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He’s had plenty of opportunity to reflect on this, and Louis has decided that there’s only one good thing about Harry being away for work.
Because otherwise, all he does is miss him. He misses his hands. He misses his bad jokes. He misses coming home from school and rehearsal to find Scout and Harry napping together on the couch, a script on Harry’s lap and a highlighter slipping out of his hand.
Harry is his whole life. He permeates every inch of it.
And Louis likes it that way.
But a man’s still allowed to have a secret, isn’t he? And it’s not as though it’s anything bad…
Harmless, is what it is. Perfectly harmless and not at all embarrassing.
Feeling a familiar guilty hum in his bones, Louis twists the dowel on the blinds, plunging their bedroom into darkness despite the early evening hour.
He folds back the edge of the comforter and finds the remote for their smart TV on the nightstand. He points it at the screen and presses the power button, then tosses the remote on the bed so he can pull his shirt over his head. Before laying down, Louis lights his favorite candle, one that some clever fans determined to be close to Harry’s own signature scent. They were right, and as much as Louis does not want to think about how they came to have this information, he’s also grateful to have this sensory reminder of his often-long-distance boyfriend.
The candle wasn’t cheap (and neither are the three more he has tucked away in one of their storage closets – Harry’s fans are known for bulk-buying, and Louis had no intention of being boxed out of a product that he needs more than anyone), so the aromas of tobacco and spicy vanilla collide with his brain almost instantly. A kaleidoscope of memories are the result, accompanied by a wave of serotonin and dopamine.
Tomorrow, his boy will be home, and he’ll get the real deal.
But for now, Louis will indulge in his ultimate guilty pleasure. It’s the least he deserves for being such an understanding partner and letting his partner go off and play dress-up for weeks at a time.
It also helps that he’s incredibly fucking proud of him.
Getting comfortable in bed, Louis picks up the remote again and pages through their apps, eventually choosing YouTube. He scrolls past the two saved profiles on the welcome screen and instead selects “Guest,” then goes straight to search. He long ago figured out the shortest combination of letters that brings up his video of choice; while he types those in, he uses his left hand to open the top drawer of the nightstand and fumble around for the small bottle of lube within.
His eyes are half closed and he’s worked himself to full hardness by minute two. He alternates between fantasizing about tonguing Harry open and paying attention to what’s on screen, one hand pumping his cock and the other rolling one of his nipples. There’s no dialogue in the scene, but the music reminds him of Harry too. Between that and his distracted state, Louis doesn’t hear the voice until it’s right outside the door.
“Babe? Babe, you up here?”
Letting go of his cock, Louis scrambles for the remote in the sheets, but he’s not quick or coordinated enough to find it in time.
Harry walks right in on him, sweaty and almost out of breath, dick out to the world.
“Oh, hello,” he drawls. Louis notices even in this state that Harry didn’t take his jacket off before coming to look for him. “Am I interrupting something?”
His eyes are glued to Louis, not the TV, but when his fingers finally brush up against plastic, Louis mashes down some buttons anyway. The music stops.
“You’re home early,” is all Louis can manage to say.
“They wrapped me a day ahead, but I’d say I’m right on time,” Harry basically purrs, stripping off his jacket as he moves towards their bed. “Missed you baby,” he says, bending down to kiss Louis’ face. “So much.”
Somehow, it’s always surprising to Louis that Harry is even more beautiful in person than he is on-screen, even right after a cross-country flight. His panic abates as Harry starts to undress, evidently unwilling to let Louis finish alone. Could it be that he didn’t even notice–?
“Put it back on.”
“What?”
“Whatever you were watching,” Harry says with a borderline lascivious grin as he unbuttons his jeans. “‘Bout time I see what you get up to while I’m gone.”
“Oh, I…” Louis would lie to his face if he could think of one. “It’s fine, we don’t have to–”
“Sweetheart.” Harry kneels on the bed, naked to his boxer briefs now, his camera-ready abs taut. “I should know what turns you on.” He pushes Louis’ hair off of his forehead. “Everything that turns you on.”
