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In Harry's humble opinion, the club should be renamed.
Not that there's anything currently wrong with the name, it's a great name, rhymey and everything, and he doesn't really know the history behind it--was it the owner's name? The owner's wife's name? The owner's children's name?--but it's actually rather misleading. He's been at this party for three hours now, and two things: one, there is literally nobody at this party with the name of Lou and two, his Lou isn't even here.
Hence, why there is absolutely no reason for this club to even be called Loulou's. It's false advertising, all of it.
"Just text him already," Cara tells him, not even looking up from where she's smiling at her phone. She's been smiling down intermittently at her phone for about two hours now, and Harry just knows that she's probably texting Annie.
He cocks his head. "Who am I texting?"
Cara rolls her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me, Harry." She finally looks up from her phone, pinning Harry with a fierce gaze. Harry is suddenly reminded that she used to model. "You know who I'm talking about. Just text him."
The thing is, Harry doesn't know. He has an assumption, yes, but he doesn't really know. So he just blinks back at her.
"Harry," she says, a warning in her voice. "Just text Louis already. I don't want to hear anymore about the name of this bloody club."
"But what does the name of the bloody club have to do with Louis?" He asks. Because, really, all he wanted to do was talk about the fact that the club was called Loulou's, and there was literally nobody named Lou there. He wasn't even talking about Louis.
Cara makes a frustrated gesture with her hand, one that has Harry trying to stop himself from grinning. "You're horrible," she says, clearly at the end of her wit. She looks down at her phone again, beginning to text.
"Really though," Harry presses. "What does me talking about the name of the club have to do with Louis?"
"Everything," Cara answers, texting furiously at her phone. Harry wants to take a peek, but then that would be rude. And he is not a rude boy. He is a polite and very well-mannered boy. "This is exactly how you get when you're separated from him."
"I'm not doing anything," Harry says, raising both his eyebrows. "And you do know that Louis and I can exist away from each other, right?" Because, contrary to popular belief, they can. They are two mature adults in a similarly mature relationship, and therefore they can have their own friends, can attend their own parties, and aren't clingy and sad when they're separated for more than an hour.
Cara sighs, and even in the loudness of the club, he can tell that she's getting fed up with him. Which, why, would she be, though, in the first place? Harry's not doing anything wrong.
"Lily," she calls, looking up from her phone when Lily Allen passes by. "Please help me," she begs. "He's doing it again."
"What am I doing, exactly?" Harry asks, but he's ignored.
Lily studies him for a bit. "Is it as bad as the last time?"
"No, thank God," Cara says, sounding relieved. She pauses. "Well, not yet, anyway. He keeps talking about the name of the club. Loulou's."
"Oh no," says Lily. "That's stage one."
"Exactly," Cara answers.
"Um," Harry says. He's actually a bit lost.
Lily turns to him, narrowing her eyes at him. "Text Louis, already, please?" She orders.
"What?" Harry asks, blinking at them. They're both good friends of his, but sometimes, they can be very confusing. "Why?"
"You're having Louis-withdrawal symptoms," Cara tells him, rolling her eyes. "It's not bad yet, but really, it's going to get worse. So just, text him, for all our sakes, please?"
Louis-withdrawal symptoms? Harry doesn't know how they even arrived at that conclusion. He just wanted to talk about the name of the club.
Besides, they've only been separated for four hours. That's not enough to warrant Harry having those symptoms.
He opens his mouth to complain, but Lily fixes him with a look that has him forgetting all his words. "I don't want a repeat of last time," she says.
"I wasn't that bad, last time," Harry replies. He doesn't really know what she's talking about, but it can't have been that bad.
"Harry," Cara interjects."Last time, you spent two hours complaining because the Caribou Lou didn't taste like your Lou at all, and that they should rename it because it didn't do your Lou justice at all."
Harry....doesn't remember that at all. But still, it's perfectly acceptable to want your drink to taste good, right? And Louis tastes good like, all the time. So it wasn't wrong for him to want his drink to taste like Louis.
"That's not bad at all," Harry says, dignified.
"And then you dramatically stared outside the window for another hour, sipping on your, and I quote, 'fake-tasting Caribou Lou', and then when Grimmy went to check on you, you burst into tears."
That wasn't, he didn't cry. "There was like, beer in my eye," Harry defends. "Wouldn't you cry if you had beer in your eye?"
