially in a room full of patrons.

It’s not like Louis is an overly arrogant boss, far from it really, yet his employees are well aware that he can sometimes fall victim to his short temper. He’s not proud of it, and that’s exactly why he tries to work on the issue, among others, with his therapist, Ute.

“I think it’d be for the best if you’d let me finish my meal in peace.” Comes the breathy voice of the boy. There’s a firmness to it, though, not leaving any room for an argument. “You can see yourself out while I try to find a bathroom.”

Without sparing the now beet-red man a second glance, the angel gets up, taking his arctic blue Chanel Boy clutch with himself. When he pivots in his spot, and storms towards the restroom, Louis gets the opportunity to chance a look at his face in the passing.

The pearl-skinned angel walks by in a blink, so he’s left to stare at his retreating back.

Admiring the young man’s style, Louis can’t help but notice the flared pants that are not only accentuating his mile-long legs, but also matching in colour with his purse.

The real masterpiece, though, is adorning his feline-like chest – a bird corset that makes the boy look like he’s wrapped in a painting. The garment itself beautifully highlights the boy’s curves in all the right places, and the navy ribbon with a bow that rests a few inches above his trouser’s line, only brings attention to his pert bum. All of it is paired with a delicate gold jewellery that’s wrapped around the boy’s neck, as well as his slender arms.

The boy really is a sight to behold, and Louis can’t seem to take his eyes off of him.

When he’s out of Louis’ sight, the restaurateur goes back to observing the patrons that have already returned to their respective meals, leaving the greying man to lick his wounds by himself, all the while refusing to meet Louis’ gaze.

He observes the greying man for a bit, watching him release a deep sigh while finally gathering his bearings. The older lad gets up, and leaves with a “dumme Hure” muttered under his breath.

The patrons closest to their table visibly scowl at him, one of them shouting “fick dich” when the man passes by their table and leaves the restaurant without another glance back.

“What did he say?” Louis asks the bartender.

“The one who left?” Adam checks, and, at his boss’ answering nod, he says with a wince. “He called him a stupid whore.”

Upon hearing that Louis’ brows almost reach his pepper-and-salt hairline.

“Could you go get Janina for me, please?”

“Yeah, of course,” Adam immediately says, already heading towards the back to find the restaurant’s manager.

It doesn’t take long before the sleek-looking woman dressed in an all-black attire makes her way towards Louis. Her brows are furrowed, clearly wondering what her boss might want from her.

“What can I do for you, Louis?” she asks in an urgent tone, probably pulled away from some emergency situation in the kitchen.

“When you’ll have the time, could you please check the cameras and make sure that this old prick that just caused a scene won’t enter this place again?” he inquires in a tone that leaves no room for any argument.

“Sure, no problem,” she nods curtly. “Anything else, boss?”

“No, that’s all. Thank you, love,” he thanks her with a small smile, which she readily reciprocates and with that she’s gone, ready to save whatever chaos has ascended in the back.

Louis is truly blessed to have stumbled upon this woman. Ever since they first met, almost six years ago, he knew he had to get her to work for him. Then the opportunity came, and here they are, creating this place with all these wonderful people. Louis may not say it every day – he has a strict reputation to uphold – but he doesn’t know what he would do without any of them.

Not wanting to get emotional, he wastes no time before indulging himself in one of his favourite hobbies – people-watching.

Somewhere, between marvelling over a lovesick couple feeding each others the oysters with shiitake mouse, and an alone woman in her sixties asking a waitress to send compliments to the Chef regarding their steak with a dip of bone marrow mayonnaise, he’s able to catch a whiff of an amber, leather, and if his olfactory bulbs are correct, a hint of lavender. The scent prompts his head to turn and locate the source of this heavenly combination.

To no-one’s surprise, really , it’s coming from the curly-haired boy who just passed by Louis on his way back to the table.

The pale angel looks around and when he realises that nobody is spearing him a single glance, his shoulders visibly drop on an exhale. On another one he reaches for his almost empty wine glass, and downs the remaining red in one go.

Here goes nothing, Louis tells himself as he leaves his favourite spot behind.

The blue-eyed boss approaches the table with a glass of Macallan in his hand and a gentle smile on his thin lips.

As Louis is within an earshot from where the boy’s sitting, he hears him muttering “what a prick” under his breath. It prompts him to release a little laugh, which he quickly covers with his free hand.

“He didn’t leave any money to cover the bill, did he?” Louis asks, startling the young man a little.

“Huh?” the boy asks, quickly gaining back his composure upon spotting Louis in his navy suit. “No, he didn’t,” he sighs out, now looking up at Louis.

It’s the first time this evening that Louis has a chance to thoroughly scan over the angel’s features.

He’s instantly mesmerised by his mossy-green doe eyes adorned with thick, curled up eyelashes. Then the boy’s cheekbones and his chiselled jaw. Last, but not least, the boy’s rosy lips with a defined Cupid’s bow that are currently pulled into a smirk.

He has been caught staring, then.

“Mind if I join you?” Louis non-sequiturs, gesturing towards the vacated seat at the table.

The boy seems to be considering it for a good minute, finally nodding, and gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him. “Be my guest, I guess. You, for a change, don’t seem like an utter prick.”

A cheeky one.

Louis takes a seat, but before that, he gestures to Adam to refill the empty wine glass.

“Why would you even go on a date with someone like him?” he inquiries, ready to check if the theory he constructed throughout the evening in his head is correct.

“Oh, you know, he paid for my time, so…” he answers flippantly.

“Like a sugar daddy or?” Louis questions further, no malice behind his words, just pure curiosity. The boy must sense it with the way his shoulders relax even further.

“Something like that, yeah,” the meadow-eyed boy admits while taking a sip from his now Merlot-filled glass.

Louis was so taken with the wonder of a person that he didn’t even notice when the bartender took care of the boy’s glass.

“And yet he hasn't even left an envelope for wasting your time.”

“He actually paid for my time before the meeting,” the boy says cheekily. “But yeah, he hasn’t left anything to cover the cost of the dinner,” he ends with a pout marring his wine-stained lips.

And yeah, the pout paired with the doe eyes won’t do. Louis is already gone.

“Beforehand, huh? Isn’t it presumptuous of you, love?”

“Considering I can’t complain about the lack of interest, I’d say that people don’t mind much about pre-paying as well as me being exclusively priced,” the boy teases with a hint of smirk on his red lips. “And there’s nothing presumptuous about any of it.”

“Yeah? And what would this price be, darling?” Louis questions with a raised brow.

Taking a sip of his scotch, Louis observes the boy digging into the next meal of the course.

“Mmm, very presumptuous of you to think that you’re a part of my target group.”

The playfulness and a hint of brattiness the boy puts into his tone makes Louis release a breathless laugh, which causes a dimple to pop in the young man’s cheek.

“We have to agree to disagree then–” Louis trails off, hoping it’ll prompt the boy to divulge his name.

“Harry,” he reveals mid-bite, eyes focused on Louis when his lips close around the fork.

“Harry?” Louis squints his eyes at the name. “Is it your real name or just a fake one you are using with your customers?”

“I think we’ve already established that you aren’t really fit to be my customer, didn’t we?” Harry sighs with a gleam of mirth shining in his pond-like eyes.

“And why is that again, love?”

The question seems to surprise Harry, like he hasn’t thought that Louis might inquire him about something, let alone his opinion about the man himself.

“You don’t look like someone who needs to pay for someone else to entertain them,” he answers, the mirth in his voice long gone. “You just exude this energy that I’m sure makes people fall to their knees in front of you, meanwhile,” and the teasing’s back, “I’m a brat I don’t think you could handle, so it’d be a shame to burst this bubble, wouldn’t it be, Louis?”

He says it all with a coy smile marring his red lips. Very sinful lips.

The doe-eyed boy goes back to eating, while Louis observes him for a while – the pink tongue peaking out before every bite, the green eyes fluttering every now and then, and the smug expression painting his sharp features.

“Interesting insight, honey.” The tone of Louis’ voice prompts the boy to swallow what’s already been in his mouth, not daring to keep on consuming. “I, on the other hand, think that you’d be falling to your knees in front of me without even thinking about any payment. Something tells me that hard love isn’t a key to your submissiveness, is it, petal? What if I just-” Louis stands up, circles the table and comes to a halt behind a still-seated Harry. His hand comes to gather the boy’s locks, freeing his ear, “told you what good of a boy you were, sending this dickface in his merry way? And then praised you for oh so carefully choosing your today’s attire, little love?” A clank of Harry’s fork that has fallen on the floor only underlines the boy’s chopped breathing. “Then asked you to please me, leave yourself open for me to explore. Wouldn’t you want to please me, Harry? To be my good boy?”

It leaves Harry with bated breath, completely unmoving, with his eyes closed, as if trying to stave off the inevitable.

“But it’s a shame, really, because maybe I’m wrong since you seem to have me all figured out already,” Louis says, straightening his body and taking a few steps back. He waits for Harry to open his eyes and find him to add in a lieu of goodbye. “Enjoy your dinner, darling. It’s on the house.”

And with that he’s gone.

&

Only when Louis goes through his nightly routine, he remembers that he was so infatuated with the boy that he hasn’t even thought about asking what the man did to him in the first place. Nor did he acquire the angel’s phone number.

And then, when he lays between the bedsheets, left replaying the conversation back-to-back, the blue-eyed man realises that Harry knew his name, yet he can’t recall introducing himself.

Chapter Text

“Someone told me 'stay away from things that aren’t yours'
But was he yours if he wanted me so bad?”

– Melanie Martinez, Pacify Her

The next time Louis stumbles upon Harry, he’s seated on the pink-cushioned sofa of Prince Charles – one of his mate’s, Niall, favourite clubs located in Kreuzberg.

When Louis decided to move to Berlin, Prince Charles used to be one of his go-to places as well. Now, he prefers the solitude only his flat can grant him.

The sole idea of this place, though – an open space arranged in the premises of the former Bechstein piano manufactory’s swimming pool – along with the prevalent vibe of its attendees – carefree, ready to explore, hypnotising – forms a really unique ambience.

A place like that could be curated only by a liberated soul. And that’s why Louis was so pleased that he got to meet the owner – Zayn Malik – a few years ago. All it took for them to hit it off was a few bottles of tequila. Since then, they’ve been as thick as thieves.

It’s needless to say that thanks to being that close with the owner, the manager of the club always makes sure to reserve the best space for Louis or his mates.

His mates, which are the sole reason Louis reluctantly decided to give in to Niall’s pleas and finally – according to his friend, mind you – go out.

He had a pretty chill day anyway, with the restaurant being closed today, so he figured he might as well enjoy himself a bit. Maybe he will manage to forget about the meadow eyes that keep on haunting him in his dreams.

The thing is, sometimes the dreams are just what he needs to wake up rutting against the mattress, with the boy’s name on his tongue.

More often than not, though, he wakes up with a rabiting heart and body covered in sweat. It’s all thanks to the nightmares that his subconscious keeps coming with. In some of them, he’s only aware that Harry is being coerced into doing something he doesn’t want to do. In others, Louis is the one forced to watch everything that keeps happening to Harry. In none of them can he save the boy.

The pepper-haired man is brought back from his thoughts by a drunk person literally plopping onto his lap. Upon seeing his perplexed scowl, though, the person manages to scramble from their position on his thigh, muttering apologies under their breath.

Everything happened so fast that he didn’t even have the chance to react to the situation he found himself in. Chancing a look in said person’s direction, he can clearly see that, judging by the level of their intoxication, they must’ve probably stumbled over their own legs.

Releasing a relieved breath, the blue-eyed man glances at his watch and notices that he’s been waiting for Niall to return to their designated spot for over twenty minutes. He can’t help but roll his eyes at that.

In order to let the time pass, he indulges himself in watching the myriad of people who are, right in front of him, dancing to the house music of the night.

Just as he’s about to get up and go search for his clearly lost friend, his eye catches a series of blinks coming from the middle of the crowd.

The room is relatively dark, with only a few glimmering lights here and there, so the enticing swaying of something sparkling manages to capture his attention.

Louis stays seated and observes.

The blinking points seem to be several jewels hanging from what looks like a body chain encircling a slim waist and resting on slightly pudgy love handles.

The person moves – most of the time, at least – to the rhythm of Melanie Martinez’s Alphabet Boy that’s currently playing through the speakers.

Trying to mesmerise everyone, they move their hips teasingly, going in circles and making the jewels swirl.

Louis can’t speak for everyone in here, but he’s getting successfully more and more captivated with every passing second of the show this person is putting on.

The crowd seems to clear out a bit. Or maybe the tempting siren is just getting closer to him. The only thing that truly matters to the golden-skinned man is that he gets to have a better view of them.

First, he’s met with their pert bum that is clad in a white-ish satin mini-skirt.

Then he gets to trace his eyes over the miles-long legs, covered in some glitter, if the shimmering skin is anything to go by.

At last, he gets a clear view of their back, housed in a matching satin baby tee that ends a few centimetres above the waistband of the skirt, leaving a space for a little bit of milky skin to pop out.

The person’s neck is barred, their hair scooped up into a bun, a few ringlets here and there are left hanging free.

He doesn’t get to marvel for a long time about the person's identity, because they instantly pivot towards him – as if sensing that he couldn’t tear his gaze from them – and he’s met with the angel face of Harry.

His Harry. Not his Harry. Yet.

Louis promptly notices that the boy doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. Quite the opposite, really, if the smirk marring his rose-coloured lips serves as an indication of his intentions.

The blue-eyed man is about to abandon his spot and join him, when he notices the hands placed on Harry’s hips.

He looks at the boy’s face again, just in time to see him mouthing the lyrics ’but you’re not my daddy and I’m not your dolly’ looking straight into Louis’ eyes; challenge written all over his face.

Deciding to settle back, Louis spreads his legs a bit more than necessary, and observes the show his – not yet, screams his mind – angel wants to put out.

He stays still for a few minutes, his eyes moving slowly up and down the moving figure’s lean body.

It’s not hard to get lost in the enticing sway of those hips. In the satin-covered rump. In the finesse with which Harry’s hands are wandering all over his own body, as if pleading for Louis to replace them with his own.

Just as it’s not easy to ignore the sturdy hands grabbing roughly at said hips and rump. Not caring about the delicate skin in the slightest, but instead making sure to leave blemishes – marks of ownership – all over it.

Harry doesn’t look like he’s paying the man glued to his back any mind, though. He keeps his glassy eyes on Louis, and Louis only.

Song after song. Minute after minute. Second after second.

Louis feels like he’s going insane, but the boy seems to be enjoying himself. That is until the man’s face comes into view.

The blue-eyed restaurateur observes as the other man leaves a wet kiss behind Harry’s ear and then mutters something into its shell.

Harry’s brows furrow, his mouth twists, but all of these emotions pass so fast that Louis’ not sure any of them were real. It’s probably due to the boy’s mastered ability of schooling his features or just keeping a poker face.

Nodding, Harry bites his lips and looks unsurely over at Louis, and then, as if nothing happened, the man leaves in a blink, getting lost in the still dancing crowd.

The green-eyed angel spares Louis a glance, as if hesitating or maybe asking what to do. He seems to think better of it, though, because he pivots in his spot and hurries in the direction of the bathrooms.

And yeah, that won’t do.

Louis immediately gets up, following in the boy’s tracks.

When he gets to the secluded area where the bathrooms are located, he sees the messy bun full of chocolate curls disappearing through the door on the far end of the hallway.

Coming to a stand in front of the door, Louis knocks and waits.

All he gets is a faint “come in” coming from the inside.

He peruses the hallway, making sure Harry’s companion isn’t on his way to the bathroom. When Louis deems it clear enough, he opens the door and is faced with a sight so beautiful, yet so heartbreaking at the same time, that he feels like crying.

Some of the lights in the bathroom are lit up, bathing the interior in a warm white hue. The walls, as well as the floor, are covered with bottle green tiles. The room is quite dark on its own. Maybe that’s what’s making the sight in front of him even more tragic.

What he opens the door to is the sight of Harry standing at the vanity, in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

His skirt, as well as his top are folded neatly on the countertop on the other side of the sink. And just now Louis gets to notice the sparkly fishnet stockings ending high on the boy’s thighs. Harry’s pert bum is barely-covered by a pearly white satin thong, on top of which rests a matching garter belt linked to the top of the fishnets. Then there’s the plain canvas of his back, only with some sort of an apt bralette covering the angel’s chest. And at last, Louis notices the body chain hanging from around the boy’s middle.

It’d be a sight to behold if not for the trembling of Harry’s body that can be seen in the way his hands can’t seem to untie the ribbon keeping his hair together.

