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Louis' running around and wreaking havoc today.
Of course, it's not like that's anything new--it's in Louis' nature to be rather mischievous and naughty, and they're all used to receiving pranks from him--but Louis, Harry notices, is also a bit skittish, like he's unable to simply stay still. He moves like a colt that's about to be cornered, bouncing and running and flailing, unable to be pinned down.
Usually, Harry would let him do whatever it is he wanted, but currently, Niall is laughing and he hasn't stopped laughing for the past twenty minutes, which means that he's stress laughing and is probably going to burst into tears in the next five minutes. Liam's not faring much better either; he's starting to look like some sort of abused puppy, and his eyes are doing that thing they do when he's trying to send Harry a subtle message during interviews. Except now, it's not during an interview, and Liam's eyes aren't saying some variation of 'Remember where you are, Harry', or 'Goddammit Harry what are you doing'. Instead they're wide and pleading, saying 'Help us, Harry-wan Kenobi, you're our only hope'.
Okay, maybe that's not exactly what they're saying. But Liam still looks distressed, and keeps pointedly looking at Louis, which Harry takes to mean that Liam wants him to do something about Louis. Who right now, has managed to procure a bottle of olive oil from somewhere and is now pouring it on the floor in front of Liam's dressing room.
Safety hazard, that.
"Lou," he calls, moving to get up from where he's sat on the couch, but he needn't have to--Louis' head whips up at the sound, and then he's abandoning the bottle on the floor and running to perch himself on Harry's lap.
Liam shoots Harry his thank-you-I-owe-you eyes. Harry adds them to his mental catalogue of Liam eyes.
"Hi," Louis mumbles, nuzzling into Harry's hair. Harry notices the way he moves his arm to curl around Harry's shoulders. He's rather tactile today.
Harry's arms come up to circle around his waist. "Lou," he murmurs back, squeezing the dip of his waist. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Louis says. He pulls away, his eyes shifting to glance at Liam from the other side of the room. He looks distracted.
Harry frowns and pinches Louis' waist.
"Hey," Louis says, his head whipping to face Harry. He slaps Harry's hand away. "What was that for?"
Harry shrugs. "You just seem distracted, `s'all. He presses a kiss onto Louis' shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Louis sighs his Harry-sigh. It sounds very fond. "I'm just peachy, love," he answers, and Harry feels him drop a kiss onto his hair. He fidgets on where he's perched on Harry's lap, his bum wriggling on Harry's thigh. "I like your shirt."
"Do you?" Harry asks excitedly. He's quite happy about this shirt. Feels like he's got a strong connection with it.
"Well, yeah," Louis says. He scrunches up his nose. "It's pink. You look really good in pink."
"And it's got polka dots," Harry supplies proudly. "Don't forget the polka dots." The polka dots are, quite possibly, his favourite element. They're white and they're really striking against the pale pink of his shirt.
Louis rolls his eyes fondly. "And it's got polka dots." He pauses, tapping a finger on his bottom lip. "Kind of like Minnie Mouse. Actually, it's a very Minnie Mouse-ish pattern. Suits you, though."
Harry dimples happily at him. It's not as if Louis doesn't ever compliment Harry's fashion choices; on the contrary, Louis is more than happy to dole out praise for anything Harry chooses to wear. It's just that Harry has mastered the art of reading Louis, and he knows when Louis actually really likes the shirt, or is liking it for Harry's benefit. Which happens a lot, mind you.
"It's a record now, I think," Harry muses, tightening his arms around Louis' waist. He presses another kiss on Louis' shoulder.
"Hm?"
"You said you liked my suit last night," Harry elaborates, "and then you just said you liked my shirt today. It's a record."
"Hey," Louis answers, affronted. He pulls away from Harry, shooting him a look. "I always say I like your shirts."
"You always say that," Harry says, "but you never really mean it."
"Are you calling me a liar now?"
"Well," Harry drawls, trying to keep himself from bursting into giggles. Louis' getting all huffy and dramatic, and Harry finds it a bit funny. "If the shoe fits."
Louis rolls his eyes again and wriggles, dislodging himself from Harry's grip and standing up in front of him. "You're horrible," he says, with no venom whatsoever. "I bet Liam wouldn't treat me like this. I'm going to go sit on Liam's lap instead."
