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Liam and Louis are on their way back from working out when Louis sees it.
It’s a simple white piece of cloth--someone passing by would think it’s a scarf, maybe, or a napkin tied around the doorknob to Louis’ hotel room. If they took the time to inspect it, they would see that it’s really a long strip of cotton, cut from the bottom of a t-shirt and folded over onto itself.
It’s something Louis hasn’t seen in a long time.
“My abs are killing me, mate,” Liam says, lifting his t-shirt to pat at his stomach.
“Mmmhmm,” Louis says, turning to face Liam in the hall and stopping him in his tracks. “Me too, I’m knackered. Gonna go take a nap.”
“You didn’t even work out, you just read twitter and threw crisps at my head while I did crunches,” Liam argues.
“Yeah, arm’s a bit sore from the throwing. Just need a lie down.” He spins Liam in the other direction and pats him on the bum, sending him off towards his own room. “See you tonight!”
Liam doesn’t know enough, probably wouldn’t question the scrap of fabric on the door to Louis’ room, but Louis doesn’t want him asking questions anyway.
He rips it off as soon as he gets to his room and balls it up in his fist before he unlocks the door. As soon as he’s inside, he leans against the wall and pulls the fabric through his fingers, thinking about the last time he saw it. The last time he used it.
It’s been ages since he did anything with Harry--their fuck-like-bunnies, constant-sexual-exploration phase had ended after the first tour, but there was one part of it they had trouble leaving behind.
It was an accident the first time. Frantic kissing and rubbing off against each other turned into a wrestling match, both boys struggling for control on a too-small hotel bed (they shared, in those days, two double beds in a normal-size room). Louis came out on top, straddling Harry’s waist and leaning forward to press his wrists into the pillow over his head.
Louis didn’t understand that first time what had made Harry go so still and wide-eyed, what made him surge up to kiss Louis even as he stopped struggling to get back on top. He didn’t understand the second time, either, when Harry started wrestling with him right away and gave up a few seconds in, letting Louis win.
He started to understand the third time, when Harry handed the sash of his hotel dressing gown to Louis before he flopped down on his back, wrists crossed over his head.
Every time after that it was deliberate, and intricate, and hot.
They didn’t do it every time they fucked--there were too many options to explore for them to limit themselves at that point--but it was Louis’ favorite thing they did together. Harry placing complete trust in him, nodding slow and sweet whenever Louis asked for more. Purring when Louis tore up one of his favorite t-shirts so he could blindfold Harry, keep him guessing, make him feel everything more intensely.
That little scrap of fabric lived in Harry’s bag, and it became a symbol. Folded on top of the pillow on Louis’ bunk in the tour bus, hanging from a doorknob, tucked into Harry’s back pocket right before they went on stage. It meant Can we have this tonight? and the answer was always yes.
But that was a long time ago, it was something that tapered off as they found other interests, other partners, as they spent more of their time apart. The last time they’d done this had been in a cramped office backstage at an arena in Missouri, and it had been rushed and frustrating and wrong. Louis thought they’d have a chance to do it again, do it right, but the little scrap of white fabric disappeared and he didn’t have the balls to ask Harry about it.
Now it’s here, in his hands, and Harry is in the room across the hall. Louis wonders if Harry stood at the door after he left it for Louis to find, if he was watching through the peephole as Louis gathered it up and hurried inside.
He should talk to Harry about this, is what he should do. Ask for an explanation, find out why they’ve gone so long without it, ask him “Why now?”
He opens the door to his hotel room and stares at the door across the hall.
He should talk to Harry about this.
He steps out into the hall, closing his door behind him, and the door to Harry’s room opens. He’s standing there waiting, wearing only a pair of tight black jeans and a stupid scarf in his hair. He looks like Harry always looks, but there’s something in his eyes that makes Louis forget all of his questions. Harry’s face is open, trusting, needy, just like it always was.
Louis crosses the five feet between them in an instant, pushing into Harry’s space and backing him up into the room. He kicks the door closed behind him and crowds Harry up against a wall, pushes his body into Harry’s and tucks his head into the crook of his neck.
Harry’s back arches and his hips bump against Louis’.
“Gonna be good for me, Haz?” Louis asks, lips brushing the soft skin at Harry’s shoulder. He nips at his collarbone, then lifts his head to look Harry in the eyes.
“Yeah,” Harry groans. “Yes, yes. So good.”
“I know,” Louis says, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You always are. Go sit on the bed for me, yeah?”
