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There was nothing that Harry hated more than thunderstorms.
Not that he was afraid of the rumbling sky and angry clouds – he just hated the fact that the disgusting conditions prevented him and his team from getting in some decent practice time.
Apparently Harry's ridiculous private school considered lightning to be some sort of “safety hazard”, which, yeah, he supposed was pretty true, it was just damn annoying that the stupid thunder was keeping them from running drills up and down the turf and preparing for the upcoming season.
Instead, Harry and 15 other restless teenage boys were crowded together in the school gym, anxiously waiting to see if the storm would pass soon. They had only managed to have a few practices so far and Harry could easily tell that everyone was itching to get outside. However, the weather seemed to only be getting worse.
He could see Niall floating about, gesturing along to some grand story, and Harry grinned and started to work his way through the team towards him. When Niall looked up, he cut himself off mid-sentence and beamed at Harry, throwing his arms around his best friend without hesitation.
“Harry, mate! This weather is absolute shit. Are we gunna be able to get out and play?”
While everyone else was annoyed, Niall was still a ball of sunshine – his personality so bright and vibrant that it was impossible to remain upset around him. Harry sometimes wondered how Niall was able to put up with him all the time, especially with how intense he got over football.
Harry couldn't help himself though – he loved his team and had been in charge of them since grade school, practically. Back then, they had had a proper coach, but Harry had always been the leader. He'd always loved football with a passion and it showed. The team essentially stuck together for years, new coaches coming and going, but the love and support from everyone never waning. Eventually, they had reached college, where even though they went to a nice school, the coach was absolute shit.
It wasn't really Mr. Myers fault, though. He was about 75 years old, almost completely tone deaf and had been a big footie coach back in the day. Myers was old, extremely old, any talent or knowledge that he used to have had been gone for years and he had no ability to coach whatsoever.
So, Harry took over.
It wasn't that much of a change, considering Harry had always been the captain. Now though, for the past few years, he had been a player, captain and a coach altogether to the boys surrounding him.
“Haz? I know it's been a long week back, but I didn't think you would bugger off this quickly!” Niall's laughter pulls Harry out of his reminiscing and brings him back to the present.
“Hey, everyone!” Harry's slow drawl gains the attention of the antsy guys surrounding him.
“So it looks like this storm isn't going to pass anytime soon, which sucks, I know. Normally we would probably do some conditioning inside, but I want everyone to get home safe. Consider this one of the few days that you'll get off this season!” Everyone laughs at that, including Harry. He's been known to work everyone hard, but they all know he does it out of love.
The guys started slowly filtering out of the gym, leaving Harry and Niall in the empty room. “What do you want to do tonight then, Haz?” Niall asks.
“It is a Friday and I happen to know that Liam's on the bar tonight. If we go early we can avoid the crowd! Maybe spend some time with Ed, you know?” Harry considers it for a split second.
“What are we waiting for?”
--
The bar is already thrumming with people and noise when the boys arrive, people chattering away, but not really drinking that heavily yet. Niall and Harry have been coming to this bar for a better part of a year and a half and they've become really good friends with one of the regular bartenders, Liam. He isn't all that much older than them, 22 to Niall and Harry's 17.
They manage to find a couple of seats in a more secluded area and Liam finds them a few minutes later.
“How do you always know we're here? I swear you have eyes in the back of your head!” That's all it takes for Liam and Niall to start chattering away. They were at the bar last weekend, but the first week of September had proven to be a busy one. Liam had barely had any time to breathe, much less socialize with them.
Harry was jolted out of his blank stare by Liam clapping him on the back. “C'mon mate! Cheer up. Season's finally started for footie – are you already working your boys ridiculously hard?” Niall's booming laugh and Harry's affirming nod causes Liam to smile.
“If you ask nicely, I might even drag myself out to a few games this year!” Liam actually sounds excited – he's always extremely sincere and so Harry knows that he really is planning on coming out.
Before any of the trio can get any more words out, an outrageously loud cheer rings out from the bar. Liam's eyebrows twitch in surprise and he looks concerned until he realizes, rather abruptly, that Man U had made a goal.
The big footie game of the night was against Chelsea and every single patron of the bar was currently cheering on the high energy Manchester team.
Liam slowly relaxed and turned back to Harry and Liam. “Look's like Man U is on their way to winning, what a way to start a season! It's good for them too, to come back in so hard, especially after they lost Tomlinson at the end of last season.”
This catches Harry's attention – although he supports Man U and usually follows football pretty avidly, he knows little to nothing about this Tomlinson person that Liam is talking about.
“Wait a second, Liam, who is Tomlinson? And how did they lose him?” It's the first time he's shown real interest in conversation the whole night and Niall was practically vibrating with the need to respond. Before Liam could so much as breathe, the overexcited Irishman had broken into zealous chatter.
“So Harry, I'm not sure if you watched, but back last year, at the end of the season, d'you remember that? Manchester was up against Newcastle and it was getting down to the end of the second half, and they were tied. Tomlinson, one of the strikers was sprinting down, trying to get the goal that could ensure victory for the team. Some idiot from the other team tripped him, though – like, purposely tripped him. Completely illegally of course, but he twisted himself hard and stumbled. Somehow, like a goddam madman, he kept going and actually made the fucking shot. No idea how! But because he ran on it, the twisted ankle actually pulled something or summat and it's just bad enough that they want him staying off of it. He's out for the season, against his will I guess, but he should be back kicking next year! Can't wait, the man's a fucking legend.” Niall's words come so fast and garbled that Harry had to strain to understand any of it.
Liam nodded along, “Yeah, I second that Niall. Louis is an absolute legend. He's also the nicest sarcastic asshole you'll ever meet.” Harry looks up at that.
“You've met him then?” he asks out of pure curiosity.
“He's come in a few times with his mate Zayn. Never caused a problem, so I have no issues with either of them whatsoever.” There is a slight flush to Liam's cheek as he mentions Zayn, which Harry picks up on immediately.
“This… Zayn, then. He's nice as well?” Harry hints softly. Liam blushes a bit more, nodding abruptly.
“Yeah, they are both fantastic!” Before Liam can add anything else, the sound of a glass smashing onto the floor interrupts. Liam sighs and rolls his eyes, annoyance flitting over his features.
“Guess I have to go clean that up. Sorry guys, enjoy your night! See you soon? Niall, text me when your next game is!”
Liam scrambled off to go fix whatever disaster some smashed idiot has made and Harry and Niall turn back towards each other. Even when he isn't talking, Niall is always smiling, a ball of sunshine in and out. He's been Harry's best friend for years, since they were little and kids used to tease Harry for his curly hair and dimples and slow voice and clumsiness. Niall had jumped right in, set them straight, and when Harry had tried to thank him he had simply shrugged and hugged him. Since then, they had both made a point to back each other up in everything and their friendship was wonderful.
Harry was starting to get tired, though, the stress and physical effort he had exerted in the previous week finally beginning to catch up with him. Even though teachers typically gave light homework during the first week of school, now that they were in sixth form it seemed that they were loading on the A-level coursework. It was obnoxious – didn't they have all year to give them a shit ton of homework? Why did they have to start now? It wasn't as if anyone was going to remember any of the material in a few weeks anyway.
Plus, they had more important things to focus on. Such as getting the footie team whipped back into shape.
“Hey, Ni, I hate to ditch you, but I'm getting pretty tired. I might just go home and watch a movie with Gemma and pass out if that's okay? You can come of course, but I don't want to drag you away from here if you want to stay.” Niall doesn't even consider it before replying.
“Nah, mate, I don't want to stay here with these idiots. They're just getting steadily more drunk, a movie sounds great in comparison. Plus Liam's all tied up so we don't even have anyone that we can bother. Let's get out of here!” Niall's words are finished with a booming laugh and Harry wants to hug him. Maybe pinch his cheeks like he's a small child, but mostly just hug him.