The sharp intake of air that Louis takes upon seeing that Harry seems lost within himself, not even noticing that it’s Louis, not his partner of the night, who entered the room, is what causes the boy to start shaking even more.

Louis stays in place for what feels like eternity, but the boy in front of him doesn’t look like he’s noticing anything besides the storm happening in his own eyes, yet alone the time passing by.

He probably can’t wait for it to be over .

Deadbolting the door, the ocean-eyed man takes a few deep breaths, and closes the distance between the two of them. When he’s beside the boy, he looks into the mirror and notices that Harry is already observing him with an expressionless face.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Louis asks, not wanting to do anything Harry hasn’t consented to.

It takes a moment for the angel to get out of his funk, but he does manage a little nod of approval. It’ll have to suffice for now.

Carefully, Louis places his hands on the meadow-eyed boy’s love handles, not tearing his gaze away from the reflection of Harry’s face in the mirror.

Then, bringing his mouth closer to Harry’s shoulder, he kisses delicately the exposed skin, just a few millimetres away from the bralette’s strap, closing his eyes while doing so.

It’s needless to say that the boy’s breath hitches at the tender display of affection. His shivers seem to settle at that as well.

After a few minutes of sinking into each other’s warmth, there’s a loud commotion outside of the bathroom. Probably Harry’s companion, if the tensing of the boy’ muscles is any indication.

Louis lessens his hold on the young man’s love handles, yet, as he notices with a surprise, Harry isn’t stepping out of his embrace.

“Louis?” comes his angel’s faint voice.

Oh, how Louis missed his voice.

“Yeah, little love?”

A hitch in Harry’s breath, and then, “Can you get us out of here? Please?”

Tightening his hold on Harry’s hips significantly, as if to reassure the boy that he’s got him, Louis places another kiss on the exposed skin.

“Yeah, H. Of course.”

They stay standing for a few minutes, waiting for the man outside to fuck off, as well as just bathing in each other’s presence. Then, regretfully, Louis steps back to give Harry some space to put his clothes back on.

When Louis gears himself up to open the bathroom door, the boy grabs his arm, and speaks before the blue-eyed man gets to ask what’s wrong.

“Could you- umm- please, could you give me your jacket?” Harry asks with tears glistening in his eyes.

Just now, Louis notices how the boy is trying to shield his body from Louis’s gaze. Or maybe he just wants to avoid the inquisitive looks from the people they’re going to face on the other side of the bathroom door.

Looking down at his Tom Ford leather jacket, Louis instantly shrugs it off, helping Harry put it on and then zipping it up for him. The motion prompts the boy to release a little giggle, and, oh heavens, what a wonderful sound.

“Ready?” Louis asks the meadow-eyed wonder.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out.

The boy looks like he’s still not entirely back here, but the golden-skinned man’s glad that Harry trusts him enough to let Louis take care of him.

Unlocking the door’s latch, he grabs his boy’s hand and leads them out into the space swarmed with sweaty bodies. They don’t get too far before a sturdy body emerges from the ground right in front of Louis, successfully stopping them in their tracks.

Louis looks into the man’s black eyes and sees nothing but determination and possessiveness swimming in his enlarged pupils, causing them to step back.

With Berlin being the capital of the sin, he can’t be entirely sure the man isn’t on some kind of drugs. He can’t be sure he won’t do something to harm them. To harm Harry.

The hovering man, after he’s done with scrutinising Louis, looks past his shoulder and smiles wolfishly at the trembling boy.

“Lovely,” he speaks up, pointedly lowering his voice. “Where have you been? I couldn’t find you.”

“I- uh. I was wait- I was in the bathroom,” Harry answers in one breath, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Yeah?” the black-eyed man inquires, looking between Harry and Louis. “It’s good that you’ve been found, isn’t it? Come here,” he adds while reaching out for the shivering boy.

Harry stays glued to Louis’ side, though, which isn’t lost on the man.

“Lovely, is there a problem?”

The green-eyed angel looks at the man, quickly averting his eyes to pleadingly gaze up at Louis.

And Louis knows in an instant that he is fucked. So, so fucked.

“Listen, mate, Har-” he starts, just for the man to interrupt him.

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I paid for your time,” the man says nonchalantly, completely ignoring Louis and trying to maintain eye contact with the curly-haired boy. “And you weren’t some cheap whore, were you, lovely?”

Louis can see from the corner of his eyes how the precious angel hangs his head, defeated.

It’s all too similar to the dreams he has been having. And, yeah, Louis sees red at the moment.

“Okay, listen here,” the blue-eyed man says, voice leaving no room for an argument. “Do not speak to him like that. Also, I’ll reimburse you whatever you paid for his time, if that’s what it’ll take for you to not make a fucking scene.”

“Are you fucking deaf?” the man challenges. “I can refer to him however I want, he’s mine for the night. Besides, I don’t want your money. I want him.”

Just as Louis is about to respond, he’s being flanked by both Niall and Zayn.

“Boys,” Zayn says to the few bodyguards that came with them, gesturing in the direction of the black-eyed man. “Remove him from the club’s premises.”

“You can’t just kick me out, you fucker,” the agitated guy says towards the honey-skinned man. “I won’t leave without him,” the man adds, pointing at Harry.

“Boys,” Zayn repeats calmly, as if he couldn’t give more of a fuck what the man does or doesn’t want. He probably couldn’t, and in other circumstances it’d make Louis laugh. “Out with him.”

Apparently, it’s all that needed to be said for the man to get dragged out by bodyguards twice his size.

“Gudiya, hey,” Zayn says to Harry. “Doll, look at me,” he lifts the boy’s quivering chin with a gentle finger.

Louis tries to take a step back, give them some space, but the wounded sound coming from his boy when he tries to pull his hand out of his grip, prompts Louis to rethink his decision.

It also causes Zayn to stop his fussing over the boy, but not before levelling Louis with his unnerving gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn sighs out. “Do you want to come with me or would you rather go with Louis, doll face?”

Harry looks at him, then at Louis, returning his gaze to the raven-haired man in the end. Louis’ not sure what he’s looking for, but it appears that he found it when a small smile blossoms on his pale face.

“Louis?” he asks, a hopeful edge to his gaze.

“H,” Louis breaths out, not able to contain his surprised grin, when Zayn looks like the answer was the most obvious one the boy could give.

“Okay, I see, just-” Zayn turns to Louis, sincerity written all over his face. “Just take care of him, Tommo.”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Louis promises. “I will.”

“I know, otherwise I wouldn’t have even asked,” Zayn sums up, with a knowing grin marring his god-like features.

And with that the honey-skinned man places a gentle kiss on Harry’s forehead and pivoting in his spot, goes back to his duties.

Just now, Louis realised that Niall already left them. He can’t help but roll his eyes at Niall’s antics once again. That’s probably how one behaves when they’re head over heels in love with their boyfriend they met in Fiji a few months back.

“Okay, angel,” Louis tries, turning to Harry. “Ready to go home?”

A nod.

Okay.

Here goes nothing.

&

“Good evening, Mr Tomlinson,” the porter greets them from behind his desk when they enter the lobby of Louis’ building.

“Evening, Martin,” Louis nods towards the dark-haired man who is courteous enough to not spare them a glance.

Normally, Louis would love to show Harry off to whoever might stumble upon them. But today, he is thankful for the privacy only the money can offer.

He leads his boy towards the ostentatiously golden lifts. With a hand secured on Harry’s waist, he manages to get them through the marmour-clad lobby without anyone else spotting the two of them.

Louis always hated the pretentious tone of this building, but his flat, along with the 360 view of the city are well worth it. He can only hope that the boy will see through the pompousness, and won’t perceive Louis as another wealthy prick.

“A penthouse?” Harry asks with a curiously raised brow when he sees Louis pressing the top floor button.

“Well, yeah,” he stutters out.

And no, he doesn’t know, either, why he’s suddenly so nervous.

It might be because of the fact that it’s been a long time since he has invited anyone to his apartment. Let alone someone he cared about. And, yeah, he’s aware that it’s literally his second time meeting Harry, but that doesn’t mean that the long-forgotten fluttering happening right now in his belly is any less relevant.

Thankfully, Harry doesn’t tease him about it. They just share a private smile.

What makes Louis relax a bit is when the boy decides to rest his head on his shoulder, making himself comfortable in the blue-eyed man’s embrace.

“I should probably tell you that-” Louis starts just as the lift’s golden door opens, and they are greeted by Mercole – Louis’ best companion these past few years.

The high-pitched squeal Harry makes at the sight makes Louis visibly wince. But then the young man disentangles himself from Louis only to fall to his knees and open his arms with a biggest grin lighting up his face.

And, yeah, is Louis really surprised when the dog looks just as excited as Harry does? Like, who wouldn’t be excited to get their own Harry-hug?

Mercole darts into the boy’s arms, and then lets himself be scooped up just to be the centre of Harry’s attention and adoration.

And Louis’ not jealous. He refuses to be jealous of his dog.

Okay, maybe he’s a little jealous, but then Harry looks up at him – the fondness in his eyes being reflected right back at Louis – and suddenly everything seems alright.

More than alright, truth be told.

Louis lets himself get lost for a bit in the little bubble they created, but then his boy raises to his feet – the Italian Greyhound settled securely in his arms – and reaches for Louis to pull him out of the lift, kissing him on the cheek just when the golden door closes.

And Louis knows that he’s already falling for the cherub.

They enter the flat fully, and the sight of the satin-clad boy with his moist eyes, child-like laughter, and a heart on his sleeve, does things to Louis.

Harry literally brightens the dull room solely with his presence, and the blue-eyed man can’t take his eyes off of him.

The curly-haired boy darts his eyes around, admiring the little bits, and commenting softly on all the things he finds interesting, or fitting, or just Louis.

(“Oh, Lou , I love these bears,” he said while touching with delicate fingers one of the few bears in Louis’s collection. “It’s such a thoughtful thing to pay a homage to the city’s culture.”; “Oh, you little sparkle, what a nice den you have here,” he referred to the dog, and then looking straight into Louis’ eyes, he added with a smirk on his sinful lips, “It looks like your daddy loves you very much.” And Louis didn’t have the heart to tell Harry that he doesn’t refer to himself as the dog’s daddy , but he wouldn’t be opposed to the boy calling him that.)

Louis is left just standing in the entryway of his own flat, letting Harry explore the space on his own.

After a while, he comes up to the boy, placing a hand on his forearm, which manages to successfully stop Harry in his tracks.

“Would you like something to drink, angel?”

Harry looks at him, his gaze soft, lips pursed. “Yeah, Lou, tea would be lovely, please, but uh- could you, maybe, lend me some clothes so I could change into something more comfortable?” he asks timidly.

“Of course, precious,” Louis takes his hand. “Come with me,” he says and leads the boy in the direction of his bedroom with an adorning dressing-room. “Feel free to choose whatever you want, and I’ll go to make us some good ol’ tea, okay?”

“Thank you, Louis,” Harry says shyly, looking down at his pointed inward toes.

“No problem, love.”

&

“Lou?” Comes the faint voice of Harry.

“On the terrace,” he shouts, looking at the glass sliding door, soon enough spotting a casual-looking Harry stepping through them.

Harry, his lovely boy, looks so comfortable wearing Louis’s grey track pants along with some worn out band tee – Nirvana, if he remembers correctly. His body is barren of the jewellery, while his hair is back up in a bun.

He looks utterly adorable, and Louis can’t believe he gets to see him like that.

“Come here, H,” Louis invites patting a spot next to him on the outdoor loveseat.

It seems that all the courage, all the grace that Harry used to possess, has been left in Louis’ dressing room with all the silks that were covering his body.

Now Harry’s just a boy. A precious one at that.

The meadow-eyed wonder scurries towards the loveseat, instantly glueing himself to Louis’s side and chancing a look at the surrounding, as if just now noticing the starry sky, adorned with a full moon, being the background of the city’s grand buildings.

“It’s a nice view, innit?” Louis asks, having his eyes set entirely on Harry.

“It really is,” he answers, placing his head on Louis’ shoulder after receiving the proffered cup of tea.

“I added some elderberry flower syrup that my mom made last spring,” Louis explains when Harry looks up at him questioningly after having a sip of the beverage.

“It’s good,” the boy comments softly. “It reminds me of home.”

“Yeah,” Louis rasps out after swallowing. “Me too, petal.”

A content sigh is all Louis gets at first, but then there’s also a peck left by a pair of soft lips on his collarbone.

And maybe they haven’t known each other for long. Maybe they’re still strangers. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But one thing’s for sure, Louis doesn’t remember a time when he felt more at peace than he feels now.

And that’s enough for him.

Chapter Text

“I was an ideal
Looked so alive, turns out, I’m not real
Just something you paid for”

– Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For?

Harry lays tummy-down on the black sheets.

A broken sound, something akin to a whimper, leaves his mouth every now and then.

Eyes shut, mouth, however, hanging open, gasping for air.

His fists grip the ivory silk ties that hold his limbs still, leaving the mossy-eyed man no room to move. Harry knew what to expect when the other man placed him – blindfolded – in the middle of the bed and began to gently rattle the metal hooks that are permanently drilled into each bedpost.

“Shush, little bunny,” comes Louis’ voice. “We don’t want to wake the whole building up, do we?”

An involuntary moan slips through the gap of Harry’s parted lips.

“I asked you a question, darling,” the blue-eyed man says. His tone stern, accompanied by a hard smack to Harry’s bum.

“No, we don’t, daddy,” the boy responds shakily.

“Good girl,” comes the praise from Louis. “Daddy’s good girl.”

And with that Harry comes, painting the onyx sheets in his pearly release.

Roused by the rays of the early June sun, Harry’s eyes flutter open. His post-sleep haze is cut short, though, when he notices the position he’s – they’re – in.

It appears that last night, the two of them fell asleep on Louis’ roof terrace, curled into each other on the outdoor loveseat.

As to not startle Louis from his slumber, Harry gently picks up his head and looks down at the other man on top of whom he’s currently laying. Louis’ arm is around Harry’s waist, and his fingers are delicately caressing the bit of milky skin that pokes from where Harry’s – Louis’ – shirt has ridden up.

None of it helps Harry’s internal freak out session.

The thing is, Harry should get a grip – after their first encounter he willed himself to stay away from Louis. He could already sense that the blue-eyed man was different – the good kind of different, but it terrified Harry nonetheless. Truth be told, he doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of people – confident from within themselves, kinder than others probably deserve, and as selfless as no man ought to be.

It’s such a wild concept for Harry. In his line of work, you don’t meet people like that. Like Louis. Harry’s clientele consists of people whose confidence is bought by the number on their accounts, kindness barely exists, and selflessness is frowned upon.

Harry’s been in this profession long enough – an exclusive escort as a matter of law, a sugar baby according to him, and a prostitute in most of his clients’ eyes – that he is familiar with how to proceed with those kinds of people.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that not everyone fits into that bracket.

Yesterday, though, Harry noticed the other man perched on the sofa above the dance floor, perusing the Prince Charles’ sweaty crowd, as if looking for entertainment. For something – someone – to catch his eye. And the chocolate-haired boy couldn’t bear the thought of someone else, somebody who is not him, satisfying Louis’ need.

Harry didn’t care that he was in the club as a paid companion of a client with whom he was for the first, and surely last time with. He also didn’t care that the hands on his hips weren’t Louis’. All that mattered to Harry was the fact that the blue-eyed man couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sway of said hips.

But he started to care when the client figured out what Harry was playing at. He started caring when the older man brought his moist lips to Harry’s earshell and murmured, “don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you little slag, better pay the credit where it’s due.” Then, accompanying it with a harsh slap to Harry’s silk-clad arsecheek, he added, “I expect you to wait for me in the toilet at the end of the corridor. Ready to fuck.”

Harry couldn’t do it to Louis. Nor to himself. But he couldn’t not do it either. His client was paying him for that, after all, and Harry couldn’t risk his reputation in the sugar bowl getting tarnished.

So the meadow-eyed boy did what he reasoned was the best option – followed the instructions of the paying customer.

Or he tried to do so, at least.

Now, the very thought that he would have probably followed through, if it wasn’t for Louis showing up before the other man did, makes Harry flinch. The unexpected movement promptly startles Louis from his slumber.

Louis blinks his eyes open and looks up at Harry, alarmed, but after studying the green-eyed boy’s face for a few seconds, he relaxes his features with his lips curling into a small private smile that Harry immediately reciprocates.

“Hello, morningbird,” Louis rasps out.