How did Louis get so lucky? Harry has been this way since they stopped fucking around and decided they were in this for real: focused on making Louis feel good and desired and secure. He appreciates the effort, really he does, but their sex life is intense and fucking amazing as-is. And this ...well, it’s just not something Harry himself needs to be involved in. It has no bearing on their relationship at all.
“It’s stupid,” he exhales, willing Harry to just touch him and forget about this already. But Harry’s sitting back on his heels now, not letting it go.
“Hey. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says soothingly. “It’s just porn. I don’t care if it’s something different than what we’ve watched together before. I’m not going to freak out or anything, no matter what it is. Anyway–” Harry trails a hand up Louis’ thigh, “–you can’t expect me to walk in on you looking this wrecked and not be curious what you were getting off to.”
“I didn’t expect you at all!” Louis whacks him lightly on his tricep. “And I wish it were porn.”
Louis sighs heavily and pushes back into the headboard, indicating that Harry should move to where he, too, can see the flatscreen TV.
“You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Scout’s honor,” Harry pledges solemnly. “And I made it all the way to Eagles, so you know I mean it.”
“Okay…”
Louis cuts the TV back on, and the video is still on the screen, paused. He presses play and turns his head to look at Harry, chewing on his bottom lip. The Avengers theme blares from the speakers.
The picture flickers in Harry’s green eyes as a small, confused frown forms on his face.
“Is there something wrong with it?” he finally says, turning towards Louis.
“No, it’s...um, it’s supposed to loop like that. Some fan of yours made this. It’s got millions of hits. Here.”
Louis presses the back button so that Harry can see the video title and stats.
“‘Captain America getting up for ten minutes straight,’” he reads aloud, two lines forming between his eyebrows. “It’s just me getting up off the floor after I get my ass kicked?”
“Yeah,” Louis says, feeling suddenly defensive. “But you know how you do it. You arch your back and push your ass back...sometimes you even toss your hair, like you forgot they made you cut it. It’s so different from the rest of your moves, and it’s really, really fucking hot.”
“Must be, for you to watch it for ten whole minutes. You know I’m in quite a bit of the rest of the movie, yeah?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Louis mumbles, tucking himself back into his shorts.
“Babe, I’m not. I’m really not. I’m...surprised. Not in a bad way, it’s pretty fucking flattering that you’re looking at me. I guess I’m just curious – why this?”
Some other day, Louis will tell him about the secret Tumblr account he uses sometimes to look at all the gifsets and art people make of his boyfriend. Specifically about that pencil sketch of one of these scenes, Harry curved up from the floor like a cat, neck exposed and hamstrings flexed. It’s saved in his phone now, a reward for being the catalyst of Louis’ obsession with the very specific way in which Harry’s Cap gets back on his feet after a fight. The artist had added a collar to Harry’s costume, bringing up all kinds of other feelings that they should also probably discuss soon.
Baby steps.
“I dunno if I can explain it. Like, it’s obvious that you’re about to come back and win, but in that moment, you’re vulnerable. And you milk it, like the best part of the fight for you is getting back up after you’ve been knocked down.” Harry smiles, slow and pleased, so Louis keeps talking. “And then there’s the posture. Fuck, Harry, that scene where you’re on your knees panting and looking up? It doesn’t belong in a PG-13 movie.”
“Well, you may have more reason to read into it than the rest of the world,” Harry points out after a pause. He begins crawling backwards on the bed, leaving open-mouthed kisses on Louis’ stomach as he moves. “I’d get on the floor, but you can see the both of us like this.”
Louis cocks his head at him.
“Start it over again,” Harry instructs as he hooks his thumbs into Louis’ shorts and drags them down his thighs. “Or resume it, whatever you want.”
“But you’re here, we can just–”
“Louis Tomlinson.”
Harry is on his knees and elbows, his breath moistening Louis’ cock, and staring up at him through his lashes. Behind him, the Harry on the TV is frozen in almost the exact same position. Louis lets out a weak, involuntary groan.
“You're the love of my life. And the only person I’ll ever get on my knees for like this again is you.”
The offer Harry’s making is one he’d be out of his mind to refuse.
Louis presses play.