"There wasn't any beer at that party," Lily tells him sagely.
None that she remembers. She was pretty drunk too, if Harry could recall correctly. Or maybe Harry was so drunk that he thought Lily was drunk. Either way, one of them was drunk.
"Harry," Cara pleads, her phone sandwiched between her palms, which are in a prayer position. "Please text him already."
"But why?" Harry asks. They're getting to a point here, and Harry can't seem to follow. God, maybe he shouldn't have downed so many of those vodka martinis. But it's not his fault they made him feel like James Bond. "I just saw him four hours ago, I don't need to, like, be glued to his side every waking minute. He and I are in a perfectly happy and healthy relationship, and we can exist without each other, thank you very much." Hence why he is here, at this club, socializing with all these industry friends. It's not at all because he was told that he needed to be papped in this party. Nope.
Cara levels him with a look. "I know," she says. "It's just, okay. You do know it's okay to miss him when you're separated, right?"
Harry knows this. Harry frequently misses Louis whenever they're apart. It's just that, well, it's been four hours. He's not that pathetic.
"It's just been four hours," Harry answers. "I'm not that bad."
"Usually," Cara says. "But I know that you've been dying to spend some quality time with Louis, especially now that you have a bit of down time before your tour starts up again."
Which, right. Not that they didn't spend a lot of quality time together while on tour, it's just that, well, they had both been looking forward to staying at the house, to cuddling each other wherever possible, watching shitty movies, and just generally being in each other's presence while doing little domestic, non-exciting things. But of course, that's not exactly possible, which is why Harry is here, not with Louis, mingling with other industry people. It wasn't a surprise, anyway. This party has been on the calendar on his phone for weeks.
But knowing that still didn't make his heart ache any less when he'd had to leave Louis dozing on the couch, aggressively cuddling a throw pillow and buried under one of Harry's patterned quilts. He'd wanted to ditch the party and just climb in next to him, inhale the familiar scent of their laundry detergent and something else. Something that smells like home.
Okay, fine, he misses Louis a lot.
Lily must see something register in his face because she's grinning triumphantly before waving, then making a beeline for the bar. Cara just stays in front of him, her phone still clutched in her hand, her eyebrow raised, waiting for a response.
Harry sighs. "Okay, fine," he says, and Cara lets out a fist pump. Because she's that kind of friend. "I miss him a lot. I wish I could've brought him." God, those vodka martinis are really coming back to bite him in the bum. Maybe he shouldn't have drank that much. He's getting all emotional, now.
Cara looks down when her phone lights up with a text. "I'm sorry you couldn't take him with you, Haz," she tells him, eyes still glued to her phone. She types something out.
The problem with these types of parties is that they're invite-only. And Louis isn't really into the entire London fashion scene. Which is why he isn't invited to these kinds of stuff.
"If it helps," Cara continues, still typing something out on her phone. "He misses you too."
Harry snorts. "He was asleep on the couch when I left him," he answers. "He was pretty knackered."
The image of Louis sleeping comes to his mind again, and Harry's chest clenches with the thought. Louis looks so young when he's asleep, so relaxed, like nothing in the world could ever trouble him. It reminds Harry of that boy he met in the toilets all those years ago.
Louis' still that boy, and Harry's still so very in love with him, but a lot has changed in five years. They've had to go through quite a lot.
"No, trust me," Cara says, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "He misses you a lot. He wants you to come home."
Harry frowns at her. "How do you know that?"
She rolls her eyes. "He's been texting me the entire evening," she says, turning the phone around so that the screen is facing him. Harry sees the little bubbles of their conversation throughout the evening.
He didn't even know Louis had Cara's number.
"Kept asking me how you were, and when you were going home," she continues, as Harry squints and tries to read the texts. He catches sight of the words 'when is he coming home?', before Cara is taking back the phone.
"Why didn't he text me?" Harry wonders aloud. His phone had stayed silent throughout the evening, which was why he thought Louis was probably asleep. Whenever he's away, Louis doesn't hesitate to blow up his phone with texts, asking questions and demanding things. Sometimes he just sends little emojis when he's got nothing to say.
Cara shrugs. "I'm guessing he didn't want to bother you," she tells him. "Maybe he thought you wanted to spend time with some of your friends here in London before you're off doing shows again."
