one direction fic by likecharity

all full up with your love (1/2). liam/everyone, nc-17.

2012-10-20T15:12:49Z

Title: all full up with your love
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Liam/Louis, Harry/Louis, OT5 of the Liam/everyone variety
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Gangbang, overstimulation, unprotected sex. And just to be safe, there are some bits of this that might seem slightly dubcon. (It isn't actually dubcon but there are a couple of parts that could come across that way and be triggering.)
Summary: Basically, Liam is sad after he and Danielle break up and Louis decides to fix it with sex. "Is no one going to say it? I feel like someone should say it," says Harry thoughtfully, and then adds, "we're gonna gangbang you, Liam." (~18,000 words)
A/N: For blackwayfarers. ♥ Title from 'Rocket Ship' by Dragonette.

Liam is stressed lately. Like, really stressed. More than they've ever seen him before, Louis thinks. He's been like this ever since he and Danielle broke up a few weeks ago, and the combination of relentless recordings and shows and interviews is getting to be too much for him. He's not sleeping properly, can't relax, stuck in his own head. It's even stressing Niall out by extension, and Niall isn't easily stressed. But Liam is just so tense, and so quiet—occasionally he'll lose it and snap at someone, and then apologise and disappear off somewhere to mope, and it's getting to the point where everyone is really worried, because Liam's been in funks before but never like this.

They all try different tactics to get him out of it.

Niall just tries to get him to chill out, shows up at his door with his arms full of pizza boxes and Friends DVDs, because he thinks maybe Liam just needs to take his brain off the hook and do something familiar and mindless. But Liam can't relax into it, too distant, not laughing even at his favourite episodes, just sort of chewing absently on a slice of pizza and staring into space. He's really apologetic about it, like it's his own fault, saying over and over that he's sorry he's no fun lately. Niall says it's no problem and keeps coming round, trying different types of takeaway and different comedy shows, but the result is the same every time.

Zayn says what Liam needs is to get away from everything, just distract himself, so he takes him to movies Liam's been wanting to see, restaurants he's been wanting to try, anything Liam's expressed even a tiny bit of interest in. But it's like Liam's just not there, like he can't focus on anything enough to enjoy it, and Zayn always comes back looking drained from the effort of trying to get Liam to enjoy himself, sinks down beside Louis so they can talk into the early hours about how worried they are about him.

Harry alternates between sympathy and impatience. The most fun he ever has with Liam is when he can bug him and get Liam all flustered, and at the moment it's like Liam just doesn't have the energy for him—his only response to Harry's pranks nowadays is a little sigh or a weak smile. Sometimes Harry just gets fed up about that, but for the most part it just makes him sad. He tries taking him to the gym because that's something the two of them have always enjoyed doing together, and he's pleased to find that it works a little bit, if only because Liam ends up so focused on working out that he's not really thinking about anything else, and so exhausted after that he does actually manage to sleep a little.

Louis tries a combination of everything, copying everyone else's ideas and attempting a few of his own, refusing to give up even when the others are beginning to lose hope. It becomes a daily mission to make Liam laugh and he keeps getting into trouble for messing around during interviews because he can't stop acting like an idiot, desperate to see a smile across Liam's face even if it's just for a second. He tries to make sure Liam's getting enough cuddles, too, pouncing and not letting go if he suddenly realises an hour has passed without any of them touching him. Liam seems to feel a bit smothered by it, and Louis tries to back off, but it's hard when he sees the way he's drifting, when he sees that distant sad expression on his face, when he just wants to do absolutely everything in his power to make Liam feel better.

One day Liam shows up to work with a shaved head, and Louis decides things have gotten really serious, and goes as far as dragging Liam out to a bar for a drink. He must be right in thinking Liam's reaching the end of his tether, because he's willing to give it a go at that point, drinks a whole beer without even needing much persuasion. They're only gone a little while, though—Harry hasn't even started getting ready for bed yet, still up on his laptop when Louis returns. He glances up questioningly as Louis comes in.

"Worked a bit," Louis says with a shrug, shutting the door heavily behind him and flopping down onto the bed beside Harry. "Alcohol kinda forced him to chill out I think. Got him out of his head for half an hour."

Harry wrinkles his nose. "You should've hooked him up with someone," he says, "he probably just needs to get laid."

"Liam can go ages without sex," Louis counters, "he's like a sex camel." But he lifts his head and looks at Harry thoughtfully, considering.

"Yeah I know, but," Harry shrugs. "I dunno. Sex relaxes people, right?"

"You, maybe," teases Louis. "You always pass out right after I fuck you."

"Maybe you should fuck Liam then," Harry retorts. "Maybe your dick has magical relaxation properties."

It's like an actual lightbulb pings on above Louis's head. Louis figures this has a very visible effect on his face, because when Harry glances up from his laptop again he looks faintly alarmed.

"Oh, god," Harry groans. "You can't be serious."

"It was your idea," Louis replies lightly, bouncing up onto his knees. "It makes sense, doesn't it? I don't know why we didn't think of it before. He just needs someone to like, fuck the stress right out of him."

"You're not going to fuck Liam, Louis," Harry says flatly. "I mean, yeah, maybe if he got pounded into the mattress every once in a while he'd be more fun, but—"

"Yesss," Louis hisses. "This is so perfect. No wait, listen a second, just think about it okay? It's purely hypothetical."

Harry rolls his eyes, but shuts his laptop and acquiesces, leaning back against the headboard.

"He's so uptight lately, right? And he just needs to let go, like, hand the control over to somebody else. I think that's why the alcohol helped. He doesn't like giving up control but it's what he needs."

Harry squints uncertainly. Louis goes on. He goes on for quite a while, actually, mostly about control some more, but also about trust, and how Liam always refuses to let anybody properly take care of him even when he really needs it. Harry's doubtful expression slowly turns reluctantly intrigued.

Louis knows he's onto something here. The thing is, he's really good at reading Liam. He's good at reading all of them. He might come off like the crazy one who doesn't really use his brain a whole lot, but when it comes to the others, he pays attention, sees things that other people don't. He probably knows them all better than they know themselves, honestly, and sometimes they talk about him taking things too far but he never actually does, he knows exactly how far he can push each one of them, understands where the limits are.

"Okay," says Harry eventually. "Yeah. You might have a point." Louis beams at him."But I don't like how excited you are about this," Harry adds, suspiciously.

"Oh come on, it's not like that," Louis says, because it's really not. "It's more like, a favour for a friend. Or a mission. Operation Get Liam To Relax."

"Operation Replace The Stick Up Liam's Ass With Your Dick," Harry amends, raising an eyebrow at him. "Listen, are you actually asking me for permission to try and fuck him? I'm not even sure it's worth discussing because there is no way on earth that Liam would ever agree to that, but—"

"Thanks," Louis interjects sarcastically.

"Not because you're you, because he's Liam. Just tell me if this is still hypothetical."

"Well, what if it wasn't?" asks Louis. "You know, hypothetically, what if I was serious."

"I don't think you understand what 'hypothetical' means," Harry replies, but then he turns serious again, silent for a bit, really thinking about it. Louis knows that the thought of him being with anyone else generally makes Harry's skin itch, but this is different, and he thinks Harry recognises that. This isn't about them, it's about Liam and making things better for him. Better for the whole band.

It's for the greater good, really.

"Well," says Harry slowly, "I'd want you to tell me all about it after, because the thought of Liam getting fucked is actually hilarious."

Louis grins at him. "And?" he prompts, sensing there's going to be more than one condition.

"And then...then I'd want you to fuck me too, after, and tell me how much better I am."

"But of course," Louis chuckles, ruffling Harry's curls.

***
Louis sort of can't get the thought out of his head after that. It's not even about his own desires, he's not even thinking about that, it's just about giving Liam what he needs. Fixing this. And now that Harry's on board with the idea—well, accepting of it, at least—he just. He really doesn't want to wait too long to give it a go.

They're staying at a hotel a few days later and it seems the perfect time. They're all down at the bar apart from Liam, who's turned in early, and Louis can't stop thinking about just slipping upstairs and letting himself into Liam's room, can't stop thinking about what he'd say and do, how he'd get Liam to realise this is a good idea. He discusses it with Harry in hushed tones and it seems like Harry's jealousy is starting to fade, like he's actually starting to get excited for this. Harry's always sort of liked trying to push Liam out of his comfort zone, after all.

"You two are particularly whispery tonight," Niall comments after a bit. "What's the big secret?"