Harry nods, tilting his head into Louis’ hand as he does it. Louis backs away, gives Harry room to walk past him and into the bedroom of the enormous suite. He stops at the edge of the bed and hesitates, looking to Louis as he touches the button of his jeans.
Louis nods, tells him “Everything.” He turns his back while Harry undresses, wanders over to the minibar to open a bottle of water. There’s nothing sexy about watching someone struggle out of their skinny jeans, and Louis might need a moment to collect himself. He used to plan this all out, to spend hours thinking of exactly what he would do to Harry the next time they were together, but he’s been caught off guard today.
It will have to be something simple.
He makes his way to the bedroom to find Harry perched on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, waiting patiently.
Louis frowns and walks over to face him. “I said everything,” he grumbles, yanking the scarf out of Harry’s hair. He does this at least once a week, gets a sad little “Heyyyy” and a game of chase out of Harry, but today the boy just ducks his head, abashed.
“It’s alright,” Louis adds, combing his fingers through Harry’s curls. “Need something to tie you up with, don’t I?”
Harry doesn’t look up, doesn’t reply, but Louis hears the hitch in his breath. He’s already half hard, his cock resting on top of his thighs, and Louis knows he’ll be all the way there as soon as he ties the last knot.
Louis pulls Harry up by his armpits, spins him around so he’s facing away from Louis, and tugs his arms behind his back. “Remember when you used to fight me first, Hazza?”
Harry stiffens, muscles tensed like he’s ready to move, but that’s not what Louis meant.
“No, no. I like it when you ask for it,” he says, smoothing a calming hand down Harry’s side. “I like it when you give up before we’ve even begun.”
Harry shudders at that, locks his hands together, and waits for Louis to wind the fabric around his wrists.
Louis hasn’t done this in a year, but his fingers remember exactly what to do. He binds Harry’s wrists swiftly, tucking a finger between the fabric and his skin to make sure it’s not too tight. He wishes he had something a little longer--a rope or a sash, something he could wind further up Harry’s arms, but this will do for now.
“Good, that’s good,” he murmurs, sliding his hands up Harry’s arms. He grips his shoulders and spins him around so they’re face to face, and Harry is gone. His pupils are wide, his mouth slack, and his cock is straining toward Louis. “You look so good like this, Harry.”
Louis guides him back to the bed, pushing at his shoulders until he’s sitting like before.
“You want this, too?” Louis asks, holding up the strip of white cotton he’s still clutching.
Harry nods, tilts his head down like a good boy so Louis can tie the blindfold over his eyes. “Thanks, love,” Louis says, working swiftly to loop the fabric around Harry’s head twice before he knots it firmly. “Up,” he says, tapping the back of Harry’s head.
Harry tilts his head up and Louis adjusts the blindfold, making sure his eyes are covered. “Is that right?” he asks, waving a hand in front of Harry’s eyes.
“Yeah.” Harry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
Louis strokes his hair, slow and gentle, watching every last bit of tension bleed from Harry’s brow.
“Is there something you want?” Louis asks, dropping his hand to cup Harry’s chin. “Something specific, love?”
“No,” Harry rumbles, his jaw moving under Louis’ hand.
“Just want me to decide?”
Harry nods.
“On your knees, then.” Louis pulls his own t-shirt off while Harry slides down to the floor, pushes his trackies down until they pool at his feet and he can kick them away. “I’m right here for you, Haz,” he whispers, stroking his cock just a few inches away from Harry’s face.
He likes this part best, getting Harry all wound up and needy and then making him wait. Harry leans forward, mouth open, searching, and Louis pulls away. Harry moves left and right, tongue soft against his bottom lip, his neck straining, and Louis avoids him, pulls his cock up against his tummy.
“Love it when you’re desperate,” he whispers. “Proper slut for it, aren’t you?”
Harry moans and surges forward looking for Louis’ cock.
“Let me,” Louis says sharply.
Harry pulls back, leaves his mouth open and waiting but stills completely. Louis makes him wait, watches the alarm clock on the bedside table until it flicks over to the next minute before he shuffles forward and taps the head of his dick against Harry’s tongue.
“Good boy,” Louis praises him. “Suck it now, Haz.”
Harry is an enthusiastic cocksucker, leaning in to take as much of Louis into his mouth as he can. For just a second Louis regrets the blindfold, wishing he could look down into Harry’s eyes, but he’s not sure he could last longer than a minute if Harry was looking back up at him.
“S’good,” Louis says, tucking a single curl behind Harry’s ear. “Bit more, yeah? You can take it.”