That...actually makes sense. The people here are some of Harry's closest industry friends, and Louis must've known this. But, really, by now, Louis should be aware of the fact that there is literally no one else Harry wants to spend time with more than him. If he's not, then Harry's going to make him aware.
Harry pauses, then pulls out his phone. "I should, um, probably text him."
Cara quirks an eyebrow.
Harry blinks at her. "Or maybe I should just go home," he amends.
Cara laughs. "You do that."
. . .
Louis isn't on the couch when he gets home, the telly off and the quilt and throw pillow abandoned on the couch.
Harry checks the kitchen, the bathroom, the office, the bedroom, before finding Louis out on the balcony, with a joint in his hand. Honestly, they're incredibly lucky that their property is quite large, and that nobody else is awake at this time.
"Hey," says Harry. He drops a kiss into Louis' hair, before sitting down beside Louis on their little balcony couch. He shivers a bit at the cool, night air.
"Hi," Louis replies, taking a drag of the joint. Harry watches as the end of it flares up, the light cutting through their dim surroundings. His phone is on his lap, face down, like it hadn't been blowing up Cara's phone with texts an hour previous. "I like your suit."
"Do you?"
"It's very loud," replies Louis, the smoke escaping from his lungs with every word he says. "And like, bold. And bright. Like fireworks." He giggles. "Designer fireworks."
Harry doesn't think that it's bright. It's bold, yes, and a bit loud, but, like, it's a muted green colour, with little pink triangles. And he's even got matching trousers. He actually quite likes the look. Makes him feel very fashion forward.
"Oh," says Louis, his eyes widening. "You look like a snake!" He even hisses for emphasis, before he's giggling, leaning back on the couch.
Harry raises an eyebrow at him. "How much have you had to smoke?" He asks.
Louis shrugs. "Not much." He extends the hand with the joint to Harry's face. "You want?"
Harry shakes his head. Louis takes another drag of the joint. He holds it in his lungs for a bit, before exhaling, the smoke curling up into the cool night air.
"Snakey Harry," Louis says, then pauses. He pouts. "I didn't get to see you wear it," he sulks. "I wanted to see you put it on."
"You were asleep," Harry answers, leaning back on the couch. He turns his head so that he's facing Louis. "Didn't want to wake you. You were tired."
"You should've," Louis pouts even harder. "I woke up and you were gone." He widens his eyes for emphasis, like something a five year old would do, and Harry has to bite at his lower lip to keep from laughing. "You slithered away!"
Harry takes a moment to compose himself. "I'm sorry," he says. "I won't leave next time without telling you, okay?"
"You shouldn't even leave in the first place," he says, taking a drag of his joint. He turns to Harry, his eyes wide. "You should just stay with me all the time, Harold."
He starts humming something under his breath, a familiar tune Harry can't place. It's only until he gets to the chorus does it click.
"Staaaay with me," Louis sings loudly. It's a bit ridiculous and out of tune. "Cause you're aaaaall I neeed."
God, Harry loves this boy so, so much.
"Okay, okay," Harry says a bit later, trying not to laugh when Louis fumbles over one of the lyrics. " You're so high, Lou."
"I am," Louis agrees solemnly. "Like a bird. I'm flying."
"Where will you fly?" Harry asks.
"Into your chest," Louis answers without hesitation, that Harry wonders if Louis has thought about the answer to this question before. "I'm one of the swallows you have tattooed on your chest."
He reaches over with his free hand, placing his hand exactly above one of Harry's swallow tattoos. "That's me," he says, "That's Tommo the bird."
"How about the other one?" Harry asks.
Louis thinks for a moment. "Liam," he answers eventually. "That's Payno right there on your chest."
Harry isn't pouting. He isn't. Really.
"Come off it, love," Louis says a few seconds later. He giggles, curling his free hand into a fist to cover his mouth. "I was just teasing."
"So the other one can be Harry the bird?" Harry asks. He doesn't know why he's indulging Louis in this conversation, all he knows is that Louis looks happy like this, smoking a joint in their balcony, relaxed.
"Harry the snakey bird," Louis corrects. "Snakey Harry bird." He takes another drag of his joint, tossing the remaining into the ash tray beside him. This time, he turns toward Harry and, with his free hand, beckons Harry closer. Harry goes easily.