"Leave me out of this," says Liam from the other side of the room.
Harry pouts at Louis. "Aww, Lou," he says, making grabby hands at Louis. "Come back, you know I was just teasing."
"No," Louis sniffs, but he doesn't move, simply stays in his position. He looks away from Harry. "I'm hurt."
"Lou," Harry says, drawing out the syllable. "I love you the most."
Louis doesn't answer.
"You're the only one for me," Harry continues, batting his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. "You're my Lou. My boo-bear. My soul mate. My other half."
Louis still doesn't answer.
"Come on, Lou," Harry tries. "You know I wouldn't get these rad matching tattoos for anyone."
The corner of Louis' mouth twitches up.
"I'd tattoo your face on my arm if I could, but that'd be a bit too much," Harry says, watching the muscles twitch in Louis' cheek. "My mum would probably get mad. Your mum would probably get mad. But that'd be the greatest declaration of love, wouldn't it?"
"It would be," Louis answers, before biting on his bottom lip. Probably to prevent himself from answering again.
"But since I can't," Harry continues, batting his eyelashes at Louis. "I'll just say you're my soul mate. My other half." He pauses. "The Mickey to my Minnie."
Louis bursts out laughing at that. "You are ridiculous," he says fondly, and Harry smiles brightly up at him. "The Mickey to my Minnie, really?"
"Well, you just said my shirt reminded you of Minnie Mouse," Harry explains, as Louis sits himself down on Harry's lap again. "So that immediately makes you Mickey Mouse."
"I don't know," Louis replies. "I've always fancied myself more of a Donald Duck type of bloke."
"Then I'll be Daisy Duck," Harry answers. He pauses. "Although not tonight, I'm Minnie tonight."
Louis hums in response, before nuzzling into Harry's neck. From across the room, Niall shoots him a thumbs up while Liam shoots him one of those Thank-you-so much looks. It's quite nice.
Actually, everything about this is quite nice. Louis has always been a hurricane, a storm; filled with all this energy and hyperactivity and the fact that it's only Harry who can calm him down, can make him stop, is something that makes a warmth erupt in Harry's stomach.
He just really loves Louis. A lot.
"Hey," he says a few moments later. "You should dress up as him."
Louis hums. "What's that, Harold?"
"Like Mickey Mouse," Harry elaborates. "So we can match. I can look like Minnie, and you can look like Mickey."
Louis is silent for a few moments. And then, "Mickey Mouse is naked from the waist up."
Harry blinks at him. "He's got, like, gloves on."
Louis stews on that thought. "So," he says eventually, "You're telling me that you want me to go out dressed in nothing but red booty shorts and a pair of gloves, just so we can match?"
"Well," Harry says, "I'm not objecting to the look." Louis would look gorgeous in only red booty shorts and a pair of gloves.
Louis raises an eyebrow at him. "You really want two thousand people looking at me while I'm dressed like that? Are you willing to share me now, Haz?"
Well, no, not exactly. Harry hadn't really thought about that part of it. Of course he doesn't want to share Louis. Louis is his, as much as he is Louis'.
He just wanted Louis to wear shorts that emphasized his bum and be naked from the waist up. Kind of like a costume. Like, something for Halloween, maybe. Or maybe for something in their bedroom. Like a Disney role play or something. Harry giggles at the thought.
Louis, because he is Harry's soul mate in every single way and Harry is certain that they were meant to be even since the beginning of time, smirks and pats Harry on the head. "How about we save it for the bedroom, eh?"
"Disney sex," Harry agrees, still thinking about it. It's really hard keeping his laughter in check.
"Disney sex," Louis echoes. "Disney foreplay. Disney dirty talk."
"Ooh," Harry says. "That's always fun. You sound so good imitating Goofy in the bedroom, Lou."
"Okay," Liam interrupts suddenly. Apparently, he's still in the room. Harry though he'd left earlier. "Enough. Please. I can't take any more of this Disney foreplay."
"What?" Niall says, because apparently he's also still here, "Really? But it was just getting entertaining! Louis was just about to do a Goofy impression, I'm sure of it."