And, yeah, Harry wasn’t prepared for the vision that is Louis Tomlinson waking up – his feathery hair ruffled, some shirt buttons popped open, displaying the golden pane of his chest mussed with a layer of fine greying hair – let alone his morning voice, gravelly from the few hours of disuse.

Everything combined does things to Harry.

“Lost in a daydream much, huh?” the blue-eyed man chuckles, squeezing the supple skin of Harry’s hip.

Mulling over Louis’ words, Harry realises that he has yet to respond to the other man.

Looking down at Louis, with the man’s hand moving up and down Harry’s lower back, the boy’s suddenly reminded of the dream he had earlier. It’s needless to say that his cheeks are reddening in an instant.

Because how is one supposed to move on from that? And since when is Harry even a pet names person? He’s got no idea, but he certainly doesn’t mind Louis using pet names when talking to Harry.

Little bunny. Darling. Good girl. Daddy’s good girl . That’s a lot for a few sentences in a dream, Harry tries to tell his brain. Surely Louis wouldn’t use them all, right? 

But then Harry looks back at the man nestled beneath him and notices that Louis is watching him with rapt attention, smiling up at him all the while, clearly amused.

“Everything alright, little love?”

And yeah, the pet names battle is lost. He’s sold.

“Yeah,” the meadow-eyed boy gets out. “Yeah, everything’s good, yeah,” he adds after clearing his throat.

“Yeah?” Louis checks with a raised brow, holding back a laugh. “Because you look a bit ruffled, love. And your hard-on is poking me in the thigh.”

And if Harry thought his cheeks were flushed before, he’s sure that they’re completely red now.

He looks away from Louis, embarrassment flowing in his veins, but his cock seems to be even more excited if the feel of precome wetting his joggers is anything to go by.

“Hey, look at me, angel,” Louis says, reaching with a gentle hand for the boy’s jaw and turning Harry’s flaming face back towards himself. “I wasn’t making fun of you, okay?” All he gets as an answer is a meek nod. “If you’d look carefully, you’d notice that I’m not on the innocent side either.”

And now, when the ocean-eyed man mentioned it, Harry does look down Louis’ body and is met with a very prominent bulge in the crotch area of the man’s onyx trousers.

And oh. Oh.

Not knowing how to proceed, Harry does what he would normally do – takes Louis’ shamelessness as a hint that he should solve the problem in said man’s slacks.

With a tentative hand, the boy reaches towards Louis’ belt, taking a hold of the metal buckle. He doesn’t get far, though, before he’s stopped by the man’s hand grabbing his forearm.

“What are you doing, doll face?” Louis questions, confusion marring his voice.

And what? What does he mean by that?

“I- uh, I mean, it’s pretty obvious, what you want from me, I mean, isn’t it?” Harry stutters out, not taking his eyes off of Louis’ hold on his arm.

“What’s obvious?” the gold-skinned man inquires.

Harry chances an unsure look at Louis and is met with clouded blues staring right back at him.

“Umm- y’know,” he gets out. He is a bit choked up, but he decides to plough on. “You know who I am – what I am – don’t you? So don’t play stupid with me, Louis, and let me do what you brought me here for,” he challenges, sadness turning into determination.

It’s always better to diminish yourself before others will have the chance, isn’t it?

Harry doesn’t need to see Louis’ face to know it’s layered by disappointment. It’s all his doing, as always, so the man isn’t really to be blamed.

Good, better disappoint him now than later, after you’ve given him your heart to hold.

Pulling his hand out of Louis’s grip, the boy gets on his knees in front of the now-seated man. Louis doesn’t do anything besides observing him with an emotionless face.

See? He isn’t different from them all. And you’re the whore everyone claims you to be. Giving it up for free now? Pathetic.

After unbuckling Louis’ black leather belt, he gets to unbutton his trousers. The blue-eyed man’s black briefs serve as the last barrier between Harry and Louis’ cock.

Harry takes a moment to gather himself, but quickly decides that it’s better to do it now, so he moves his palms up Louis’ thigh to pull the man’s member out of cotton briefs. It doesn’t look like Louis is keen on co-operation, though.

Typical.

Just as Harry’s pulling the waistband away, the man takes a hold of his hand, again, and gingerly brings it to his lips.

“Angel,” Louis whispers, sounding incredibly sad. Broken. “What are you doing?”

Harry looks up at him, and just now, when he tries to focus on Louis’ features, the curly-haired man notices that his vision is blurred by the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Oh, love,” Louis brings their joined palms to his heart and Harry, right then and there, effectively loses it.

The lanky boy folds in on himself – being bracketed by Louis’ spread thighs – and lays his head on the man’s lap, sobbing.

From between the noises coming from within himself, Harry can hear Louis – his pleas for Harry to calm down.

He can’t really do that, can he? When all he wants to do is scream his lungs out? He wants to cry. He wants to die.

Because how come someone as dirty, as impure, as used, as Harry has enough luck to stumble upon someone as caring, as adoring, as perfect – for Harry – as Louis? 

How come he gets to meet him now after years of lying to the world? After years of lying to himself about who he truly is. After years of being used and then dropped by so many men. After years of hearing from the majority of them every derogatory term known to mankind.

How come Louis has to see him now, at his lowest point, and still looks at him with so much adoration?

Truth be told, they practically don’t know each other, but Harry came across many men in his life, and albeit some adored him, no-one looked at him like that. No-one looked at him like he mattered. No-one perceived him as anything other than a toy to be used. No-one truly cared.

And Louis cares. Oh God, he cares so much. It’s clear in the way he’s holding Harry right now. It was clear in the way he took care of him yesterday, as well as the night they met.

“It’s on the house,” he said in lieu of a goodbye, and while it was cocky, teasing, it made Harry feel looked after.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” he inquired yesterday, seeking Harry’s consent – something most don’t bother with.

“What are you doing, doll face?” he asked just now. “Angel, what are you doing?” he demanded to know. “Oh, love,” he concluded when understanding hit him.

Harry can feel a panic attack incoming, his chest is getting tighter with every breath, as well as his sobs are getting more inaudible with every other attempt to get some air.

Louis has to feel it, too, because he hauls Harry up, like one would do with a lifeless ragdoll, and starts caressing his cheek after placing Harry’s other hand on his uncovered chest, pleading with Harry to try to follow the steady pattern of his breathing.

And Harry looks at the ocean-eyed man – studies his furrowed brows, frenzied eyes, moving mouth – and wills himself to trust him, to follow him, to let himself be taken care of by him.

Dragging his free hand to also place it on Louis’ chest, Harry meets his ocean blue eyes and lets the calm encompass him whole.

“Here you go, love,” Louis encourages. “So good. You are so good, H.”

When Harry deems his breath steady enough, he closes his eyes and puts his head on Louis’ shoulder, with his nose touching the man’s throat. It grants him unobstructed access to inhale the blue-eyed man’s scent as much as he wants.

Louis continues to hold Harry’s hand on his chest, right above his heart. He brings his other one towards the boy’s tangled curls, gently caressing the chocolate ringlets.

They sit like that for a while, listening to the sounds of the city surrounding them, as well as breathing each other in.

&

“You scared me for a bit there, love.”

Louis is the first one to break the now-comfortable silence that’s settled upon them. It’s hard to tell how much time passed, but by now, he’s positive that Harry properly calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” the green-eyed boy murmurs, hiding his face further in Louis’ neck.

“I don’t want you to be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“We have to agree to disagree then.”

“Okay, no. What are you sorry for?” Louis asks, keen to get a glimpse of what’s going on in the pretty head of his boy.

“For ruining your day. And your evening last night, too,” Harry admits. “You were clearly looking for some fun and look what you ended up with, a pathet-”

“You better not finish this sentence, love,” he threatens lightly. “Besides, why are you so  quick to assume things about me? I don’t feel like anything has been ruined,” Louis adds in a gentle tone, caressing Harry’s bare arm. “Quite the opposite, really because, yeah, I was looking for someone, but the minute I saw you last night, looking all pretty in your sinful satin set, I realised that I was looking for you all along.”

“Stop,” Harry states timidly. “You’re making me blush.”

“Oh? Am I now? Who would’ve thought that a tease like yourself might get shy?” Louis taunts, accompanying his words with a playful pinch to the boy’s side.

“‘M not a tease.”

“No? So what was yesterday about?” Louis plays along. “I seem to recall you mouthing some truly filthy lyrics, and untrue ones at that, weren’t they, baby honey?”

The gold-skinned man’s words make Harry’s breath hitch, and his heart skip a beat because what even is Louis implying?

Harry looks up at the other man and is met with a pair of blue blue eyes, adorned with crinkles clearly caused by the shit-eating grin marring Louis’ lips.

But you’re not my daddy and I’m not your dolly.

“What do you mean by that, Louis?” Harry asks because no, it surely can’t be-

This man, exceptionally good-looking, but most importantly, unbelievably kind-hearted, can’t want someone like Harry. Someone who’s so broken. Someone who’s so used.

“You know what I mean, H,” he replies. “I want to take care of you, if you would like that as well, of course.”

“I- I, ekhm, I don’t,” he starts. “I don’t kn-”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain,” Louis chuckles lightly. He tries very hard to put the disappointment away. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be with me.”

“What? No, no, I do.”

“You do?” he inquires, clearly lost by the confusing answers Harry is granting him.

“Yeah, of course, I want to, I just-” A breath in. And out. Here goes nothing. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me, that’s all,” he ends in a small voice.

“Someone like you?”

“Y’know, someone so used, spent, dirty,” Harry explains.

“H,” the blue-eyed man says. “We aren’t living in the eighteenth century, you know? I have no right to require you to be an innocent virgin.”

“No, I know that. Just-” he tries. “Why settle for someone like me? For some whore if you could have anyone? If you could have someone better than me?”

“First of all, I don’t know where all these derogatory terms in regard to yourself are coming from, but you should stop with such foul language, especially when the terms you’re using are nowhere near the truth,” Louis concludes, his tone firm as if daring Harry to argue with him. “From what I’ve gathered, you are in a sugar bowl, and even if you weren’t, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. Secondly,” he ploughs on. “I don’t want to have anyone. I don’t want to have someone who pretends to be perfect. I want you. I want to wake up and fall asleep to the sight of your cherubic face, your muddy curls, the baby fat on your love handles, your bratty personality, your vulnerable heart. So, yeah, I would be content if you’d agree to be my baby. Sugar or not.”

And the thing is, Harry’s sure Louis’ gone mad because he can’t know these things after meeting him twice, can he?

He’s ready to tell Louis as much, but the realisation that hits him, makes him reconsider his soon-to-be-made choice.

Because if he is so sure Louis can’t know those things for sure, then why did Harry know last night that Louis would take care of him? That he’d be safe in Louis’ embrace?

“Okay,” Harry says timidly. It’s apparently the answer his short-circuiting brain settled upon.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay, Louis, I will be your baby.”

“Oh.”

The faint sound is the only thing that leaves Louis’ mouth before they’re both startled by a bark coming from the direction of the sliding terrace doors.

“But I don’t know how I feel about someone else demanding your attention,” Harry muses, looking pointedly at the dog.

“Possessive much, huh?” Louis takes the bait, cracking a little smile.

“Always,” the angel-like boy responds, his features smug. “Gotta protect what’s mine.”

And if someone told Harry earlier that a display of possessiveness might result in the beautiful grin blooming on Louis’ face, he would’ve done it sooner.

&

“Lou?” Harry shouts when he emerges from the lift, fresh off his walk with Mercole.

When the Greyhound interrupted them earlier, the meadow-eyed boy eagerly offered to take the dog for a little morning walk to a nearby park. Harry insisted that he craved some activity to stretch his muscles a bit, in lieu of his usual morning jog around his neighbourhood.

Louis zealously accepted Harry’s offer, promising the boy that that will grant him some time to arrange some breakfast.

“The bedroom.” Comes Louis’ response from the end of the hallway.

Kneeling down, Harry takes Mercole’s collar off, freeing the dog and watching him immediately scurry in the direction of the kitchen, probably in search of his water bowl.

After removing his shoes, the lanky boy heads in the direction of Louis’ bedroom. Upon entering the spacious room, he’s met with a very pleasant view – Louis standing at his en-suite’s vanity, applying some sort of moisturiser. But what’s got Harry’s attention is the older man’s moist skin and his towel-covered supple arse.

“It’s not nice to ogle people, you know?”

Louis breaks the silence, a smug laugh following shortly after. It prompts Harry to pick his head up, meeting the man’s gaze in the slightly foggy mirror.

“I wasn’t,” Harry answers petulantly.

“Sure, baby, try again,” he chuckles.

“Okay, maybe I was, but you can’t blame me for that,” Harry defends himself.

“I never said I did,” Louis states, turning towards Harry. “Thank you for taking Mercole out. I hope he wasn’t a little shit,” he says with an easy chuckle, placing his hands on Harry’s hips in the meantime. He observes the boy for a few seconds, but then he leans in, bringing his mouth closer to Harry’s ear. “Get undressed, sweetheart,” Louis whispers, making Harry’s breath hitch. “You can’t take a shower in your clothes, silly.”

With that Louis moves away, yet with his hands still caressing Harry’s love handles. It looks like the ocean-eyed man isn’t ready to part with Harry just yet. And yeah, the younger boy can relate.

All that is left for Harry is to release a guttural groan at Louis’ teasing.

“I’ll be waiting at the patio, love,” Louis finishes with a delicate squeeze to Harry’s pudgy hips.

“Louuu, you’re being mean,” he whines, swatting the man’s chest lightly. “And I am called a tease, unbelievable,” Harry mutters under his breath, walking out of Louis’ hold.

“I heard that,” Louis shouts from the hallway.

He snickers a bit when he hears an even louder groan emerging from the bathroom, followed by a sound of splashing water.

&

“Y’know,” Harry starts.

He’s freshly out of the shower, with his curls still wet at the ends, but the rumbling in his stomach wouldn’t let him dry them completely.

After stepping out on the patio and joining Louis at the outdoor table, Harry was overwhelmed with all these various brunch dishes covering the table. He spotted some eggs baked with asparagus, Shakshuka with sourdough bread, avocado & smoked salmon toasts, Bombay omelette, and for the sweets, pancakes with roasted raspberries, as well as croissants with pistachio spread. All of it made his stomach grumble even more.

“When you said that you’ll prepare breakfast, I thought that you’ll make some scrambled eggs, at most,” Harry continues.

“Well, you see,” Louis admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head a little. “I’m not much of a cook. I mainly order in, or go out, so, yeah.”

“Just admit that you are used to the privilege of being a restaurant owner,” Harry teases.

The meadow-eyed boy peruses the table and finally settles upon some Shakshuka. You can’t go wrong with that.

“I could get used to this, you know?” Harry admits shyly after a while, taking a bite of the heavenly raspberry pancake.

“Good,” Louis states, now sipping his coffee. “That’s the plan, innit?”

“Mmmhm.” Comes the answer from Harry, mouth full to the brim.

The curly-headed boy wouldn’t normally eat so much, but he knows that he can let loose with Louis in a way he’s not usually able to, so he decided on trying a little bit of everything spread over the wooden table. It seems like it was the best idea he’s had in a while.

“Okay, darling,” Louis muses. “Could you tell me what’s now?”

“What’s now?” Harry asks, not understanding what the other man means by that.

“Yeah, how do we proceed?” he explains. “I mean, I’ve never been in an arrangement like that.”

“Oh.”

“Surprised much, love?” Louis chuckles amusedly around his cup of caffé leccese that he adorned with a bit of lemon zest.

“Well,” Harry says after he’s finished chewing what was in his mouth. “Yes and no, really. Like, men akin to you are accustomed to this, but on the other hand, a man like you surely has no problem with making people fall to their knees with a desire to please him.”

“Men akin to me?” Louis inquires, charmed by the angel seating in front of him.

“Uh, you know,” he looks appraisingly at Louis. “Handsome, rugged, older and rich of course.”

“I appreciate your sugar-coating, love, but there’s no need for that.”

“‘M not sugar-coating, and you know that,” Harry says while looking seriously at Louis. “But anyways, it’s nothing complicated. We have to go over what we’re interested in, and then the things we won’t do – our hard limits, for example,” he explains.

“And the payment,” Louis adds.

“Yep, that, too,” Harry admits out loud. On the inside, though, he surprises himself with wishing – for the first time – that that aspect could disappear.

And it went like that.

They discussed the details of their arrangement.

(“I’d like for us to be exclusive,” Louis stated without further ado. “I don’t really do it,” Harry admitted. “But yeah, I’d like that as well.”; “How do you want me to refer to you?” the green-eyed boy asked. “However you want, petal.” “Okay, daddy, then,” Harry said with a smirk, making Louis choke on the last sip of his coffee.)