--
By Monday morning, Harry was beyond ready to finally practice some football. It was absolutely beautiful out, the sun warm and only a light breeze was blowing. Perfect weather for footie. Harry and Niall spent each of their shared classes passing notes about different practice drills, itching to get outside. During their free, they were so ready to get outside that they took some of the team's balls and headed out to the pitch to get some of their excess energy out.
As they passed the ball back and forth, laughing and cracking jokes, Harry happened to look up towards the school. There was a lone figure at the top of the hill overlooking the pitch, simply standing. Harry couldn't make out any of his features, but it seemed a bit odd that he would observe them playing, especially from afar. Harry stopped the football when Niall passed it to him again, opening his mouth to mention the person.
When he glanced up again though to gesture at them, the figure was gone.
“Harry? You okay mate?” Niall asked, sounding a bit concerned.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Got a bit distracted. Do you want to go back in?” Niall nodded, moving towards Harry to pick up the football.
After his free, Harry had history, a class that he despised. Instead of paying attention to whatever his wrinkled teacher was saying, Harry decided to browse the internet. He had clicked through a variety of tabs, and was about to fall asleep when he thought about what Niall had said the night before. Niall had talked about a hurt footie player, Louis Tomlinson. It wouldn't hurt to look him up, would it?
Harry spent the next 45 minutes enthralled. Tomlinson, number 28 for Man U, was beautiful to watch on the pitch. He was fast, ridiculously so, and his every movement was fluid and purposeful. It didn't help that he was absolutely gorgeous, on top of his footie skills. The man was practically a walking god, and Harry wanted to wank to him while cursing him out. How was it fair that someone like that could possibly ever exist?
The door opened and the hallways started to fill with the dull roar of voices, signaling for class to end. Harry groaned and leaned back, not wanting to move.
Then of course, he realized that it was last period and he could finally leave and get to footie practice.
While grabbing a few books out of his locker and packing his bag up, Niall came over, blabbing about some girl in his math class. Harry was distracted, but once he heard “I think she might want to help me study, she's really nice,” he snapped his head up. Niall was very much a people person and loved anyone who liked him and gave him food, and was generally a happy piece of sunshine. However, in all of their years of friendship, Niall had only expressed any sort of romantic interest in anyone a few times. Whoever this girl was, she was probably something amazing, to have already ensnared Niall. He didn't really study, more just fucked around and somehow did pretty well anyway. Harry thought that maybe teachers just gave him good grades because they liked him.
Then again, half the time Harry was pretty sure they did that with him too.
“Wait, Niall, who is this again?” Niall turned the color of a tomato, his pale Irish skin revealing just how embarrassed he was.
“Um, her name is Barbara. She's gorgeous, Harry, absolutely stunning and I'm pretty sure I turn to mush every time I so much as look at her. Yeah. Anyway we are going to be late for footie if we don't hurry up! Let's go!” Harry just laughed as Niall practically ran away, gathering all of his stuff and heading down to the locker room.
Harry had always been extremely clumsy, the only time his limbs actually worked was on the footie pitch. Sometimes he could keep his balance when he was photographing, but most of the time he couldn't walk down the hallway without tripping over his own feet. Which, unfortunately enough, was exactly what happened to him.
Only, this time, instead of finding himself sprawled out on the cold hard ground, Harry found himself surrounded by hard muscles and defined arms. Well that definitely isn't the floor...or a wall. For once. He was quickly righted and before he could get a proper look at his savior, the male laughed lowly. The sound was like melting chocolate and Harry could practically feel his knees starting to wobble. The man was smaller than Harry, significantly so, but his tight black jeans and black hoodie revealed an entirely delicious curvaceous body. Harry didn't even know who this man was, didn't know what his face looked like and he wanted the male to absolutely wreck him.
“Oops,” Harry managed to breathe out.
He forced himself to breathe when the male spoke suddenly as he pulled away. “Hi. You ought to be more careful, love.” His voice was surprising high, and Harry wanted to hear it moaning his name.
God. What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn't even know this person, had never seen them before in his life. He shouldn't be thinking about how he would seem wrecked, how great it would be if the small man dominated the all living fuck out of Harry – okay. That was enough. He had footie practice soon, he had to control himself.
Before Harry could introduce himself in hopes of finally getting to see his helpers face, the man briskly walked off in the direction of the main office. Harry stood frozen in the middle of the empty hallway, staring after the swaying ass of a ridiculously attractive male.
What the fuck had just happened?
--
As Harry ran drills up and down the turf, shouting out directions every few minutes, and joining in on most of the exercises, he was massively distracted. Niall clearly knew, the Irish bastard was far too aware for his own good, but he hadn't yet been able to approach Harry alone to coax the story from him. Harry was glad, he didn't know if he felt quite like explaining what had happened. Mostly because, absolutely nothing had happened. He had just had an extremely awkward and tension filled meeting with a stranger. That was all.
For some reason, though, it felt much more monumental than that.
Harry was off, and he knew it. He tried to not let it affect practice though, because they really did need to try to whip the team into shape. Their defense was arguing, which messed up the dynamic of the entire team, and Harry somehow had to find a way to get them to work together again. Football was stressful, but this was where Harry thrived. He loved it, loved the thrill of the game and the strategic planning, loved every second of it.
He didn't want to do football forever, though – he wasn't planning on going professional anyway. Harry wasn't sure he had that level of dedication or skill, and although it dictated most of his life, he would have prefered to have a long lasting career. Sure, if he was offered a football scholarship he would take it, but only if it furthered his interests in other areas.
Before he knew it, Harry was looking down at his phone, realizing that it was 5:00.
“Okay guys, huddle up. That's it for today, you all worked hard and did great. Tomorrow we have a bit of a longer day, since we don't get the field right away. Great work!” Harry pushed as much enthusiasm as he could into his voice, since had never had the ability to speed up his slow drawl.
--
Harry didn't sleep well that night, dreams peppered with images of the fit man that had caught him as he fell. He tossed and turned, and no amount of wanking seemed to ease his want. He felt like a ridiculous teenage boy – what if the man wasn't even attractive? Then again, Harry had felt the hard muscles of his chest, if he was that fit there was no way he wasn't fucking beautiful. Harry would've bet actual money on the fact that his face was probably downright sinful.
When he came down for breakfast, sleep deprived and grumpy, his mum raised her eyebrows at him.
“You okay darling? You look a little under the weather today. Are you feeling a bit peaky?” As she moved to feel his forehead, Harry was quick to reassure her.
“No, mum, I'm okay. Just didn't sleep well last night.”
Well. That was the truth, he hadn't slept well. He didn't particularly feel the need to elaborate though. Pretty sure his mother wouldn't appreciate being told just how sexually frustrated her 17-year-old son was.
If the loud clipped noises coming from the stairs were any indication, Gemma was now awake and ready for work. She was Harry's older sister, and 21 years old. Currently living at home as she searched for the perfect flat and roommate for uni. Harry assumed that she was only awake at this hour because she had to head over to work, since her classes didn't usually begin until noon.
“Morning, mum, H.” Gemma didn't seem to have quite woken up yet and wasn't very interested in conversation. Harry quickly passed her a cup of tea, and dashed upstairs to his room to finish getting ready. He didn't want to get in her way if she decided she needed a target – his older sister was his best friend in so many ways, but at the same time they were siblings and she felt no regret about bothering him.
Harry's day was spent in a haze of boredom until his photography class. It was the only activity that truly interested him other than footie, and he had seriously started to consider going to uni for photography. He loved capturing moments and interactions in his lens and his class was absolutely fantastic.