Louis pushes himself onto his knees, steadying himself with a hand on Harry's shoulder, before leaning in and pressing his mouth to Harry's. He taps his finger thrice on Harry's neck, and Harry opens his mouth, inhaling as Louis blows smoke into Harry's mouth.
Louis kisses him for a bit longer, his tongue running a familiar path inside Harry's mouth, as Harry opens for him, holding the smoke as long as he can in his lungs. It makes his lungs burn a little bit, and that, coupled with Louis painting stories into the roof of his mouth, makes him feel a bit light headed. It's good, though. It's a heady sensation.
Harry pulls away to blow the smoke away, watching as it disappears into the night air, before he's cupping Louis' face and leaning forward again, pushing his lips against Louis'. Louis opens easily for him, and Harry draws pictures in Louis', tries to paint a universe inside the wet, warm expanse of his mouth, and God, he loves this. He loves kissing Louis so, so much.
Louis makes a sound into his mouth, before pulling away, his eyes hazy. He shivers, the night wind blowing a cool breeze, and Harry doesn't hesitate, shrugging off his suit jacket and placing it on Louis' shoulders.
"There," Harry says. "Now you're the snakey bird."
"Both of us are snakey birds," Louis says, inclining his head towards Harry's matching trousers. "We match. Like always."
"Like always," Harry repeats. It's no secret that matching things is sort of.....a thing with them. Harry thinks it started with those Wellies they had for Leeds. And then they graduated to matching items and then eventually, complementary tattoos. Which are still sort of matching.
Anyway, he likes matching with Louis, enjoys having something that connects them.
"Cara told me you kept talking about the name of the club," Louis tells him, his eyes fixed on the night sky above them. There aren't any stars, due to the light pollution, but it's a nice sky. All dark and black.
"I didn't even know you had Cara's number," Harry replies.
"There's a lot you don't know about me," Louis answers solemnly, like it's something profound.
"Like what?"
"Like..." Louis trails off, tilting his head, thinking. "I like broccoli."
Louis hates broccoli with a passion. "No you don't."
"You don't trust me now?" Louis asks, his eyes wide. "I think I know myself better than you do, Harold." He sniffs. "I ate all your broccoli this morning."
He didn't. Harry found his new, unopened bag of broccoli in the bin this morning. Which is why he has to run to the shop tomorrow and buy a new pack. Because Louis decided to just throw it away.
"You threw it in the bin, Louis."
"Are you doubting me now?" Louis demands. He crosses his arms. "Maybe I should just go to Liam. I bet Liam can love my real, true, broccoli-loving self. He's going to be my other bird."
No, Harry's his other bird. Liam's, like, a puppy. Which means he should stay away, as far away as possible from Tommo the Bird. He might play with Tommo the Bird and accidentally maul him.
Harry reaches out, grabbing Louis by the wrist and tries to pull him closer. Louis fights, because, of course he does, he wouldn't be Louis if he didn't, but he's lethargic from the weed and after a while, Harry manages to get him where he wants him to be. Which is curled up right next to him.
It's nice. They should stay like this forever. So that Liam the puppy doesn't steal Tommo the bird away from him.
Not that Liam would, but, well. There's a chance. There's always a chance. Louis just appeals to everyone in the world.
Louis hums and lays his head on Harry's shoulder. "I missed you," he murmurs, his fingers pressing shapes on Harry's chest, above his heart. "I woke up and you were just gone."
"I missed you too," Harry answers. He leans over to press a kiss on Louis' forehead. "`m sorry I had to leave you."
"S'okay," Louis says, before curling up into Harry more. "Tell me about the club."
"It was called Loulou's," Harry tells him. Louis hums in acknowledgment. "And there was literally nobody by the name of Lou in that club."
Louis giggles. "Really? That's misleading."
See, this is why he and Louis are soulmates. Louis understands him the way no one else can.
"That's what I said," Harry tells him, smiling. "They should have the name changed." He pauses. "There were a lot of, like, Janes in the club, I think. Or was that just one person I kept meeting again and again? Anyway. Jane."
"They should change the name to Janejane's?" Louis asks. One of his hands fists Harry's shirt, wrinkling the material.
"Yes, exactly!" Harry crows. He presses another kiss to the crown of Louis' head. "D'you want to head to bed?"