And the limits.

(“We have to get over everything before we’ll do anything intimate.” “Of course we do, love, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” “Good.”; “I won’t engage in anything that could leave a long-lasting impact on you, physically or emotionally,” Louis decided. “I know,” Harry said.)

And the payment.

(“How much do you need?” “You can’t just say that,” the boy said incredulously. “And why’s that, exactly?” Louis asked, with a smirk in place. “Because I might take advantage of that.” The duh went unsaid. “You wouldn’t, would you, angel?” “Well, no, but-” “So I thought.” A huff in lieu of an answer. “Fifteen.” “Every week? Okay.” “Louis?! Monthly, not weekly.” “Doesn’t matter to me, kitten.” An eye roll.)

&

When the sun was starting to set down, Harry decided that it might be a good time to return to his flat.

They had just finished dinner, and were sprawled on the living room sofa with a few empty boxes of pizza around them.

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, the pout clear in his tone.

“What do you mean, Lou?” Harry giggles. “I can’t just live here.”

“And that’s why exactly?”

“You’d get bored of me,” the cherub-like boy dismisses.

“Not going to happen, love.”

“Tell yourself that,” he answers, defeated. It’s not like he wants to go home. “Meanwhile I’m going to go.”

And with that Harry hauls himself up, taking on his way to the kitchen a few pizza boxes to leave at the kitchen countertop.

“Wait, what brand do you like?” Louis non-sequitures, following after the boy like a lost puppy.

“A brand of what?” he inquires, confusion marring his voice.

“Cars,” Louis answers, looking into a crystal bowl filled with different-shaped car keys. “I have a Porsche, Audi, and Mercedes here.”

Looking at the blue-eyed man, Harry states the obvious. “You can’t just give me a car,” he says, dumbfounded.

“I’m not giving you anything, honey,” he explains as if Harry’s missed a point. “I’m lending you one of my cars. Borrowing if you’d like.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Louis studies the boy’s features up close. “I think that the Porsche would suit you.” And without any further ado, he takes a hold of Harry’s hand and forces him to close it around the key. “Just press the button when you’ll be at the first floor of the parking lot, love.”

It’s needless to say that Harry’s at a loss of words. After snapping out of his stupor, the boy just leaves a brief kiss on Louis’ cheek as goodbye and heads towards the lift that will take him to the underground garage.

Upon entering the concrete-clad space, Harry’s met with an array of cars that probably cost more than he could even imagine.

Not knowing which of the cars are Louis’, he presses the key fob. It prompts the lights of a cherry Porsche Carrera to light up, which coats Harry’s features in surprise. He wouldn’t think that that would be Louis’ choice.

Coming closer to the polished car, Harry admires it for a minute, losing himself in the daydream that this is now his reality.

After starting the motor, the meadow-eyed boy emerges from the underground garage, and while heading in the direction of his flat, he goes over everything that happened in the past 24 hours in his head.

How much can change in just a day?

Returning to his empty flat is even more bittersweet than usual.

Harry turns on the overhead light in the entryway, and instantly feels his eyes getting misty, so instead of letting himself wallow in the doorway, he heads straight to the bathroom.

The cold white lights of the room are harsh on the boy’s eyes, so he sets on perfunctory washing the day off. When Harry’s sure he’s squeaky clean, he puts on his favourite lavender silky pyjama set, and decides that today is a good day for lounging in bed and binging one of his favourite series. 

Laying in his bed and scrolling through Netflix in order to find something captivating enough to watch – maybe Gossip Girl would do? – his mind circles back to Louis who is probably doing the same thing at the other end of the city.

&

Louis just got out of the lift after returning from the evening walk with Mercole, when he hears his phone ringing.

After checking the caller’s ID – security – Louis immediately answers.

“Good evening, Mr. Tomlinson,” the woman from the building reception – Moira – greets in a cheerful tone. “I have here a handsome young man named Harry Styles who desperately wants to get to you. Should I let him in?”

Harry? What is he doing here?

“Yeah, yes, of course. Always,” the older man answers impatiently.

“Already on it, Mr. Tomlinson,” she answers with a knowing smirk palpable in her tone. “Have a good night, Mister.”

“Thank you, you too, Moira.”

It takes no time for Harry – clad in lavender peignoir with white slippers adorning his feet – to get out of the lift and enter Louis’ penthouse.

“Angel,” he rushes out. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Harry starts timidly, unsurely. “I thought about you, being here, and being here with you, and- and that I didn’t want to be there, in my flat, when I could be here, and it’s stupid, but I missed you, so I decided, why not?” he rambles on. “But I can go if you want me to, I’m sorry.”

All of it rushes out of him in one breath, and Louis just looks at him, amused because how could he not?

“Hey, you’re not going anywhere,” he reaches out for the boy. “I missed you, too.”

Louis opens his arms and Harry steps into them without thinking twice, his heartbeat returning to normal.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, face hidden in the junction of Louis’ neck.

“Yeah, angel, always,” the blue-eyed man assures, caressing his angel’s back.

And maybe this is how it’ll be from now on? Maybe they’ll miss each other constantly, no matter the distance, nor time.

No matter what will happen, Louis feels ready for the change for the first time in years.

Chapter Text

“Dziś spadnie deszcz, a później pewnie znowu łzy
Jestem wędrowcem, który biegnie w morzu mgły
Na zewnątrz dobrze, a wszystko w środku drży”

/

“Today will be pouring rain, and then tears again
I’m a wanderer who’s running in the sea of mist
Fine on the outside, when inside everything’s trembling”

– Quebonafide feat. Natalia Szroeder, JESIEŃ

A soft whining sound is what pulls Harry back from the land of nod. He clasps his mouth shut, sensing the dryness – he has yet to learn to not sleep with his mouth wide open.

The whining doesn’t stop, though, and soon enough there’s something wet touching his knuckles.

He tears his eyes open and looks around himself, disoriented. The room is quite dark, the rays of morning sun kept at bay by the row of dark satin curtains.

Picking his head up without wiggling too much, Harry peaks down at the softly whimpering dog standing right in front of him, probably in need of a wee.

The green-eyed boy chances a look behind himself and is met with snoring Louis. The man’s salt-and-pepper hair is ruffled, making Harry want to card his fingers through it. He’s glued to Harry’s back, spooning him and keeping him close with an arm around Harry’s waist. There’s also the hardness of Louis’ cock to be felt, which is snug between the boy’s arsecheeks.

Harry almost gets distracted by Louis’ morning wood, but then there’s the whining again and he can’t possibly ignore that. Also, he is in need of a wee as well.

Gingerly raising Louis’ arm, just enough to sneak out of the blue-eyed man’s grip, Harry places in the newly vacated spot his pillow which the sleeping man adapts to quite quickly, hugging it to his chest much to Harry’s amusement.

With his lids barely open, Harry wanders in the direction of the en-suite to use the toilet. After emptying his bladder, he splashes some water on his pale face, trying to wake himself up.

Getting out of his lavender pyjama set on his way to Louis’ walk-in wardrobe, Harry searches through the cabinets for some more decent clothing items than the revealing silks he was sporting.

Pairing the Zegna track pants in the colour of wine with a matching jumper, he grabs the beige cashmere baseball cap that was left on the ottoman by the glass door to the room. It should be enough to shield his eyes from the harshness of the morning sun.

Upon seeing himself in the built-in mirror, the meadow-eyed boy deems himself ready to face the world. Harry ensures that he’s got his iPhone, and then, without further ado, he heads towards the front door in search of Mercole’s leash; all of that with the well-behaved dog on his heels.

Harry crouches down in front of Mercole, and observes as the dog imitates his position, sitting politely on his rump and waiting for Harry to fasten the brown leather collar around his neck.

Mercole blinks up at Harry with his onyx eyes, open and trusting, and the sight makes the forest-eyed boy want to pepper him with a myriad of kisses.

Harry loves animals, he always did, and although he doesn’t have any pets of his own – mainly due to his job restrictions – it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want to. Sometimes you just can’t get everything you want. Harry came to terms with that pretty early in his life.

Putting his hand under the dog’s snout, he scratches it lightly and relinquishes in the blissed out expression that’s marring Mercole’s features.

“Okay, c’mon, Mister, we have a walk to go on, don’t we?” Harry says, getting up with a flourish, and leading the dog towards the lift, out of the penthouse.

&

In the marble-clad lobby, Harry’s met with the knowing smirk of the same receptionist that let him up yesterday.

The curly-haired boy won’t admit how fucking hot it was when the woman called Louis to ask if she should let Harry in referring to him by Mister Tomlinson. It might have made Harry’s cock twitch in his silky shorts.

“Good morning, Moira,” he says, while passing in front of her desk.

“It is indeed a good morning, isn’t it Mr. Styles?” she wittingly asks, her tone more cheerful than the displayed on a wall-clock behind her 6 am would suggest.

“Just Harry, please,” he corrects shyly, ignoring the question altogether.

The sepia-skinned woman just smiles at him and nods, her lips pursed, as if holding back from saying something she’s not supposed to.

Harry is extremely grateful that the receptionist doesn’t comment on anything further. If the warm expression on her face is anything to go by, she doesn’t even think badly of Harry. Unfortunately, it can’t be said about most people who must know what he does for a living.

This is the price that comes with the profession, the meadow-eyed boy guesses.

The first thing Harry feels as he leaves the building is a gust of wind that makes him shiver. Fortunately, the maroon tracksuit he’s wearing is made of wool, so he doesn’t feel cold in the unseasonably cool for a June morning weather. The weather conditions change quickly, going from sun to a sky covered with a myriad of nimbostratuses – it can only mean one thing, it’s going to rain today, and the mere thought causes a pout to form on Harry’s rosy lips.

Mitte – the district Louis’ penthouse is located in – is one that Harry knows like the back of his hand. When he fled to Berlin a few years ago, he loved to spend his evenings wandering around the neighbourhood – soaking up the soul of the city.

Turning right, they head towards the Weinbergspark that Harry knows is only a few minutes away. As far as he knows, that’s the only park in the area. He’ll have to check for others if he’s planning on being a constant part of Mercole’s – and Louis’ – life.

Does he, though? And even if he does, would Louis like that? The blue-eyed man seems pretty adamant about it, but what if he’ll get bored of Harry and leave him stranded?

Harry still can’t believe he agreed to be exclusive with Louis. He promised himself long ago that he wouldn’t do that with any of his clients. Not again. Not after he was replaced like a mere toy not long after he trusted the man he was with then with, to take care of him. Ever since that happened, he had approximately three to five sugar daddies at the same time. As well as some side jobs – being an escort, really – here and there.

Upon entering the park, Harry crunches down to unleash Mercole. The first time he was out with the dog, he noticed the green tag on the Greyhound’s collar. The tag has to be earned both by the owner and the dog, and it means that the dog can roam the lawn freely, supervised, obviously.

Wanting to stretch his muscles a bit after a night of being curled as the little spoon, the meadow-eyed boy decides against taking a seat on one of the free benches. Besides, he wants to just wander around for a minute and admire the lavish greenery surrounding him.

Roaming the park’s paths, Harry stumbles upon a few people who look like yesterday hasn’t ended yet, as well as some who seem to be rushing to whatever places await them.

He gets a bit lost in his thoughts, thinking about what now? What is required of him? What would Louis expect him to do? How should he behave?

“What do you mean? I want you to be yourself, little dove,” Louis said when Harry asked yesterday what his role would be.

And it’s not really helpful, is it? Not when Harry learnt these past years how to be anything but himself. Some of the people he was with wanted Harry to be more on the feminine side, others more on the masculine. Some required him to make their lives more fun, to take them back to their youth. Others preferred for him to speak, think, and generally do as little as possible – to just be there in case they wanted to relieve themselves.

All of them were different, yet had one thing in common – they always told Harry what they wanted from him. What they were paying him for.

And yet here’s Louis.

Louis, who told him to be himself. Louis, who treats Harry as if he’s made out of porcelain, required to handle with the utmost care. Louis, who asked Harry to be his and his only because he can’t bear the thought of sharing him with someone else. Louis, who can’t contain himself when it comes to pet names, lets the adoring terms roll off of his tongue like they’re just mere words, not statements that patch each and every of Harry’s scars left by the cruel words that were spoken towards him more often than not. Louis, who not only hasn’t initiated anything sexual, but stopped Harry when he did so because he saw how unwell the forest-eyed boy was, how wrong it’d be to let him continue.

Harry can’t say that any of these were an occurrence with any of the people he was with throughout the years.

Many people think that sugaring is all sunshine and rainbows – being showered with money and gifts for basically doing nothing but laying there and taking it. Not many realise that the reality is far from that – everything has its price and the gifts are just a mere payment for the constant access to your body. More than that, Harry doesn’t wish reliance on older, wealthy people upon anyone. Especially those who never had to really work for their fortunes. They might seem congenial, affable even, and Harry agrees that they are, but only while in public. But then comes their dark side, once in private, where their hands turn from caressing, gentle to grabbing, manhandling. Where their words turn from darling, lovely to slut, bitch . Where consent doesn’t matter anymore because they paid for you.

You are theirs.

There was a time when Harry had standards. When he knew his worth. When he was confident.

But can you really stay this way when everyone around you keeps stating and proving the opposite?

Let’s face it, would he really keep doing this all if he wasn’t a whore? Selling his body to whoever is willing to pay his price.

What brings Harry out of his reverie, making him shake his head, as if to clear his thoughts, is a droplet of rain landing on his cheek.

“Mercole!” he shouts, grateful when he sees the dog quickly approaching him. “Let’s go home, huh?”

On their way back home, they step into the Zeit für Brot bakery that is located near Louis’ building. Standing by the counter, Harry decides to choose some fresh sandwiches – for Louis with Parma ham and egg, for himself with hummus and apricot jam – as well as a few of the yet-warm cinnamon buns.

&

It’s still eerily quiet throughout the whole penthouse, when they return from the morning walk, which can only mean that Louis hasn’t woken up yet.

After removing his shoes by the door, Harry goes to the kitchen to put the bag filled with baked goods down on the countertop. Then, when he has his hands free, he refills Mercole’s water bowl.

Next, the green-eyed boy heads towards the en-suite with determination in his steps.

Harry is not proud of what he’s about to do, but he has to make sure before he trusts the man with everything he’s got – before he’ll end all of the binding contracts with other men and clear out his calendar.

He can’t risk it. Not again.

Starting by thoroughly brushing his teeth, once again this morning, Harry sheds his – Louis’s – clothes and steps under the rainfall shower head, letting the scalding water cleanse him whole.

He takes a grab of Louis’ Jo Malone shampoo which instantly attacks his olfactory bulbs with the scent of Italian tangerine and Carribean lime, taking him miles away from where he is now. He wishes he could be someone else. Somewhere else where he wouldn’t be preparing himself to probably throw his only chance at love out of the window.

Sighing deeply, Harry applies the conditioner, body soap, and then he’s ready to proceed. But, is he really? He grants himself a few extra minutes under the unrelenting pouring to gain some courage.

When he steps out of the shower, he’s met with a pair of black tourmalines looking up at him. Mercole seems pretty attached to Harry already, if the way he’s lounging on Harry’s discarded clothes and keeping an eye on him is anything to go by. Or maybe he’s just making sure Harry won’t hurt Louis. Which, yeah, only adds to the guilt already brewing in Harry’s stomach.

“Okay, c’mon, out you get, buddy,” he ushers the dog out of the bathroom, not without giving him a thankful scratch, which seems to appease the greyhound.

Closing the door, Harry locks himself in the bathroom and searches through Louis’ drawers in search of the much-needed clear liquid. It takes him a few minutes, but he finally emerges with an unopened bottle of lube.

The cherub-looking boy squeezes a few drops out onto his lanky fingers, and then leans over the bathroom cabinet between one of the two sinks and searches with an outstretched hand for the hole between his arsecheeks.

It’s not that he needs stretching, even though it’s already been three days since he’s been fucked. He’s not exactly tight, but the nerves coursing through his body aren’t making the task at hand easy, and he knows that fingering always gets him going.

Harry tries to think about Louis. He even goes as far as trying to remember the dream he had yesterday, which makes him a little excited and gets him to relax. Finally. So plunging the third finger in, he deems himself stretched out enough for it to be comfortable.

Pulling the fingers out of his pucker, the meadow-eyed boy chances a look at himself in the mirror above the cabinet, all the while rinsing the lube off of his fingers. Cheeks flushed, lips bitten red, eyes glazed over, he looks like he’s already fucked out.

Combining his now-clean fingers through his loose curls, he enters the bedroom, completely forgoing clothes. The boy takes a moment to look at the still-sleeping man, admiring him.