"Or is this one of those times where we'll regret asking?" Zayn adds.

"Louis's going to try fuck Liam," Harry says, because he's had a few too many and isn't terribly good at keeping his mouth shut in such conditions.

Zayn and Niall sort of blink at them, like they're not sure whether to take this seriously or not. In the end, Niall just snorts and goes back to his drink, muttering "Weirdos."

Zayn peers at Louis suspiciously. "You are kidding," he says, like he just needs to check.

Louis shrugs. "Dunno. Thought it might help. Relieving stress and all that." He offers a wink, and is aware that even when he's being deadly serious he has the uncanny ability to sound like he's talking shit. It's handy, because he's not entirely sure if he wants Zayn and Niall to know about this yet.

"I think there's something wrong with your head," Zayn replies.

"Are you gonna go right now?" Harry asks, forgetting to keep his voice down.

"Yeah, all right," says Louis. He wasn't actually planning to just yet, but this seems like the perfect opportunity to mess with Zayn and Niall a little bit more. He finishes off his drink and gets up, grinning at them all. "See you lot in the morning. Just gonna go give Liam the best shag of his life."

"Right," says Zayn, frowning doubtfully.

"Keycard?" Louis asks. They usually hand the spares round to each other, and Louis knows Zayn's got Liam's this time.

Zayn still looks incredibly suspicious, but fishes around in his pocket, pulls out two cards and places one in Louis's upturned palm. Louis gives him a cheery grin.

"Good luck," says Harry, and Louis notices that he looks a little doubtful too, though his eyes are sparkling with anticipation at the same time.

Niall looks at Louis, then at Harry, then back to Louis again. "Weirdos," he reiterates, and bids Louis farewell with a wave.

***
When Louis opens the door to Liam's room, Liam is pretending to be asleep. Louis knows it's not so much because he doesn't want to be disturbed but because he doesn't want anyone to know just how difficult things have been for him lately, how he can't even sleep properly these days. Louis knows he wants to pretend he's managing just fine, even though they're not dense, they can tell easily just how tired he is and the nights that they're on the bunk they can hear him pottering about in the early hours, putting the TV on with the volume turned down. And he's never been a very good actor, so Louis isn't convinced in the slightest when he rolls over onto his back, stretching and yawning and flicking on the bedside light.

Louis wastes no time. He kicks off his shoes and bounds onto the bed, crawling forwards, knees on either side of Liam's body. "Hi," he says, straddling Liam now, crouched over him. Liam blinks blearily, looking at him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

Louis kisses him.

That, in itself, wouldn't really be a big deal, because they do that sometimes. They all do. Louis's not quite sure how it started, but they've never really been big on boundaries, and somewhere along the way it stopped being weird to greet or thank each other with a peck on the lips. This, though, is different. They don't kiss like this, late at night and in bed and on top of each other and deep, Louis trying to open Liam's mouth with his tongue.

(Well, Louis and Harry kiss like that. But they've always been a little different.)

"Lou," Liam says nervously, pulling back, "what're you doing?"

"We're going to have sex," Louis informs him.

Liam frowns. "Um. Why?" It's a testament to their closeness that he doesn't sound more shocked by this.

"Because you need it," Louis says, simply. "It's gonna help."

"Help what?"

"Oh, lots of things," says Louis happily, shuffling back down Liam's body and spreading a palm over his hip, rubbing gently and rumpling the waistband of Liam's pyjama trousers. "It's gonna get you all relaxed, for one thing, and you'll finally be able to sleep properly."

Liam looks doubtful, and extremely suspicious. Louis kisses him again.

He has to play this right, is the thing. He's not going to force Liam into it, obviously, but he has to be careful, because if he goes too slow with too many pauses, Liam will have a chance to overthink it and panic. But if Louis asks him if he wants it, if it's okay, Liam will say no on impulse, deny it because that's what he thinks he's supposed to say, or because he's nervous and backing out is always easier than doing the thing that makes your heart pound. Louis has to show him, show him there's a part of him that does want it, and that there's nothing wrong with that. He has to let Liam pretend to protest for a little while until he relaxes into it, until he no longer feels the need to put up a wall. Louis understands that.

"C'mon, Li," he says gently against Liam's lips. He slips his palm down to Liam's dick, feels out the shape of it under the soft cotton. "I'm gonna get you hard, yeah?" he murmurs into Liam's ear.

"Lou," Liam says, and Louis listens carefully to the tone of his voice. He can tell that it's not a warning, just a feeble attempt at one because Liam doesn't think it's okay to just lie back and let this happen, because that's not what people do when one of their best mates shows up and initiates sex with them out of the blue.

Louis can't say he knows any of this though, or Liam will get defensive. So he just hums a little, stroking at Liam through his pyjamas, kissing his neck. Liam shifts his hips, and when Louis feels it, that first twitch of response in his hand, Liam starts to get properly anxious, pulse speeding up under Louis's tongue.

He laughs nervously. "Lou, c'mon, what're you playing at—"

"Shh, it's okay," Louis murmurs. He understands. They all touch Liam inappropriately sometimes and Liam's used to that—it's reacting to it this way that unsettles him, makes him get shy and embarrassed because he feels like he shouldn't, shouldn't like this.

Liam says nothing further, so Louis continues to stroke him, easing him into hardness, keeping his face against Liam's neck because he knows that if Liam could see him he'd get even more embarrassed. Gradually Liam's cock stiffens against Louis's hand, responding to the gentle petting and rubbing until it's punching out the fabric and Louis can feel its shape, its slight curve.

He slips off him, curls along him at his side. He kisses Liam's jaw, whispers, "S'okay," and then slides his hand under Liam's waistband and takes him in his fist. The skin is so hot and so soft, and slightly damp, and Liam makes a little noise when Louis touches him, a little involuntary ah.

Louis starts stroking him properly, and it's a little jerky and awkward with the fabric restricting his movements but it's enough, enough to get Liam squirming slightly against him and breathing faster. He feels good in Louis's hand, thick and hot and full, so hard. Louis wonders if he's wanked off since Danielle or if he's been too stressed to be able to relax into it. He's been needing this, Louis's sure, needing someone else to take over. Louis thumbs at the head, gently teasing the slit, spreading slickness in little circles until Liam is twitching, oversensitive, focusing on the sensation instead of thinking too much.

"Lou," he says quietly, and this time it doesn't sound like a warning at all, it sounds like a plea.

He's gone enough now, arousal heightened so that he's thinking more about the pleasure than anything else. Louis kisses his neck again, up to his ear, flicks his tongue against Liam's earlobe.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Louis says quietly, keeping his voice steady and sure but still gentle. Liam tenses up. "I'm gonna finger you open until you're ready for my cock inside, yeah? And I'll go so slow, so easy on you, make sure you can really take it, so it won't hurt at all."

He can hear Liam swallow, and then he says, "I—I'm not sure," in this shaky voice.

It's not about pressuring him, except that it is a little bit, because sometimes pressure is what Liam needs. Sometimes he just needs a bit of persuading in order to admit that he does really want something. Sometimes it's like he needs an excuse, needs to pretend he's been goaded into it, so he can maintain the facade of being the sensible one even though there are occasions when he's just as wild as everyone else. And Louis can see that. Louis's learnt that about him, watched and listened and figured him out, and he knows, knows when Liam honestly doesn't want something and when he's just pretending in order to feel safe. Sometimes it's like he needs the assurance that it's okay to let loose every once in a while and no one's gonna think any differently of him.

Louis keeps stroking him, almost soothingly, fingers just gently working over hot flesh. "If you really don't want me to, you can say, and I won't," Louis tells him, "but I think you need it. And it's me, yeah? You trust me."

Liam makes a little sound, like he's torn, like he can't possibly say yes, can't admit that he's curious, but he doesn't want to protest either, knows that Louis is giving him a chance here. He's safe with Louis, in a strange way, because Louis's always been the one to let Liam have fun, to get him to do things he never thought he'd do. Louis's managed to show him, over the years, that it's okay to do something crazy once in a while, it's okay to let go, and Louis wants him to know that this is just the same. That this is okay.

"I'm gonna make it so good for you, I promise," Louis says, kissing his throat again. "It's not a big deal. I don't want you to get all stressy about it, just—don't think about it too much, yeah? You'll love it. Trust me."

"Yeah, I do," Liam says suddenly, and it's like the words slip out without him meaning them to. He inhales sharply, and his hips hitch up so he pushes his cock through the stilled ring of Louis's hand. "Um."