“Harry! How are you today?” The second he walked into the spacious art room he was greeted by Perrie throwing her arms around his shoulders enthusiastically.
Harry laughed at his ridiculous blonde teacher, who continuously insisted that she was “too young to be called Mrs. Edwards” and that “he was her favorite student anyway”. Maybe it wasn't the most professional of student-teacher relationships, but Harry was very positive he was gay and Perrie wasn't interested in him anyway. She was just overly excited about everything. Literally everything – Harry had never ever heard her upset or sad in any way. She just had boundless amounts of energy, much like Niall, with whom she got on with famously. Niall sometimes would come into Harry's photography class simply to bother Harry by teaming up with Perrie to make fun of him. It helped him focus, actually, the distraction proving to be just enough for him to get energetic and light shots.
Mr. Malik, the art teacher, would often join the class as well. It wasn't as if there were any other students besides Harry and he was best friends with Perrie.
It seemed that today was one of those days. “G'morning Pezza… what are you guys off to do today?” The teacher's thick accent and model-like appearance made it hard to do anything other than stare, wide-eyed, at him. Harry wasn't sure it was quite legal for a teacher to look that good. Besides, what teacher actually wore a leather jacket and skinny jeans to work? Mr. Malik, apparently.
Sometimes, when Harry and Niall were busy fucking around in the dark room, Mr. Malik would come in and dye Perrie's hair for her.
They would always try and guess what color it was going to be this time – sometimes pink, red, purple, or blonde, but their art teacher always managed to make it ridiculously gorgeous.
Perrie seemed to be getting ready to head outside though, so Harry assumed that the two of them were going to do more nature photography today, not dye hair. It was adorable though, what good friends the two of them were, and Harry sometimes just wanted to hug them both. However, that would probably not be considered school appropriate...then again, it wasn't as if they were very professional to begin with.
“C'mon, Hazza. Don't you want to go outside today? Everything just looks sooo nice. I found a few chipmunks the other day, maybe we could get them to come out for pictures!” Perrie sounded so excited that Harry couldn't help but to laugh and smile.
“Let's go!” His voice was all giggly and excited, and it reflected his good mood perfectly.
--
“Football meeting on the turf at 3:00.” The announcement rung through fragile old speakers of the school suddenly. The members of Harry's team in the vicinity all snapped their heads towards him.
Harry shrugged at them, having absolutely no idea what was going on. Perhaps it was just the school administration asking them to move practice time? It seemed odd that whatever it was, they couldn't have just emailed him. He felt a little bit anxious, but shrugged it off and moved to get ready.
Once he and the rest of his team managed to get all changed up and down on the pitch, they all cornered him.
“What's the news then, Harry?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Guys, guys – It wasn't me who called for the meeting. I dunno. Must be the school, for some reason. I thought maybe they were asking us to move our practice times or something, but I guess we'll find out in a few minutes. Until then, we can just sit tight okay! Thanks, mates.” Harry played it off as not being anxious, but he was starting to get seriously worried. Why wouldn't this have gone through him first? Why didn't he know what was going on? It all seemed really odd.
Niall sidled up next to him. “Harry, mate, you really don't know what's going on then? Seems a bit weird to me. Why wouldn't they just tell you first? I mean, we all know you're our coach so...” He trailed off, eyes widening and his mouth dropped open.
“Niall? Niall, 'lo? You in there?” When Harry still didn't receive a response, he followed Niall's gaping expression to the hill above the pitch. He didn't understand what he was looking at, for the first few seconds.
It was the headmaster and a man, but he couldn't quite see him from behind Niall. As they slowly made their way closer and closer, Harry stepped back as if he'd been punched. He knew that figure, knew how it felt pressed up against him, knew those curves.
What the actual fuck was that person doing back? And would Harry finally get to see their face?
Niall backed up slightly, gripping Harry's forearm rather hard.
“Harry… Harry that's. That's.” And Harry finally recognized the man, perfectly styled hair coming into sight, stunning curves and a Man U footie jersey.
It was Louis Tomlinson.
Harry went into a bit of a panic mode at that.
Louis Tomlinson was there. Louis Tomlinson, a starting forward for Manchester United. The first thing Harry noticed about him was that standing up, Tomlinson was actually quite small. When Harry wasn't collapsed in his arms, Harry probably had around 6 inches on him and would tower over him. The second thing he noticed was that Louis Tomlinson was sinfully attractive. Yes, objectively he had known this from pictures, and from his own observations pressed up against his body. But it was entirely different to see his face up close – his cheekbones must've been chiseled by the Gods to get that sharp. Tomlinson's hair was longer, styled around his face, and Harry wanted to fuck it up so badly, see what his sex hair looked like. Harry couldn't see his eyes from this distance, but he imagined that they were as beautiful as the rest of him was proving to be.
Yet again, the footie player was wearing a ridiculously tight shirt that clung so close that every single one of his abdominal muscles could be counted by Harry. Harry wanted to drizzle chocolate on him and lick it off.
Harry couldn't move a muscle, not even when the headmaster clearly said something, some form of English, to the team, and they moved aside to form a path to Harry. Niall poked and prodded at his side, his grip on his arm still tight in an attempt to gain his attention.
Harry's eyes were locked on this specimen of a man heading his way, caught between taking a gasping breath and exhaling sporadically. He finally settled on biting his lip, and it took Harry a minute to fully recognize that Louis Tomlinson – the Louis Tomlinson – was headed his way, and there was a distinct possibility that he might have to talk to the man. In front of his entire team. Oh dear fucking God, someone needed to save him right this instant.
Harry knew he had charm, knew he was able to flirt and enchant and tease, and knew that he had moderate good looks, however, he had already fucked up the first time he met the man – falling at his feet practically, he couldn't possibly try to act smooth now. Plus, he was nothing in comparison to this professional footie player – he didn't need to embarrass himself even more.
“Harry, my boy, meet Louis Tomlinson.” The headmaster was smiling and warm, but Harry somehow still felt as if he were being sent on a death march.
Up close, Louis was even more gorgeous and Harry just wanted to cry – how was it fair like someone like him was allowed to exist?
Then, the headmaster perked up, gesturing to the entire team.
“Afternoon everyone. As you all have noticed, Coach Myers is getting, um, ah, how to put it delicately – rather old. Harry here has done an absolutely fabulous job, taking over all of the day to day coaching responsibilities.” Harry couldn't help himself, he preened a little bit at this. It was nice to finally get some recognition for all of his hard work.
“I'm sure you've all seen, as well, that Louis Tomlinson here is a player for Manchester United. He got injured at the end of last season, and so is taking a year off to ensure that the injury completely heals before he goes back to professional football. He wants to remain active though, so we offered him a coaching job here at Helsby. Meet your new football coach, everyone!” Having delivered the news, the headmaster booked it back to the school.
Wait. Wait a minute. Harry was having a hard time processing what he had just been told – was this Louis Tomlinson taking over as coach? Some good looking, good for nothing professional football player was going to swoop in and take his team from him? Harry didn't think so. Not if he could help it.
The team was eerily quiet for a group of teenage boys, all staring at Tomlinson and Harry in shock. Not even Niall quite knew how to react, eyes full of disbelief and confusion.
Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to tell Tomlinson to kindly fuck off and leave the team to him. Tomlinson had yet to make a sound, or respond to the headmaster's statements in any way, and the team was waiting with baited breath to see what he had to say.
“Hello everyone… as you all know by now, I'm Louis Tomlinson, although you lot can call me coach or Louis, whatever works for you.” The small man rocked back and forth on his toes, and Harry's eyes were drawn to this sweatpants, which were tucked into his socks. Fucking adorable and attractive all at the same time and – no. Harry forced himself to snap out of it. This man was fucking with his team. It didn't matter how much Harry wanted to see him wrecked, or how much he wanted to climb him like a tree, he had to shut down his attraction. His team was the main priority, and he had to focus on that.