Louis really is a good-looking man. His golden skin marred with a myriad of tattoos. His pepper-and-salt hair always styled in a perfect quiff. His blue eyes hypnotising Harry every single time he looks into them.

But above all, Louis is a good man or at least Harry believes so. Always extremely kind and considerate of others’ feelings. Always ready to be the support one might need, even without realising it.

Harry doesn’t let himself go into that direction, though. He doesn’t need to feel any more guilty than he already does.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s aware that everything they built up for the past couple days might get tarnished or even destroyed, but Harry needs to be sure.

It’s not even that he doesn’t trust Louis. He has just been proven one too many times that you can’t really rely on people’s words. That’s why it’s important for him to base his judgement on people’s actions.

Prying the pillow out of the ocean-eyed man’s grip, Harry settles himself back under the covers, glueing his bare bottom to Louis’ clothed crotch.

It takes no time for Louis’ hand to encircle Harry’s slim waist, bringing him even closer. The older man’s morning wood is well on its way to complete hardness and Harry can feel the bile already rising in his throat. It seems that it’ll be even easier.

“Mmm,” Louis muses, grinding his dick between Harry’s arsecheeks, his breath hot on the boy’s back.

Reaching behind himself, the meadow-eyed boy searches for the man’s waistband to take a hold of Louis’ cock. He pulls the elastic band with his fingers and almost succeeds. Almost. If not for the hand that grabs harshly his wrist.

“H,” Louis all but breaths out. “Please, tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re trying to do.”

“I- I, uh,” Harry stutters out. It dawns on him – the magnitude of his actions.

“Turn around.” When Harry starts to tremble, frantically refusing to turn towards the man, clearly afraid of what he’ll see on his face, Louis adds pleadingly. “Please.”

The curly-haired boy sits up and turns towards the older man hesitantly, the sheet previously covering him, is now pooled around his lap, leaving him exposed. Mustering up the courage, Harry looks from his flaccid cock up at Louis and sees the man already looking right back at him.

“What were you trying to do, Harry?” Louis asks once again, the coldness of his tone raising goose bumps all over Harry’s skin.

Harry. Not petal. Not angel. Not baby. Harry.

The boy hangs his head low, and mumbles defeatedly. “I wanted to give you what you paid for.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” Louis’s voice, albeit harsh, isn’t unkind, isn’t belittling.

The statement makes Harry’s head snap up, looking with wild eyes at the man seated in front of him.

“What were you trying to do, H?” the gold-skinned man asks again. “And don’t you dare to lie to me.”

“I wanted to test you,” he admits, trembling. “I wanted to- ugh, to prove to myself that your intentions are aligned with your words.”

The frightened boy looks back down at his lap, fiddling with his long fingers. He doesn’t think he has ever been as ashamed of himself as he is now. He can’t believe he went as far as wanting to touch Louis without his explicit consent.

The realisation makes the dam break causing rivulets of tears to cascade down Harry’s cheeks.

“‘M sorry,” he adds. “Louis, I’m so sorry. I need you to-”

“No, Harry,” Louis dismisses, his tone so full of hurt it makes Harry’s heart clench. “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are.”

With that the older man gets up and – as Harry can see from his peripheral vision – he chances to look at his wetted boxers.

“Is this lube?” Louis asks with disbelief marring his voice.

Harry only manages a nod at that, not daring to say any more than he already did.

“Fuck, I can’t believe you,” the older man curses under his breath and enters the en-suite, closing the door with a thump that reverberates thruought the whole room.

It’s now that Harry fully grasps what he wanted to do to Louis. He turned into the same monsters who were haunting him for the past few years. The boy has done many questionable things in his life, but not one of them made him so disgusted with himself.

Harry feels the bile in his throat getting higher. His oesophagus is constricting. He’s going to be sick. So getting out of the bed, still stark naked, the meadow-eyed boy runs towards the toilet near the living room, not wanting to impose Louis’ personal space even more.

He falls to his knees in front of the ceramic bowl, not being able to stop the hurling even for a second longer.

Between the reaches, Harry can hear some commotion on the other side of the bathroom wooden door, and soon enough there’s a warm body glued to his back with a strong arm supporting his core and the second grabbing his curls from falling into the toilet bowl.

Louis doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. The sole fact that after everything Harry did to him, he’s still here, supporting the broken boy, has Harry break into sobs.

“Are you going to throw up some more?” the feathery-haired man asks after a few minutes of helping Harry to get everything out, clearly concerned.

“N- no,” he breathes out, his voice shot.

“Okay, just- ugh, just lean on me,” Louis says, and then, he adds. “I’ve got you, baby.”

And Harry doesn’t dare to question Louis. He doesn’t think he’ll ever do it again. If the older man will let him stay in his life, that is.

Louis, who opened his home, his heart for Harry to explore. Louis, who was taking care of him from the very beginning. His Louis. Or not his. Because the boy gets the feeling that this might be it – the end of them even before anything has had the chance to start.

Harry trusts Louis, though, so he just lets the man gently manoeuvre him, ending up seated on Louis’ lap, with his head cradled in the croak of the man’s neck.

Eventually, the cherub-like boy’s sobs turn into sniffles, and Harry’s sure that it’s all thanks to Louis who didn’t let go of him throughout this whole ordeal. Louis who doesn’t stop holding him even now, when it’s clear that Harry calmed down.

The man doesn’t say anything, though, and this makes Harry terrified.

Not wanting to set off another panic attack, Harry chances a look at Louis’ face and is met with the devastating sight of the man’s blues looking down at him. What he sees there makes the boy want to weep once again. The way Louis is looking at Harry is not scrutinising, judging, or even pitying. Far from it actually because his eyes convey nothing but concern laced with understanding. Nothing but love.

And Harry’s sure he doesn’t deserve any of it. Not the kindness, nor the man. Because how does Louis even do it? How can he still be so open towards the stranger who practically assaulted him in his own bed?

“Stop it, dove,” Louis says, breaking the silence. The man probably senses that Harry is hurtling towards another panic attack. “It’s not worth it. What’s done is done.”

“I’m sorry,” the meadow-eyed boy says. “I’m so, so sorry, Louis.”

“I know, angel,” he sighs out. “And I’m not going to say that it’s okay because it really isn’t.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. The words, albeit spoken gently, cut deeper than screams would. And the problem here is that he doesn’t know how to cope with gentleness. With understanding. With forgiveness. All the boy knew to date was aggression, not kindness. Shouts, not whispers. Lies, not truth. But he realises that this needs to change. And it needs to happen quickly. Before he loses the reason to do it altogether.

“I don’t feel exposed,” Harry non-sequiturs, his voice still shaky.

“Huh?”

“I don’t feel exposed. I don’t feel naked,” he clarifies. “I’m naked, probably with vomit sticking to my hair, and tear tracks visible on my cheeks, but I don’t feel exposed because you’re here,” he decides to plough on before he’ll lose the courage. “Other people look at me, touch me and it always feels wrong. Too invasive. Too harsh. It always makes me feel more vulnerable than I’d like. But not with you. I don’t feel belittled. I don’t feel humiliated. Maybe I should,” he whispers. “But I don’t. Instead, I feel cared for. I feel-”.

Taking a deep breath in, he cuts himself off, not knowing if he’s brave enough to admit what he really feels.

“What do you feel, baby love?” Louis inquires, hand still caressing Harry’s barren back.

Oh God. Baby love of all pet names.

“I feel loved,” he admits, unable to keep it in any longer.

“Oh.”

Oh?

“Oh?” Harry asks.

Is it really all Louis has to say? He wonders, already pulling himself out of Louis’ grip. The shame is already creeping up his neck, making his skin burn.

“It’s not a bad ‘oh’, stop it,” the man says, tightening his grip around the boy’s waist.

Harry defeatedly slumps back against Louis’ firm chest, not ready to fight with the man just yet.

“Angel, look at me,” Louis gently instructs.

“Do I have to?” the green-eyed boy asks petulantly.

The tone in which Harry says it causes Louis to release a little laugh, indicating that the man is clearly amused.

“No, but I’d like you to.”

Drawing a deep breath in, Harry looks up at Louis, getting lost in the peaceful ocean he spots in the man’s eyes.

“I haven’t met anyone who has been as insufferably lovely as you are in all forty-five years of my life,” Louis chuckles, and yeah, the sound makes the butterflies in Harry’s stomach wake up. “I haven’t met anyone to whom I’d hand the scalpel and beg them to clear out the way to my heart. You could tell me every terrible thing you ever did and I’d love you anyway.”

Love. I’d love you anyway.

“Louis,” Harry whispers out, his heart jack-hammering in his chest. Because this can’t be it, right? Surely Louis will dismiss him any second now. The man could never love him, could he?

“Angel,” Louis whispers back.

And only now Harry notices the tears that make the man’s eyes shine. Seeing Louis cry will be the death of him.

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles. “Thank you for accepting me the way I am. Thank you for being yourself.”

Looking up at the older man, Harry scans his unreadable features. He doesn’t even get a chance to react when Louis suddenly smiles and leans down to connect their lips.

“Oomf,” Harry squeaks out into the kiss. “The sick,” he adds when his mouth is free again.

“I don’t care,” Louis says, pecking his boy’s lips again.

Louis gets an eye roll in lieu of a response. And then a kiss to his nose.

And although there’s still a lot left to be talked about, they’ll have time for that later. Now, though-

“Are you really forty-five?” Harry breaks, tone balancing on mocking. “God, I can’t believe I’m settling down with such a young Daddy.”

To say the exclamation prompts a hearty laugh out of Louis is to say nothing, when the blue-eyed man can’t stop chuckling for another few minutes.

“Young?” Louis asks. “I’m nowhere near your age, baby dove.”

“I mean, good,” Harry admits, a smirk marring his features. “I wouldn’t look as dashing on your arm if you were twenty-five as well,” he sums up, saying the last words through full-on belly laugh.

If someone were to look at Harry and Louis now, stark naked, sitting on the bathroom floor with the smell of vomit permeating the air, they would think the two of them were mad. And maybe they are. Madly in love with each other.

Chapter Text

“You know I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying
For someone I could die for
Someone I could try for
Fall apart and cry for
Go ahead, risk my life for
Bullet to the brain for
Take away the pain for
You know I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying
For someone I could die for”

– Lewis Capaldi, Someone I Could Die For

“And as I was saying, the Cesar salad with the bite-sized tacos seems like the best option here, and we will add-” Louis cuts himself off in the middle of his spiel, easily distracted by the sight of Harry who is ardently approaching the restaurant.

He can see out of the corner of his eye that the random halt in his speech prompted Janina – theNOname’s manager – to peer up at Louis from the notes she was taking on her space grey iPad.

The restaurateur doesn’t spare the black-clad woman a second glance, though. How could he pay even an ounce of attention to anyone else when his entire focus is instantly captured by the most wonderful boy stepping through the restaurant’s threshold?

Even after three months of being – in a paid arrangement, his brain supplies – with Harry, Louis’ breath still catches in his throat every time his gaze settles upon his meadow-eyed angel.

It’s not that Harry does anything particular. He just exists and, apparently, that is enough for Louis to worship the ground the boy walks on.

Most of the time, the attention Louis is granting Harry makes the cherub-like boy blush prettily. It’s as clear as day that Harry is still not used to being the apple of someone’s – especially someone like Louis – eye.

This time is no different.

From his favourite spot at the far end of the mahogany bar table, Louis appraises Harry who just walked through the establishment’s glass door with the most blinding smile he can offer – dimples on a display for everyone to admire – and at least a dozen designer shopping bags hanging from his slender arms. It looks like the trip to KaDeWe – Berlin’s version of London’s Harrods – was more than successful.

When the restaurant’s door finally falls shut behind him, Harry looks up at Louis and upon noticing that the blue-eyed man’s gaze is already on him, he bashfully lowers his chin.

The September weather is warm enough, and if the short denim dress Harry’s spotting is any indication, it seems that the green-eyed boy is keen on boasting about his sun-kissed skin as long as the weather will allow it.

The suntan that Louis is also sporting is a remnant of the week they spent on the French Riviera, courtesy of Louis’ childhood friend, Dominic, who chose the Côte d’Azur as the perfect location for his late summer wedding.

The ceremony was not only ideal to get away from the city for a few days, but it was also the perfect occasion for people outside of Louis’ closest circle to meet Harry.

What came as no surprise was the fact that everyone who met the charming boy, was instantly in love with him. Louis couldn’t really blame them, could he?

Yet the understanding of their predicament – it’s not often you get to face a goddess like Harry only to realise that they’re already taken, thank you very much – didn’t stop the man from feeling jealous every time a handsome man asked Harry for a dance.

At first, Harry was sticking to Louis’ side, politely declining the numerous offers, but then, after the curly-haired boy saw it as a perfect opportunity to rile Louis up a bit – the minx that he is – he practically didn’t get off the dancefloor, much to the older man’s amusement.

Louis, on the other hand, decided to stay put, right at the bar, sipping a glass of scotch and watching what his boy would come up with.

It’s safe to say that every time Harry let the men put their hands on his hips, Louis’ grip on the glass he was nursing tightened considerably, yet his outer demeanour remained as unconcerned as ever.

After a couple of songs, when Harry didn’t get the desired rise out of Louis, he decided to approach the older man directly, with a pout marring his lips and his body swaying a little due to the amount of alcohol he had downed throughout the evening.

“Daddy,” Harry practically whisper-shouts, causing a few people to look at the pair of them.

Louis can’t say he’s bothered by this – he always liked capturing other’s attention.

Welcoming the drunken boy with open arms – into which he easily falls – Louis lets Harry curl into himself with the boy’s head in the crook of his neck.

“Why aren’t you mad?” the meadow-eyed boy questions.

Yet again, he’s not being quiet, so it prompts a titter out of the few people who are standing nearby, probably waiting for their drinks. The question makes even Louis release a snort. His precious boy.

“Why should I be mad, baby?” Louis asks, his tone gentle.

Holding Harry upright with one hand, he caresses the boy’s head with the other one.

“‘Cause I was there,” Harry says, idly gesturing towards the dim dance floor. “Dancing with all those men. And being very naughty,” he adds the second part in what Louis assumes was supposed to be an enticing tone, but ended as endearingly adorable instead.

“I saw that, love.”

“So why aren’t you mad?” he asks again. “I thought it’ll make you mad. Aren’t you jealous?”

Louis tries really hard to not laugh at that, but how could he not? Releasing a little chuckle that he tries to hide with his hand when Harry sends an annoyed glare his way, Louis schools his face, and tries to reason with his boy.

“Baby, look at me,” the blue-eyed man says, persuading Harry to face him, which the boy begrudgingly does. “Of course I’m jealous.”

“Then why-”

“Let me finish, baby,” Louis scolds lightly, which instantly makes the boy’s rose-coloured mouth shut. “Of course I’m jealous, but I trust you.”

“You- you do?” Harry asks.

“I do,” Louis promises.

He brings Harry’s hand up to his lips, and while not breaking eye contact, he kisses the boy’s knuckles.

“I trust you,” the man reiterates.

Mouth hanging open, Harry is the perfect display of astonishment. He clearly didn’t expect Louis to say that, and Louis can’t say he saw it coming either.

Realising that the conversation took a too serious of a turn for what they really are, or rather aren’t, which would be a real couple, Louis desperately tries to lift the mood.

“Besides,” he starts. “At the end of the day, I’ll be the one having you in my bed, while they’ll be left dreaming about you.”

The shift in his tone shocks Harry at first, but it does break the bubble they found themselves in. Stifling a laugh, the meadow-eyed boy swats Louis’ chest and then asks with hopeful eyes, “Dance with me?”

And Louis can only nod at that, letting himself be pulled onto the dance floor.

Another memento from the time they spent in France is the Schiaparelli denim dress – adorned with the signature rib-shaped padding across the torso – that Harry sports now. It was one of the things they bought during the two-day trip to Paris that Louis surprised his boy with when the end of their French escapade was nearing.

Looking at Harry in all his gorgeous glory, the only thought his brain can come up with is 'I love him'. This is not a new revelation for the blue-eyed man – he came to terms with it weeks ago.

The thought crossed Louis’ mind for the first time only three weeks after they started their arrangement. It was during the night time routine Harry was, to put it lightly, forcing him to do.

“Lou,” Harry whines.

Glancing at his Omega watch, Louis realises that it’s been thirty minutes since they entered the skin care aisle of the Douglas perfumery. He already regrets opening his mouth during their lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe and asking Harry if he wanted to go shopping since they’re already at Kurfürstendamm – a long boulevard that is considered by many as the Champs-Élysées of Berlin.

