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Louis watches him from the other side of the stage, careful to keep his distance. He shouldn't have to, hates that he does, but he knows how this game plays out. Thirty thousand screaming fans, every one of them wielding cellphones and cameras. All it takes is one wrong look, one shared smile that lasts too long, one brush of Harry's broad shoulder against Louis' and the Internet will be full of speculation. More so than it already is.
So Louis keeps his distance, sits a little bit closer to Niall at the edge of the stage. He can't help sneaking a glance once in a while throughout the night, watching as red and gold and blue stage lights play havoc on the tendons of Harry's throat, lost in the sight of long, thick fingers curling around the mic. He knows what those fingers are capable of, has experienced their power more times than he can count.
Niall has to pull Louis back to the present a dozen times before the show is over, playfully punching him in the arm or leaning close to whisper something that, even if overheard by thousands, only means anything to them.
It's late when they finish. Later than usual, in fact, and Louis hasn't got the presence of mind to care about why. He's sticky with sweat, throat raw from singing, and bone fucking tired. All he wants to do is peel of his clothes and collapse into bed for the next twelve hours, until they have to start all over again.
Zayn is in the back seat, eyes closed and face pressed against the cool window of the SUV, looking for all the world like he just has no fucks left to give. Harry chuckles as he lobs a biscuit at him, but Zayn doesn't even flinch.
Harry turns to Louis and quirks an eyebrow, holding out his packet of biscuits in offer.
Louis shakes his head, unable to tear his gaze away from those dangerously green eyes, even as Harry makes to get into the backseat.
He deliberately brushes against Louis on his way by, chest to chest, fingers stretching out to teasingly graze Louis' thigh and sending a jolt straight through his chest, amplifying his heartbeat to an erratic staccato.
Louis decides it's best to let Liam get in next, not wanting the temptation that comes along with sitting so close to Harry on their way to the hotel. It's not that the others don't know what they get up to when they're alone, but with the way Louis' hands are itching to touch, it's best to put a bit of distance between them.
Louis and Niall slide into the seat across from them, and suddenly Louis isn't so confident about his plan to keep himself together on the way to their rooms. Sitting across from Harry is positively torture. He's leaning on Zayn, full lips parted, head back against the seat exposing the long line of his throat in feigned sleep as Niall snaps a photo with his phone, declaring it to be their new official Instagram Tour promo.
Harry laughs, pats a sleeping Zayn on the thigh, and straightens up, reaching for another biscuit.
Louis' gaze trails from the pink of Harry's lips, stretched wide around a smile, down the centre of his chest to the bare wrist Harry is resting in his own lap. His fingers are now curled around his phone as his thumb moves across the keys, face down-tilted and illuminated in pale blue by the glow of the screen.
Louis allows himself to imagine for a moment that it isn't Harry's phone in his grip. That the tendons in his wrist are taught and flexing as he works his fist up over his cock. Louis licks his lips, remembering the taste of Harry in his mouth, the way Harry sometimes strokes himself to completion as he combs the fingers of his other hand into Louis' hair, holding him there, as if he'd ever want to be anywhere else.
A nudge to Louis' foot drags him back to reality, and he looks up to see Harry smiling darkly at him, face still aglow in the light of his phone like a wicked angel.
Louis' own phone vibrates in his pocket and he uses the opportunity to readjust himself discreetly as he shifts to reach it.
Do you have any idea what you looked like out there tonight?
It's from Harry. Louis should have expected as much. He smiles to himself as he taps out a response.
Some, but I wouldn't mind a refresher.
I swear to God, it looked like you were tongue fucking your microphone at one point. I think your eyes even rolled back.
Jealous? Louis shoots back, smirking. It's good to know he isn't the only one affected.
You know I am. All I could think about all night was your mouth on me like that.
Louis has no idea how they're supposed to get all the way up to the eighteenth floor. If they keep it up at this rate, he won't even be able to walk through the lobby properly.
He shifts away from Niall, pressing the heel of his hand to his aching cock. A move obviously not missed by Harry.
Is that for me?
With all the potential replies that flit through Louis' head about giving it to Harry, he chooses not to respond at all.
It seems to take ages before they're finally making their way through the lobby of the hotel, security clearing a path for them as they go. The lift ride up takes even longer. Harry leans against the wall beside Louis, slipping his hand behind him and dragging warm fingers across the sliver of skin just above Louis' belt. He hooks a finger through the loop and tugs Louis closer before pushing his hand up under the shirt.
Louis shivers at the touch, leans into it more and closes his eyes. Harry's hand feels huge on Louis' back, hot and gentle against his skin. Harry is looking down at Louis, the playful smile that's usually present, gone now, replaced by something darker, more determined.