Louis lifts his head from Harry's shoulder. "In a bit," he says. "I wanna look at the sky for a bit." He pauses. "You can go ahead and get ready for bed first."
Harry stands and stretches, before leaning down to give Louis a quick peck. "I'll see you inside then?"
"Yeah," Louis replies, before reaching up to draw Harry into a longer kiss. "Love you," he murmurs into Harry's lips.
Harry feels himself grin. "Love you too," he answers, before heading inside to wash up.
. . .
He gets ready for bed, taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth. He puts a bit of lotion on his arms and legs as well, because why not. His skin's been feeling a bit dry lately, and he doesn't want it to flake.
He's humming as he wraps his towel around his waist, carding a hand through his wet locks. He's going to have to dry them. He doesn't like sleeping with wet hair. It makes it all weird in the morning.
He's just exited the bathroom, trying to remember where it is he kept the hairdryer, when he looks up, and almost chokes on his saliva.
Because, Louis. Louis seems to have entered the bedroom while he was in the shower, taken off all his clothes except Harry's suit jacket, and is now lying on the bed, with two of his own fingers stuffed inside him.
He's flushed, so, so, flushed, all the way from his high cheekbones down to his chest, and two of his fingers are moving inside him, fucking in and out. Harry knows, from the way Louis' face is screwed up, that it's not satisfactory, that it's not actually getting to where he wants it to go, that he wants his fingers to go deeper, to brush against his own prostate.
Louis moans brokenly, and Harry goes from soft to hard in a matter of seconds.
Because, right. He forgot. He forgot how horny Louis gets whenever he gets high.
Louis moans again, and Harry draws in a sharp breath. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he wants to reach out, wants to slap Louis' fingers away and finger him himself, until Louis is crying, begging.
"Lou," he says quietly.
Louis hears him. "Harry," he pants. He opens his eyes and turns his head, gazing at Harry darkly. He smirks then moans loudly, as if for show. "Harry, watch me."
He begins to fuck his fingers into his hole faster, throwing his head back, exposing the long, tan line of his neck. His fingers make a squelching sound with every movement, and some of the lube drips out from his wet, exposed hole, the sleeve of Harry's suit jacket starting to get stained with lube.
He looks like sin personified, most of his tan skin exposed, the rest covered only by the muted green of Harry's suit jacket. It's big on him, as are all of Harry's clothes, and it makes him look tiny, but fuck if it doesn't look good. It looks so fucking good. Harry wants to touch so bad.
He doesn't, though, because Louis said to watch. And here he is. Watching.
Louis lifts his hips from the bed, beginning to fuck down on his fingers in earnest, and he moans loudly, throatily. Harry bites his lower lip, trying to keep his own sounds quiet. One of his hands detaches itself from the doorway, removing the towel before wrapping a hand around his dick.
Immediately, Louis' eyes fly open and he's pinning Harry with a dark gaze. "Don't," he says. "Don't touch yourself."
Harry whines. "Lou."
"Don't, Harry," Louis repeats, and the way he says it, his voice dark, makes Harry pout and put his fingers back on the doorframe.
He digs his fingers into the painted door frame, his fingernails no doubt leaving a mark, as he watches Louis fuck himself on his own fingers.
"Harry," he moans, his eyes squeezed shut. His other hand unclenches from the sheets he's fisting, reaching down to jerk himself off while fucking himself down on his fingers.
"No," Harry hears himself say. Louis' eyes open.
"What?"
"No," Harry repeats. "Fingers only."
Louis whines. It shouldn't be hot, but it is. His cock literally twitches at the sound.
"Harold," Louis says. His eyes are dark, staring at Harry from across the room.
"I said no," Harry answers, his voice deep. "If I can't touch, neither can you. Fingers only."
Louis grumbles, but obediently removes his hand from his cock and goes back to grabbing the sheets.
"You're horrible," he complains, before planting his feet on the bed, and going back to fucking himself down onto his fingers.
He gets louder as he does it, his throaty moans tapering into high pitched whimpers and whines, and Harry's so hard he's lightheaded with it. Shit, he needs to touch, needs to feel Louis' skin beneath his. Needs to see the way Louis stretches to accommodate his fingers.
"Can I come closer?" He asks.
Louis lets out a long, drawn-out moan that has Harry clenching his teeth. His cock bobs between his legs, painful and blood heavy. He doesn't know how much longer he can take of this.
