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1. WORDS
July 2010
X-Factor Bootcamp
When Louis woke up that morning and decided he was going to try out for the X-Factor, he mostly thought he’d do his best not to butcher the Plain White T’s, get sent home, and finally be able to go about his life without always wondering about whether or not he could have been a singer. He had not counted on spotting the boy with the too-big curls getting interviewed back at the original auditions, nor had he imagined that same boy would not only make it to boot camp, but would also come barging into the loo Louis was having a wee in, and piss on him.
But then, would anyone have?
The answer to that questions is, of course, no, which is why Louis is stood in front of the urinals with his dick still out and his mouth open.
For a moment, neither of them move.
“Hi,” Louis says, when it becomes clear that the boy isn’t planning on speaking anytime soon.
“Oops, um—hello,” says the boy, voice unfairly low despite his obvious panic. He looks about two seconds from grabbing a wad of paper towels and like, actually mopping up the bit of piss on Louis’ shoes. He’s also just as curly as he was last time.
Louis finishes his business and zips up. “It’s fine,” he says, grinning. “At least you’re cute, you know?”
The boy stops looking quite so panicked, lips curling up in a smile that Louis’ pretty sure could move mountains. “I know,” he says, almost as if he can’t quite help himself. “I am very sorry, though.”
Louis is pretty sure he’s in love. “I’m Louis,” he says, saying it properly and stepping back to head for the sinks. It’s still a bit weird, since he’s basically gone more than half his life insisting everyone pronounce it all “not French,” but when Simon Bloody Cowell addresses you as ‘Louis’ then you respond to Louis. (Also his mum keeps grinning about it when she thinks Louis’ not looking.)
“Hi,” says the boy slowly, following him. He says it for most of the time that Louis’ washing his hands at the sink, but instead of being annoying, it’s just sweet. “Um, nice to meet you?” He’s wearing a plain white polo with the collar unbuttoned and blown wide about his collarbones and he’s got one hand up petting the back of his neck.
Louis bites back a grin, shaking his hands dry. “Are you going to tell me your name, then?” he says. “Unless you want me to continue to think of you as the boy who peed on me at X-Factor Bootcamp—”
“I’m Harry,” says the boy quickly, reaching out to take Louis hand and giving it a firm shake. “Harry Styles.”
Louis squeezes his hand, gentling their movements till it’s less like Harry’s trying to tear his arm off and more like they’re actually shaking hands. “Cool,” he says. “From now on you shall be known in my brain as Harry Styles.” He pauses, lips twitching, before adding, “who peed on me at X-Factor Bootcamp—”
Harry pulls his hand back with an affronted squawk and goes to punch Louis in the arm. It’s a bit more physical than Louis usually gets with anyone right off the bat, but for some reason, it doesn’t seem unnatural in the slightest. “Louis,” Harry whines.
It’s the first time his own name doesn’t sound weird to Louis’ ears, so the grin he levels at Harry is more than a little bright. “Harold,” he says. “Can I get your picture?”
Harry blinks at him. “Sure?” he says eventually. “But my name’s not Harold—”
“Sick,” Louis says, pulling out his mobile and finding a pen. “Oh, and an autograph,” he decides, grabbing a paper towel. “For when you’re rich and famous, I mean.”
Harry is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.
Louis reaches up to make sure he hasn’t.
“You want my autograph?”
Louis finishes powering on his phone with narrowed eyes. “You should work on not sounding confused,” he says, as the thing finally wakes up. “Famous people aren’t surprised when people ask for their autographs, Harold. Famous people deign to give them out.”
“I don’t think that’s a general rule, Lewis,” says Harry. He probably thinks mispronouncing it bothers Louis. “And anyway, how do you know I’m going to be famous?”
Louis looks up from his mobile. “Have you seen your curls?” he says.
“Have you heard me sing?” Harry counters, lips curving upwards. He looks torn, like he can’t quite believe he’s gone from peeing on a complete stranger to trading barbs with him in the middle of a loo about to maybe be on the X-Factor.
“Yeah,” Louis says, completely unfazed. “Isn’t She Lovely. I don’t know about the she in question, but I can safely say you are, Harry, not Harold, Styles.” He grabs Harry about the shoulders and tugs the phone around so they can smile into it. “Now smile.”