Sighing deeply, Louis thinks about every time his mother told him not to talk while eating, and boy, was she right.

“Baby, no,” the feather-haired man groans for the umpteenth time. “I don’t need anything else besides my regular lotion.”

“Regular lotion,” Harry mocks with an eye roll. “You can’t put the same lotion on your face that you’re using for your body, Louis.”

“And why is that?” Louis asks, exasperated. “It’s the same skin as everywhere else.”

It appears ignoring him is what Harry settles upon, when the boy regards the greying man with a cold glare only to turn towards the sales assistant with a kind smile on his rose lips.

“Okay, so we will take the MBR rich cream, peeling, eye cream, and the serum, please,” Harry says, clearly unbothered by Louis’ indignant huff.

The blonde assistant nods eagerly, already collecting the items Harry listed.

“Should I add the scalp reanimation serum?” she asks, focusing solely on Harry.

Great, even the sales assistant is ignoring his presence now.

“Do I look like I have a problem with hair loss?” Louis inquires at the lady, his tone displaying how affronted he is by the mere suggestion.

The older man goes as far as self-consciously carding his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“No, thank you, we don’t need that,” Harry answers the assistant’s question, mirth swimming in his voice.

“Thank God.” Ends up being the thing Louis mutters under his breath.

That night the two of them stood in their en-suite, diligently going through all the products Harry bought for Louis. Or rather all the products Harry paid for with Louis’ black Mastercard, all the while insisting that Louis needs to start using something for his dehydrated, ageing skin. Ouch.

Louis couldn’t care less about the amount of money Harry had spent. What hit him like a freight train, though, was the long-forgotten fluttering in his belly.

It sort of just happened when he was watching his boy animatedly going through the products they bought. And what added to it was the nagging thought at the back of his head – I’m in love with him.

It took Louis a few days to come to terms with it – he was falling for this boy, and it was happening at a rapid pace. There was nothing he could – wanted to , more like – do about it, though.

Louis accepted his feelings just as fast as he resigned himself to hiding them from Harry. Let’s face it, there’s not a chance that someone as wonderful as his angel would ever reciprocate them. It’s okay, though. As long as he can ensure that Harry is happy, Louis wishes for nothing more.

Sensing that the restaurateur will be most likely useless by now, Janina greets Harry with a nod of her head and decides to leave the two of them alone.

“Hello, baby,” Louis says to the approaching boy.

Leaving the shopping bags on the concrete floor, Harry gently places his ecru lambskin Secret Bag – one more Schiaparelli purchase from Paris – on the mahogany table, and then, finally, steps between Louis’ spread legs.

Smiling coyly at the older man, Harry puts his hands on Louis’ onyx-clad thighs and leans in to leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Hi,” he answers, putting a bit of distance between them, always mindful of the people surrounding them.

“Had a good day?” Louis asks, gripping Harry’s love handles to keep him in place, not wanting to part with his boy just yet, as well as not caring in the slightest about others’ opinions on their PDA.

Nodding at the question, Harry takes a look at the bar table that is covered with various dishes he hasn’t seen here yet. Or some versions of the meals he already loves.

During the time they have been together, Harry would often come to the restaurant with Louis, be it throughout the day or just for dinner.

TheNOname’s staff quickly got accustomed to not only the meadow-eyed boy’s presence, but also to the fact that their boss went from breathing down their necks every day the restaurant’s doors were open to doing so only two, maximum three days a week, when Harry wasn’t there.

Harry often jokes that the staff likes him only because he keeps Louis preoccupied, and Louis then wonders how anyone could not like Harry just because of how wonderful of a person he is.

“Could we go home soon, so I can show you what I bought?” Harry asks, fiddling with the inside seam of Louis’ slacks.

“Of course, angel,” the ocean-eyed man answers, leaning in to steal another kiss, which Harry gladly grants him. “But maybe you would like to help me create the autumn version of the tasting menu first, what do you say, H?”

If Louis had known that Harry’s eyes would sparkle like that at the proposition, he would have asked for the boy’s opinion long ago. It’s just a bit confusing for the older man, because every time there is some executive decision Louis has to make in regard to one of his restaurants, Harry tries to make himself scarce, and it appears that this time was supposed to be no different.

At first Louis didn’t notice it, but since he has, he cannot stop thinking about it. If focusing only on Harry’s words, one could think that the boy simply wasn’t interested in anything regarding Louis’ business. The excited gleam in Harry’s eyes tells a different story, though.

“I mean- I, uh, if you don’t mind,” Harry stutters out.

“I wouldn’t offer if I did mind, H,” Louis assures, already getting off his bar stool to pull the one next to his own out for Harry to sit on, which the boy readily does.

“Thank you,” he mutters under his breath, and then, rubbing his palms together, he asks, “Okay, so, what do we have here?”

Going through all the dishes takes Harry, along with the restaurant’s staff, close to two hours. Louis’ sure the time is doubled thanks to the many explanations Harry gives about the things he liked, and the things he would change.

The passion with which the green-eyed boy speaks, the comments he makes, whether it’s about the ingredients or how to prepare the various parts of the dish, is something that makes Louis curious. Not wanting to ask Harry any personal questions here, especially with the restaurant’s staff nearby, the man makes a mental note to do it later, when they’ll be in the tranquillity of their home.

“I think this would be the perfect vegetarian option for autumn,” Harry sums up with a flourish after listing in order the dishes he’s certain would create the best menu.

“Louis, what do you think about it?” Janina asks, causing the boss to tear his eyes away from the boy he calls his angel.

“I like it,” the older man says. “It’s good, it’s fresh.”

There must be something in his voice, because when Louis chances a look in Harry’s direction, he can see the curly-haired boy biting his lower lip, probably containing the big grin that threatens to erupt on his face any second now.

“And what about the non-vegetarian option?” the restaurant’s manager inquires further, probably more than ready to wrap up the tasting session by now.

“I think the best dishes were the Cesar salad, cheese toast, and the roasted duck breast,” Louis answers truthfully. “I’d like for them to be the centre of the menu,” he says. “As of the rest, it is yours to create,” he adds, maintaining eye contact with the Chef.

“Is that all?” Harry asks.

“I believe so,” Louis answers, coming to a halt in front of Harry who instantly makes himself smaller in order to curl into Louis’ body. “Janina?”

“Yes, yes,” the woman rushes out, locking her iPad. “That’s all.”

“Wonderful. So,” Louis starts, now focused entirely on Harry. “Ready to go home, doll?”

The chocolate-haired boy picks his head up from where it was resting on Louis’ shoulder and leaves a kiss on his cheek. Just because, it seems.

“Yep,” Harry says with a beautiful smile marring his face.

Louis smiles at his angel, letting him go when he tries to release himself from Louis’ grip. The two of them bid their goodbyes, and after taking care of all of the shopping bags, they head towards Louis’ alpine grey Mercedes GLE.

&

“I have a feeling,” Harry starts in a teasing tone. “That your spoiling kink, or whatever it is called, is currently thriving.”

Apparently, the hearty laugh coming from within the penthouse is the only answer Harry will get. Good. We will see who will have the last laugh.

Smoothing the garment he’s wearing with his palms, Harry admires his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in Louis’ walk-in closet.

It’s been an hour since they got home from theNOname, and the two of them have spent the entire time on Harry’s impromptu fashion show.

Louis had been asked by the boy to make himself comfortable on the leather sofa in the living room, while Harry himself had dragged all of his shopping bags into the walk-in closet.

He placed the purchases he had chosen for Louis on the older man’s side of the wardrobe and then began to go through everything he had bought for himself, eagerly putting it all on to show Louis in a true private show manner.

Now, Harry’s wearing only the Kiki De Montparnasse tiered silk tank top in ice blue, which is adorned with ivory lace at the bottom and along the cup’s trims. The babydoll top doesn’t come in a set with panties, so he paired it with corset briefs made of matching lace.

What makes the outfit extravagant, however, is the layered ombré Akoya pearl necklace by Yoko that Louis bought for Harry in London when he had gone for a business trip. It was also their first time being apart for longer than a day.

Harry can’t say he didn’t miss the older man because of course he did. He wasn’t ready to part with him, yet the boy knew he had some important matters to take care of, and that’s why he had to stay in Berlin.

After a fortnight of their arrangement – or two weeks of the two of them steadfastly falling in love with each other, more like – Harry decided to give Louis what the man wanted from the very beginning – exclusivity.

Staying in the comfort of his flat, as he didn’t think he would be comfortable doing any of this in Louis’ penthouse, the boy set on messaging one client after another.

Some of them responded with a simple message, declaring their understanding and wishing him well. Others called him to ask if there was something they could do to make Harry change his decision. Which, there wasn’t. The majority of his clients – the ones who weren’t important enough to get a personalised text – didn’t respond at all, which was more than fine with the curly-haired boy.

The whole ordeal took him around two hours, but then, after all of this was done, he was officially free.

For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like someone’s property. Even though he’s officially in a paid arrangement with Louis, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

Maybe it’s because none of the affection they share is forced. Maybe it’s because of the honesty written all over Louis’ face. Or maybe Harry is just foolish. He doesn’t think that that’s the case this time.

Deep down, Harry’s aware that there is genuinity woven into their relationship – and that it was there from the very beginning. He can see it in Louis’ actions, in the older man’s words. And he can feel it in his own heart, when it starts beating faster everytime the thought of Louis crosses his mind.

Adding to all of this, he can’t remember the last time he felt this way – light, carefree, happy. Because he is happy with Louis, and everyday he wakes up beside his lover’s sturdy body, he couldn’t be more grateful for that.

“Okay, Mister,” Harry says to Mercole, who was accompanying him throughout the whole ordeal. “Fancy a walk? And maybe some lunch, huh?”

At the mention of the walk, the dog perks up, and in no time, is standing by the door of Harry’s flat. The boy smiles at that, and he himself can feel the giddiness that is starting to flow in his veins.

“Let’s go, buddy,” he says to the Greyhound, already crouching down to attach the leash to his collar.

As Harry looks at himself in the built-in mirror, he feels ready to step in front of the older man.

“I don’t have a spoiling k-” Louis reiterates, but his words seem to be stuck in his throat once his azure eyes settle upon Harry who is walking into the living room.

“Sure you don’t,” Harry teases, all the while getting closer to the sitting man. “How much was the necklace, then?”

“Only fourteen grand,” Louis whispers, not taking his eyes off Harry’s silhouette.

The flabbergasted expression that is marring Louis’ face makes the meadow-eyed boy blush, so when he’s finally coming to a halt in front of Louis who is sprawled atop the leather sofa, Harry knows that his cheeks are well on their way to match his red lipstick.

Not wanting to disturb the moment, Harry wordlessly lets the older man grab his hips and pull him onto his lap. Only when the boy’s lace-covered rump comes in contact with Louis’ clothed cock, Harry realises how much of a turn on spoiling him is for the ocean-eyed man.

“Was it worth it, Daddy?” Harry asks, whispering straight into Louis’ ear, his voice bordering on whine.

“Worth every penny, baby,” Louis concludes.

The cherub-like boy lets Louis’ hands wander all over his body for a moment, while he himself focuses on trailing kisses up and down the man’s throat.

Getting more desperate with every minute, Harry tries to rub his confined erection against Louis’ clothed dick, which only earns him a slap to his exposed asscheek.

“Don’t be naughty, doll,” Louis whispers in a low voice, which makes the forest-eyed boy release a whimper in lieu of a response.

Harry ceases his movements, focusing on unbuttoning his man’s ivory button down, eager for some skin-to-skin contact.

“Don’t you want to do something about it, Daddy?” Harry asks after a few more minutes, now gesturing to the clearly visible bulge in his lace knickers.

“You know that I want nothing more, H,” Louis says, all the while maintaining eye contact with the boy occupying his lap. “And you know why I can’t.”

And yeah, Harry knows that.

During the first week of their relationship, they had a few conversations about their needs, likes, and dislikes. The relationship they built, thanks to their communication, was free from any judgement, which in the end resulted in an implicit trust that now exists between the two of them.

In the course of their first talk, Louis revealed that he’s keen on exploring kinks, and would love for them to live in a BDSM relationship, yet he’s not comfortable with having sex with Harry.

The boy’s not sure what emotion his face was displaying then, but Louis immediately started to reassure Harry that it’s not something the boy has done. It’s clear that the feather-haired man wasn’t anticipating that his words would upset the boy.

That evening, they ended up cuddling on the patio love seat, with Harry patiently listening to Louis’ explanations that the man’s not comfortable with being intimate as long as he’s paying Harry. And although Harry believes Louis, he’s not sure it’s the only reason.

Now, though, Harry swallows the whimper threatening to erupt from within his body. He understands Louis’ reasoning. He really does, but the meadow-eyed boy just wishes there was something he could do to change the plight they found themselves in.

“I know, Lou,” Harry reassures, fondly caressing the man’s stubbly cheek.

Harry would love to feel Louis’ beard in some other places, but he decides on refraining from saying that. The last thing he wants is to coerce the greying man into having sex with him.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers.

There are tears threatening to fall from Louis’ blue eyes, yet none of them decide to bring this up. Wanting to acknowledge the man’s feelings, Harry starts peppering kisses all over Louis’ face, which ends up with the older man gently grabbing Harry’s face with his hands only to start doing the same to Harry, making dimples appear in the boy’s cheeks.

And to Harry it feels like enough. For now.

Chapter Text

“Nie boję się już spać
Samotnie w obcym mieście
I latać samolotem
Nawet kiedy trzęsie
Tsunami wysokiego na 12 pięter
I tego, że mi kiedyś przestanie tańczyć serce
Boję się o ciebie
Że cię kiedyś stracę
Nie chcę nic tu zmieniać
Nie chcę nic inaczej”

/

“I am no longer afraid to sleep
Alone in a strange city
And fly a plane
Even when it shakes
A tsunami 12 stories high
And that one day my heart will stop dancing
I’m afraid for you
That one day I’ll lose you
I don’t want to change anything here
I don’t want anything different”

– Kaśka Sochacka feat. Vito Bambino, Boję się o Ciebie

“Angel,” Louis whispers quietly as to not disturb the tranquil ambience only four a.m. can offer.

The blue-eyed man already took his sweet time in the shower, creating an impromptu sauna due to the length of the pelting of hot water he endured in order to relax his strained muscles.

As much as Louis doesn’t like to admit it – he would never admit it out loud, well maybe to Harry, but that’s not here nor there – he can feel the passing years in the stiffness of his muscles and cracking of his bones every day he wakes up. It happens with no regard to how good his sleep routine is, how much he exercises and how well-chosen and expensive his mattress is. The lingering discomfort is always there.

After the shower, Louis got dressed, choosing well-fitting light grey slacks and one of his favourite Loro Piana virgin wool long-sleeves, this time in maroon, which, in Harry’s opinion, perfectly accentuates Louis’ golden skin tone.

While in their walk-in closet, the salt-haired man got to pack each of them a weekender with a couple outfit choices. After that, he also put a smaller matching leather bag on the bathroom counter for Harry to pack all of his skin care and beauty products.

All of that only to return to the bedroom and see that the three alarms he had set to ring throughout the whole ordeal, just as the noises of the ordeal itself, didn’t manage to stir Harry from his slumber.

The thing is, he needs his boy to get up and start getting ready as soon as possible. Especially since the older man is quite aware that Harry needs at least twice as much time to prepare himself to face the day as Louis does.

Usually, Louis wouldn’t even bother with waking the snoring angel at such an ungodly hour, but seeing as it’s Friday, and they have – or rather Louis has for them – some plans for the weekend, there’s really no time to spare.

Granted, waiting for the two of them at the airport is Louis’ private jet, so it’s not like there is any rush that would accompany them if they would be flying with commercial airlines. Yet, seeing as this is a quasi-business trip, the feather-haired man would prefer not to spend the whole day at work, which will unfortunately happen if they don’t get moving.

Taking a seat on Harry’s side of the bed, Louis starts carding his fingers through the boy’s chocolate curls. They are getting quite long, already past Harry’s shoulder blades, and he finds himself craving to touch the silky ringlets more and more with each passing day.

“Baby, c’mon,” Louis murmurs, leaning down to whisper straight into Harry’s ear.

It doesn’t look like it’s working though, if the soft snores escaping the meadow-eyed boy’s lips are anything to go by. Louis can’t say he’s surprised. If the noises accompanying him and Mercole getting ready didn’t manage to wake Harry up, the soft timbre of Louis’ voice won’t either.

Being a morning person himself, watching Harry lost so deep in the land of nod is one of Louis’ favourite pastimes. And he indulges himself with it almost every single day.