Harry and Louis blink at Niall. Liam blinks at Niall. Niall just shrugs unapologetically.
"Why did you guys not leave?" Louis asks, after a few seconds of silence.
Niall shrugs again. "Too much effort, mate. I'm comfortable here."
"I was comfortable as well," Liam says, pushing himself into a standing position. "But then you started talking about Disney sex and I do not want to be scarred for life. Next thing I know, you'll be talking about positions or summat."
"Lou," Harry says, "do you think there are Disney sex positions?"
"No, I don't think so, Haz," Louis answers.
Harry thinks for a bit. "D'you think we can maybe invent one, then? Like the Walt Disney position?"
"That's it," Liam interrupts again. His face is pinched, like he's in pain, and he looks so funny that Harry can't help but laugh at him. "I'm going to my dressing room to prepare. You three better go as well. We've got a show later, remember."
He stalks off dramatically--or as dramatically as he can manage--before slipping on the puddle of olive oil Louis had left earlier.
Harry starts laughing even harder. Liam flips him off.
. . .
Louis, much to Harry's dismay, does not actually dress up like Mickey Mouse. He does, however, choose to wear a blue button down over a dark shirt, so at least they can, in Louis' words, 'somehow match'. Harry thinks he looks good anyway. But then again, that's nothing new. He looks good in anything.
Even this morning, when he had woken up in their shared bed, his eyes red-rimmed, hair mussed, wrapped in Harry's stained suit jacket, whining about a headache and demanding pancakes, he was still the most beautiful person Harry's ever seen.
Anyway, the point is, Louis always looks good, that Harry's a bit used to it. It doesn't take Harry's breath away like it did the first time they met, in the X Factor. So Louis in a gorgeous blue button up? He can handle it like a pro.
But sometimes, Louis just completely blows everything out of the water.
Like today, for example. Like fucking five minutes before they're supposed to go on stage.
The thing is, Louis doesn't really need to be standing in front of Harry before they go on stage. He doesn't really need to accidentally drop his microphone. He doesn't really need to bend down and pick up the microphone.
He doesn't really need to be wearing lace pink panties.
Yet he does all that, anyway.
One of Harry's arms whip out, grabbing Louis' wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Lou," Harry says quietly, lowly. Even he can hear the urgency in his voice. "What's that?"
Louis, because no matter how much Harry loves him, he is, first and foremost, a pain, innocently answers back, "What's what, Harry?"
"Under your trousers," Harry answers back. "What are you wearing?"
"Oh," Louis answers, sounding like he's just realized what Harry's talking about. Harry knows better, though. He can hear the smirk in Louis' voice. "Do you like it?"
"Do I--Louis, what is it?" Harry asks, his voice increasing in urgency.
Even in the darkness, Harry can see Louis roll his eyes. "What do you think it is, idiot?"
"But I..." Harry can't speak, can't find anything to say. It feels as if his mouth has dried up.
"I thought you wanted us to match," Louis continues faux-innocently, like he hasn't made Harry's head spin. "So that's what I did. Your shirt with my panties."
Harry feels lightheaded. He needs to sit down. Preferably with Louis on his lap. Or, no. He needs to undress Louis, needs to see the way the pink panties hug his hips and thighs, needs to see him in nothing but the pink panties, panting, falling apart for Harry, only for Harry.
Oh God, how is he going to sing in front of almost two thousand people in less than a minute?
"See," Louis' still talking. Harry has to focus to understand what he's saying. "Isn't this better than the red booty shorts?"
Harry needs Louis naked. Now.
Except, he can't, because the stagehands are counting down, and Harry can do nothing but look at Louis, let his fantasies run wild as Louis smirks up at him, looking like Harry's personal angel and demon all at once.
. . .
The show is...interesting, to say the least.
The crowd was lovely; they seemed very enthused about their songs, singing along loudly. It's always fun performing, always fun interacting and talking with the people who came to see them. It's actually Harry's favourite part of his job.