Louis smiles, sitting up and petting at him, running his fingers over Liam's head and feeling the soft bristles of his hair. Liam laughs nervously, batting his hands away, and Louis sees how red he's gone, his cheeks flushed bright.

Louis leans over and opens the drawer of the nightstand, feeling right at the very back for the little zip-up bag he knows is there. He's gone through Liam's stuff countless times, always nosing through everyone's suitcases and hotel rooms so he knows exactly where he can find anything he might need in an emergency. Liam blushes even darker when Louis withdraws the bag and pulls out a half-empty bottle of KY.

There are other things in there sometimes, like condoms, and once he found one of Danielle's thongs. Another time—shortly after Liam's birthday—there was a little booklet of handmade vouchers from her, promising blowjobs. All very cute, oddly innocent sex stuff. Now it's just the lube though, making the bag seem a bit pointless, but then, it's just like Liam to feel he has to hide something like that away.

Liam is looking at him with a nervous sort of expectation, like he's just waiting for Louis to make some snide comment, tease him for the brand of lube he likes or something. And maybe in other circumstances Louis would, but Liam is strung so tight that it feels like the slightest thing could break him. He's nowhere near relaxed enough right now to take any teasing.

Not yet, anyway.

"C'mon then," Louis says, grinning and tugging at the waistband of Liam's pyjama bottoms, "let's get you out of these."

Liam lifts up, lets Louis pull them off him, and Louis sees that he's gone a bit softer, probably from nerves. But that's okay—Louis's determined to have him hard as a rock again in no time.

He pats Liam's thighs, gentle, says, "Bend your legs up for me, love."

Liam starts to, like he's on autopilot, but then freezes suddenly. "What about Harry?" he asks, and Louis realises Liam really must have too much on his mind if he didn't think to ask that earlier. Or perhaps a part of him was convinced Louis was just kidding about up until now.

"Shh, don't worry about that, it's all sorted," Louis reassures him, tapping Liam's knees.

Liam bends his legs, silently obedient, and he looks sort of dazed, a little crinkle in his brow. He looks like he doesn't quite believe this is even happening.

Louis gets a few fingers wet with the lube, using a lot more than he usually would for himself or Harry, wanting to make sure Liam is totally comfortable. He shifts Liam's knees wider and Liam puts his hands over his face suddenly, breathing in shakily, and Louis knows it's because he's looking, and it's intimate and new and embarrassing. But Liam breathes slow, gathering himself, and when Louis reaches out and strokes gently over his hole he seems to relax slightly, bringing his hands from his face and looking down at Louis with his lip caught between his teeth.

Louis gets Liam's skin slick, just rubbing his fingertips over him and letting Liam get used to it, the feeling of someone touching him there. He's still so taut though, clenched up, nervous, and if Louis pushes in like this it'll hurt.

"Li, hey, relax, Liam," Louis whispers to him, a little mantra of reassuring words, "c'mon, let go love, let me in." Liam gets there slowly, untensing his muscles like it's a great effort, until he's relaxed enough to let Louis's finger press just lightly inside. "Yeah, there you go," Louis breathes, glancing up to check on him. Liam looks sort of shellshocked, totally still.

Louis fucks him shallowly with the tip of his finger, so slow, getting a little deeper every time. It's so gradual that when he's right in, right up to his knuckle and he says, "Look, Li, got my whole finger in you," Liam looks completely stunned.

He's so hot and so unbelievably tight around Louis's finger, but Louis doesn't let himself think about that, because that's not the point, this is about how it feels for Liam. He keeps going like that for a while, gently exploratory, getting Liam used to the feeling of it, crooking his finger a little inside, speeding up his movements, everything subtle and easy. It's a long time before he adds another—using more lube just to be sure—and by then Liam has gone sort of glassy-eyed. With two fingers inside him, Louis finds his prostrate, brushes lightly over it and watches Liam's body jerk.

"Louis," he says suddenly, grabbing at the sheets and sounding startled, almost scared. "Oh—"

"Uh huh," Louis says soothingly, repeating the motion, and Liam writhes, hips grinding down instinctively, arse pushing against Liam's hand. He catches himself a second later, looking mortified, and Louis just makes reassuring noises and does it again, starting to finger him properly now, building up a rhythm with it.

Liam's cock is filling up again, fast, and by the time Louis's sliding a third slick finger deep inside him it's resting heavy and hard against his taut stomach, flushed and wet at the tip. Louis can't stop staring at it. He told himself he knew Liam needed this, but he couldn't predict it really, couldn't know for sure how much Liam would actually like it, and seeing him like this is something he never really prepared himself for. He's aching in his jeans, and he never even thought about how this would feel for him, about how much he might want it for his own sake as well as Liam's. He didn't realise how much of an effect it would have on him, seeing Liam like this, watching him start to come apart. He feels a rush of guilt then, thinking of Harry back down at the bar, probably desperately wondering what they're up to. But then he remembers the glint in Harry's eyes, and he feels confident that Harry would be just as turned on by this sight as Louis is. Maybe he'd even be proud of Louis for reducing Liam to such a state. They've always liked playing games with him, after all, making him blush and squirm.

It's just—it's never been like this before.

Louis takes a deep breath and keeps pumping his fingers in and out, watching the way Liam's cock jumps when he touches that spot inside of him, the way he gets wetter, shining with it. Liam's gone totally pliant, relaxed around him, and Louis knows he's ready now, knows he can take a cock. He just hopes he can handle it. He eases his fingers out and watches as Liam's hole clenches around the emptiness, and Liam makes this little sound, almost like a whine, at the loss. Louis isn't even sure he's heard it, can't believe his own ears.

"It's okay," he hears himself murmuring, as he quickly strips off, whipping his t-shirt off over his head and yanking down his jeans and pants. "It's okay, gonna give you my cock now."

Liam turns his face into the pillows, breathing heavily, still so red in the face, looking totally overwhelmed. But his long legs hang open, and his hole looks flushed and slick, and his cock is so thick and dark against his tummy and he looks—debauched, and so fucking shy about it, and god, Louis needs to be inside him right the fuck now.

Louis's hands are shaky and he makes a total mess with the lube, spilling it on the sheets in his hurry. He slows down once he's between Liam's legs through, once he's got Liam's thighs wrapped around him and his dick lined up with Liam's hole—he's so slow, every movement careful and measured, guiding just the tip of his cock past the tightness of Liam's rim.

"Fuck," he breathes, can't help himself, and Liam's face is all screwed up, his cheeks hot and his mouth open in a silent moan. He looks like he can't even deal with what's happening right now, with being on his back for Louis like this, surrendering to him, trusting him completely.

Louis eases in just a tiny bit deeper before pulling out again, working Liam open gradually with his cock, feeling the way he's stretching him out. Liam starts making little sounds again, these sort of mewls, needy and confused and wanting, and Louis can't get enough of it, wants to make Liam scream for him. He rocks in gently 'til he's fully sheathed, 'til his hips are nestled right against Liam's arse and all he can feel is that amazing tight heat. Liam opens his eyes and they look dark, his eyelids heavy. He looks—drugged, almost, sedated, like he's drunk off the feel of Louis's dick deep inside of him.

"You like it," Louis says, quietly, careful, feeling out Liam's reaction. Liam just stares at Louis in something like awe and disbelief, his lips all red and open. "Like, you really like it, Liam, fuck," Louis goes on, because he can't help it.

Liam squirms under him, half from embarrassment and half from the pressure of Louis's cock so still inside him, thick and solid and unmoving. "Louis," he says, his voice all weak, and it sounds like he's begging.

"Who would've thought?" Louis grins, drawing back slightly and sinking back in, watching Liam's eyelids flutter. "Who would've thought you'd like having a dick inside you so much, eh? You love it, don't you?"

"Louis," Liam pleads again, and Louis can't even tell if he's pleading for him to move or to shut his mouth. Louis could swear his words are actually getting Liam even more worked up.

"Yeah, you love it. Love having a cock in your arse, filling you up. It's dirty, isn't it, and you love it." Louis's pushing it, and he knows, but he can sense that this is okay, that Liam is way past the point of freaking out and putting a stop to this just because Louis's teasing him.

He picks up the pace, starts really fucking Liam, hips stroking back and forth until he's pounding Liam hard, skin slapping against skin. Liam fucking loves it, letting out a sort of strangled cry and clinging suddenly to Louis's back, holding onto him as Louis drives his cock deep. He still looks sort of bewildered by it, overwhelmed by how good it feels, but he's surrendered himself to the pleasure, whimpering and rutting up against Louis in rhythm like he's silently urging him to give it to him even harder.