TheNOname doesn’t open its doors before six p.m., so it’s not like Louis needs to be up at five in the morning. Besides, he knows that by now, the restaurant’s staff is more than capable of running the establishment without him watching their every move like a hawk.

Mercole, as for a dog who’s energy level could match a toddler’s, loves a good lie-in as well.

So there’s really nothing stopping Louis from starting his day by laying on his side, next to a profoundly asleep Harry, and watching the boy dream for hours on end.

Today, though, is not one of those days. Today, they have places to visit. And things to do.

Retrieving his hand from Harry’s luscious curls, Louis moves it down, towards his boy’s face to gently run his thumb over Harry’s parted rose-coloured lips.

“Baby angel,” he says, voice a notch louder. “I need you to wake up.”

It gets Harry to start stirring, but Louis knows that it’s not enough. By now, being painfully aware of the boy’s ability to fall asleep in an instance.

“H, c’mon, I have a surprise for you,” the greying man adds conspiratorially.

The promise of a surprise gets Harry’s muscles to start twitching. Louis tries to not snort when the forest-eyed boy peels open only one of his eyelids and looks dubiously up at Louis.

“A surprise?” Harry rasps out, voice low with a bit of remaining hoarseness. There is some hopefulness hidden, now that his interest is piqued.

“Yeah, love,” Louis confirms. Getting back on his feet, he swats Harry’s duvet-covered bottom. “So, come on, now, sleepy head. We are leaving in thirty.”

Not waiting for an answer, Louis heads in the direction of the kitchen to prepare a double espresso for Harry, and another americano for himself. God knows he will need the extra dose of caffeine if he’ll have to deal with a grumpy Harry, if the questions of what , where and why accompanied by a set of whines that are currently coming from the bedroom are anything to go by.

It seems that his prediction was correct when exactly thirty minutes later, after getting back from a quick walk with Mercole, Louis’ eyes fall on a pouty Harry – clad in his go-to Cucinelli sage green tracksuit – who enters the kitchen. With his hair all up in a messy bun and the last remnants of sleep still clinging to his doll-like features, he looks like the perfect definition of cosy. The scowl he’s sending Louis’ way tells another story.

&

“But Lou,” Harry whines for the umpteenth time since they got into the sleek black Mercedes C-Class that was waiting for them in front of their building. “Why don’t you want to tell me where we are going?”

“Just because,” Louis says with a smirk marring his features. At Harry’s answering harrumph, he tears his gaze away from the screen of his iPhone and turns to look at the sulking angel sitting on his right. “Oh, baby, don’t pout.”

Apparently the sentiment was enough to prompt Harry to not only deepen his pout, but also to turn away from Louis only to settle his gaze on the rapidly changing scenery of the still sleeping world outside of the car.

“I don’t like surprises,” Harry mutters petulantly.

Even Mercole, once Louis’ companion, is looking up at the older man, from his place on Harry’s lap, with judgement swimming in his pitch black eyes.

The blue-eyed man doesn’t get to wait long before his angel turns to him with a gasp leaving his pink-coloured lips, as well as an excited gleam dancing in his emerald eyes.

“The airport?!” Harry exclaims, voice definitely way too loud for the early hour. “Where are we going?” When Louis opens his mouth to answer, the meadow-eyed boy holds up his finger and, with what probably was meant to be a stern expression, continues, “You can’t kidnap me without telling me where we are going.”

That pulls a surprised laugh out of Louis.

Leaning closer to Harry, he rasps out, “And will you let me kidnap you if I tell you where we are going?”

If someone were to ask Louis what reaction he might have expected, he would have never guessed that Harry would shyly lower his chin and mumble a sheepish “maybe” .

Due to their close proximity, it’s easy for the greying man to lean even closer to his boy. Extending his right hand, Louis brings his index finger towards Harry’s chin to lift it up. Briefly meeting the boy’s kind eyes, Louis plants a resounding kiss on Harry’s slightly parted lips.

“Just so you know,” Louis whispers. “I’d let you kidnap me too.”

Right when Harry’s about to answer, the Mercedes comes to a halt on the airport’s tarmac.

The sun has yet to rise, so it’s dark enough for Harry to not spot the English Green private jet waiting for them right away.

Getting out of the car, Louis heads towards Harry’s door to hold them open for his boy to step out of the vehicle. Harry, as always, pecks him on the cheek with a quiet “thank you” whispered underneath his breath.

“Where are-” Harry’s confused drawl cuts off. “No, Louis, tell me that this is a joke,” he says, pivoting towards the older man. “There’s no way you own a fucking jet.”

“Well,” the greying man starts, a smirk pulling at his thin lips. “It’s the company’s jet really.”

“And the company is yours.”

Louis releases a chuckle at Harry’s tone, who, for good measure, doesn’t forget to pointedly roll his eyes at that.

“That would be correct, baby.”

Just as the boy opens his mouth to respond, the jet’s pilot approaches them. Clad in navy blue with a salt and pepper moustache adorning his thin lips, he looks older than he is in reality.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” the pilot says in a thick German accent, extending his hand towards Louis.

“Dieter,” Louis greets, shaking the pilot’s hand.

Turning towards Harry, Louis says, “Baby, this will be our pilot for today, Captain Dieter Eisbrecher. Captain, this is my partner, Harry Styles.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Styles,” the pilot says, shaking Harry’s hand. “Can’t say I ever met a partner of Mr. Tomlinson, but as with everything, he surely has an excellent taste.”

Blushing at the pilot’s words, Harry exclaims, “My pleasure, Captain, but please, call me Harry.”

“As you wish, Harry.”

“How are you? How’s Danuta? And the kids?” Louis asks when his boy curls into his side, seeking warmth on the chilly morning.

The mention of his wife and children brings a smile to the pilot’s face, instantly dispelling the sombre expression he wore earlier.

“All good, Mr. Tomlinson, all good,” Dieter responds. “Daniela, my oldest, got into the King’s College, so she’ll be leaving for London soon.”

“Oh, that’s exciting,” Louis says. “I’m sure you and Danuta must be proud of her.”

“We couldn’t be more happy, she worked so hard for that. Yet, I’m trying not to think about my baby girl leaving home that soon.”

“Ah, she’s a smart girl, she will be more than alright,” the blue-eyed man assures. “And if you or your family need anything, let me know. I mean that, Dieter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. We can always count on you-”

“Don’t mention it, Captain,” Louis says, patting the man on his back. Glancing at Harry, he is surprised to see his boy already looking up at him with wonder swimming in his eyes. “So, are we ready to go?”

&

“Is this really necessary?” Harry asks, sceptically watching what Louis is doing.

They have been in the air for about an hour and a half, yet Harry still doesn’t have any idea where they are headed. Judging by the size of the carry-on that Louis packed for him, they can’t be going somewhere far from Berlin, can they?

The meadow-eyed boy observes with rapt attention as Louis approaches him with a blush pink scarf. He took it out of his grey slack’s pocket, all the while maintaining eye contact with Harry.

“Well,” the greying man starts. “We can do it like a normal couple or like an utterly insane one. The call is yours, angel.”

Trying to contain the laugh that threatens to burst out of him, Harry inquires, “And what does either option entail?”

Coming to a stop by Harry’s aeroplane seat, Louis explains, “A normal, boring person would just tell their partner where they are going.” He gets even closer to the boy, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “An insane, eccentric person would tie a silk scarf over their lover’s eyes and then lead them through the tarmac, as well as a part of the city until they finally arrive at their destination, arousing with that people’s interest, and – assessing by your squirming – not only that.”

In a lieu of response, Louis gets only a meek whine that unconsciously escapes his boy’s rose lips.

“So, my darling dearest,” the older man continues. “What’s your call?”

“I mean-” Harry says in a high-pitched voice, instantly clearing his throat and starting anew. “I mean, we are a little bit eccentric , aren’t we?”

Harry studies his lover’s face, not missing the glimmer in his blue blue eyes.

“We most certainly are, baby,” Louis whispers, leaving a gentle kiss on the area near Harry’s ear.

It doesn’t take long for the gold-skinned man to tie the scarf around Harry’s head. Yet, when he tries to pull away, the angel releases an almost inaudible whimper that instantly alerts the other man.

“Hey, baby, what’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Harry tries to convince Louis.

“H, I need you to tell me.”

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles petulantly.

As much as Louis is endeared by that, he still needs Harry to voice what exactly is bothering him.

“I’ll have to take the blindfold off if you don’t tell me, baby.”

He’s met with silence, so he looks at his angel’s face and sees him gnawing at his lower lip, clearly considering his options. To show Harry that he isn’t joking in the slightest, Louis puts his hand on the boy’s Cucinelli-clad shoulder, near the end of the pink scarf.

“Idon’twanttobeleftalone,” Harry rushes out in an instant.

“I need you to repeat that, love.”

“I don’t want to be left alone,” the boy whispers under his breath, uncertain. “I don’t want you to move away from me. I think- I need to feel your presence.”

“Oh, darling,” Louis coos. “I wasn’t moving away from you, I wanted to take a seat next to you, but for that to happen, I needed to move our sleeping baby to another seat.”

“Oh.”

“I’m proud of you for voicing your needs, though, love,” the older man praises. “Now, give me a minute, and I’ll be right with you.”

True to his word, it takes Louis no time at all to pick up the sleeping Mercole and place him on another seat without the dog even stirring. Taking the seat next to Harry, the older man brings the boy’s legs to his lap and lazily starts massaging his feet.

Louis never thought that he could like someone’s feet so much as he fancies Harry’s, but here they are.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Harry murmurs, completely blissed out.

The remaining twenty minutes of their flight is spent in silence with Louis massaging his boy’s feet and Harry humming under his breath, “Need someone’s hand to lead me through the night; I need someone’s arms to hold and squeeze me tight” .

After landing, Louis carries his boy down the aeroplane’s stairs and into the Chronos Grey Audi SQ8 waiting for them. It’s one of his favourite cars he’s ever owned, and he still mourns the fact that he had to leave it here. Due to the limited number of parking spots in his building, and now, with his plan to upgrade his car, as well as get one for Harry, there’s nothing he can do about it.

Lowering Harry onto the passenger seat, he assures him that he has to get around the car to the driver’s seat, and he will be right back with him.

&

“How weird were people looking at me?” the forest-eyed boy asks when Louis leads him down the corridor to his flat.

They managed to get through the city without much hassle, but on their way to the lifts, the pair of them happened to stumble upon a few of Louis’ neighbours.

“Does it matter?” Louis asks, unlocking the door to the penthouse.

“No, I suppose. ‘M just curious.”

“Some of them didn’t even bat an eyelid at the blindfolded boy holding for dear life onto my hand, others, well, were a bit shocked, but I believe that they will get over it.”

As Louis opens the sturdy doors to the place he once called home, all of the memories he left here a few years ago seem to attack him all at once. The penthouse, to him, is like a memento of a life that he left behind and vowed to never come back to.

Sure, he’s coming to Manchester every month, mainly to check on the business, yet, every time, he opts to stay in a hotel. Shielding his heart from the past’s knives was always more important than the money spent on the accommodation, either way.

Now, though, with Harry by his side, everything seems different. Less frightening. Easier to overcome. Besides, Louis doesn’t think it’d be fair of him to still hold onto his past, when the meadow-eyed boy let go of his own.

“Lou?”

Harry’s voice prompts the greying man to snap out of his stupor.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, coughing into his fist to get rid of the sudden roughness in his throat. “Was just reminiscing a bit.”

“That’s okay, I just,” the angel lowers his voice, as if afraid that someone will hear what he has to say. “I still have the blindfold on, and I really need to pee.”

The last bit, whispered conspiratorially, for some reason, makes Louis laugh. Oh God, how he loves his boy.

“Let’s get you inside, then,” Louis says and, without further ado, he takes Harry’s hand and leads him through the threshold.

Ignoring the furniture covered in milk-coloured sheets, Louis leads Harry across the ground floor, stopping only when the pair of them stand in front of the living room’s floor to ceiling windows.

Once Manchester’s heart is at their feet, Louis, with a one tug on the scarf’s end, undoes the knot and lets his boy see.

“Where are-” Harry starts, but then, with his hand coming towards his mouth so as to not let the gasp slip past his lips, the curly-haired boy turns towards Louis and asks, “Did you bring me home?”

“Yeah, baby,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s love handles as if to ensure that his lover is real, not a figment of his imagination. “Figured you might want to come on a business trip with me this time.”

“Thank you,” Harry says against his lips, which he wastes no time to kiss once the words are released.

“So,” Louis mutters, breaking the kiss. “The bathroom?”

“Oh, I forgot,” Harry giggles. “But yeah, lead the way, please.”

&

After taking some time to freshen up, Louis changes into more formal clothing, opting to wear one of his newest acquisitions – courtesy of Harry managing his wardrobe – a Canali suit in purple wool with a crisp white shirt underneath. Harry does the same, choosing – from the limited options Louis picked out for him this morning – a Toteme snow cashmere sweater with wide-legged jeans from the same brand, and his favourite of the month, ecru Schiaparelli crossbody bag. The pair then heads out for brunch to one of the nearby places, both craving a true full English.

Due to Harry’s new vegetarian diet, it ended up with him removing from his plate, right onto Louis’, his portion of bacon and sausages, instead receiving back Louis’ baked beans and mushrooms – both of whom the older man claimed as “gross in structure” .

“What’s the plan for today, then?” Harry asks with a mouth full of toast and sunny side ups.

“I was hoping we could visit my Manchester restaurant – mana – because I need to have some things done there, but don’t feel pressured to go with me,” Louis placates, used to his partners not being interested in his work. “And then, I was thinking that we could check on my stud farm.”

With a fork well on its way to the boy’s mouth, Harry says, “First of all, I’d love to go with you to check on your restaurant.” Assessing the possible damage of his cashmere v-neck, Harry puts the fork full with beans back on his plate only to incredulously exclaim, “Secondly, what do you mean by your stud farm ?”

There’s no way Louis could contain the laugh that erupts from deep within him at his boy’s dramatics.

“It means that I might own a couple of race horses.”

“Why am I even surprised?” Harry asks, rhetorically. “Of course you’d casually drop that you own a few fucking race horses.”

Still smiling, Louis inquiries, “I take that you’re up for a little trip outside Manny.”

“Like you would try not to take me with you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

&

“And this is my gem, my beloved-” Louis introduces – or rather tries to introduce – to Harry the horse in the last stall.

After visiting mana and seeing that everything there goes more than great – thanks to the wonderful manager, Gita –they were free to drive out of the city to the countryside where Louis’ farm is located.

The drive took them about an hour, yet it felt like mere minutes with the sun gracing the sky, and Harry singing out loud to his for sunny days Spotify playlist.

Soon enough they were stepping out of the sport Audi onto the farm’s lush grass.

The stud farm, with its stone main building and wooden stables, looked better than Louis remembered, set among acres of green wild grass with horses trotting freely in the afternoon sun.

“Westover!” the cherub-like boy exclaims when his green eyes fall upon the bay Thoroughbred.

Releasing Mercole from the confines of his arms, Harry places the leather leash in Louis’ hand and immediately gets through the stall’s gate to the alerted horse.

“Hello, lovely,” Harry murmurs, combing with his fingers through the horse’s onyx mane. “Long time no see.”

What?

“What?” Louis asks, perplexed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, this baby used to be mine,” he explains, voice quiet, as if to compensate for his previous loudness.

“But Earthly Pleasures Ltd. is his second owner. Bought him from-”

“Juddmonte Farm, represented by Douglas Erskine.”

“In-”

“2020. I know,” Harry says, but after a moment of hesitation, he adds, “Well, I didn’t know who the owner of the Earthly Pleasures was, but I knew that Westover was sold to them.”

“How do you know all of that?” Louis inquires further.

Something’s not adding up here.

“Because before you, or rather the stud farm founded by your company, bought Westover, he used to be my horse. Got him from my step dad for my 21st birthday.”

The way Harry says all of it, so casually, like he isn’t shocking Louis to his very core, is a subject to be studied.

“So that means you’re Erskine-”

“Family’s black sheep? Yeah, that’s me.”

“ Fuck .”

“Fuck?” Harry asks, mirth swimming in his voice.

If Louis only knew. But now, all of it makes sense – Harry’s posh way of being, his vast knowledge of everything, from the way food courses ought to taste at a Michelin star restaurant, through good-quality quiet luxury essentials, all the way to his understanding of art, and finally, why he knew who Louis was from the very beginning. Harry must have known him before, when he was still living at his parent’s house. Louis, after all, was a good business partner of Douglas – Harry’s step father.