The team was completely enthralled by Tomlinson, crowding around him, eager to hear more. Harry just wanted him to shut up, his voice the high pitch and quality of what Harry imagined an angel would sound like. A voice in Harry's head wouldn't let the matter drop – imagine what he would sound like moaning, high pitched and whining...
“I know this is sudden, considering you've already started your season, but I think that if we all spend some time getting to know each other this could be great. I used to be a team captain in college and I've coached some little ones on my sisters' teams, so I'd like to think I'm qualified enough to do this.” His words raised a laugh from Harry's team, and there was nothing Harry wanted to do more than punch him. They were supposed to dislike him, not laugh at his jokes and listen to him.
“So I think that maybe today we could go inside and do some conditioning? And I can talk to your captain about what you've been doing so far. You all can introduce yourselves and your positions to me as well? I do have a roster, so hopefully I can learn who everyone is quickly.” And with that, the team scattered towards the weight rooms, except for Harry, Niall, and Tomlinson.
He approached Harry casually and Harry was forced to bite his lip harder in order not to say something extremely rude.
“So you're less clumsy on the pitch, then?” Tomlinson intoned, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue. Harry stood up a little straighter.
“I'm not clumsy on the pitch at all… that would be why I'm in charge of the footie team.” Harry had to choke back a surprised laugh – even though he hated Tomlinson and everything he was planning on doing, he had never been so sarcastic and rude in his life. It was a bit exhilarating in a way.
Tomlinson raised an arched eyebrow, somehow managing to look down on Harry, despite his smaller stature.
“M'kay. What've you been working on with them? They look to be in pretty good shape for only having just started.” The compliment only bothered Harry, the words coming across as insincere and false.
“Look, Tomlinson. I know you think you're hot shit because you're a professional footie player, and that's nice and all, but this is my team. I don't really care what you've done, I just want you to stay out of this. It's not as if you really need the money from coaching, go back to bathing in your cash or something okay? I've been with this team for years, and I'm not letting some idiotic football player take it from me, let's be clear.” Harry's voice was the sharpest he could possibly make it, attempting to cut glass and possibly Louis Tomlinson out of his life.
Tomlinson's face didn't change once during the entire exchange – it remained a cool and collected facade that Harry's words didn't seem to break.
“I understand that you've been in charge for a while, Styles, but perhaps you should step aside, let the professionals have a go, okay?” His tone was condescending and harsh, causing Harry to step back, just as if he had been slapped.
Tomlinson marched off to join the rest of the team, leaving a fuming Harry and a confused Niall in the middle of the pitch.
Niall turned towards Harry, mouth agape, brow furled.
“I hate to assume – but, uh, actually, no. What the fuck just happened?” Harry pressed his lips together harshly, squinting up to where Louis had disappeared.
“Tomlinson's an arsehole. I know the school wants us to have a coach, and yeah, maybe if they were nice, I wouldn't have a problem with it. But he doesn't want me in charge, thinks he can just come waltzing in and take everything over without stepping on anyone's toes. Well I have news for that cocky shit...” Harry's words seemed to shock Niall a bit, the biting harshness of his voice being much sharper than Harry usually allowed himself to get. He was quite a mild person, to be honest, preferring to be passionate and loving. When he got pissed off, though… it was a different story.
Tomlinson didn't know who he was fucking with, and if he thought he was taking Harry's team away, he had another thing coming.
--
The rest of the week was supremely awkward, to say the least. Harry was moody and irritable, snapping at Niall and Perrie when they were having a laugh together. His classes were boring and morose, and each practice was filled with tension so thick that it could be cut with a knife.
Every time Tomlinson asked the team to do something, Harry would snap and make disregardful comments, undermining his authority. Tomlinson pushed back just as hard, until it was just the two of them, locked in a battle of wills. Each practice was filled with hateful glares, and snide comments under Harry's breath. He refused to let the professional footie player push him around, absolutely wouldn't move an inch for the smarmy idiot.
Harry wouldn't normally have assume the worst of someone, would have usually waited to scope out their personality. He had absolutely no regrets about straight out hating Tomlinson though – the man had messed with his team, one of the only things he cared enough about to fight for.
No matter how dumb acting like a shit towards Tomlinson was, Harry wasn't completely stupid. He knew that the school had paid the man to coach, that he was technically legally in charge of their team. Harry couldn't just attempt a mutiny, and take it back over – however, he could protest any way he felt like. Tomlinson couldn't kick him off the team without the rest of the team quitting as well – something the coach realized after the pair had gotten into a standoff in the middle of practice – so Harry could be as much of a tool as he wanted.
He was absolutely terrible, acting like an obnoxious and spoilt child.
Tomlinson didn't get fully angry, though, wasn't reacting the way Harry wanted him to. He wanted to really bother Louis, get under his skin, but the man never acted affected. Sure, Tomlinson was cheeky and biting in his replies and he never really took Harry's shit, but he never got angry.
And Harry was aiming to hurt.
He brought up Louis's stature, his ability to only be a “dumb jock”, and his coaching abilities on a daily basis. Harry wasn't sure how Louis hadn't snapped yet – he was close to snapping, close to getting so angry that hateful words would just flow from his lips. He hated feeling that out of control, but Tomlinson was pushing him there.
Why wouldn't he react already? Harry wanted his gorgeous face to flush with anger, small hands to clench into fists, wanted to see him wrecked.
--
That Friday night, Harry stormed into the bar, Niall not far behind.
“Harry, mate, I really think we should just go home and watch a movie. Maybe we could even make, I dunno, a voodo doll or summat? Get these emotions out? I don't really think drinking is the answer to this one.”
Harry turned towards Niall, eyebrows raised.
“I thought drinking was the answer to everything?”
“Well yes… if you're Irish. So for me it is! But you, mate, I don't think this is such a great idea.”
Harry simply shrugged. “We'll be fine.”
And with that, the pair approached the main bar, where Liam was working behind the counter. It took him a while, since he was mopping up some sort of spilled drink yet again, but he eventually managed to look up and spot the pair.
“Styles! Horan! How've you lot been? Busy week? Your first game of the season is coming up right, how's the team doing, Harry?” His excited expression dropped when he saw Harry's face turned up into an angry scowl.
“This season was going to be absolutely perfect, in fact, it was all going just fine until we got a new coach earlier this week.” This didn't seem to make Liam any less confused, and so Niall stepped in to help the bartender out.
“You know how we were talking about Tomlinson? The player for Man U? Yeah, he's our new footie coach... took over the whole team. He's been a bit of a dick to Harry.”
“Really? The Tommo? I know he's hard to deal with, a bit of a sarcastic shit, and cheeky as well, but he's never been a problem here.” Liam still sounded absolutely bewildered.
If Harry was going to recount this story, explain just how much of a fucking prick Tomlinson was, he was going to need a serious amount of alcohol.
Several hours later, smashed out of his mind, Harry was trying to recount the previous days practice to an amused Liam. He had expressed his hatred for Tomlinson no less than 12 times already, and his speech was starting to slur.
“Harry, I think you've had enough for tonight. Gotta get you back home safe to Anne and Gemma, right?” Harry peered up at Liam through his fingers.
“But I'm not done!” He pouted like a child and Liam laughed heartily while he mixed drinks.
“See he's the worst, the absolute worst and he's taking my team away! That shouldn't be allowed. But Lee-yum, Liam, he's so pretty in real life.” With that, Harry's frown dissolved into a wistful smile.