Between the careful touch of Harry's hand, and the burning in his eyes, Louis is nearly past the point of caring who's in the lift with them. He wants to taste Harry —needs to. He licks his lips, eyes traveling down, and Harry reaches out and grabs his hand. He pulls Louis out of the lift before the doors have even opened entirely, shoving past the two security guards and bumping into Zayn who's all but draped over Liam's shoulder.
Harry doesn't even bother with any sort of pretense for the other people present. He just tugs Louis into his room and offers them a small wave of good night as they pass.
Before he's even closed the door all the way, Louis is pressing him up against it, all previous exhaustion completely drowned out by his need. The room is mostly dark, just a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the parted drapes, casting that same ethereal glow on Harry that Louis loves so much.
He parts his lips against Harry's, breathing in the scent of him before licking into his mouth. The kiss is messy, frantic and needful, each of them tugging at the other's clothes in a desperate attempt to get closer. Harry pulls away first, tiny puffs of breath ghosting out over Louis' lips as he leans in to close the distance between them, but Harry doesn't allow it. He's got Louis by the wrists, pressing chaste kisses to his jaw and neck now, and Louis recognises it to be Harry's attempt at calming him, slowing things down. He slips a hand up under Louis' shirt, palm splayed against his stomach, and Louis feels a shift in the atmosphere around them, feels himself being tethered there, grounded to Harry.
Harry must realise his little trick has worked, because he smiles at Louis, brings his other hand up to cup his cheek, and asks, "You okay now?"
Louis nods, exhaling a shaky breath, his gaze flicking down to the celestial blue of Harry's lips. "Just want you," he whispers, and Harry leans in to kiss him, slicking his tongue against Louis'.
It’s slow this time, gentle and soft and Louis finds himself relaxing into it, into Harry.
He doesn't remember moving, too lost in the taste of Harry on his tongue, but suddenly, the backs of his knees are pressing against a chair and Harry is guiding him down into it.
Louis watches as Harry's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. He kneads his fingers into Louis' thighs, slow, gentle as he works his way up.
It isn't quite how Louis envisioned this night going. He'd been picturing himself in Harry's place instead, so desperate for the taste of him on his tongue, but he certainly isn't going to complain about the turn.
Harry unbuttons Louis' trousers, drags down the zip, and smiles up at him, easy and beautiful, like he can feel the tension in Louis' body and can't wait to take him apart.
And Louis can't wait for that either, thinks he probably needs it more than he'd realised. He combs his fingers through Harry's soft hair as Harry mouths along the bulge at the front of Louis' pants, his tongue wetting the head even through the fabric.
Harry makes a sound from the back of his throat as he finally pulls Louis' cock out. Louis is overwhelmed by the wet heat of Harry's mouth on him, taking him in, deep, deeper, until Louis' fingers are clutching helplessly at the arms of the chair, nails scratching into the fabric.
Harry moans around him, the hum in his throat vibrating straight through Louis, shattering every remaining vestige of self-control. Louis thrusts up into Harry's willing mouth, sinks heavily into the cushion of the chair, then repeats the same motion.
He drags his gaze down to Harry, watching the moonlight reflect in his eyes as he looks up, his full lips stretched around Louis' cock, tongue twitching against the underside. Harry's fingers continue to knead into Louis' thighs, a rhythm meant to distract, meant to split Louis' focus and encourage him to last longer.
It isn't working. Harry can probably tell by the heavy rise and fall of Louis' chest, the clench of his jaw.
Harry arches one eyebrow playfully, and drops a hand from Louis' thigh down into his own lap. There's nothing Louis loves more than watching Harry bring himself off, the knowledge that just touching Louis does that to him, gets him hard, makes him come.
Louis threads his fingers back into Harry's hair, encourages him on, and Harry doesn't swat his hand away like he sometimes does when he wants to drag it out, to make sure he's the one in control. Louis takes that as his signal to continue, presses his hand, gentle but firm, to the back of Harry's head and fucks up into his mouth.
When he comes, he can feel Harry's throat contracting around him, swallowing down everything he can take until his lips are wet with it, shining in the dim light of the night. Harry continues to kiss and lick gently, aware of Louis' sensitivity, as he pulls himself off. He buries his face against Louis' thigh as he comes, groaning into the fabric of Louis' trousers.
Louis combs his fingers through Harry's hair again, traces fingertips along the line of his jaw, his eyebrows, just touching him everywhere he can reach until they've both caught their breath.
Harry strips off, drags Louis over to the bed and undresses him clumsily. They burrow into the sheets, sticky with sweat from a night under the stage lights, and perfectly content, completely sated.
Tomorrow, they'll start all over again, each of them finding their way back to each other, and they'll call that place they find together home, no matter where it is. Because that's how it goes for them, and they wouldn't want it any other way.