His fingers scrabble at Louis's back and Louis slams into him, pleasure buzzing down his spine as he fucks into the slick heat and stares at Liam's gorgeous face. He spits into his hand and reaches between them for Liam's cock, and as soon as he's got his fingers curled loosely around it Liam gasps. Louis starts jerking him off relentlessly, fist tight and skimming fast over the shaft, wanting to get Liam even more overwhelmed, wanting it to be almost too much for him. Liam nods suddenly, speechless, moving with Louis now like his body's doing it of its own accord, just wanting more.

"Yeah, that's it," Louis says, leaning right over him, murmuring the words against the slight stubble of Liam's jaw. "God, if you love this so much maybe we'll have to do it every night. How about that, yeah? Fucking you every night 'til you're totally worn out and exhausted?" He pulls back, looking Liam in the eye. "Harry might want a go, you know, when I tell him about this. Maybe we should all take turns, me and the lads, pass you round."

Liam's eyes go wide and he sort of splutters, scandalised, but Louis feels the way he clenches around him, the way his cock throbs against Louis's palm at the words.

"Maybe that wouldn't be enough for you," Louis taunts, "maybe you'd want us all at the same time, all in one night, one after the other—"

Liam's fingernails suddenly dig into Louis's back and he's coming, in several hot pulses between their bodies, splashing messy as he twists and writhes, shutting his eyes tight and throwing his head back, neck outstretched. Louis is bowled over, only just manages to get it together enough to pull the rest of Liam's orgasm from him with his fist before he comes himself, pushed over the edge by Liam's response.

"You like that," Louis says, through panting breaths, barely down from the high yet and not moving from his place in between Liam's legs because there are more pressing matters to attend to. "God, fucking hell, Liam. You want all of us at once? You love cock that much, huh?"

Liam squirms, shaking his head. "Louis," he says, and there's a hint of a warning in it, but he can't seem to form any further words.

"Dirty boy," Louis tells him, impressed. "Jesus Christ."

"Shh," Liam manages, and he's shuddering like mad, and the look on his face is one Louis's never seen before.

Louis pets at him, leaning in and kissing his birthmark and then his lips. He doesn't want to tease too much, wants Liam to know that he accepts him or else he'll go somewhere insecure and self-loathing with it. "I'm not judging, Li," Louis tells him softly. "I love it. I love you. God, I just never would have thought."

Liam makes a little noise, something like frustration or embarrassment, covering his face with his hand and laughing behind it, sounding all choked and bewildered. "I don't—I don't know what," he says helplessly, and Louis shushes him, kisses the back of his hand and then slips out of him. Liam is making these little noises and when he brings his hand away his eyes are red and a little wet.

"Hey, it's okay," Louis murmurs, kissing his cheek. He can tell Liam's just overwhelmed, that the tears are just an expulsion of everything he's been keeping locked up inside him these past weeks, and that's probably a good thing, something he's been needing.

He lays Liam down flat and grabs some tissues from the box on the nightstand to deal with the clean-up. Liam is totally out of it, just lying there, eyelids drooping and limbs floppy, and it's amazing—it's the most relaxed Louis's seen him in weeks. And it feels kind of good, wiping Liam off, tucking him back into bed, taking care of him.

By the time Louis gets back in from the bathroom Liam is out like a light, and Louis decides to stay, because he knows Liam's going to need him to be there when he wakes up so he's reassured Louis's not disgusted with him or anything like that. He settles into bed beside him, unable to wipe the grin off his face when he sees just how deeply asleep Liam is, knocked out, boneless and breathing deep and steady.

***
In the morning Liam is shy with him, but well-rested and sort of peaceful, and Louis just tells him not to think too much, suggests a hot shower to ease the ache, and then kisses him on the cheek and goes back to his and Harry's room. Harry is sitting up in bed looking disbelieving when Louis gets back in, and Louis just smirks at him.

"You didn't."

"I did."

"How in the world—"

"Well, Harold, let me tell you all about it."

Harry starts out laughing when Louis tells him how freaked Liam was, how totally stunned he was by the way it felt, but by the time Louis is describing Liam's neediness, the little noises he made and how big his cock got and how he was grinding down on Louis's dick, Harry is flushed and hard and hanging onto his every word.

"And then I made some quip about all four of us fucking him and he came all over himself," Louis finishes—a little boastfully, he'll admit.

"Oh my god," says Harry in a hushed voice. He's basically rutting against Louis's leg now, shamelessly, and Louis reaches down to give him a hand, grinning wickedly at how well all of this is going.

"He's such a kinky bastard, I'm not even kidding," Louis goes on, "I don't think he even knew it himself 'til last night."

"God, I literally, like—" Harry squirms, taking a second to catch his breath, "I can't even imagine."

"You don't have to, you can see for yourself," Louis tells him without thinking, and then he does think, and—oh, oh yes.

"What?" asks Harry blearily, thrusting up into Louis's fist.

"I'm—fuck, Harry," Louis reaches down to get his own dick out, quick as he can, and spreads Harry out on the bed so they can grind into each other. "I'm gonna make this happen," he gets out, rocking his hips into Harry's clumsily, their cocks rubbing together in something almost like a rhythm. "I'm gonna—gonna get all four of us to fuck him one after the other, and then—fuck—you'll see how much he loves it."

Harry looks sort of dazed, like he's not entirely sure Louis's serious, but the thought clearly appeals to him because his hips start bucking wildly and he's panting, struggling to form words. "Lou, I want—want you to fuck me."

"We don't have time."

"Please." Harry looks a little desperate now, pupils wide and black.

"Harry, no."

"Please. You said you would, after."

"God." Louis struggles to refuse with Harry wriggling impatiently beneath him. "Later, okay?" he forces out. "We'll be late for breakfast."

Harry pouts, but doesn't ask again, wrapping his arms round Louis's hips and holding him close so he can thrust up against him. "Keep talking about Liam," he pleads instead, and Louis grins, takes a second to get his breathing under control, and then starts from the beginning again.

They are late, in the end, but they're not the last ones to show up—Liam is, slipping sheepishly into a seat only a minute or so after Louis and Harry. He interrupts the silent staring contest Zayn and Louis are engaged in, Zayn clearly trying to figure out if anything Louis said last night was true or if his usual late appearance at breakfast with a dishevelled Harry in tow is proof that nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

"Morning," Liam says, and it's a bit mumbly and embarrassed but there's something else in his voice too that Louis notices, something even the others pick up on.

"Wow, you seem a lot better," Zayn says, sounding half-pleased and half-suspicious.

"Yeah, good night's sleep for once?" Niall chips in, squeezing Liam's shoulder and smiling at him.

"Uh, yeah," Liam says, clearing his throat and trying not to look Louis in the eye. In avoiding his gaze he ends up looking at Harry, instead, and Louis's eyes follow to see that Harry is smirking. Liam looks faintly alarmed.

"We tried a new stress-relieving tactic," Louis announces, casually helping himself to a piece of Liam's toast.

"Oh yeah? What was that then?" asks Niall through a mouthful of croissant.

Louis smiles as innocently as he possibly can, given the circumstances, and says pleasantly, "It's called 'my cock in his arse'. Worked a treat as you can see."

"Louis," Liam splutters in disbelief, and goes the colour of a tomato. Everybody looks at him instantly and Louis does feel a bit guilty then, because this is mean, but it's not crossing the line into outright cruelty and besides, it's necessary, if this whole thing is going to work.

"Come off it," says Zayn a little harshly then, looking back at Louis with a sort of stern expression on his face.

Louis shrugs, and checks that Liam isn't actually going to explode or cry or anything and—yeah, he looks all right, a little panicked obviously but not angry, probably too grateful to Louis to be mad about anything right now. Louis figures it's probably hard to hate someone who's been responsible for the best night's sleep you've had in months.

"Yeah, but you didn't actually fuck him," says Niall. His voice has gone all hushed and he has a flake of pastry on his bottom lip. He eyes Liam suspiciously. "He didn't actually fuck you?"

Liam shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth, apparently trying not to hyperventilate.

"Are you really all right with that?" Niall says to Harry, and Harry just smiles enigmatically, which makes Liam look even more nervous.

"Hey, it's not like I asked him to marry me, I was just being a good friend," Louis says innocently. "And now we've got something that works, right?"

"What exactly do you mean by 'we'," says Zayn flatly.