"You can," Louis allows eventually. "But don't touch."
It takes a moment for Harry to remember how to walk, but he does eventually, walking so that he's at the foot of the bed, where he can have the best view. He kneels down, his eyes drawn to the stretched, puckered skin of Louis' hole. It's dripping with lube, and Harry has to dig his fingernails into his palm to stop himself from reaching out and slotting a finger inside.
"Fuck, Lou," he says.
Louis just hums, shifting his fingers around, pumping them in and out, and then suddenly he lets out a gasp, his body arcing off the bed.
He must've hit his prostate then.
"Harry," he moans, and his fingers are moving quicker now, pushing in and out of his hole, his hips shifting, trying to find that spot, that angle. "Harry, fuck."
"Baby," Harry replies, almost instinctively, his eyes still drawn to where Louis is stretched open. He licks his lips. He wants to taste. Fuck, he wants to taste so bad.
He can't though.
"Third finger," he says, and Louis turns to look at him. His eyes are hazy, but his fingers are still moving in and out of him.
"What?" Louis asks.
"Add a third finger."
Louis draws his fingers out, coats them with lube, and then puts them back in, with a third finger. Harry watches as he stretches to accommodate the extra finger, watches as his whole body shivers and reacts to the new intrusion.
And then he gets an idea.
"Fuck yourself," he says. "But slowly."
Louis whines.
"Do it."
Louis does it. He pushes his fingers in and out slowly, torturously, even though Harry can see from his face that he wants to go faster. His face is scrunched up, almost like he's about to cry, but his hand remains at a steady pace.
"Did you fuck yourself like this while I was out a while ago?" Harry asks conversationally. He leans forward. "Did you open yourself up with your fingers and imagine it was my cock?"
Louis whines again, high in his throat. His fingers start to speed up.
"Ah, ah," Harry says. "Slowly."
Louis huffs, but his fingers return to their original speed. The cuff of his suit jacket is already fully wet with lube, but Harry doesn't care. He can always buy a new one.
"Love seeing you in my clothes," Harry continues, trying to keep his voice light. "You look so good wearing my clothes. Fuck, remember when you wore that yellow shirt for me? You looked so fucking amazing."
He pauses. "Fourth finger."
Louis doesn't even hesitate.
"You look fucking amazing in anything, Lou," Harry continues, and Louis whines pushing his fingers in and out, spreading them to help stretch him open even more. "But I love it when you wear my clothes."
"Smells like you," Louis mumbles out, his fingers slowing a bit in their ministrations. He must be cramping already. Harry's actually a bit surprised he's lasted this long.
"Reminds you of me, does it?" Harry asks. He digs his nails into his palms again. His cock is pulsing so hard now, and Harry's honestly afraid that he'll shoot off the instant he lays a hand on it.
"Mhm," Louis manages to slur out. "Love wearing your clothes."
"Yeah?" Harry asks. "What if I gave you a ring to wear?"
Louis keens, and his fingers start moving again. His head is thrown back, with sweat collecting at the hollow of his throat, and God, this is torture, having Louis spread out in front of him but being unable to touch, being unable to taste.
"I'll put a ring on your pretty little finger," Harry continues. "So everyone knows you're mine."
"Harry," Louis gasps. His fingers speed up. Harry lets them.
"You can wear my clothes, and wear my ring, and you can be my boy," Harry continues. Fuck, Louis' getting off on the thought of being Harry's. This is the hottest thing he's ever seen.
"Yes," Louis babbles. "Yes, Harry, please."
"My boy, until forever," Harry continues. "My boy. My little Tommo bird." He bites his inner cheek. "Lou, can I?"
"Yes," Louis says, the sound morphing into a moan. "Yes, Harry, anything. Fuck, Harry," he gasps. "Touch me."
Harry doesn't need to be told twice. He slaps Louis' fingers away from his hole, quickly replacing them with his own. He pushes four fingers inside immediately, fucking them in and out in a relentless pace. Louis keens, his hands scrambling to grab onto something on the bed.
He makes sure to brush at Louis' prostate every stroke, enjoying the way Louis whines every time he does it. He leans forward, pressing a kiss at Louis' balls, before sucking at his taint.