“I just want to touch him and lick chocolate off his abs, I don't think that's too much to ask for… and his arse! I think there should be a religion devoted to worshipping his arse.” Liam laughed even harder, which made Harry quite angry.
“This is serious, Liam!” When Liam still hadn't stopped, Harry managed to seat himself upright and leaned over the bar to press a finger to his lips.
“Shhhh!” He whispered, exaggerating the sound. Harry could feel Liam's smile under his finger and he felt himself start to laugh uncontrollably.
“What the fuck are you doing, Harry?” Niall's cheery tone mixed itself into the conversation as Niall himself practically sauntered back up to the bar. He always claimed he got “that much more smooth” whenever he had alcohol simply “because I'm fucking Irish, mate”. Harry wasn't quite sure that made sense, but for whatever reason Niall seemed to make even more friends and pick up even more girls when there was alchohol involved. Although, Harry remembered through the fog covering his mind, that Niall had been stuck on that one girl, Barbara for a while now.
By the time Harry realized that Niall and Liam had been talking, he found himself being pulled back to sit at the bar properly. “Ey! What are you doing?” he slurred. Niall completely ignored his statement, instead choosing to bring up a topic Harry hated. “So Liam here said that you've been talking about Louis? It seems you have a bit of a thing for our coach Hazza… I'm just saying! You do talk about him an awful lot.”
Harry's eyes grew wide and he flailed his spaghetti arms in an attempt to noddle them into hitting Niall. “Why would you say that! I hate him! He's just so very pretty Niall. It isn't fair because I hate him, I hate everything he does! Why are all the arseholes so attractive Niall, why?” Harry pouted, and placed his head on the table, eyes fluttering shut.
The last thing Harry heard before he drifted off was Niall's bright laugh echoing through the bar.
--
Louis slammed down his drink, glaring into it as if it's the alcohol that he's actually angry at, and not some stupid 17 year old footie captain. Harry Styles was a menace that didn't know how to accept authority – he hadn't once listened, helped, or even acknowledged Louis's existence, and it was driving Louis fucking crazy. He had been coaching the sixth form team now for three weeks, almost a full month, and was still unable to get anything out of Harry. It was driving Louis completely nuts, up the wall, and he was so frustrated he wanted to cry and scream.
How difficult was it for Styles to see that Louis, a professional footballer, might have the skills and ability to help his high school team out? Clearly, it was far too hard for him to ignore his ego and let someone help him for once. Instead, Harry was practically causing an uprising on his own team, focusing on trying to get Louis to snap and break.
If Harry kept it up for any longer, Louis knew he was going to shatter – he could only handle so much abuse before he reached his limit. His high school experience had been far from positive at the end, so he had grown thick skin quickly. Louis was used to abuse, was used to people looking down on him, but even he had a breaking point.
The other problem was that Louis couldn't stop thinking about just how fucking attractive Harry Styles was. Even when Harry was mouthing off to him, or refusing to do any of the drills he laid out for the team, Styles was gorgeous. He had perfect blow job lips, pink and wide and perfect, that he was constantly biting. Louis wanted to bite them for him.
Harry also had this gorgeous, soft, curly brown hair that Louis wanted to bury his nose in, and while his face was absolutely stunning – long lashes and green eyes that sparked in anger, his tall fit body was even more distracting for Louis. It was fucking hard – no pun intended – to pay attention to running drills when all he wanted to to press Harry against a wall and fuck him up.
The boy was also still in school, a 17 year old, and Louis was his 24 year old footie coach. So. There was that issue as well. Not to mention that Harry literally hated him, as proven by his difficult actions and constant cheekiness.
The issue was that Louis could easily tell that Harry had an amazing personality. He was joking and friendly and kind to every member of his team, got along with all the teachers and principal, and clearly had a massive heart. However, for whatever reason, he couldn't get over his damn pride to let Louis fucking help him.
What a dick.
Louis threw back his drink, wincing a little at the strong flavor. In order to mentally deal with the menace that was Harry Styles, he was going to have to be a little bit drunk.
“Hey, Louis, maybe you should slow down a bit?” Zayn asked, a hint of worry coloring his voice. Even though Zayn was literally Louis's best friend, he sometimes was a bit overbearing and mother bearish. Not nearly as bad as Liam and Perrie though – they sometimes felt like parents. And Louis was 24, he wasn't necessarily in need of parenting all the time.
Except, maybe he was. Because he was somehow now a 24 year old coach, who spent his nights wanking over a 17 year old student that positively hated him.
Louis shut down that thought before it got any further – he didn't need to spend his time fantasizing about Harry anymore than he already did. He attempted to close off any thoughts of Harry's tall and lean body crowding up to his, his massive hands stroking up and down -
“Oh, hey guys!” Louis' X-rated thoughts were broken into by the cheery sound of Liam's voice. “Hi, Zayn. I've been meaning to ask you, how did that superhero assignment go for you and the kids?” Louis smirked at the sight of Liam's bright red face, staring down at his hands as he shamefully searched for something to do.
Zayn – who, as Louis had learned over the years – was basically an actual walking sex God, mysterious and quiet and thoughtful and beautiful in all the right ways, Zayn, actually stumbled over his words in reply.
“I um, yeah. It went great, the kids loved it and we had a ton of fun.” It took Zayn almost a full minute to get the simple sentence out and after he finally spoke, both he and Liam were reduced to blushing piles of goo. It wasn't even as if they had talked about anything worthy of blushing - they had been talking about Zayn's classes. Louis could come up with much more cringeworthy conversation topics.
He wasn't nearly drunk enough to see the way they both turned the color of tomatoes when their hands brushed as Liam handed Zayn his usual drink.
If the two of them ever stopped dancing around each other, and actually admitted that they may and or may not be completely head over heels for each other, it would be better for everyone.
Louis didn't want to deal with a dewy-eyed Zayn anymore, he wanted him to stop mooning after Liam, and leave the pining behind. He could tell Perrie felt the same way, as the purple haired beauty rolled her eyes and whacked Zayn on the back of the head.
“Zayn, mate, you know I love you. But get it the fuck together.” She hissed under her breath. Liam giggled softly, and Louis rolled his eyes some more.
--
Louis had been coaching the team for a month and a half now and Harry still hadn't got him to break. Today, though, today Loyus was in an absolutely terrible mood, far worse than usual. Normally, he would respond to Harry's comments with a cheeky comeback or reply, but today he simply snapped and turned a nasty red color.
Harry had wanted to see him snap and break, but he was quite frankly getting a little scared. Tomlinson was terrifying, scouting and screeching at the entire team, and all of the boys were cowering. For once, Harry was doing exactly what Louis was telling him without talking back or making excuses. It was the first practice in 6 weeks that the entire team was under control, and everything was moving smoothly. Except for the fact that Tomlinson was about the bite someone's head off.
After practice, Harry lingered back a bit. He wasn't purposefully dragging out the amount of time he spent at school, but there was a part of him that was really bothered by how his “coach” had been acting. Maybe what Niall had been telling him for weeks was true – maybe Tomlinson was an okay guy who knew what he was doing and maybe Harry should stop pushing him so much. He was probably under a lot of pressure with the whole issue with his ankle, anyway.
As Harry sat and watched the entire locker room slowly empty out around him, he retreated further and further into his thoughts until there was no one but him left. Still, he didn't move, finding his spot on the bench to be comfortable and warm, and he was getting tired.
“Styles, what the fuck are you still doing here?” Harry looked up, shocked, at the sound of Louis's high lilt. The light fell softly over Louis's fringe, his eyes dark and cheekbones sharp. It didn't help either that Louis was wearing a ridiculously thin white tee shirt, one that most definitely showed off his defined abs, over a pair of comfy sweatpants that clung to his every curve.