Louis glances at Harry, who still hasn't said a word, just sitting there eating his cornflakes and occasionally giving Liam a very wicked, very knowing grin that cause Liam to blush right up to the tips of his ears.

"Look, enough of this kind of talk," says Louis, looking away before Harry's smirk causes him to crack. "Not really appropriate breakfast discussion, is it lads?"

He hangs back when they're all done eating, tugs Liam's sleeve and murmurs, "Sorry, mate. You okay?" in his ear.

Liam is still pink, and Louis hears the way his breath hitches when he touches him. "Yeah. Um. Thanks?"

Louis smiles. "No problem. Just figured I should check up on you, you know. I wasn't trying to humiliate you, it's just, you know how it is. No secrets in this band."

"No, not that, I mean," Liam stammers. He looks at his feet. "For last night."

"Oh." Louis's smile grows wider. "My pleasure," he says, patting Liam gently on the back.

And there's plenty more where that came from, he thinks to himself, grinning. Then he catches sight of himself in a mirror across the way and realises he looks like some sort of Disney villain, and tries to force his mouth into a more reasonable shape.

***
Harry is easy. Harry is definitely up for it. Already, he won't stop teasing Liam about the whole thing, clearly enjoying himself, sidling up to him at the most inappropriate moments and informing him of certain things, like the fact that Louis told him what he sounds like when he comes or that he knows about that freckle he has just behind his balls.

"He said you got all excited when he told you he might let me have a go," he says idly one night, sucking on the straw of his Coke while they're in the bus eating McDonald's. He always picks the moments when everyone's distracted, and he'll say it so casually that the others won't notice. It's very clever, Louis observes. Liam chokes on a McNugget and attempts a denial, but the words sort of die in his throat.

Liam notices Louis watching and shoots him a pleading look. "Is he torturing you?" Louis asks sympathetically. He turns to Harry. "Hmm. Why don't you tell Liam about how hard you got when I told you what happened? How you begged me to fuck you even though we were already late?"

"Shut up." Harry goes slightly pink and elbows Louis in the ribs. "I just needed you to remind me you're mine," he mutters.

"Mmhm." Louis quirks an eyebrow, doubtful. "Funny how you were totally fine with me talking about Liam the whole time then."

Liam seems to lose his appetite then and disappears off to his bunk to lie down.

When it comes to Niall, things go pretty smoothly too. It seems like he's not really taking Louis entirely seriously, but he's agreeable nonetheless and Louis figures that's all that matters.

"He's been like a different person these past couple of days," Niall says with a shrug. "I'd do anything to keep him that happy."

And it's true—Liam seems better than he has in weeks. He's still pretty anxious on occasion but that awful stress that was draining the life right out of him seems to have disappeared, and he can laugh and mess about with them more genuinely now, like he's properly enjoying himself instead of just trying or pretending. He's more chatty in interviews, more capable of dealing with the heavy workload, and he goes back to making friendly small talk with paparazzi, even smiling all brave and polite when they ask what happened to that pretty dancer who's usually on his arm. He's not back to his old self, but it seems like he's getting there, like he just needs one last push. And Louis knows what would do the job.

The problem is Zayn, really. Zayn is steadfastly refusing to believe anything that comes out of Louis's mouth these days, convinced that it's all a part of some elaborate prank and nothing really happened between Louis and Liam at all. This, understandably, makes it difficult for Louis to get him to consider joining in. He won't even believe Louis when Louis swears to God. And he does it all solemnly with his hand on his heart and everything.

"When did you start believing in God?" is all Zayn says, frowning at him suspiciously.

Louis frowns back. "Don't deflect. I swear on Harry?"

"What about your Mum? Your sisters?"

"I don't really want to bring them into this, to be honest," says Louis, wrinkling his nose, "but all right, yeah. I swear on them too. It happened, Zayn, I promise you."

Zayn looks troubled. "But the bit about all of us—you made that up, right?"

"No, he said it!" Louis insists. "Well, okay, I said it, but I promise he liked the idea. It made him come. I'm not lying." Zayn is still looking at him distrustfully. "Look," Louis says, trying to appeal to Zayn's sense of logic, "why would I even be talking about this if it didn't happen, that would just be weird."

"You are weird though," Zayn points out.

"Well—all right, but not that weird. Not like, 'organise a gangbang for a friend who hasn't even expressed interest in the idea' weird."

"Fuck off," says Zayn, shoving Louis a little bit, but he's laughing, shaking his head. "I dunno, okay, it's not—it's just, I can't wrap my head around it. I mean, it's Liam."

"Trust me, I know," Louis says, all sympathy. "It doesn't make any more sense when you've got your cock inside him."

"Jesus."

"Just think about it, yeah? I wanna wait a while anyway, not overwhelm him too much. Give him some time."

"Hmm," is all Zayn says, slumping back in his seat.

What finally convinces Zayn is the way Liam slowly starts to revert back to the way he was before he and Louis had sex—distant and distracted, his smiles and jokes seeming half-hearted again. It's gradual, but noticeable, and Louis can tell that Zayn's getting worried about him, seeming more agitated and quiet himself. Eventually, after further reassurance that yes, Liam wants this, and yes, it will make him feel better—Zayn is in.

Louis just has to get Liam a little more used to the idea, and once they find the perfect night, they're all set.

2/2.

all full up with your love (2/2). liam/everyone, nc-17.

2012-10-20T15:12:36Z

See header post for more details.

Liam isn't at all sure what's going on.

Nothing else has happened, really, since that one night, but—Louis won't shut up about it, is the thing. He finds any excuse to slip into conversation how much Liam likes getting fucked, and Liam turns red and his tummy goes squirmy every time he hears Louis boasting about it, because it's mortifying but it's also kind of—there's something else, something about the way Louis's so delighted, like Liam impressed him, and Liam kind of likes that part.

Liam still hasn't even confirmed that it happened, but the others seem to have accepted that Louis's not having them on because one day Zayn takes Liam aside and quietly asks what it was like. Liam refuses to talk about it, and Zayn just says, "But you really liked it, yeah?" with this strangely intense look on his face and Liam is spending so much time bright red lately that he's forgotten what his normal skintone looks like.

Then there's the way Niall keeps giving him these goofy, knowing grins, and making stupid jokes, asking Liam if it still hurts to sit down, and the way Harry and Louis seem to be whispering to each other a hell of a lot more than usual. And then there's the way Louis keeps—keeps hinting back to what he said when they were in bed, the thing about the others, and it's—Liam is like ninety-nine percent sure he's kidding, just trying to get Liam flustered, but. But what if he isn't? Liam doesn't know how to deal with it.

He also doesn't know how to deal with the fact that he literally can't orgasm anymore unless he's got his fingers inside him. He spends a few nights experimenting with awkward angles and poking and prodding and wondering how Louis managed to make it seem so easy and seamless like his fingers were just meant to go in there—but then it works, and it's nowhere near as good as Louis's cock inside him but Liam is still just hooked on the feeling of it, of being filled up. He has to try not to do it so often, because he always ends up thinking about Louis during, and those things Louis said, and it just feels wrong to fantasise about that, but. Sometimes his mind goes there before he can stop it, and he thinks about Harry's teasing and Zayn's questions and Niall's amused little looks and then he's coming so hard he feels like he could black out.

And that's—significant, maybe.

Perhaps.

(Liam doesn't really fantasise at all, as a rule, because if he thinks about something that could actually happen there's a risk of it being a letdown when it actually does, and if he thinks about something that would never happen then he just ends up sort of miserable.

The problem with this is that he's honestly not sure which of the two it is.)

***
For the most part he does an all right job of not dwelling on it, but the others are making that difficult. It seems like it's getting worse, like they can't go more than fifteen minutes without somebody making some sort of reference towards what he and Louis got up to that one night. He could cope with it at first but he's been getting stressed out again lately, finding it hard to sleep and to concentrate on things, and he doesn't know what to do.

They've just arrived in a new city and they've got a night off before a day packed full of promotion, and Liam is exhausted just thinking about what lies ahead, wondering how he's supposed to smile and chat his way through a dozen interviews tomorrow when he feels so on edge. He goes straight to his room for a shower, hoping for a relaxing evening, but as soon as he's pulled some clean clothes on and is about to lie down and see what's on TV, there's a banging on his door of a volume that means it can only be Louis. They didn't get spare keys at this hotel so for a moment Liam entertains the idea of ignoring the pounding of Louis's fists and pretending to have gone to bed already—but after about eight seconds the guilt is too much and he goes to open the door. His heart starts beating a little faster as he remembers the last time Louis showed up alone in his hotel room unannounced.