“Just for that, I’m going to sign it Harry, Not Harold Styles,” Harry grumbles, but he smiles at the phone. Louis ends up having to take several photos, because Harry Styles? Harry Styles has bloody dimples, and Louis Tomlinson is weak and cannot help himself.
“Oh, oops,” Louis says after he’s taken at least five photos. “I’m going to need another, my hand was in the way of your face.”
“Lou,” he says.
Louis should probably curb that nickname before he gets used to it, no matter how many butterflies he gets every time Harry says it. “Yes, Harry?”
“Your finger is in my mouth.”
Louis blinks, darts a look to the left, repositions. “No, it’s not.” It totally was. “In fact, you’ll find my finger is in your dimple—”
“Right, of course, my mistake,” interrupts Harry, reaching up with one hand to tug Louis’ away from his face, and with the other to grab the phone. “Cheese?”
Louis blinks, startled, because he’s gone from holding the phone and the upper hand to holding Harry’s hand and trying not to blush like an idiot in his own damn photo. “Cheese,” he repeats hoarsely.
Harry hands the phone back to him, grinning. “Now, you wanted me to sign something?”
Louis snaps another photo of him reflexively, ignoring the amused look Harry gives him, and hands him the paper towel. “What?” he says. “For all you know, I could suffer some traumatic accident and be unable to recognize your face.”
Harry takes the paper towel and pen, amused. “Right,” he says, before he puts the pen cap in his mouth and his eyebrows draw together in concentration.
Louis’ throat is very dry. “Anyway, if that happens, I’ll need some sort of photo of you so that I can show it to people before selling your autograph.”
Harry pauses where he’s been diligently writing his name in cursive. “You’re going to sell my autograph?” he says, finishing his last name and handing Louis the paper towel anyway. “Why, Louis, I thought you cared about me.”
Louis takes the paper towel and folds it into a neat square. “Yes,” he says. “But if I have a terrible accident and am suddenly unable to recognize your face, I will probably love money more.”
Harry laughs at him, like Louis’ not being a ridiculous person who asks for someone’s photo and autograph within minutes of meeting them. “I’m glad I met you,” he says.
Louis would respond, but he happens to glance down at his phone, and they’ve probably been missing for far too long. “Me too,” he says. “But we really should be going back.”
Harry follows his eyes downward and startles. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “My mum is probably looking for me.”
“Ugh, mine as well,” Louis agrees, holding the loo door open for Harry and letting it fall shut behind them both with a bang. “But I’ll see you again, yeah?”
Harry blinks at him for a moment before looking at Louis’ phone, smirking.
Louis shoves at his shoulder. “I mean in person, Harold,” he snaps. “Not on the bloody phone.”
“But Louis.” Harry can’t stop grinning, even as he starts backing away down the hallway. “What if you have a terrible accident and can no longer recognize my face?”
“You know what, piss off,” Louis grumbles at him, crossing his arms. “I regret ever meeting you.”
Harry just giggles at him again, and vanishes around a corner in search of his family.
When they get put together as a band, Louis isn’t sure why, but he can’t quite help but leap into Harry’s arms and hug him. “I don’t regret meeting you,” he whispers, as Harry stumbles under his weight. He can hear both their hearts thudding like freight trains in his ears. “By the way.”
Harry’s lips twitch somewhere near his hair line, and he twirls Louis around once on the stage. “I should hope so,” he says. “Seeing as you are my new bandmate.”
Louis rolls his eyes at him, legs dropping so that he can stand next to Harry again. “I just mean if I had to get someone’s pee splashed on me, I’d much rather have your pee than, like, his pee.” He points at the boy called Liam standing to the left. “You know?”
Harry has to try very hard to look serious and professional when the camera swings around for a reaction shot to Nicole asking them if they’d like to take the opportunity.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Louis grabs onto Harry’s hand, and doesn’t let go.
II. TATTOOS
September 2011 and December 2012
London and Los Angeles
Harry gets a ship inked permanently on his skin the moment they land in Los Angeles, fresh off the plane and eager to pretend he doesn’t have to ski with Taylor Swift several days later.
Louis gets a compass.