But it's hard (haha) to focus, especially when he sees Louis in his line of sight. Or in his peripheral vision. Or just, being around Louis in general. He can't stop thinking about it, about the lace that had peeked out from the top of Louis' dark trousers, about the shade of pink it is. Can't stop imagining the way Louis would look in nothing but those, can't stop imagining how they would complement the flush on Louis' chest and cheekbones when he's unravelling, falling apart, making high pitched whines and moans.
He had never been more aware of how tight his trousers are.
Louis, of course, wasn't helping;, he took any and all opportunities to bend over and show his bum when Harry was looking. Sometimes it wasn't evident--Harry only knew by the self-satisfied smirk on his face--but he'd arch his back a bit more, show off the round curve of his absolutely perfect bum. The bum that Harry loves so, so much.
If Liam and Niall notice, they don't show it. They carry the show like the absolute consummate professionals they are, the absolute consummate professionals Harry and Louis are also supposed to be. As it is, Harry's a bit distracted with his dick, his boy, and his boy's bum, and his boy just generally enjoys teasing Harry.
They make it through, though, and Harry could cry from happiness. He loves their fans, of course, and he wouldn't want them to experience a horrible show, just because Harry's having a dick crisis. The fans are already sad about their impending hiatus. Harry wants to make their last few concerts before the break memorable.
Of course it'd be more memorable if Harry wasn't preoccupied with something else, but overall, Harry thinks they did a great job.
He makes a beeline for Louis the instant they step offstage, but Louis must know of his plan, because suddenly he 's gone. He's no longer in the wings of the stage, and Liam tells him he ran off backstage as soon as the lights dimmed.
He quickly changes out of his shirt, leaving it in his and Louis' shared dressing room before commencing his search for Louis. He can't have gotten too far; he's not going to leave the venue without Harry, and there are only so many places backstage he can go.
He's not in Niall's dressing room, nor is he in Liam's--but Liam's stuff are strewn about, which Harry takes to mean that Louis' been inside. Liam's quite neat with his stuff, and besides, Liam wouldn't hang his boxers on the lamps.
Jade and Perrie haven't seen him either, and he's not in the kitchen or hiding in any of the supply closets Harry checks. Honestly, it's starting to get very frustrating.
He decides to just go back to his dressing room, and wait for Louis there. After all, Louis has to come back there eventually. And then he'll have to finish what it is he started.
Or, if all else fails, Harry will just wait for him at home.
That's not necessary though, because Harry finds Louis lying down on one of the couches in their dressing room, eyes closed peacefully, wearing Harry's pink shirt.
"Took you long enough," he says, his voice bored.
Harry clears his throat. "My shirt's wet."
One of Louis' eyes pop open. "Like that's ever stopped me before?"
Well, no, it hasn't.
"Still," Harry insists. "You might get sick."
"Nah," Louis says confidently, so confidently, that it has Harry mentally running to the drug store and buying cold medicine for Louis. Not that he doesn't trust Louis, but Louis doesn't have a good track record when it comes to being able to tell if he's sick or not.
Louis rolls his eyes and pushes himself into a sitting position. "Just come here already, Harold," he orders imperiously, and, well, how can Harry disobey him?
Louis pushes him down on the couch the instant he gets close enough, before straddling him. He gives him one, two, three kisses, his mouth a wet heat on Harry's own, before he's moving away, leaving Harry grasping at nothing but thin air.
Harry whines.
"Shh, love," Louis soothes, moving to lock the door of their dressing room. They're probably not going to be needed for a while, nor will they be disturbed, but better safe than sorry. They don't need a repeat incident of that time Niall walked in when Harry was sucking Louis off.
That is, if that's what they're doing right now. Harry's about eighty percent sure that it is.
But then again, with Louis, you never really know.
"What are you doing?" Harry asks, when Louis makes no move to return to Harry's lap. He reaches out for Louis. "Come back."
Louis studies him for a few quiet moments. And then, "Haz, I just wanted to say thank you."
"What?"
"For taking care of me," Louis clarifies. He moves towards Harry slowly, one step at a time. "You always take care of me. You always take care of me so well."
"It's nothing," Harry answers, his eyes locked on Louis'. Because it really is nothing. Harry takes care of Louis because Harry loves Louis, in spite of his failures when it comes to cooking and housework in general.