It's not even a second later that Louis is coming, his entire body tensing up. Harry keeps fucking him with his fingers, pushing them in and out, and he keeps sucking at his taint, at least until Louis collapses onto the bed, spent.
"C'mere," Louis says hoarsely, kicking out a foot at him. He sounds wrecked.
Harry withdraws his fingers, before climbing up the bed to hover over Louis. He presses his mouth to Louis, bites at his bottom lip, and then licks into his mouth when he opens it. Kissing Louis is great. He'd love to just kiss Louis until the end of time.
Well, if not for his cock, which feels like it's been hard for years.
"Harry," Louis murmurs into their kiss. He threads one of his hands into Harry's long curls, grabbing at them.
"Baby," Harry replies. He grinds down against Louis' thigh, trying to relieve the pressure on his cock.
"Hey," Louis says, pulling at Harry's hair. "That hurts. You're crushing my thigh."
Harry rolls his eyes. He wasn't even grinding that hard.
He opens his mouth to answer but then Louis is moving leg, pushing it up towards Harry's cock, and all of Harry's words are lost in a moan. He starts rutting against his thigh in earnest.
"You see," Harry hears Louis say, sounding casual and unaffected, "I'm very delicate. And you're very rough. You're going to hurt me."
He pulls again on Harry's hair, and Harry hears a noise. It takes a moment for him to realize that it's coming from him, little moans that he can't seem to control, can't seem to stop from escaping.
"Would never hurt you," Harry manages to get out, still focused on chasing the friction. Louis' thigh is good, but it's not enough, and Harry needs more. Fuck, he needs so much more.
"See, you say that," Louis replies, "but you always manhandle me."
Louis likes being manhandled. Loves it, even. But Harry knows when to choose his battles, and arguing against him on this would probably end with Louis moving away with him and Harry unsatisfied, hard as fuck and about to cry.
He's actually going to cry if he doesn't get inside Louis right now, so.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says helplessly, leaning forward to bury his face in the column of Louis' throat. He bites at it, tasting sweat and skin, before beginning to suck a blood bruise onto it. His hips haven't stopped shifting against Louis' thigh. "You're just, you're so--"
"Tiny?" Louis interrupts. "Easy to manhandle? That's not really helping your case here, Harold."
Harry groans in frustration. It's so hard to think, especially with the aching pressure on his cock and Louis spread out beneath him, pulling his hair at random intervals and talking to him like it's nothing. Fuck, it's not nothing, and Harry's going out of his mind here.
"You just, you drive me insane," Harry ends up saying, his hips still rutting earnestly against Louis' thigh. "I can't control myself around you."
"You've got no control," Louis answers sagely, and Harry bites down a laugh.
"Please, baby," he says instead, after a few moments. Rutting against Louis' thigh is starting to get real old. "Let me make it up to you. Let me take care of you, nice and proper."
He doesn't actually know if he can follow through with that promise. It's just that, he's so hard it's torturous and he can't think straight anymore and all his senses have narrowed down to his cock, to where Louis is, spread out beneath him, to the feel of his skin brushing against Louis'.
Louis pulls his hair hard, enough that Harry is yanked back, and then he's gazing into Louis' beautiful, blue eyes.
Louis looks down, his eyelashes shielding his eyes. "You can make it up to me," he says coyly, and then he's looking up at Harry from beneath his eyelashes. Harry feels his cock jump. Fucking bedroom eyes. "If you fuck me so hard that I can feel it for a week."
That. Is. Harry can do that.
Harry makes a strangled noise and then he's scrambling for the bottle of lube, which Louis left on the bed beside him. He scoops up a handful, slicking himself up, before he's pushing into Louis.
All in record time. Seriously. He's the Usain Bolt of fucking.
Louis' so stretched that he takes him easily, and Harry watches, entranced as inch by inch, his cock disappears until he's fully seated inside Louis, his balls pressed to his arse. Fuck, Louis feels so good. He feels so hot and wet and Harry has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down and stop his cock from just shooting off, right there.
"I'm bored," Louis complains, after a few moments, nudging Harry with his foot. "I thought you were gonna take care of me."
"Just give me a minute," Harry says, gritting his teeth. He doesn't trust himself to move, just yet, and completely go over the edge.
Louis sighs. "Maybe I should just go to Liam," he says. "Liam would do it better."