III. FOREIGN LANGUAGES
January 2013
Japan
The first thing Louis thinks when he sees his name in Japanese for the first time, is that maybe they should all just go home and quit while they’re ahead. Mostly, this is because the tail end of his last name in Japanese is apparently all the same character, and while Louis prides himself on not having made a complete arse out of himself on national telly or stage or at any point in his One Direction career, he’s relatively certain this will be the moment that all changes.
Because Louis’ last name in Japanese ends in three of the same character. And yet apparently is not. Louis’ brain cannot handle this at all.
“Louis,” Harry says, when, Louis’ finished panicking his way towards the front of the plane. He’s already wearing his traditional Japanese coat, but has got a hat in his hand, which he dumps on Louis’ head when he pauses to take a breath. “They’re not the same character.”
Louis is going to punch him. In fact, if Louis punches him, maybe this footage will make it into their damn movie, since it’ll better sell them as mortal enemies or whatever. “I’m going to punch Harry in the face,” he announces to everyone around them.
Paul just sighs and keeps looking over their itinerary.
None of the other boys look all that phased, either.
Harry, by contrast, is actually grinning at him. Louis narrows his eyes. “Harry,” he says. “Don’t look happy that I’m going to take your teeth out where other people can see. It ruins the magic.”
Niall takes his moment to interrupt. “I’m sorry, the magic of what?” he asks sounding like he doesn’t really want to know the answer to that.
“I need to keep some aspects of our relationship secret from you, Niall,” Louis calls over to him, and winces when he realizes he’s ruined that bit of footage soundly. “Otherwise the mystery is dead.”
“The mystery died the first time you fucked in my bed,” says Zayn.
“And mine,” adds Liam. “Sorry, Tommo.”
Louis waves a hand and goes to put on his own red coat. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, yawning a little. He’s still quite a bit jetlagged. And maybe a little bit off center since Harry rang in New Year’s snogging Taylor Swift. “You were saying about my last name?”
“They’re not the same character,” Harry explains, as they wait for the film crew following them to get ready to shoot actual usable footage that doesn’t suggest Louis and Harry are maybe more than casual friends.
“Why do you know so much about Lou’s name anyway, Haz?” interrupts Zayn, before Harry can go on. “Like, what’s mine, then?”
Harry pauses. “Well, erm,” he says.
“And Liam’s,” Zayn adds. “And Niall’s. And.” He looks gleeful. “What about your own?”
Harry looks between Louis and Zayn carefully for a moment.
“He knows, Haz,” Louis says eventually. “He was drunkenly waxing poetic about Pezza’s eyebrows and I figured I should even the playing field.”
“No.” Zayn still sounds smug. “You were waxing poetic about Harry’s eyebrows—”
“The birds’ eyebrows,” Louis corrects under his breath.
“—and somehow that got to you telling me that you’re engaged, technically.”
Liam and Niall perk up visibly.
“Oh, good, we all know, then?” says Liam. “Awesome.”
Zayn pauses. “Wait, how do you know?”
Louis shoots Harry an apologetic look, tugging at the hat covering his ears.
“I moonlight as Tommo’s conscience,” says Liam. “And occasionally his moral compass.”
“My moral compass is perfectly intact, I’ll have you know,” Louis interrupts, pointing at his tattoo.
“That thing only points home, though, Tommo,” interjects Niall, but he’s smiling like he knows the answer.
“Right,” Louis says slowly. “Which is Haz, and Haz is always there to make sure I don’t fuck it up royally.”
There’s a pause.
Harry grins at Louis like he did that first time they met in the bathroom, or the first time one of them got down on one knee. (He might have let slip to Zayn that he proposed to Harry back before MSG, but that doesn’t mean he told him about the time Harry cornered him the second night in their first flat. Or the time Louis came home with a tattoo and a promise. Or the one in France everyone almost caught on to.)
“They’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to be sick,” says Zayn loudly. “Can we go, now?”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up all you want, Zayn, but as soon as we get to the hotel you’ll call Perrie and talk for at least two hours.”
Zayn sticks his tongue out at him.
“Anyway.” Louis turns back to Harry. “You were saying about my last name?”