But this time Louis isn't alone.

"Hey, we thought tonight seemed like a good night for a slumber party in your room," he announces, stepping past Liam and beckoning for the others to follow.

"Oh," says Liam, surprised. "I was—oh. I thought I might just, take it easy tonight, actually. You know. Watch some TV and call my Mum and stuff. If that's okay."

It's true, that was what he was planning, but now that they're here he finds he does sort of want company. It's just—he's not sure they really mean it. It feels like pity lately, when they do this, when they show up in a way that's clearly been arranged, with some plan to try cheer him up. It's been like this ever since Danielle left and he's even wondered if they have some sort of schedule so they can take turns, spend time with him in shifts. It makes him feel like a failure for not having recovered from it yet, guilty. And he's painfully aware that he's no fun at all at the moment—it's hard to force himself to join in with their antics when there's this ball of stress and sadness taking up too much room in his chest and he knows it's bringing them down as well, and until it gets any better he doesn't want to burden them. When they're being weird, teasing him about what happened with Louis, it's even harder to try and act normal.

Louis is frowning at him. "Why do you do that?" he asks suddenly, almost sharply, and Liam is taken aback.

"Do what?"

"That thing, where you distance yourself from us on purpose," Louis says, and there's a sudden tension in the room like this is something everyone's always thought but never mentioned. "It's not just when we go out drinking and you stay in, it's like—like now, why? It's not always just about wanting to be alone, I can tell when you want to be alone and you don't right now."

"I—I don't know," says Liam, stumped. On some level he's aware that he's been doing it lately, but now that he thinks about it, maybe Louis's right. Maybe it's something he's always done, just occasionally.

"Is it 'cause you think we don't want you around?" Louis asks, prying, and Zayn says "Lou," quietly but Louis ignores him.

They've always kind of just accepted that Liam's a little bit different, that he prefers early nights to partying, that sometimes he worries too much, sometimes he actually likes sitting in his hotel room alone even though no one else does. And Liam's always told himself that's all it is, a personality difference and nothing more, but—maybe Louis has a point. Sometimes he does want to hang out with them but he feels like they don't want him there, and it's got nothing to do with the way they act because they've been wonderful and welcoming from day one but Liam can't help second-guessing it all every now and then, wondering if they really do like him as much as they say (as much as they like each other) when he's the least fun one.

"I don't know," says Liam again, because he doesn't want to lie, but it's too embarrassing to say yes, a little bit maybe, sometimes.

"Twat," says Harry fondly, reaching forward to try ruffle what's left of Liam's shorn hair. "How could you not know by now that we adore you?"

Liam scuffs his feet against the carpet. "I," he says, and then clears his throat and realises he doesn't know what else to say. All of this is weird and uncomfortable, and made even more so by recent events.

"We do, you know," Zayn assures him, his voice low. "Adore you and that."

"Yeah," Niall chips in, "no matter what."

"Um," Liam says awkwardly, not entirely sure where this is going. "Okay."

"It's true, we do like you rather a lot," Louis adds, grinning, and suddenly the atmosphere seems more lighthearted than confrontational, like he's flipped a switch. "Even when you're a bit dense and don't understand innuendo. Did you know that by 'slumber party' I didn't actually mean 'slumber party'?"

"What?"

"I meant that other thing," Louis says casually. "You know, that thing that made you come instantly when you thought about it."

Liam flushes, and is left completely speechless, just sort of gaping at Louis like a fish. Louis gives him a smile that looks sort of—sympathetic, in a strange way, not the smirk that Liam was expecting, something much more soft and tender.

"Liam, it's okay," Niall says, coming in close and wrapping himself around Liam, nuzzling his shoulder. "We're actually gonna do this for you."

Liam is totally floundering. "W-what?"

"Is no one going to say it? I feel like someone should say it," says Harry thoughtfully, and then adds, "we're gonna gangbang you, Liam."

"Haz, please," says Zayn.

"What? I'm just using the proper terminology."

"I think by 'proper terminology' you mean 'what they call it in porn', love," Louis says fondly, tucking Harry under his arm and then looking back at Liam, sort of jutting his chin at him. "But yeah, we're gonna gangbang you."

Liam lets out a sudden little laugh of disbelief, and his face is burning up, and they're all just looking at him in this way that's making his legs a bit wobbly. They just look so—accepting, and loving, and Liam isn't really sure how to deal with it. It's fucking embarrassing to admit that this is something he actually wants, even if they're okay with it, it makes him feel vulnerable and exposed and—it's not something he's supposed to want, not something he's supposed to just accept even if it's being handed to him.

They go for him suddenly, clearly giving up on the idea that he's going to respond and deciding to take matters into their own hands—Louis grabs at his crotch right away and Liam's hips jerk. He's surrounded—there are hands pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it up over his head, and someone's kissing his neck, tonguing at it messily and making him squirm and stumble as he tries pathetically to fight back, or at least to look as if he's fighting back, because no matter how much he wants this he just can't admit it, can't let them know. Harry's palming him through his jeans now and his instinct is to try shove his hand away, because it's habit, because whenever things get like this the idea is to kick and shout and fight back, because that's how it's always been, because if it wasn't, things would be—weird.

But then, that's the point of this. They want to cross that line, now, so there's no need for any pretence, but even so Liam just can't bring himself to go still and let it happen. So he's thrashing, laughing and shouting out for them to stop, cut it out, ha ha very funny you weirdos, let me go—

—and they don't, because they know perfectly well what he's doing. They're laughing too, even as they're manhandling him, trying to get his clothes off him and pull him over to the bed, giggling and teasing like it's all a joke even though this time it's not. This isn't like the time they held him down and tickled him until he swore he was going to wet himself, or the time they tried to shove ice cubes down his boxers, or the time they pulled off half his clothes when they were in the middle of a Twitcam. Liam feels lightheaded suddenly, from all the movement and all the hands on him and the knowledge of what they want to do, and he shuts his eyes, breath catching suddenly in his throat. Instead of slapping away the hand that comes up to pinch his nipple he grabs hold of it instead and clings, making a little noise.

It's Louis, of course. It's always Louis where Liam's nipples are concerned. "Hey, it's all right. You want this, yeah?" Louis murmurs. His voice is so quiet that Liam thinks the others might not hear, as they're still fighting to get the rest of Liam's clothes off while he wriggles and writhes in their grip.

Liam hears himself say, "Yeah," in the tiniest voice. He's breathing so heavy and it sounds so loud and his heart feels like it's going to beat right out of his ribcage.

Louis overpowers the others and pushes Liam backwards onto the bed, and Liam struggles feebly as the rest of them immediately pin him there. He's spluttering out protests, and laughing even though none of this is funny, a nervous sort of laughter he can't control. He's so hot all over and when someone starts tugging at the waistband of his boxers he has to shut his eyes tight. He lets out a hysterical sort of sob, writhing pathetically, and Harry places a firm hand on his stomach to hold him still.

Everything stops abruptly.

"Hey, look at us," Niall whispers in the quiet, "we love you."

"I can't," Liam squeaks, "I think I'll die."

"Yeah, but you're gonna wanna know whose dick is inside you at some point, probably," Harry points out, and Liam groans, and very slowly lifts his eyelids.

Harry gives him a cheesy, toothy grin, and then a soothing pat on the tummy which makes Liam twitch, hypersensitive. He's starting to get hard already, just from all this, and it's embarrassing that that's all it takes. It's happened before during their group playfights and pigpiles and he's always put it down to proximity and body heat, but now he's wondering if a dormant part of him has always wanted this, to be surrounded by them and stripped—and held down and fucked, his brain adds, and he squirms, feeling his cock swell further at the thought. His instinct is to try hide the reaction, like he always would under more innocent circumstances, but of course he can't, not when he's being held still and Harry and Louis are pulling his boxers down.

Niall is crouched to his right and Liam turns to him, hiding his face in his thigh, breathing heavy and feeling all of their eyes on him. They've seen him naked before, obviously, dozens of times, but he can't try and tell himself this is in any way the same. He's reminded of the first time, back at the bungalow, when Harry decided it'd be a good ice-breaker if they all went skinny-dipping in the pool. Liam thought he was kidding at first, because his friends back home would never do something like that, but then Harry tore off his clothes and cannon-balled into the pool without shame, and Louis copied him immediately so as not to be upstaged, getting his kit off at the speed of light and taking a flying leap into the water. Niall and Zayn had dithered a bit but followed suit, bashfully avoiding eye contact as they quickly undressed and joined the others, and Liam had just stood there on the edge of the pool, bug-eyed and disbelieving, trying not to stare at the four naked bodies twisting about beneath the water.