“It’s just,” Louis starts, but then takes a breather necessary to armour himself with courage. “I have planned a meeting with Douglas and Josephine.”

At that revelation, Harry stops his hand, letting it hover over Westover’s mane. Louis is sure that at one point, the boy stops breathing as well.

Snapping himself out of his daze takes Harry a minute, but when he finally succeeds, he turns towards Louis, and with a tremor palpable in his voice, asks, “When?”

Louis anticipated the question, yet, it doesn’t make it any easier to reveal the answer.

“Today,” the gold-skinned man whispers.

It looks like Harry was expecting that to be the answer if his expression is anything to go by.

“They expect me with a partner,” Louis reveals. “But you don’t have to go. I promise, it will be okay if you don’t go.”

He tries to placate Harry with all his will, yet it looks like his boy already made the decision for the two of them.

“I will go,” he says, meek. “I will go with you,” he adds, trying to convince someone, be it Louis or himself. Maybe both of them.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

&

When Harry left his home – the place that was supposed to be a home to him when his mother married his step father, instead it was only a collective of walls, floors and ceilings, all creating rooms filled with dread of stepping out of line and receiving a punishment for it – he was painted by both, his mum and step dad, as a black sheep of the family. A loner. A degenerate.

When Harry left his home, he couldn’t count on the mercy of people he used to call his family, friends or even acquaintances. He was contaminated. He was queer.

When Harry left his home, he was forced to abandon everything he knew, everything he loved and cared for. He deserved nothing. He should be thankful his step father let him leave instead of beating him to death when, after years of being raped by him and his closest friends, Harry finally had enough.

When Harry left his home, he left there a part of himself he never thought he would see again. Until today.

And this – all of this above – is what he told Louis on their way back to Manchester.

Without even a hint of emotion marring his pallid face, Harry revealed to his partner everything that had been done to him. From his step dad turning their – Harry’s and his mom’s – lives from a fairytale into a hell after only a few months into the marriage, all the way through him coming home, straight to Harry’s room to take some of his frustration out on the young boy, until the day he beat up Harry’s mother so badly that she needed to be taken to a hospital, only to invite his loathsome friends over to play with Harry.

“Are you sure you want to do this, love?” Louis asks for the umpteenth time this evening.

After visiting the farm, they returned to Louis’ penthouse in order to prepare for the evening. Harry might have endured a minuscule meltdown when he saw that the only evening-worthy thing Louis packed for him was The Row’s off white Sparrow dress, and a pair of nude Manolo pumps to go with it.

The older man tried to assure Harry that they still have plenty of time to do some shopping, and pick something else if the boy wants. The thing was, Harry didn’t want that.

He wanted to wear the clothes Louis picked out for him – what he himself picked in the store weeks earlier with a formal outing in mind. He didn’t want to change anything for them. Because of them. Not anymore, and never again.

So now, when they’re standing in front of the mansion’s door – the very same ones Harry crawled through a few years back, wanting to escape the living hell he was forced to endure – he doesn’t feel the dread he once felt. Not when there is Louis’ arm around his waist, supporting him. Not when there is Louis’ oud perfume permeating the air, calming him. Now when there is Louis, always shielding him with everything he’s got.

The mahogany door is getting opened by the majordome, but he’s not the one Harry’s eyes instantly fall upon. In the middle of the grand, marble-covered foyer stand the people he used to call parents.

Though Harry hadn’t seen them for over four years, time had not been kind to them. It shows in the completely grey strands of his mother’s hair. In the way his step father needs a cane to even attempt to stand upright. In a way their eyes are dimmed, void of emotions, life.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Douglas greets, plastering a fake smile on his senile face. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

Harry would think that neither of them recognised him if not for the way both of them ignore his presence as if he were a mere nuisance that will fade away if dismissed for long enough.

“Douglas,” Louis shakes the man’s hand, and then, turning towards Harry’s mother, he smiles and bows his head slightly. “Josephine, I’m sure you two already recognise my companion,” he says, addressing the elders. Without waiting for their confirmation, he brings his arm back around Harry’s waist, and with the fakest smile he can probably muster, Louis finishes, “Harry Styles.”

If someone were to drop a pin, it’d be louder than the Great Bell in the heart of London.

Yet, to Harry’s surprise, his parents seem to recover quite quickly, greeting him like a long lost relative, not like a disinherited only heir.

After the small talk in the foyer, the dinner is stiff and awkward, the conversation seems to float around Thoroughbreds, as if any other topic would result in a disaster. Unfortunately for both parties, there is only so much to be discussed about horses.

At one point, Harry excuses himself to a bathroom, leaving the rest to stir in the uncomfortable silence.

Wandering through the mansion’s halls proves to him that the time stopped here. Curiosity getting the best of him, he decides to check if the room that once used to be his was left intact as well.

Upon opening the door, he notices that not much has changed. Sure, the mess he left behind in hurry was tidied up, but otherwise, it’s all the same, as if waiting for him to fall back into his personal hell loop.

Strolling further into the room, he stops at the foot of his bed – the gate to the nightmare he was once calling life.

What startles him is the thud of the room’s wooden door as well as the sound of a key being turned in the lock.

“Louis?” he asks seconds before he feels a sturdy body pressing into his back. “Oh.”

Not being able to move and see who it is, Harry feels a blindfold being tied over his eyes.

No, it can’t be.

One calloused hand grabs his love handles painfully while the other moves up his spine to forcefully bend him over the bed. Not having much leverage, he folds like a sheet of paper.

“What are you-”

“Stop pretending,” a voice hisses right into his ear. “I know what you came back for.”

Once his brain recognises the voice, confirming his suspicions, Harry’s blood runs cold. It can’t be happening. Not again.

The boy’s brain screams at him to start moving, to fight, yet his muscles refuse to do so much as twitch, let alone shift.

Just as the first tears spring to his eyes, Harry feels the hem of his dress being raised above his ass, and then, the distinct sound of a belt buckle being open.

“Look where all this lace got you,” Douglas says. “Once a slut, always a slut.”

Feeling his white panties being moved to the side, Harry clenches his asscheeks, the lest he is able to do to protect himself.

“Come on,” the man chuckles above him. “Show Daddy your hole.”

When Harry prepares himself for the worst, the room’s door suddenly falls open, and there –flanked by what appears to be bodyguards, mistakenly taken earlier by Harry as their drivers for the night – stands Louis.

“Get the fuck away from him,” he says, voice covered with a harshness Harry never thought he would hear from him. “One more touch and I promise you that you won’t witness another sunrise.”

That gets his step father to move away, hands falling from Harry’s body.

Everything else after that is a blur.

Harry’s aware that Louis is the one to cover him up and then, after Douglas was escorted to the waiting in front of the mansion police car, he was the one to carry him towards their Audi.

He knows that Louis saw him spiralling, and that’s why he got into the backseat of the car without even considering letting go of Harry. Instead, the azure-eyed man let him straddle his thighs, ensuring they were as close as possible.

Once they enter Louis’ penthouse, his lover strips him bare, and starts leading them towards the bedroom – the only room they managed to uncover from the sheets.

It is then when everything that happened finally hits Harry.

Breaking into heart-wrenching sobs, the meadow-eyed boy’s knees give out under him, making him nearly fall to the ground if not for the strong arms encompassing his waist, keeping him upright.

With one arm around Harry’s waist, Louis leans down and, with the other arm under his knees, he easily lifts the boy who immediately buries his head into Louis’ neck.

“Oh, angel,” Louis sighs while laying Harry down on the white cotton sheets.

Harry immediately curls into himself, making himself as small as possible. Looking at his partner, Louis covers him with the duvet, and as quickly as possible, knowing by now that he shouldn’t be leaving Harry alone in this state, runs towards the kitchen to fill two glasses with water. On his way back to the bedroom, he makes sure to refill Mercole’s bowl.

Upon entering the dark room – the only light coming from the full moon gracing the sky – Louis notices that Harry turned away from the window, now facing the room’s door. What makes his heart grow is the sight of the Italian Greyhound curled on the bed, in front of Harry, lazily observing the door as if to protect the boy laying in it.

“Daddy?” Harry asks, voice small, frail enough to break the feather-haired man’s heart even more.

“I’m here, love,” he reassures.

“Come cuddle me?”

“Yeah, baby,” Louis whispers into the otherwise tranquil room.

It seems like the weight of the evening is too strong for his boy to stay awake any longer, especially with the little sleep he got this morning.

Shedding his own suit, Louis gets into the bed behind Harry, yet, when his body curls around the angel, he feels Harry startle.

“Could you-” Harry starts, unsure. “Um, could you take your boxers off, please? I want to feel all of you?” he asks, as if unsure if he is allowed to make any demands.

And how could Louis ever say no to Harry?

Taking his pants off, the greying man curls protectively around Harry – along with Mercole, protecting his gem of a person from the outside world – which prompts his partner to release a content sigh.

“I love you, angel,” Louis whispers into Harry’s curls.

“I love you, Lou,” the boy murmurs back, exhaustion already pulling at him, ushering him towards the land of nod.

&

Harry can’t remember the last time he woke up before Louis. As well as he can’t really recall the day he saw the sun rising, waking the city.

Wasn’t it the day he fell asleep with Louis on their patio, just after stumbling upon him for the second time? It had to be. The day when everything started.

Strangely enough, to Harry, today feels like another beginning of everything. It feels like after so many months of hoping that something changed, that he had a home to return to, eventually, he’s proven wrong. Now he knows that he has no-one. No-one besides the man whose arm is holding him firmly in place. Whose snores are a melody Harry got used to. Whose heart lives inside Harry’s chest, keeping him alive.

“You’re thinking too loud, babe,” Louis rasps into the chocolate-haired boy’s ear, nuzzling his scruff against Harry’s naked shoulder.

“Just thinking about how much I love you,” he replies, voice aiming for teasing, yet the sincerity bleeds true, making it sound dreamy.

“Sap,” the older man chuckles, but still nuzzles closer. “How are you, H? Really.”

Releasing the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding, Harry truthfully answers, “I’m okay. Really.” He takes a deep, calming breath. “As traumatising as the whole-” Harry says, gesturing with his hand, looking for a better word than the one on the tip of his tongue. “Encounter was, it gave me the closure I needed, I think.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Louis says.

Upon hearing the sadness in his partner’s voice, Harry turns around in his arms to see tears streaming down Louis’ gold-mussed face.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologise for. None of this is your fault.”

“I failed to protect you. It’s not nothing. It’s everything,” Louis rushes out, his accent getting thicker with each word. “You are everything to me.”

With that, the older man buries his face into Harry’s bare chest, seeking comfort in the meadow-eyed boy’s arms.

Combing Louis’ salt and pepper hair with his fingers, Harry tries to reassure the man once again, “Sun, please, you were the one who saved me. As always, you saved me.”

It takes Harry some time to talk some sense into Louis, but eventually, after an ocean of tears was shed, as well as a myriad of gentle, reassuring, loving kisses shared, he succeeds.

&

“What are we doing here?” Harry asks after stepping out of the grey vehicle.

The stud farm looks exactly like the day before, with the sun high in the sky, the grass as green as it can be, and the horses roaming around, carefree.

The sight of it all, paired with the wind sweeping through Harry’s already unruly hair, makes him feel free. Almost. There’s still an itching that needs scratching. He can’t do it alone, though. He needs Louis for that.

“You will see, baby,” Louis answers, leading him towards the dark-skinned man standing in front of the stone building situated right by the driveway.

Harry can’t focus on that, though, when his mind is filled with the visage of Louis wearing the pecan suede bomber jacket along with deep blue cashmere trousers. God, Loro Piana’s designers really know what they are doing. And to add to the perfect look – and Harry’s personal misery because how can one be so perfect? – the wind musses the man’s hair just right.

“Harry?”

The meadow-eyed boy hears Louis’ voice breaking through the lust-filled fog that occupies Harry’s brain from the moment he saw Louis stepping out in this outfit.

“Yeah?” he asks, finally casting a gaze on the other man who just smiles at him, clearly amused.

“I want you to meet Ato Botha, the COO of Earthly Pleasures, as well as my good friend since we were only tots,” Louis says, warmth coating his voice. “Ato, this is Harry Styles, my partner.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the suit-clad man says, extending his hand towards Harry. “I have heard a lot about you.”

The way the raven-haired man says it, paired with the look he’s giving him, only seems to back up his words, which means that Harry is left wondering what exactly Louis is telling the people closest to him about the pair of them.

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry responds, squeezing Ato’s outstretched hand.

Turning towards Louis, Ato addresses him, “Would you rather do it here or go to the office?”

“Do you have the papers here?”

Louis doesn’t get to finish before the other man waves the brown leather folder in front of his face.

“Then let’s do it here,” Louis decides, taking the folder from the other man.

“What’s going on here?” Harry asks, observing the exchange.

Turning towards the meadow-eyed boy, Louis holds the umber folder out, and when Harry tentatively reaches for it, freeing his hand, the greying man puts his hands on his angel’s love handles, watching with anticipation as he reads through the document placed inside.

“Lou-” he starts, his jutted-out lower lip quivering.

“He’s yours, H,” Louis confirms. “He has always been yours.”

When Harry doesn’t say anything, only looks at Louis with bewilderment written all over his face, the older man leans in and captures his angel’s rose-coloured lips in a searing kiss.

&

Louis doesn’t know what happened between him giving Westover back to his rightful owner, and now, the two of them entering his Manchester penthouse, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect Harry to storm towards the bedroom – altogether ignoring Mercole on the way there – and slamming the bedroom’s door so hard, Louis is afraid it’ll fall out of the door frame.

Deciding to give his boy some time –  some space – he takes Mercole out for a walk.

Maybe it’s better to make himself scarce for a moment.

The walk helps him clear his mind, and the afternoon sun makes him forget the reason he left the apartment – the desire to return to his boy remains the only thing his mind can focus on.

Maybe that’s why he’s stunned when he opens the penthouse’s wooden door to find Harry, clad in the lingerie he wore yesterday, kneeling on the parquet with his head bowed.

Upon hearing the thud of the main door being closed, Harry lifts his head and looks up at Louis. Eyes glazed over.

There is only one thing in Harry’s mind, over and over again – I need him to claim me . What the meadow-eyed boy hadn’t realised, was the fact that he was saying it aloud. Whispering it with intent behind is forest-coloured eyes, like the only mantra capable of saving him.

“What do you need, baby?” Louis asks, caressing his angel’s pallid cheek. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Picking Harry’s chin up, the azure-eyed man notices the tears streaming down his partner’s face, so moving his shaky hand towards the boy’s cheeks, he wipes the tear tracks away, only to clear the path for new ones.

“I need you to claim me,” Harry says. “Please, show me that you own me.”

“I-” Louis hesitates. “I can’t do that.”

“I’m not asking you to have sex with me, Lou,” Harry clarifies, voice surprisingly steady. “But please, I beg you, find another way. I need to belong to you. Not him. Not anyone else. I’m yours.”

“Only mine, the best angel,” Louis reassures.

“Then show me, please.”

Searching Harry’s emerald eyes for a dash of doubt, the older man finds there many emotions, yet hesitance doesn’t seem to be one of them.

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, watching as the older man leans in and captures his pillowy lips in a gentle kiss.

“There’s no need for that, baby,” Louis admits, somewhat shy. “I’m doing it for myself as well.”

“That’s okay. I want you to.”

Knowing what Louis has in mind since Harry was the one to plant the idea in the first place, he gets up from the wooden floor and wordlessly heads towards the en-suite, deciding to leave the blush Agent Provocateur corset set on.

Without wasting any time, the ivory-skinned boy heads towards the open shower and kneels in the middle of it.

He doesn’t have to wait long before a stark naked Louis enters the bathroom. He truly is a sight to behold. One that Harry hopes will let him forget about everything that happened this evening. Even if for only a moment.

Harry looks up at his partner – his future – once Louis stands directly in front of him, trying to show him that there is nothing more he yearns for. Everything else falls away when in a matter of seconds, he could be Louis’.

Giving him a last chance to say no, Louis questioningly lifts his eyebrow as if to ask if Harry’s sure.

And Harry, bathed in the glow of the setting sun that is let through the en-suite’s floor-to-ceiling window, kneeling in front of his lover on the cold stoneware tiles, couldn’t be more sure.

“Please, Daddy.”

Apparently, that’s all that needed to be said because as soon as the last word leaves Harry’s pink lips, a splash of urine lands on his collarbone, marking him in the most primal way.

When Louis’ done, the soaked angel looks up at him, eyes full of devotion, and with finality he didn’t think he could muster, Harry says, “Take me home. Please, take me home with you.”