Harry felt his mouth water, eyes widen and he subconsciously bit on his bottom lip, staring up at the glory that Louis Tomlinson was proving to be.
“Styles, I asked you a question. Are you alive in there?” Louis was just being so rude, and it was so uncalled for that Harry couldn't help what he said next.
“Yes, Tomlinson, I'm fucking alive.” He rolled his eyes, body posture suddenly becoming defensive as he sat on the bench. Louis's presence was intoxicating and Harry was doing everything he could to not breathe it in. He wanted to yell and scream, to lick and bite Louis's neck until he cried out, to absolutely break Louis down the way he was breaking Harry. Harry had to stay strong and ignore his every urge to reach out and touch every inch on Tomlinson's exposed skin. Louis wasn't his friend, wasn't even his coach, he was an intruder, a professional footie player sent to Harry's school to mess with everything Harry loved.
Louis suddenly moved forward, jostling Harry's knees, gently creating soft contact between the two of them, contrasting with his dark expression.
“Don't you fucking roll your eyes at me, Styles. You've been the one giving me shit since day one, don't act all coy now. You wanted me to break? Well guess what – you broke me.” Harry sucked in a deep breath as Louis came in even closer, bracing his hands up against the wall. Louis's hard body, warm from practice, was now completely surrounding Harry.
He was, to put it lightly, quite literally trapped in a corner. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, he thought, stifling a giggle.
“You think this is funny?” Louis asked, as he pressed Harry even further into the wall, his small body slowly settling itself on Harry's thighs. Harry could feel himself growing hard in his shorts, and with how Louis was now practically sitting in Harry's lap, there was no way he wasn't aware of Harry's “problem.”
It was so wrong, Tomlinson was his coach, he hated him, he absolutely despised him, and yet he couldn't deny that he was beyond turned on right now. Louis was absolutely in control, his anger and passion quite literally trapping Harry against a wall.
“No – no I was just thinking about rocks and hard places.” The stare that Louis fixed Harry with was cold enough to freeze water.
“You are a shit, you know that? And I hate you for it. Couldn't just accept some authority, from a professional athlete as well. Instead, you have to go and try to do everything your way. Well I have news for you Styles – not everything is about you and your pretty face, perfect body and angelic curls. You can't get away with anything with me.” And the thing was, Harry objectively knew that what Louis was saying was one hundred percent accurate. But still. Louis had taken his team, which was completely unfair.
What was also unfair was the way that Louis was now rocking into his lap, breathing harshly over Harry's sensitive neck. He bit down softly at first, harder when he heard Harry start to let out a ridiculous moan.
His movements started to become even more assured, more aggressive, absolutely filled with passion. He started to leave a trail of love bites down Harry's collarbones, marking him up. Every so often, when Harry seemed to be getting too quiet, Louis would blow over the wet marks to see Harry shiver and shake, moans falling from his lips as his skin covered itself in goosebumps.
“Louis, stop teasing” Harry managed to groan out despite the sensations surrounding him. It was all so hot and he was going to burn up from the inside if Louis kept this up.
Louis simply smirked and ground down even harder, his absolutely perfect ass moving against Harry's dick like it was made to. Harry was so hard he thought he might pass out.
“Is this what you wanted? For me to snap? Because I'm going to fucking wreck you, Harry Styles, until you don't even know your own name.” Louis's voice was husky and dark at this point, threatening in the best sort of way.
He moved his hands up Harry's body, still moving and grinding and biting, capturing Harry's wrists against the wall above their heads, completely owning Harry's every motion.
Harry's only response was to let out a whine, and strain his hips up as much as possible, chasing the friction he was craving so desperately. Louis held both of Harry's wrists in one hand, and trailed his other tiny hand down Harry's body as he moved his lips further and further up, eventually landing on Harry's.
Their mouths moved together desperately and deeply, tongues fighting for dominance. Louis won, as he was prone to doing, and triumphantly smirked into Harry's mouth.
It was so, so hot how Louis was so much tinier than Harry, and yet he had the younger boy falling to pieces under his practiced fingers.
“Are you going to be a good boy and come for me Harry? You've been so, so naughty the past few weeks, maybe I shouldn't let you come.” At that, Harry let out a loud panicked whine. “No – no, Lou I can be good! I've been so good. Just please, please let me come.” he gasped, body starting to shake and Louis moved with more intention. The friction was building up, and Harry was aching for release.
“Gunna come in your shorts for me?” and Louis's words are so hot, his face screwed in concentration, and lips so soft and teeth so sharp that Harry can't help but arch up with release, completely shattering.
His older, hot, professional footballer coach that he absolutely despised had him falling apart completely, wrecking Harry the way Harry had been trying to break Louis for so long. It was all so wrong and dirty and yet perfect, Harry's shorts now nasty, but his face contented and tired
Somehow though, Louis was moving off of him, and Harry recognized it in an objective, hazy sort of way.
“Wait a sec, I didn't get you off! I may hate you, but I'm not going to leave you hanging.” Harry shouted after him, as Louis attempted to slip out of the room. Louis's response was instantaneous. “Maybe if you're good you can get me off next time.” His voice was level and so, so serious. And somehow, even though Harry wanted to mouth off and resist his every word, Harry wanted to be good for him. He tried to shake off his odd attraction to Louis, but after that encounter he knew that he was absolutely fucked.
Although, maybe not in the way that he wanted quite yet. But he was sure that if he kept this up, he would end up with Louis's cock in his arse one way or another.
Harry finally managed to get up and move towards the showers a few minutes later, still completely boneless and languid from an amazing orgasm.
--
Harry spent the entirety of the rest of the week doing every single thing Louis asked – every ridiculous drill and task, and he could tell it was confusing the rest of his team.
It was confusing himself, in fact. Why in the world was he trying to be good for some hot shot footballer that attempted to steal his team? But at the same time, it had been so good with Louis that his right hand just couldn't compare anymore. He wanted Louis in so many ways it hurt, but at the same time still couldn't even stand the sight of him.
So, it was out of habit that when Louis finally snapped at Harry on Thursday, that Harry sarcastically replied without thinking.
“I mean, I'm not really sure if I'm actually physically capable of walking all the way over to that table to pick up those items for you, but I'll try my hardest.” When he saw Louis's face growing stone cold, features turning into carved marble, he knew he had fucked up.
“We're done for today. Styles, stay after - I need to talk to you.” His voice was as cold as his expression, and Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach.
As the team dispersed, Niall found his way over to Harry. “So you going to have some alone time with the coach then? Louis gunna get you off?” He was clearly joking, and yet Harry couldn't help but get defensive. “Of course not, Ni, I'm sure he just has something dickish to say to me.”
When he heard the clearing of a throat behind him, Harry realized that Louis had heard every word that had come out of his mouth. His eyes widened, and he barely heard Niall as he shouted about freshening up for a date with Barbara. Instead, his vision was all Louis, a curvy brunette approaching him with intention.
Louis got all up into Harry's space, leaning in to his ear, letting his soft hair tickle Harry's neck for a moment, leaving Harry to strain for words.
“You were doing so well, weren't you H?” Louis asked, and Harry could practically feel his face burn with shame. He knew that he had screwed up, and knew that Louis was going to humiliate him for it. “You were being so good. Shame that you messed up – now you've been bad. So, so bad. Do you know what happens to bad boys?” And somehow, even though Louis's words could literally have been pulled from a cheesy 80s porno, Harry had never been so hard so fast.
He searched for friction, and received a small slap in response. “None of that now.” Louis's voice was gaining the husky quality that Harry was starting to associate with a turned on Louis. “What am I going to do with you, Styles? I have a few options now...”