Harry doesn’t correct him to say ‘our last name’, but Louis can see he wants to. “They’re not the same character,” he explains again. “Like, you write one with a downstroke and one with an upstroke—”
Louis interrupts him to waggles his eyebrows a few times. “You know what else you should stroke—” he tries to say, but he’s interrupted by Harry choking and Paul instructing them off the plane, cameras in tow.
Louis still thinks it’s unfair that his name looks the way it does in Japanese.
He doesn’t mind it quite so much when it’s attached to Harry, though.
IV. FAKE FIRST KISSES
December 2013
Cheshire
“You know,” Harry says, watching as Louis strides across the grass with a look of utmost concentration on his face. “The fact that you insist on doing this every time we come home is starting to get a bit ridiculous.”
Louis doesn’t look up from where he’s been inspecting a group of trees. “It’s this one, yeah?” he says, patting one of the sadder looking ones. He’s got one of Harry’s jumpers on—one of the smaller ones from their Up All Night days, and Harry is both charmed by how attractively the fabric stretches across Louis’ collarbones and amused that he’s started to think of time in terms of concerts. Louis gives the tree another pat. “Definitely this one,” he decides. It doesn’t look like it can take Louis’ weight, let alone Harry’s as well. In fact, Harry’s not even sure it is a tree.
“I think that’s a bush, Lou,” he points out, trying not to laugh. “Which, not romantic at all.”
Louis gives the bush another considering stroke. “Hmm.” He purses his lips. “I dunno, it worked for Moses, didn’t it?”
Harry blinks at him.
“Like, burning bushes and all?” Louis’ definitely taking the piss. “Got him God, you know?”
Harry blinks again.
Louis lifts his head to look at him, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkly around the edges. “What?”
“Louis.” Harry doesn’t know what to do with him. Besides give up the game and pin him to the damn bloody tree and kiss the living daylights out of him, that is.
“Harold,” Louis replies, and then his nose wrinkles. “Oh, ugh. I sound like Grimshaw.” He looks like he’s smelt something bad, which Harry thinks is a little unfair. Not that he thinks Grimmy smells all that nice, but he doesn’t smell awful or anything. Not worthy of that look on Louis’ face, at least. But then, Harry really doesn’t want Louis to be smelling anyone other than him, so he holds his tongue.
“You called me ‘Harold’ first,” he points out reasonably.
Louis waves a hand in the air. “Semantics,” he says. “Little me was too big for his britches anyway—he thought he was being clever.” He says that last bit like he’s imparting some great wisdom on Harry, eyes doing that crinkly thing again.
This time Harry does laugh at him. “You could say that,” he says.
“Although I think you were worse,” Louis continues, unperturbed by the change in conversation. “Niall’s got at least three hours of you looking at me all dopey-eyed.”
Harry feels the tips of his ears flush. “Hey!” he protests, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “He does not have three hours—”
“Give or take.” Louis is grinning like the little shit he is. “Either way you were embarrassing with a capital E, Styles.”
Harry narrows his eyes at him and points. “That’s Tomlinson to you, Tomlinson,” he says, voice faltering slightly at the end. “Well that sounds . . . weird.”
Louis barks out a laugh. “Weird,” he repeats. “Quirky, more like.”
Harry can feel his dimples poke through. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
Louis looks like he wants to come closer and poke him in the cheek, like he did the first time he ever saw Harry smile, but he stays next to the tree. “You’re my favorite, Harry Styles,” he says. Before Harry can protests, he amends, “Harry Tomlinson,” and shakes his head. “Why have I married you, again?”
Harry steps towards him, bridging the distance until he’s got Louis backed up against the grove of trees and bush. “Technically speaking you haven’t,” he points out.
Louis goes to lace his hands back behind Harry’s head, and then balks, eyes going wide. “Nope,” he says, darting out of Harry’s embrace with all his usual, nimble grace. “Nope, you’re distracting me.”
Harry raises both hands, guilty. “Well, I mean,” he says. “It’s not like this is the first time—”
Louis points at him, eyes narrowed. “Stop talking about first times,” he says. “This is the first time we’ve come here on a Friday in the middle of December after finishing a World Tour,” he says. When he finishes, he strides off towards the actual real tree without any hesitation.