"It's not nothing," Louis insists. "You made me pancakes this morning just because I wanted some. You didn't have to. And you always take care of me when I'm sick, and you always make sure that I eat properly, even if it means having to force feed me vegetables like a child."
Harry's kind of confused. Yes, he does all those things, but really, Louis doesn't have to mention it. It's a given. It's how Harry shows his love for Louis. In the course of their five year relationship, you'd think Louis would have noticed by now.
"You're always so good to me, Haz," Louis continues. Apparently he wasn't finished yet. "I just want to do something nice for you."
"You always do nice things for me," Harry answers. Louis likes to start fights in Harry's defense. Louis also likes to buy Harry lots of things that they might not need. Louis also likes to give Harry kisses. Those are all nice things.
"No, but," Louis says, coming to a stop in front of Harry. His blue eyes are dark. "I just want to take care of you. Let me take care of you."
And then he leans forward and kisses Harry again, hard.
His mouth is lush, so fucking lush, so warm and wet and Louis kisses with an urgency, like he's a drowning man and he needs the air to breathe. Harry's head is spinning, all his senses narrowed down to this, to the point of contact between his and Louis' lips, and God, he wants.
He reaches out to cup Louis' neck, to draw him in closer, but Louis is quickly pulling away, slapping his hand.
"No," he says, his voice raspy. "Don't touch."
And then he takes off his trousers.
He does it slowly, erotically, peeling it off his legs, and Harry is sure his eyes are glazed over, glued to Louis' thigh and his hips and to the fucking lace pink panties Louis is wearing. It hugs his hips well, to the accentuating his curves and makes his strong leg muscles look even thicker and meatier. It's better than anything Harry imagined. It's better than anything Harry could have imagined.
That, coupled with Harry's pink polka-dotted shirt, gaping at the neck, showing off Louis' gorgeous collar bones, is enough to make Harry's mouth water and his dick to strain painfully in his pants. Louis looks gorgeous in pink.
Harry inhales slowly. "You're gorgeous."
Louis bats his eyelashes at him. He tosses his pants on the other couch, before going to straddle Harry again. Harry runs his fingers on the lace material sitting lowly on Louis' hips.
"Oi," Louis says. He flicks Harry's finger away. "Don't touch. This is my show."
He starts gyrating his hips, moving them to a song that's probably playing in his mind. He presses down on Harry's crotch a few times, enough to make Harry hiss and jerk up his hips. His dick is feeling really trapped right now.
"Don't move," Louis orders. He runs his fingers through Harry's hair, carding them, before sitting himself fully on Harry's lap. Harry can feel the thump of his heartbeat in his crotch.
He presses a light kiss on Harry's mouth, continuing to move his hips sensually, above Harry's crotch, and the heat of Louis' skin and the places where they're resolutely not touching is enough to make Harry whine.
"Baby," he whines, his fingers closing into fists. "Baby, please."
"Shh," Louis says infuriatingly, with a smirk on his lips. "We'll get there eventually."
He pulls away, only to turn around and sit on Harry, his large, plump and wonderful bum pressing against Harry's crotch. He bounces on Harry's lap. "Ah, my favourite seat."
"Your throne," Harry says.
"My cock-throne," Louis answers. He bounces again, before shifting his hips, grinding down on Harry's lap. He leans back, resting his head against Harry's shoulder, wrapping an arm around Harry's neck. "Do you like my bum?"
"Always fucking love your bum," Harry answers honestly, keeping his hands clenched into fists. God, it's so hard not to touch, especially when Louis' right there.
"Do you like my bum in these panties?" Louis amends, grinding down particularly hard, enough to make Harry moan.
"Love your bum in anything," Harry manages to get out. "Love your bum in nothing. `S my favourite part of you."
Louis gasps dramatically. "So you don't like me for my personality? I knew you were just using me for sex. What kind of gentleman are you?"
Harry can't think of a reply. He just can't. He tried, but his brain seems to have flown away, and has been replaced with nothing but thoughts of Louis and how good Louis looks and how good Louis would look when Harry's fucking him.
"Lou," he says, his voice strained. "Can I touch now?"
"No," Louis answers imperiously. He's still gyrating in Harry's lap, though. "I'm not that easy, Styles."