For some reason, all his words were doing were making Harry painfully aware that they were still standing in the middle of the football pitch, with Harry completely hard and straining to feel Louis. A student could walk by at literally any moment and see them, because it was still completely light out.
“Lou, Louis, can we please get somewhere more private? Find a bed?” Louis let out a chuckle at that. “Worried someone's going to see you begging for me? Begging to be punished? Because let me tell you Hazza, you deserve this so much. Someone has to put you in your place. Although.. .a bed sounds nice about now. C'mon.” And with that, he pulled Harry up the pitch towards the parking lot.
"Louis" Harry managed to hiss. "Someone is going to see us! Also, all of my books are in the locker room. Along with my clothing and not just my football kit." Instead of freaking out the way that Harry expected, Louis simply smirked.
"We'll get your things in the morning. It's not as if you were going to be doing homework tonight anyway - and you can borrow some of my clothing. Now let's just get the fuck out of here." Louis's impatience was starting to show in the terse tone he addressed Harry with, and all Harry wanted was for Louis to absolutely wreck him and relieve every ounce of that tension.
With Louis's words, Harry let himself be lead to Louis's car - an absolutely beautiful Evoque with leather seats and fancy automated everything. Louis laughed as Harry pressed all the buttons and adjusted the stereo a million times as the footie player smoothly pulled out of the school parking lot. Harry was so excited through the entire ride that he didn’t even realize how quickly they arrived at a high scale flat in Cheshire. His eyes grew to the size of saucers, and his urgency to get inside was growing by the second.
If Louis’s flat was a ridiculously fancy place - what would his room be like? More specifically, how big was his bed? And how soft were the sheets? Harry was hoping he was about to find out.
All thoughts of his team, footie, even Louis’s sheets, disappeared when Louis came around to Harry’s door and leaned in for a kiss. “You know I don’t care about your age right? You’re legal, and this is all consensual so…” Harry wrinkled his nose. “No, I don’t want to sleep with you. Not now, not ever again - that’s why I’m at your house.” Louis reacted by barking out a laugh, a high tinkling sound that Harry wanted to hear for the rest of his life. “What a cheeky little bugger, you are!” He replied, voice colored with humour. It was so unlike every other interaction between Louis and Harry thus far that Harry couldn’t help but to be taken a little aback. He really, really liked this Louis.
It was odd, because a severely sexual situation shouldn’t be the time that he finally started to understand Louis, and let his hate go, but Harry had never been normal. As Harry felt his resentment and jealousy slowly shed itself, his heart grew lighter and he smiled into Louis’s mouth, leaning forward with even more intent.
“Whoa, curly, careful!” Louis caught Harry in his arms, wrapping him up in his strong and capable limbs. Harry felt small and loved, even though he was clearly the larger one in this situation. Louis was just so confident and full of life that his smaller stature was actually amplified by his every movement.
Harry giggled. “This was how we first met, do you remember that?” A small smile flitted across Louis’s features as he recalled the moment. “You were such a bumbling cutie, tripping and falling into my eyes with only an ‘oops’”. This made Harry a bit indignant - “Well all you said was ‘hi’ and for me to ‘be more careful’ before you stalked off in a ridiculous fashion, shaking that fabulous arse.” Louis raised his eyebrows at that. “Even then, you thought that my arse was fabulous? I mean, I wanked off to you for weeks before that day earlier this week. I’ve been dreaming about you and your stupid fucking curls for a month and a half Styles, I’ve never been so frustrated.”
Harry’s entire face felt hot, flushing up against Louis outside of Louis’s posh Cheshire flat. He arched his entire body against the strong football player’s, feeling every hot inch of muscle against him. He wanted skin to skin contact though and he wasn’t going to get that until they were inside, so he slowly started to push Louis closer and closer to the door, letting out moans every step of the way.
Louis was getting more desperate as well, opening his front door quickly and immediately slamming Harry up hard against the wall, squirming and positively keening. He was literally rutting up against Louis, desperate for the friction that he knew Louis could provide. When Louis finally bit down on Harry’s neck, sucking hard, Harry let out a harsh cry that he was sure the neighbors could hear.
“Louis, Louis I need -” Louis cut him off with a kiss and a hushing sound, peeling off both of their shirts and maneuvering them slowly down a darkening hallway. They were moving quickly, clumsily knocking over piles of books and tripping over random shoes, not caring and chucking off clothing and kicking off shoes as they went.
Harry managed to get them both stripped to their pants, trousers and footie shorts lying crumpled on the floor, discarded garments leaving a trail to what Harry presumed was the bedroom.
“Off off off” Louis chanted, tugging at Harry’s briefs. “Get them off, I want to feel every inch of you. Plus, I have to punish you for being such a cheeky little shit.” Harry shivered in anticipation, moving to get the last scraps of fabric off of the two of them. By now, Louis had managed to push him onto a bed, surrounded by soft comforters and Louis.
That was all Harry could think, all he could feel - was Louis, Louis Louis. He was chanting his name like it was a lifeline, his rope anchoring him to reality. Louis was trailing his lips over every inch of bare skin, leaving marks and making Harry shiver beyond belief. Harry was melting into a pile of goo, boneless already, arching up under Louis’s practiced hands.
As Louis moved lower and lower, licking over each one of Harry’s abs and sucking dark hickies into his thighs, Harry half expected Louis to give him a blowjob. Louis did lick over the tip of his cock, lapping at the precome and making Harry even harder than he already was.
His dick was practically salivating for Louis at this point anyway, desperate for attention and twitching whenever Louis so much as breathed on him. When Louis suddenly flipped him over, Harry was slightly alarmed but so aroused at this point that it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that his dick was now pressed up against his stomach, leaking onto Louis’s sheets, and he wasn’t getting any friction. Harry was about to keen for attention when Louis started sucking a love bite into his arse.
Harry arched up, desperate for Louis’s mouth. He was shocked though, when Louis spoke, “this is what you get for being such a cheeky bugger Harry - I’m going to rim you and I’m going to do it until you cry.” He let out a gasp at that, unable to form words since Louis immediately moved his face into Harry’s arse.
A low moan escaped him without any warming, struggling to move up against Louis’s face, desperate for his tongue. When Louis finally dove in, he started with broad licks, teasing and taunting Harry.
As Harry slowly started to unravel, calling out nonsensically and babbling about how amazing Louis was, Louis started to move his tongue in deeper, plunging it around his rim.
“Louis, Louis, God, fuck!” He could feel it in every nerve in his body when Louis laughed and then smiled, the vibrations echoing through his entire body. Harry could still feel the steady ache from everywhere that Louis had touched - his nipples were hard, and his cock was literally throbbing against the silky sheets. It didn’t help that Louis very clearly knew exactly what to do with his tongueteethfacelips because it was setting Harry’s blood on fire.
He kept twisting his tongue, running it over every inch of skin he could reach, stabbing it into Harry at a fast rhythm. Louis kept running his hands over Harry’s thighs, holding him down as he forced Harry to take every bit of pleasure he was offering.
Harry had been steadily getting louder and louder, practically screaming, and his eyes were starting to water as he bit down on his lower lip subconsciously in an attempt to stifle his sounds. The pleasure was building to the point where Harry though he was going to explode or pass out. When Louis brought a lubed finger up to Harry’s hole, nibbling around his rim lazily, and thrust it in slowly, Harry started to spasm. He wasn’t sure where or when Louis had gotten the lube, but in this moment he didn’t give a shit. All he could do was spill out a combination of curses and Louis’s name as Louis started to work him open, licking around his two fingers the whole time. He finally managed to start stretching Harry open, turning and scissoring his fingers, crooking them up in search of Harry’s prostate.
When he finally found the small bundle of nerves, the combination of Louis’s fingers in him, stretching him, and Louis’s tongue roughly licking into him caused him to explode all over the sheets, nearly blacking out in pleasure.