They'd all egged him on, of course, cooing encouragement until eventually he broke, because he wanted so badly to be a part of whatever this was, whatever the five of them had the potential to be. He didn't want to be the one weak link, the stick in the mud; he wanted to be accepted. So he stripped off, as hurriedly and modestly as possible, as they all bobbed about in the pool and watched and cheered, and he remembers wondering what he was getting himself into as he kicked his discarded clothes into something resembling a pile and slid into the water. When they all beamed and hollered at him (and even when Harry tackled him, all naked and wet and making him recoil instinctively) Liam remembers feeling oddly triumphant.

"There you go," says Harry now, gently, and Liam squirms against the bed, feeling the sheets against his bare skin everywhere.

Right away he feels someone touch him, a confident hand curling around his cock, spit-slick and making him harder. His body jolts with it and Niall pets his hair and he tries to relax. It's just Louis, like before, he reminds himself, but—this feels so different, the others all around him, watching. He whimpers and he doesn't know if it's due to the steady pressure of Louis's fist or how overwhelming all of this is.

"You're doing so good," Niall murmurs, and Liam presses his face more firmly against Niall's thigh, feeling the rough denim of his jeans. The smell of him is comforting somehow and he's petting Liam's hair, trying to soothe him, his fingers gently stroking at his scalp. Liam tries to breathe normally but he thinks he's forgotten how.

"You're so hard," says someone, and it takes Liam a second to realise that it's Zayn, because his voice sounds so different, all hushed and awed, and quiet, like he didn't even mean to say it out loud at all.

Louis says, "Just wait 'til I've got my fingers in him," and Liam makes another noise, one that he means to sound indignant but comes out desperate instead. "See?" says Louis proudly. "He wants it so bad."

Liam tries to say Louis's name in a scolding sort of tone but then suddenly there are fingers brushing behind his balls, gentle and teasing, and Liam stutters, the word getting cut off.

"Hazza, can you stroke him for a bit while I—?" Liam hears Louis say, and there's a bit of shuffling around, the mattress joggling about beneath Liam's body as the two of them move.

A weight leaves the bed and Louis's hand is only gone for a second or two before Harry's replaces it. Liam is surprised by how different it feels—Harry's hand wraps around his cock more easily, and his skin's softer, and he's stroking Liam with intent, not in the slow, lazy way that Louis was. Liam wants to moan but can't, too embarrassed, and clamps his lips shut instead, fingers scrabbling against Niall's knee. Zayn makes a sort of soothing noise and pats him on the shoulder.

Liam feels the mattress dip and then Louis's voice says, loudly, "Have you still got your eyes closed? Christ, we may as well have blindfolded you."

Liam hesitantly opens one eye, and sees Louis looming over him, naked, grinning fondly and holding the bottle of lube that he's obviously fished out of Liam's bag.

"Wonder if you'd get off on that, too," Louis ponders out loud, the fond grin turning it into a bit of a smirk, and Liam turns to hide his face against Niall's leg again, squirming.

"Hey, stop it, don't make him come yet," Liam hears Louis say then, and Harry's hand leaves him. Liam aches a little at the loss of it—the unrelenting pleasure of Harry pumping his cock like that was distracting, making Liam's thoughts go sort of fuzzy so it was harder to panic.

Now someone's spreading his legs, easing his knees up and apart, and Liam feels his heart in his throat, beating wildly, making him feel a little sick. He can hear his own breathing and it sounds loud and erratic.

"Shh, it's okay," comes Zayn's voice from Liam's left. He reaches out and strokes his hand over Liam's forehead and it feels cool and calming against Liam's hot, sweaty skin.

Louis's touching him again, his fingers wet with lube and a little cold, and Liam gasps when he feels one of them teasing at his entrance, ever so gently nudging its way in. Liam opens up for him, his breathing going steadier—already, he's come to associate this feeling with relaxing, and as Louis's finger slowly fills him up he feels a bit calmer.

"Yeah," says Louis softly, exhaling, "there we go."

His finger slips out and pushes in again, and with each thrust Liam feels himself relaxing more and more. Louis's better, so much better at this than Liam is, and Liam realises he's been missing someone else's fingers all along, really needing them. He breathes out, tension slowly leaving his shoulders, and he lets himself flop back against the bed, no longer burying his face in Niall's legs. Louis makes encouraging noises and adds a second finger, and Liam finds himself nodding mindlessly, his eyes still closed, his chin pointing up at the ceiling. His cock is filling up even more against his stomach and he can feel the needy ache of it with every slide of Louis's fingers.

"Wow," says Zayn in that strange quiet voice again. "Wow, that's—look at him."

Liam feels himself blushing, feels a little nervous bubble of something in his chest when he reminds himself that they're all here, all watching, seeing him so exposed and vulnerable and getting off on having fingers in his arse but—it's hard to care too much when it feels so good, when Louis's curling his fingers just enough to brush that little bundle of nerves inside of him every now and then and send a shiver right through Liam's body.

"I've never seen you like this," Niall murmurs. "Thought Lou was exaggerating."

"Nope," says Louis, a little bit cocky, teasing around Liam's rim with the knuckle of a third finger.

"Wait, can I—?" asks Harry. Louis's fingers start to leave Liam but then Harry says, "No, I mean, as well. If he can take it."

"Oh, he can take it," Louis replies, and Liam can hear the smirk in his voice.

Liam tenses up a little when he feels a third slick fingertip probing at him, but Zayn squeezes his shoulder gently and he relaxes again, breathing deeply as Harry's finger squeezes in beside Louis's two. It feels strange for a moment, the difference in size and the lack of rhythm, but then they sync up and Liam's toes curl against the sheets, his back arching.

"Another?" Harry asks. "Can you, Liam?"

Liam isn't even sure he can speak, but he finds himself nodding again, automatically. He feels like he'd say yes to anything they want from him right now, just yes and more and please. There's little else going around his brain.

Harry's second finger really stretches him, but it doesn't hurt, he just feels—full, like he did from Louis's cock but it's different, the texture and the shape makes him feel like there's more inside of him than ever. He digs his fingers into Niall's knee as Harry and Louis fuck him with their fingers, clumsy and curious, seeing how he takes it.

"D'you want my cock now, Liam? Are you ready for it?" Louis asks after a moment, and his voice is all sweet and gentle, and Liam feels sure that he's showing off at this point, wanting the others to see what all of this reduces Liam to.

Liam makes a little noise of acquiescence, and then bites his lip as he feels their fingers slip back out of him.

"D'you wanna see me fuck him, Haz?" Louis asks, quieter now, and Liam recognises his tone of voice as the one that's meant just for Harry, that low whisper that the rest of them aren't supposed to hear but almost always do. "Yeah? You wanna see how much of a wreck I can make him?"

"Yeah," Harry breathes, "yeah, I wanna see. Can I go after?"

"Right after," Louis promises, and Liam shudders with anticipation, wondering how that'll feel. "Before he's had a chance to catch his breath."

Liam hears them kiss, then, messy and hungry. "Fuck, okay," Harry's voice sounds raw, eager. "Go on."

"Jesus," says Niall quietly from up near Liam's head, and he reaches down to touch Liam's hand where it's still clinging to his knee. "You sure you want this, Liam?"

Liam nods, emphatically, because even though his heart's pounding away like he's terrified and his mouth has gone dry he does. He really, really wants this. It's scaring him just how much. He concentrates on taking deep breaths as he listens to Louis preparing himself, and he thinks about the fact that they've done this before, remembers how amazing it was, soothes himself with the thought.

He feels Louis gently easing his legs up and he goes with it, exhaling shakily as Louis leans in close and he feels his cock nudge against him. It's hot and stiff and he can feel the pulse of it as it starts to push inside, and Liam calms further, concentrating on that feeling, the feeling of being stretched and filled ever so slowly. The room is so quiet and Liam can still feel everybody's eyes on him but it's a distant awareness now, dulled by the brighter, sharper sensation of Louis's cock spreading him open.

Louis guides himself in all the way and Liam feels him pressed close now, and he shifts, adjusting, letting his legs wrap around Louis's body just a little. He hears Niall swear quietly beside him, and then Louis asks, "You gonna open your eyes for me?"