He pushes further into Harry’s mouth, too far, touching the too-sensitive spot at the back of his throat, and Harry pulls back, sputtering.
“Maybe I should just wank off, yeah?” Louis says. That was his fault, he knows it and Harry knows it, but apologizing and fawning over Harry won’t get him off. “Just wank off and leave you here like this, tied up and so hard. Who do you think would find you? Could be anyone.”
Harry moans again and opens his mouth, recovered from his coughing fit.
“Lucky for you I’m selfish,” Louis says, feeding his cock into Harry’s mouth again. “Want this mouth all to myself tonight.”
Harry doubles his efforts, flicking his tongue in just the right way, twisting his lips around Louis’ cock as he fucks in and out of Harry’s mouth. Louis knows he’s going to come soon even though he wants to last, wants to draw it out in case this is the last time, again.
Harry knows he’s about to come, too--he lingers on the head, sucking in just the right rhythm, tongue teasing Louis’ slit. Harry remembers every little detail about what Louis likes, and in the end that’s what gets him off.
He tightens his fingers in Harry’s hair, tugging just enough to keep Harry still as he comes in his mouth. His cock slips out before he’s done, and Harry whimpers when the last spurts of come hit his cheek.
“So good,” Louis breathes. “So fucking good, Haz. Such a good boy.”
He falls to his knees and reaches for Harry’s cock, hard and flushed red. He knows Harry’s close, too, knows that if he was patient enough he could get Harry there without touching him at all, but Louis is a little desperate for it, too.
“Gonna come for me?”
“Lou,” Harry rasps. “Take it off, please.”
“Your hands?” Louis guesses, panicked that something is hurting Harry. He pulls him close so he can reach behind him, reach the scarf, but Harry shakes his head.
“The blindfold. Please? Take it off? Wanna see you.”
Louis pushes the blindfold up and off, tosses it up onto the bed, and pets Harry’s forehead. “You okay?”
“Just wanted to see you when I come,” Harry says, looking up into Louis’ eyes. It stops Louis’ heart for just a second, the openness and affection in Harry’s eyes. “If I... if you think I deserve...”
“Of course,” Louis says, only missing a beat before his hand is back on Harry’s dick, their eyes still locked. “Of course you deserve to come. You were so good. Such a good boy for me, Harry.”
Harry comes like that, eyes wide open and cock pulsing in Louis’ hand.
Louis works him through it, keeps wanking him a little too long because Harry likes that. When he’s spent and sagging forward into Louis’ arms, Lou reaches down to untie his wrists.
They cuddle on the floor like that until Harry’s breathing returns to normal, and then Louis helps hoist him up onto the bed. He pulls the duvet up and over them, tucks Harry into his side, and wills himself to wait for Harry to speak first.
His will lasts for all of two minutes.
“Why don’t we do this anymore?” he asks, too tired and too drunk on Harry-sex to filter his thoughts.
“It was getting to be... a lot.” Harry says, walking his fingers up Louis’ chest. Louis frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Harry isn’t finished. “Not the sex. The sex was always a lot, in the best way. But... the way I felt, about you.”
Louis swallows hard, ashamed. Some part of him knew Harry had wanted more, but he convinced himself it wasn’t true. He wasn’t ready to deal with it, back then. Now... now he smooths his hand down Harry’s back, presses a kiss to his temple, and asks something he’s not sure he wants the answer to.
“And that’s... that’s not a problem anymore?”
Harry lifts his head so he can see Louis’ face. “I didn’t think so,” he says. “Until we started, and it’s just... you’re just everything, Lou.”
Louis knows now what he didn’t know then. That it was never just fucking around, not for Harry and not for him. He knows now that Harry is everything, too, and that he’s worth standing out on a limb for. He’s worth putting his heart on the line for.
He doesn’t know how to say it, so he pours everything into one long, tender kiss.
“Yeah?” Harry asks, lips curving into a smile.
“Yeah,” Louis tells him, pulling him back down for a cuddle.
“Missed you,” Harry mumbles into his chest. Even though they see each other every day, Louis knows exactly what he means.
“Missed you, too, Hazza.” Louis fumbles for the blindfold, finds it tucked under his back, and pulls it free. He winds it loosely around Harry’s wrist this time, then winds the other end of the fabric around his own. “I fucked up, Harry, but I promise I’m gonna do it right this time.”
Harry pulls the fabric tighter until their hands are touching, and then slips his palm into Louis’.
“We both will.”