Harry shakes his head, but follow after him. “Alright,” he concedes. “But I should say—you’re not very subtle.”
Louis reaches the trees and gives one of them a considering patdown. It should not be attractive.
“I think my mum’s caught on, actually,” Harry continues, voice cracking. “She definitely gave me one of those grins before we left.”
Louis is definitely grinning now, but he hasn’t give up the pretense of looking at trees. “Am I meant to be embarrassed by that, H?” he says, shaking his head at the tree Harry knows is the one he had his first kiss under and moving past it. “Because you do realize your mum’s walked in on me having a wee—like, that’s much more horrifying. And possibly a genetic thing, so maybe warn Gems?”
Harry shakes his head at him some more and crosses to join him in four neat strides. “It’s this one,” he tells Louis, tugging his hands back to the tree in question and smiling. “You’d think you’d know by now.”
Louis snorts at him. “Well, forgive me for knowing, Harold,” he says, eyes rolling. “It’s not like I go around memorizing everything you say to me.”
Harry licks his lips. “Really?” he says, trying in vain not to sound like he’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.
“Really,” says Louis, and then he grabs Harry by the shoulders so that he can press him back against the tree. Or rather, tries to, as one of them slips, and they end up on the ground next to the tree Harry had his first kiss under.
“Ow,” Harry says, when the world’s finished spinning. Louis’ on his back, eyes half lidded, while Harry looms over him with his hair all fluffed out behind the headscarf. It’s all very Lion King, actually.
Louis looks amused. “Well, then,” he says. “That’s a first.”
Harry can’t help but bury his face in his chest, breathing in deeply and giggling. “Oops,” he mumbles.
Louis’ fingers come up to nestle in his curls, and he sigh. “Hi,” he replies. “Now get your bony arse off me so you can snog me proper.”
Harry grins into the fabric of his jumper. “You love my bony arse,” he points out. “You told me that only this morning.”
Louis shifts a bit on the ground, probably shaking his head, before drag a hand down to cup said arse. “Yes, well, it’s very lovely, aforementioned boniness aside,” he says. “Now, off.”
Harry lifts his head and rests his chin across Louis’ collarbones, right where he knows the It Is What It Is loops about in curling script. “Aforementioned,” he parrots. “And you say I talk like an idiot.”
Louis shakes his head at him. “Not an idiot, Harold,” he says, petting Harry’s bum a few times. “But very bony. And currently crushing me, so . . .” He trails off pointedly.
Harry sighs and goes to drag himself upright. “Do you need me to help you find the tree again?” he says, only a little resigned. “Because you’ve been dragging me out here pretty much since the first time I even told you about my first kiss—”
“Oh look, a shooting star,” interrupts Louis, pointing up at the sky, and then when Harry stops talking to go look, he leans up and kisses him.
And, like, really Harry should probably stop kissing him and strangle him, because how many times in his lifetime will Harry get a chance to see a shooting star, but mostly he just wants to keep kissing Louis for the rest of his life. Never mind that he’s been dragging him out to this one tree every single time they’re in Holmes Chapel in some misguided attempt to punish Harry for ever daring to call any of his non-Louis kisses ‘steamy.’
“You’ll always be the only first kiss that really matters,” Harry says when they’ve pulled apart to breathe. “You know that, right?”
Louis tugs at the curls behind his ears, fingers working at the headscarf pulling them back. “Yes, Harry,” he says, throwing the offending bit of fabric away. “But less talking, more kissing.” He grins. “You’ve got to. I made a wish, you know.”
“Well, then,” says Harry, reaching down to pinch at Louis’ sides. “We wouldn’t want to argue with wishes.”
Afterwards Louis makes a truly horrible pun about shooting stars while his hand is still on Harry’s dick (“Get it Haz? ‘Cause you’re a star, and, like, shooting?”), and Harry has never been more in love with him.
V. STADIUM TOURS
April 2014
Bogatá
Harry Styles is a right tease, and Louis cannot be blamed for the fact that he wants to drag him into a storage cupboard and ravage him as soon as he gets him off stage. He can’t do that, because before he even gets a hand on Harry, Liam is raising his voice to be heard over the residual screams from the stadium.
“Do you wanna go see fans?” he says.