"Lou," Harry tries again. "Please?"
"You're not treating me right," Louis sniffs. He unwinds his hand from Harry's neck and shifts, so that he's straddling Harry again. "You're objectifying me."
"Louis," Harry whines. "Louis, I love you, just, please."
Louis pulls away. Harry whines even louder.
He's not very proud of that, but, well. What can you do.
"Oh, hello," Louis says excitedly. He's looking down at Harry's crotch. "You look rather trapped down there. Harold's skinny jeans much too tight for you?"
Harry feels Louis' fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans.
"Well," Louis continues conversationally, and Harry wants to laugh. He's talking to Harry's cock. "Since I am a hero on my noble quest, and I simply cannot stand to see, poor, trapped and oppressed creatures like you, I'm going to go and free you from your chains."
He unbuttons Harry's trousers and pulls the zipper down slowly, before pulling down Harry's trousers until they're mid thigh. Harry watches as his cock springs free and curves towards his stomach, red and a bit wet at the tip.
Fuck, he's so hard it's painful.
"What's that?" Louis trills, sounding like a Disney princess. "Oh, you're thanking me? Oh it's no problem! Of course I'd happily save you from the horrible, horrible trap of the Evil Queen."
Harry chokes out a laugh. "Am I the Evil Queen in this scenario?"
"Yes, because you're evil," Louis answers tonelessly. Harry just rolls his eyes. "Oh! Do you want a kiss, little creature? Well, no problem, since you asked so nicely."
And before Harry can even react, Louis is bending down, pressing a kiss on the head of Harry's cock.
Harry hisses. Louis simply looks up coyly from beneath his eyelashes, and then he's taking the head of Harry's cock into his mouth, enveloping Harry in a wet, velvet heat.
Harry's eyes roll to the back of his head, and he lets out a moan. He can feel Louis tonguing the head of his cock, sucking on it lightly, and God, Louis is just so, so fucking good at this and Harry needs more.
Louis pulls off though, because, again, he is Harry's personal heaven and hell, all at once. "Well," he says, I think that was quite enough, don't you?"
"No," Harry answers. "Not enough." Never enough, if he's being honest. Because Louis' got. Um. What was that? 'Lips so good I forget my name'?
God, why is he even quoting their album during sex?
"Not enough?" Louis asks, faux-worriedly. "Oh no, but I have to continue on my quest now, little creature."
"Baby," Harry begs. "Please. Please, please, please."
Louis rolls his eyes. "Alright, just once more, okay?"
He leans down and takes Harry's cock in his mouth once more, but he doesn't stop there. This time he takes a bit more in, and then a bit more, and then a bit more, until he's got all of Harry's cock inside his mouth.
Harry chances a look down, and finds Louis staring up at him, his eyelashes wet with tears. He watches as Louis breathes in deeply, feels as Louis swallows, his throat working around Harry's cock.
Louis tongues at a vein on Harry's cock, still breathing deeply, and Harry has to bite his lip and resist the urge to thrust up. Louis probably wouldn't appreciate it, choking on Harry's cock. He might even die choking on Harry's cock. Harry doesn't want that.
Instead, he stays perfectly still, his muscles tense, quivering, as Louis slowly traces his tongue around Harry's length. He pulls off a bit, his lips sliding slowly, wetly against Harry's skin, before suckling at the head, laving his tongue over the slit.
He does it again and again, takes Harry all the way down and then goes back up, until Harry's chest is heaving, flushed.
"There," Louis says, once he pulls off with a pop. Harry whines involuntarily. "I'm really sorry, I'd love to stay, but I do have to continue on my quest."
"What is your quest, anyway?" Harry manages to ask, his head spinning. His cock is so fucking hard, that Harry can feel it pulsing.
"Well," Louis says, moving up to straddle Harry, rubbing the lace material of his panties against Harry's cock, "first I have to go to the Evil Queen's palace."
He reaches over and takes Harry's hands, smoothing out his fists. He presses a kiss on Harry's palm, on the crescent-shaped marks his fingernails have left on his skin.
"Then I have to actually meet the Evil Queen," he says, placing Harry's hands on his lower back, right underneath the shirt and above the panties. Harry lets his hands drift down, lower, until he can grab a handful of bum. Louis doesn't object.