“Louis, Lou, fuck, Louuuuuu” He managed to scream out, clenching his hands into the sheets, twisting and writhing. Louis turned him over as he slowly came down from his high, smirking up at him.
Although Harry was completely boneless at this point, body sated and exhausted, he still wanted to get Louis off. He had left him hanging in the locker room a few days ago, and it just felt wrong to go to sleep without reciprocating.
“So I think that was a pretty good punishment…” Louis trailed off. He was gorgeous like this, all smooth tan skin and bright blue eyes, face messy with lube and spit, hair messy from activity.
Harry wanted to keep him forever.
He simply smiled widely in response to Louis’s statement, flipping over so that he was on top of the older man.
“Louis, can I give you a blowjob?” Louis didn’t respond, but the way his breath caught and eye widened was good enough of a positive sign for Harry. He wiggled himself down onto the lower part of Louis’s legs, getting comfortable sitting on him. Harry brought his mouth down onto Louis’s dick without any warning at all, licking and teasing the head, lapping up the leaking precome.
What Harry lacks in finesse, he makes up with sheer enthusiasm, licking and sucking Louis into his mouth as much as he can take. Harry even manages to get it partially into his throat, gagging and choking the entire time. He moved his tongue along the underside of Louis’s cock, tracing the vein.
Louis lets out low groans and sounds, and when Harry hums back in response, they are equally surprised when Louis suddenly explodes into Harry’s mouth. Harry realized that he wants to watch Louis fall apart that way for the rest of his life, nevermind that he’s only 17 and technically Louis is his coach.
Next year he’ll be in uni, hopefully studying photography, and Louis will be back on the field - maybe they could be together properly then. It’s these thoughts of a possible future that cause Harry to smile, as he realized that he really, really no longer hated Louis.
He starts to doze off as Louis grabs a wet flannel to wipe them down, and wraps himself around Louis like an octopus when he climbs back under the covers. Like that, they drift off together, naked limbs overlapping and tucked in together.
--
When Louis wakes up to a 17 year old Harry Styles making him breakfast in his unused kitchen, he realizes he might just be a little fucked. He’s practically head over heels for the cheeky cutie, the sweetheart that had somehow managed to steal his heart in a sheer six weeks with his quick retorts and beautiful smile. Plus, it helped that Harry was standing in his kitchen making him pancake with fruit and condensed milk, wearing nothing but a pair of Louis’s sweatpants.
Louis started to learn more about Harry over the next few weeks - he was a the most domestic person in the world, wanting nothing more than to cook and clean and do laundry and generally be fucking adorable.
He was also insatiable, constantly making Louis absolutely desperate to get his hands on him by simply existing, reciprocating each and every touch, letting Harry take him apart, and absolutely wrecking the younger boy in response. Harry loved sex, loved letting Louis finger him and move inside him for the first time, clenching and moving with Louis like he was made for it.
--
When they decided to go out for a drink together, almost a month later (with the season almost done at this point, tey were extremely successful, winning nearly every game and working together seamlessly for their last year. It turned out that when the coach and captain started to get along, the team as a whole began to work as a unit as well.) they found themselves in Liam’s bar.
Of course, it was at this point that they also ran into Perrie, Zayn, and Niall. Harry was extremely confused, up until the point where he realized that Zayn was Mr. Malik - the art teacher, and Louis was his best friend.
Niall spent the entire encounter laughing his arse off at Harry as he tried to pull together the entire story, being entirely unhelpful and generally annoying. Liam clearly realized the true nature of what was going on between Harry and Louis, and soon Niall and Zayn catch on as well. At first, they freak out a bit and refuse to approve of the relationship - but they soon realized that Harry was legal, and Louis was basically no longer his coach anyway.
That night they wemt home together and Louis sucked Harry off while he used one of Harry’s stupid headscarves to cover Harry’s eyes. Louis slowly slowly slowly teasingly fingered Harry open until he was practically crying, bit at his nipples and left marks scattered all over his collarbones. He contrasted the harsh bites with soft lip kisses, keeping him from moving, building Harry up until he thought he was going to explode. He finally pushed in, moving painfully slowly and working up his speed, connecting with Harry on every level.
--
The next morning when they woke up, Harry and Louis had a long talk about their relationship (they were going to date now) and how to deal with it. Louis hadn’t publicly come out yet, and so Louis’s words were bringing back the memory of Harry’s coming out, which had occurred several years prior.
Harry had been scared shitless about coming out to his team. He hadn’t worried at all when dropping the bomb on his family - Gemma, Robin, and Anne were all extremely accepting, and just wanted him to be happy. Gemma had also hinted that they had pretty much known for years anyway, considering the fact that he had never truly expressed any sort of interest in the female sex beyond friendship.
He knew that Niall wouldn’t care at all. Niall never bothered to judge people, preferring to base his friendship with them over how much food they gave him and how much they made him laugh.
His footie team though - he worried there. It wasn’t that they weren’t his friends, or that they weren’t generally accepting people, it was more the fact that he couldn’t calculate how they would react. Harry was terrified that they would lash out, even unintentionally, and force him off the team because they were worried about his sexuality and whether or not he would look at them all creepily in the locker rooms.
After telling all of the most important people, Harry finally started working up the courage to tell his teammates. They deserved to know, because it was an integral part of who he was, and he didn’t want to hide it in any way.
He gathered them all up after practice one day, as if he was going to give them all a big pump up talk about any sort of upcoming game. The issue was, of course, that there was no upcoming game, and he simply needed an excuse to bring them all together.
Harry had broken the news quietly, definitely awkwardly, and had finished to a deafening silence. It didn’t last long though - within seconds, his entire team had surrounded him in a group hug, smothering him with love and affection.
Not a single team member had a problem with Harry being decidedly not straight, and instead they all told him at various intervals that anyone who did have a problem with it would have to deal with them first.
It filled Harry’s heart with complete and utter adoration for this group of lads that he played with. They all joked around and playfully made quips at each other’s expense, but when it came down to it, they were all fiercely protective and loving.
This team meant absolutely everything to Harry. The boys in it had been with him through thick and thin, and stuck with him for every bump and problem along the way. That meant a lot, because collectively they had the power to destroy him.
--
Harry told this story to Louis, and he decided that he would come out a bit before preseason started.
--
The next year, Harry went off to Uni for photography, and Louis started training for the upcoming football season with Manchester United.
Harry went to absolutely every single one of Louis's games when he was able, was the ridiculous boyfriend cheering in the stands alongside all the wives and girlfriends. He proudly wore Louis's jersey, and tossed flowers and kisses whenever he could.
Louis was nuts about it, thought that having a sexy uni student boyfriend that would ride him while wearing nothing but his oversized jersey was the hottest thing ever. Harry had to admit, he honestly loved having a boyfriend that was so fit and strong, who was basically half of his size, but was always the big spoon and was probably stronger than Harry himself.
They had been through so much together – first, absolute hatred, and then months of passion and sneaking and constant flirting and innuendo, before they could even contemplate being together properly. It had all worked out in the end though, and even though Harry and Louis weren't able to exactly tell the public the truth about how long their relationship had been going on, they knew.
Since they eventually turned into sappy shits, they got complementary tattoos, and then got some more. And over the last few years, they had both managed an impressive set that matched up beautifully when they held hands, showing the world just how much they loved each other.
They were constantly teased by Perrie, Zayn, Liam, Niall, and Gemma for being “too adorable” and “sickeningly cute” and they loved every second of it.
Harry was so perfectly content – he had everything he ever wanted, and was doing what he loved. Maybe he didn't hate football players so much after all, considering that he did accept the proposal of Louis Tomlinson.