And, well. Yes, Louis would definitely like to go see fans, particularly since his ears are still ringing and he just spent the last two hours singing the songs he wrote (one of which happened to be about Harry Styles, the right tease) on the biggest stage he’s ever been on with one of the loudest and largest audiences ever.
“Fine,” he says. He has to work to not sound put upon.
Harry smirks at him.
“But none of you are allowed to laugh at me tomorrow.”
Liam nudges Niall who nudges Zayn who sighs. “Okay, Louis,” he says. “We promise.”
They go see the fans.
Louis wastes no time getting Harry on his back naked once they’ve gotten back to the hotel that night, forgoing all pleasantries and leaving the rest of the boys to do all the work with Paul, etc. Louis would care, but Harry spent the entire show being happy and flirty with the crowd and flashed his brandspanking new tattoos for the whole world to see, and Louis’ not yet had time to sink his teeth into them. Well.
Technically speaking, Louis’ been setting his teeth into Harry’s hips the moment they were cleared as fully healed, but this is the first time he’s gone about it with other people besides the boys and Harry’s very close friends knowing about it.
So he does just that.
“Fuck—Lou—” Harry sounds wrecked, voice all sung out and now fucked out, and he’s writhing on the bed in way that Louis would find attractive if it wasn’t distracting him from the manner at hand.
“Harry,” he says. “Stop moving.”
Harry goes boneless against the bed save the twitching of his fingers somewhere near Louis’ head. “Are you going to blow me?”
Louis thinks about that. “Maybe,” he decides, going back to laving his tongue along the leaves of the tattoo. It might be too soon to start nipping them, but God, Louis doesn’t care.
“Maybe?” Harry sounds pained. “What do I have to do for more than maybe?”
“Not flash the audience?” Louis blows on his cock a bit, to see the skin under the tattoos twitch in response.
“What if I take after Niall and start touching my dick?” Harry asks, voice rasping out of his chest like sandpaper. Or, something—Louis’ a bit distracted.
“During ‘Better Than Words’ specifically or all the songs?”
“I was thinking—‘Kiss You?’” The sentence breaks in the middle.
Louis doesn’t even pretend he’s not pleased. “Were you?” He darts his tongue out to wet his lips, well aware that Harry’s eyes haven’t left his face once since he dropped down on the bed. “What’s to stop me from tripping you on the catwalk during ‘Little Black Dress’ before you can?”
“Please,” Harry scoffs. “You know as well as I do that’s your favorite part of the show—”
Louis takes his cock in his mouth before he can finish speaking, and then pulls back to say, “Really, because this is taking a close second, I have to say—”
“You’re not going to drag me out to meet fans and then tease me all the way back to the hotel the whole tour, are you?” Harry doesn’t sound like he’s sure he wouldn’t enjoy that.
Louis considers it. “It’s an awful lot of work, I have to say,” he says. “Lots of multitasking.” He starts walking his fingers up and down Harry’s thighs, getting them up close to the newer tattoos, and thumbing over the tiny L Harry’s got in his inner thigh. The corresponding H he’s got on his own thigh twinges in response. “I’ve got to smile at our wonderful and lovely fans.” He wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock and just holds it in his palm. “And then I’ve got to make sure no one else sees me pinching your bum.” He gives him a quick stroke. “And then I’ve got to owe the lads ten quid each when I inevitably succumb to your wiles and climb into your lap in the car to the hotel.”
He lets go of Harry’s cock and rocks back on his knees, pleased.
Harry whines. “Louis,” he hisses. “Louis, please.”
“So that’s a yes to teasing you the entire tour?” Louis asks, to be certain, and to be a little shit. “Because it’s very hot, darling, and I wouldn’t want you to have to keep wearing long sleeves.”
Harry’s eyes blink blearily open at the endearment, and Louis gives up all pretenses of kissing him.
God, he really loves this boy. Man. Harry.
“I love you too,” says Harry.
Had Louis said that out loud, then?
“Yep,” says Harry. “And that as well.”
He looks considerably more put together now that he’s got Louis draped across his chest and his legs hooked behind Louis’ thighs. He’s also rocking their cocks together like a right bastard. And a right tease. Which brings Louis back to the beginning.