"You've done all those things already," Harry says, his eyes fixed on Louis' throat, where a flush is beginning to creep up. The pink shirt really complements him nicely.
Louis swallows. "Then," he continues, as one of Harry's fingers make its way between his cheeks, feeling for the puckered skin of his hole. Which is apparently already stretched open. And slick with lube.
He must've opened himself up while Harry was off looking for him backstage. Fuck.
Louis shivers as Harry brushes a finger on his arsehole, and outright moans when Harry sinks a finger in.
"Then," Louis says again, his voice strained, as Harry slowly moves his finger inside Louis. He turns to look at Harry in the eye. "I get a good dicking."
He reaches beside Harry, where there's a bottle of lube--fuck, Harry didn't even notice that, he was too distracted with Louis-- and uncaps it, scooping out a handful. He slicks up Harry's cock, pumping it twice, before he's reaching behind him, pulling Harry's hands off his bum.
Then he pushes the panties to the side and sinks down on Harry's cock.
He pushes down slowly, taking Harry inch by inch, his chest and his neck flushed red. His face is pinched, focused, and Harry's hands come up to grip his hips.
"Baby," he gasps out, as Louis bottoms out, looking smug and self-satisfied. "Baby, I..."
Louis shifts on Harry's lap. "Are you alright, love?"
Yes. No. He doesn't know. All he knows is that his cock is currently in Louis' bum, and that Louis looks like he was meant for this, like he was meant to be sitting on Harry's lap, all gorgeous and flushed and pleased with himself.
Louis leans forward and sucks a blood bruise on Harry's neck, right beside his Adam's apple. It's probably going to be hell to cover. Lou is going to kill them.
He doesn't care, though.
"Mm," Louis says, no, murmurs into Harry's neck. "Love you." He plants his feet beside Harry's hips, pushing himself up, before letting himself sink down again. Harry grits his teeth.
He squeezes harder on Louis' hips. He's about ninety percent sure there'll be bruises there tomorrow.
Louis kisses him then, his mouth warm and wet and so fucking lush, his tongue swirling patterns into Harry's mouth. It's good, so good, that Harry closes his eyes and gets lost in the sensation, in the feeling of kissing Louis passionately, unhurriedly.
That is, until Louis bounces on Harry's lap and Harry finds himself remembering what it is they're supposed to be doing.
"Lou," Harry gasps, as Louis shifts and bounces again, trying to get Harry's cock where he wants it. "Lou, if you don't do this properly right now--"
"Patience," Louis scolds, still shifting around in Harry's lap. "I'm trying."
Harry rolls his eyes, and in one smooth movement, hoists Louis up and lays him flat on the sofa, before climbing on top of him.
Louis eyes him distrustfully. "You're so fucking impatient. I just wanted to take care of you."
"And I told you, you always take care of me," Harry says, pushing the panties aside. "You wanted a good dicking, didn't you?" He presses into Louis.
"You probably can't even give me a good dicking," Louis sniffs, turning to look away from Harry.
"What do you mean?" Harry asks, still focused on where his cock is disappearing into Louis' arse. "I give you good dickings all the time."
"No, you don't," Louis shoots back. "I just pretend to like it."
Harry shifts, and his cock grazes on Louis' prostate. Louis keens, his back arching off the sofa.
"So," Harry says, keeping still, when Louis looks up at him again, panting slightly. "Did you just pretend to like that?"
"Shut up," Louis mutters. He winds his hands around Harry's neck, his eyes glazed, and his cheekbones flushed. His dick is straining against the material of the panties. "Make me come."
"I can do that," Harry says decisively, and starts fucking into Louis. Hard.
Louis bounces along with Harry's thrusts, his back rubbing against the surface of the sofa. Harry focuses on pounding into Louis, on hitting Louis' prostate with every thrust, and it's not long until Louis is moaning, making little breathy sounds every time Harry pushes into him.
Louis whines when Harry reaches into the panties to take out his cock, wrapping a hand around it. His hips buck up, and then there's the sound of cloth tearing.