No, Liam would not do it better. Had they not established earlier that Liam would end up mauling Louis? Louis is going to die under Liam, and Harry's going to be so, so mad.
"No, he wouldn't," He growls, and then he's folding Louis in half and pounding into him.
He does it quick and hard, his hips moving like a piston, and Harry watches as Louis' mouth drops open, his eyes rolling back into his head. Harry knows he's a bit sensitive, what with coming earlier, but Harry also knows that he loves it.
See? No one knows Louis like Harry does. And no one can do it like Harry can.
"Fuck," Louis moans, when Harry nails his prostate. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
Harry props himself up with one hand, and uses the other to run a hand through his suit jacket.
"Liam can't take care of you the way I can," Harry manages to say. "He can't give you what you need."
"But you can?" Louis gets out. He's pulling frantically at Harry's hair now, and Harry can feel the dull ache of it on his scalp.
"Baby, I can give you everything," Harry answers. "And so much more."
Louis snorts a laugh, but it gets lost in one of his little whimper-y sounds. His little whimper-y sounds are Harry's favourite. It means that he really likes what's going on.
"Stop," Louis says, untangling one of his hands to clutch at Harry's shoulder blade. "You're being smug. I can feel the smugness in your thrusts."
"That doesn't make any sense," Harry says, still focused on moving his hips in and out. "You can't feel something like that."
"Sure I can," Louis answers. "I have the power."
Harry chooses not to answer, choosing, instead, to channel all his energy into fucking the brains out of Louis.
Louis lets out a moan at a particularly hard thrust, and Harry takes a moment to study him, trying to memorize the way he looks when he's got Harry inside him.
(Not that Harry doesn't already memorize that, but, well. He likes having a catalogue of Louis faces for his wank bank. LA gets so lonely, sometimes.)
"You're beautiful," he hears himself say. "You're so, so beautiful like this, in my suit, stretched open for me, just for me."
He moans and leans forward, capturing Louis' mouth in a kiss. It's hot and wet and filthy and god, it's amazing. It's so fucking amazing.
Louis' making high little noises at the back of his throat every time Harry fucks into him, his head thrown back, his neck exposed. Harry leans forward, sucks another love bite below the first one.
"Harry," Louis moans. He grabs onto Harry's arm, his fingers pressing bruises into the skin. "Fuck, Harry."
"I love you," Harry tells him, and starts fucking into him harder, Louis' body bending towards Harry's ministrations. Harry can see that Louis' cock is stirring again, getting hard in the mess of his come.
"I love you," he repeats. "I love you, I love you, I love you, my little Tommo bird."
One of Louis' hands reaches up, brushing against the swallows tattooed on Harry's chest.
"I love you too," he manages to get out. His hand slides down, brushing at Harry's nipple, and that's all it takes for Harry to lose it, to spill inside of Louis, shooting off threads and threads of come for what feels like ages.
Louis follows soon after, managing to spurt out a little bit of come, panting and gasping.
Harry collapses on top of him, his mind blank. He feels sated and satisfied, with Louis underneath him. It's nice. He wants to stay like this forever.
He can't though, because after a few minutes, Louis is shifting beneath him, and the come drying on their stomachs is getting to be very uncomfortable.
"You're crushing me," Louis complains, shoving at Harry's shoulder. "You're so fucking heavy."
Harry groans and rolls off Louis. He rolls straight into the wet spot, and it feels horrible, but he's too tired to move.
Louis seems to feel the same because he's shifting onto his side, using the blanket to wipe the come off their stomachs, and then wrapping his arms around Harry. He nuzzles into the back of Harry's neck, kissing the skin there.
"I missed you a lot," Louis murmurs into his skin. "It's kind of pathetic, I know, but it's true. I missed you so much."
Harry tries not to smile too much. "It's not pathetic," he answers. He curls up a bit smaller, and laces their fingers together. "I missed you a lot too. I'm sorry I couldn't bring you with me tonight."
"`S'okay," Louis yawns. "You more than made up for it. Now shh, bedtime, little Harry bird."
"'If you're a bird, I'm a bird,'" Harry quotes thoughtfully, and is rewarded by Louis biting at his ear.
"We are not Allie and Noah," Louis says sleepily, before pressing his face into Harry's neck again. "We're Harry and Louis."
Well, yeah, they are. And between them and Allie and Noah, Harry believes he and Louis are so much better.