“Harry,” he says, reaching across the pillows for the lube. “You are absolutely not allowed to flash these.” He drags his cock against the tattoos on Harry’s hips. “During shows.”
Harry half-laughs, half-moans. “Yeah, who’s stopping me?” he says.
“I am,” Louis says. “I—me, definitely me, no one else is going to stop you because no one else is going to even look at you—”
“Lou, lou, lou, lou,” Harry interrupts. “Lou.”
Louis raises an eyebrow, debates rolling off him to just have a wank, and lubes up a finger instead.
“It doesn’t matter how many people look at me,” Harry explains. “Since you’re all I want.”
Louis swallows, throat bobbing. “So much it’s hurting?” he tries. He presses a hand down to circle a finger at Harry’s entrance.
“Well, not really hurting, no,” Harry points out, hissing when Louis pushes sharply in. He curls his fingers quick, searching for Harry’s prostate and finding it in a quick few seconds. “The opposite of hurting, actually.” Harry’s voice has gone up several octaves. “We should call the label and re-record the song.”
“To account for all the mind blowing orgasms I give you instead of the wonderfully sappy feelings?” Louis asks¸ adding a second finger.
Harry shifts his hips restlessly. “We probably shouldn’t put it quite like that—but—yes—Louis!”
Louis uncurls his fingers, pleased. “We have to run it by the lads,” he decides. “Since they’re the ones who’ll be singing about it—”
“Louis, could you not talk about the band when you’ve got your fingers in my arse and fuck me?” Harry shouts, finally, hips rocking against Louis hand on the bed. “Please?”
There’s a short pause, and then both of their phones buzz over on the table.
Louis considers reaching for one.
Harry shifts his hips and whines.
“Right,” he says. “Right, that’s fine.” He nods. “I can do that.”
“Awesome.” Harry sounds amused. “Now, though, please?”
Louis pauses. “But you’ve only got two fingers—”
“Lewis,” Harry says, mispronouncing it intentionally. “I swear to God—”
“Yeah, alright, okay,” Louis grumbles, slicking up his cock. “But know that I only do this because I love you—”
He pins Harry better on his back and adds a third finger anyway, because it’s their first stadium tour and Louis is allowed to be somewhat sentimental.
Harry swears at him for the entire process, but by the time Louis’ fucking into him with their hands intertwined up by the pillows, he’s resorted to whining high in his throat and groaning.
They check their phones after to see a group text from the boys.
the walls in this hotel are very thin, Niall’s written. i’m having flashbacks to atlanta.
When Harry dropped his burrito off at the pub????? Liam’s replied, closely after.
Several minutes later, Zayn’d commented, I thought we told you to stay off tumblr, Liam.
+I. PUBLIC SELFIES
May 2014
Rio de Janeiro
It’s been years since they’ve been allowed to get spotted so much as smiling at each other, and Harry can’t stop grinning. He’s lucky he’s got the shades on to cover his eyes, because he’s pretty sure they’re twinkling.
“You look like you did back on the X-Factor Live Tour, mate,” Niall had told him that afternoon when they’d been standing awkwardly in the hotel lift in nothing but swimsuits dripping water all over the carpet. “Like, the final concert? You were proper embarrassing going all heart-eyed at Tommo.”
Harry had ended up thinking back to that concert. “I’d like to think I’ve only gotten worse,” he’d said eventually. “Objectively speaking.”
Niall had waved a hand. “Well, yeah,” he’d said, drawing the word out. “The two of you continually make me want to gouge my eyes out and give up on my own love life because what even is the point?”
“Niall,” Harry had said, poking him in the shoulder. “Your love life is lovely.”
Niall had laughed. “I’m kidding Haz,” he’d said. “You make me believe in soulmates.”
“Aww, Nialler,” Harry had responded, and well.
Part of the reason Harry’s grinning is because the moment the lift doors had opened Harry had been hugging Niall in a strictly platonic fashion while his bandmate groped his arse. Louis, naturally, had been less than pleased. Harry’s still feeling the after effects of that in the pull of his spine and the back of his thighs.
But that aside, Harry’s practically buzzing by the time they’re all gathered at the railing talking. Niall’s taking selfies, lips quirked up, and Zayn’s to his right mumbling about the view, when all of the sounds around Harry go fuzzy.