"Oops," Louis pants, sounding unapologetic. "I'll just buy a new one. Come on Harry just--" He's doesn't finish the sentence, because one of Harry's thrusts has him breaking off into a moan.
He looks so good like this, completely at Harry's mercy, whining and moaning, the pink shirt riding up to expose his cute little tummy and his navel, the panties hugging his hips nicely.
Louis cries out at a particularly hard thrust, his fingers tangling into Harry's hair. He pulls at it, making Harry throw his head back.
"Baby," Harry moans, when Louis pulls at his hair again, this time even harder. He uses his hand to pump Louis' cock. "Baby, you can pull harder, I--"
"Love your hair," Louis gets out, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He scratches at Harry's scalp. "`S so fucking curly. And so long."
Harry just keeps pounding into Louis.
"So easy to tangle my hands in," Louis continues, in between gasps and moans. There's sweat collecting at the hollow of his throat. "So easy to play with. So easy to grasp while you're fucking me."
Harry makes a noise at that. He's still fucking Louis relentlessly, chasing his orgasm, which is close by. He can fucking feel it.
"Please," Louis moans out, still pulling at Harry's hair. "Never cut it."
Harry huffs. "I have to cut it eventually."
"No," Louis answers. "No. Just don't."
He breaks off, his words morphing into a moan, and Harry jerks him off faster. His hand is cramping but it doesn't matter, nothing else matters except for the way Louis looks right now, in Harry's pink shirt and in his little lace panties, flushed and panting and exposed for Harry, only for Harry. He looks like one of Michaelangelo's sculptures. He's a work of art. Harry could look at him for hours.
"Baby," Harry manages to get out. "Fuck, baby, I'm close. I'm so fucking close."
"Then go," Louis answers him, and then he's clenching around Harry, and it's tight and warm and wet and so good, so fucking good that Harry is coming, spilling into Louis, his thoughts everything and nothing all at once. Louis takes him easily, rides out Harry's erratic thrusts like he's used to it, used to this. It doesn't take long for him either; Harry pumps him once before he's coming, spilling into Harry's fist, his fingers gripping tightly in Harry's hair. His muscles are poised, tensed, and his mouth is frozen in a gasp, and Harry--
Harry's so fucking in love with him it hurts, sometimes.
Louis slowly comes back to himself, his blue eyes glazed over. "We stained another one," he says slowly, his mouth enunciating every word.
"Hm?"
"Shirt," Louis clarifies. "Another one of your shirts."
Harry blinks and looks down at the pink shirt Louis' wearing, and at the come-stain quickly drying on it. "Oh." He pouts. "I quite liked that shirt. I felt like Minnie Mouse."
"I know," Louis says, leaning up to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth.
Harry thinks for a moment. "It's becoming a thing, isn't it? Us having sex when you're wearing my clothes."
"No, not really," Louis answers. "I wear your clothes all the time at home, Harold. You never jump me when I'm in your hoodies."
"Because they look like yours," Harry says. "I'm not even sure those are mine. I don't think I own any hoodies."
Louis shrugs. "Well some of them aren't mine, Harold. D'you really think I'd buy hoodies with the words 'Green Bay Packers' emblazoned on it?"
He has a point. "Okay, so those are probably mine. But that's it. And besides, you never wear them."
"Hm, maybe I should," Louis muses. "So that I'll stain them and you'll have to get rid of them."
Harry narrows his eyes at Louis. "Are you doing this on purpose?"
Louis rolls his eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually mean to ruin your patterned shirts. It just gets stained because you are impatient and you jump me and never let me take them off." He shifts, and Harry's reminded that he's still actually inside Louis. Hm. Maybe they can go again. The shirt's already stained, anyway.
Louis must read his mind, because he's shoving at Harry's shoulder. "Okay, can you get off now, please? I'm getting really sensitive."
Harry pouts. "Aww," he says, as he pulls out. "I wanted to go again."
"Next time," Louis answers, quickly stripping out of the ripped lace panties. He cocks his head. "Or maybe later. Maybe I'll even wear your Green Bay Packer's hoodie and then you can eat me out on the couch."
Harry perks up. "Promise?"
Louis snorts. "No."
(But he lets Harry do that later, anyway.)