Louis, chirps his brain, like the silly phone alert Harry’s got set for Louis’ text messages and tweets specifically. He feels his breath catch.
“Hey, you,” says Louis, pushing in to stand between Zayn and Harry. There’s actually no available space, so he’s mostly using Zayn as part of the railing, but Harry can’t remember the last time they were allowed to be this close in public.
“Hi,” he says softly, afraid to ruin the moment with volume.
“Oops,” agrees Louis, like he’s read Harry’s mind. “What’re we looking at, then?”
Zayn starts describing the view, pointing out buildings and bits of Rio, but Harry’s too distracted by Louis profile to notice. He remembers going on about his eyelashes in the beginning, and how he’s always talked up Zayn’s cheekbones.
Louis has far better cheekbones than Zayn, even though none of the boys take Harry seriously when he mentions it. Harry’s serious, and not at all biased by the fact that they’re fucking, as Niall and Liam like to keep pointing out.
“Haz.” Louis’ mastered the art of talking to Harry out of the side of his mouth like he’s not looking. “You’re staring with your mouth open.”
Harry hinges his jaw closed. “You’re very pretty, is all.” When one of the people around them carrying booms and cameras asks him to speak up, he says, for the cameras, “The view is very pretty.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, H,” he says. “It’s really not all that great.”
“No, I think it’s lovely,” says Harry. “I’d like to marry this view.”
Zayn seems to catch on first probably because he’s got a first class seat to the pink staining the back of Louis’ neck. Liam’s not far behind, eyes going all soft around the edges. Niall remains oblivious and thrilled that they’re all out together as a band.
“Really.” Louis’ grinning now, no longer worrying about the flush to his neck, and he tilts his head better to look at Harry. “I don’t think it’s legal to marry views, Harold.”
Harry grins back at him. “No, actually, it’s just become legal,” he says, and Niall catches on with a hushed ‘oh.’ “So not only am I going to marry this view, but I’m also going to have its babies and make an honest spouse out of it.”
“Spouse,” repeats Zayn.
“You’re rather obsessed with that word, aren’t you Haz?” says Liam, not looking at the cameras filming them.
Harry turns his attention away from Louis to shift his sunglasses down his nose a bit. “It’s like a mix of spider and mouse,” he says seriously. “To quote Twitter, and also, coincidentally, this view.”
They all break at that, laughing loudly at the absurdity of the conversation, before Niall drags them all in for another group selfie to try to salvage the mood.
Louis ends up pulling out his own mobile at the last minute, after the official pap shots have finished and they’re just milling about on their own with fans, and he snaps a photo of him and Harry when no one’s looking. “Cheese,” he says, sounding oddly wistful. When he pulls the phone back around, he snaps a photo of Harry, quick as can be. As soon as he looks at the screen, he ends up laughing.
“What?” Harry reaches up to feel about his face. “Have I got something on my face?”
Louis gathers himself. “You’re making the same face as the first time, is all,” he says, pointing the phone towards Harry. “Cross eyed and everything.”
Harry sees his point. “Would you like me to piss on your shoes and sign some paper towels?” he says.
Zayn chokes on his bottled water to their left.
“No, I’m fine,” says Louis, grinning. “God, it’s been four years, Haz.”
Harry grins back. “I know,” he says. “I still can’t believe you didn’t swear at me.”
“I thought about it,” Louis says quickly. Harry can tell he absolutely did not. “But then, you were very cute.”
“And curly,” Harry says.
“And curly,” Louis agrees.
“And quirky,” Harry adds.
“And quirky,” Louis agrees.
“And yours,” Harry finishes.
Louis just smiles at him, soft and sweet, before heading off to wrestle with Liam for his phone. “Payno, come on,” he crows. “Give me the damn phone—you’d think Instagram was a new thing, the way you’re on about it.”
Harry watches the two of them with his arms crossed behind his back, dimples showing, heart feeling too big for his chest.
They’re in the middle of a world stadium tour, standing in the middle of one of the most beautiful sights he’s seen so far, and Louis is allowed to be there with him.
It’s not a real first, technically, but Harry’s not about to let it be the last.