Liam hesitates, still not sure if he can handle it, but—he didn't think he could handle any of this and he is, so far. He lets his eyelids flicker and open and the room comes back into view around him, Louis bowed over him and grinning cheekily, all flushed cheeks and sharp teeth, and Harry just behind, naked now, his hand resting possessively on Louis's lower back. He glances round, sees Niall and Zayn on each side of him, still dressed and looking almost as overwhelmed as he feels. It's scary, looking right into the others' eyes while this is happening, but it's a comfort, too, in a way he didn't expect. It settles him, makes him think he really can do this, because—because it's them. He can do anything with them by his side.

"You good?" Louis asks. "Ready?"

Liam manages an, "Uh huh," which comes out pretty weak and pathetic-sounding, and Louis smiles softly, his eyes crinkling as he gently starts to rock his hips. His cock shifts inside of Liam and Liam breathes in sharply, the pleasure of it even more intense than he remembered, better than anything else he's ever felt. Louis builds it up, gradually growing faster and deepening the thrusts until Liam's brain feels fuzzy and all of his nerves are tingling. Louis straightens up, holding Liam's thighs against his stomach, and drives his cock into him over and over, pulling Liam back onto it. It's like having an audience spurs him on, because Liam doesn't remember him fucking quite like this before, so quick and confident.

Liam wonders if he's still showing off for Harry's sake, maybe playing up to Harry's jealousy—he watches as Louis glances to the side, eyes twinkling as they meet Harry's. Harry's expression is dark and intense and he's just watching, taking it all in, his brow furrowed. Louis takes Liam's erection back in his hand, smoothing it over with the precome that's dripping from it, and Liam tenses suddenly, grabbing handfuls of the sheets under him.

"I want you to come, okay?" Louis tells him. "Want you to come now so you're proper relaxed for the others. Can you do that?"

Liam can't speak, but already he feels close, his whole body revelling in the feeling of getting fucked again after wanting it for what feels like so long.

"'Cause they're all gonna do this to you too," Louis goes on, teasing the tip of Liam's cock with his thumb like he's playing with him. "You're gonna take all four of us tonight, one after the other like you wanted. Four big cocks right in a row and you've got to relax for us, yeah? You've got to let us all in, 'cause we all wanna feel how hot and tight you are."

Liam feels like he's burning up, sure his cheeks must be crimson, but the words are pushing him even closer and Louis knows it, always knows the right buttons to press, even when they're buttons Liam didn't know he had. The others are just watching, silent and fascinated—stunned, Liam's sure, to see him this way.

"They all want a go on you, Liam," Louis teases, jerking him roughly now with quick flicks of his wrist, and his cock is sinking in deep and hitting that sweet spot and Liam shuts his eyes again and hears his breathing go wild like he's panting for it. "C'mon," Louis coaxes, "c'mon, almost there—"

Liam comes hard, and the spasms of it seem to last an age. His mind goes blissfully blank, and Louis has to keep milking it out of him 'til his whole hand is covered and Liam's stomach is drenched as well. When Liam comes down from it he's shivering, his hands numb from where he clenched his fists in the sheets so tight, and Louis's grinning at him like he's never seen anything better.

"Fuck," says Niall, "looks like you needed that, Liam."

He's struggling to get his jeans undone and Liam isn't sure where to look. Louis's fucking him slow now, easing him back into it, and Harry's closing in behind Louis on his knees, pressing his lips to his shoulder and then resting his chin there, watching. He won't really leave Louis alone, kissing his neck and murmuring things in his ear that Liam can't make out. It distracts Louis for a moment, makes his movements a little quicker and more jerky, but then he focuses himself, taking a hold of Liam's long legs and keeping them spread out in the air, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin under Liam's knees as he fucks into him. Louis was right, Liam's orgasm has relaxed him, but it's made him extra sensitive as well and the steady pressure of Louis's cock is sending him crazy.

When Liam looks back beside him Niall's got his fly open and his boxers pushed down, and his cock is poking out of his tight fist, firm and rosy-pink. Liam sort of gapes at it for a moment as it hits him that he did that, Niall's hard from watching him. Zayn shifts on Liam's other side and their eyes meet, and Zayn offers a smile that seems sort of tight. Liam realises then that he's the only one still fully-dressed, sweating through his t-shirt. He wonders anxiously if maybe Zayn's not as up for this as the others are, but then he notices how hard he is, his cock an obvious swelling in his jeans. He tries not to think about that, about the fact that before the night is over he'll have that cock inside of him, because it's just too much—he has to take this one step at a time.

Louis is laughing breathily and Liam glances back up at him to see that he's rolling his head to the side to let Harry suck a lovebite into his neck. His cock is still gliding in and out of Liam in fast easy strokes, even as he seems off in his own little world with Harry now. Liam doesn't feel ignored, exactly, as Louis fucks him almost mechanically and turns to kiss Harry with vigour, fingers tugging at his curls. It feels oddly familiar—the two of them using him to get at each other, that's something they've always done and Liam's never really minded—in a strange way it's always felt kind of special to be included in their insular little world.

"Are you gonna come?" Liam catches Harry whisper, rough and low against Louis's lips.

"Yeah," Louis's voice sounds high and tight and he's gripping a handful of Harry's hair, dark curls twined around his fingers, keeping Harry close. "Yeah, fuck."

"Do it, go on, fill him up. God, do it, Louis." Harry nips at Louis's earlobe and Louis falls forward, hand clutching Liam's waist and tightening there, and Liam feels it, the hot rush as Louis comes. Louis pulls out and Liam clenches up instinctively around the odd feeling, like he's both empty and full at the same time.

He does get a chance to catch his breath before Harry's turn, because Harry pulls Louis back and kisses him for a long moment. He's rocking against him and Liam sees that he's hard, rubbing up against Louis's hip. His cock is big, and Liam already knew that but never really considered in this context before, and he wonders how it'll feel and if it'll hurt and suddenly his nerves are all rushing back as he thinks about the fact that this is actually going to happen.

He's distracted by Zayn fumbling for something lost in the sheets and then Liam sees that he's holding out the lube, offering it to Harry. Liam's not actually sure he needs it, all slick inside from Louis's come, but he appreciates the gesture and offers Zayn a nervous smile.

Harry slicks his cock up quickly, and Liam can't take his eyes off it, how thick it looks even in Harry's large hands. Harry catches him watching and grins, bright and deceptively innocent, and then Louis's shuffling out of the way and Harry's taking his place between Liam's thighs. Liam lifts his legs instinctively, but Harry reaches down for his waist instead, pulling him up and turning him over onto his front. The movement causes Louis's come to start to slip out and Liam's face goes hot at the feeling as Harry arranges him how he wants him. There's something about this, being on all fours with come trickling down the inside of his thigh, that makes him simultaneously ashamed and turned on beyond belief, and he keeps his head ducked, confused and shying away from Niall and Zayn's eyes.

Then he feels Harry's fingers, cool and soft and dancing up his thigh, chasing the wet trail of Louis's come. Two of them open him back up easily, pushing and stretching, and Liam holds onto the sheets, the anticipation making him tremble. He's just thinking that it figures that Harry would tease him like this when suddenly the fingers are gone and replaced with the Harry's cock, heavy and huge and sinking in deep in one smooth thrust. Liam's breath stutters right out of him and he swears his vision almost whites out.

"He's bigger than me, isn't he?" Liam is vaguely aware of Louis saying then, when he comes back to earth, his voice sugary-sweet in his ear. "How does he feel?"

Liam can't even begin to find the words to describe it. Harry seems massive inside of him, so solid and thick, and Liam feels—full, just utterly full, and it's making it almost impossible to think.

"G-good," is all he manages in the end, and Louis kind of chuckles.

Harry draws back almost all the way, and Liam sucks in a breath that's punched right out of him again when Harry shoves back in harshly. Liam's cock twitches and a shiver runs down his spine. He doesn't think he could get hard again so soon after coming but he can feel himself trying, needing it, like he's still got more to give, and it's unbelievable.

"Harry," Louis admonishes, reaching to stroke Liam's back sympathetically. "Slow at first, yeah? Just because you like it rough doesn't mean everybody else does."

"I don't think he's complaining," Harry says in a sort of cheeky drawl, and does it again, that slow slide out and plunge back in, and Liam lets out a little involuntary sound this time as he's forced forwards on his hands and knees. "You like it, don't you?" Harry asks, sticky fingers wrapping around Liam's hips as he ups the ante, starting to pound into Liam without holding back at all.

"I'm fucking your come back into him," Harry says to Louis then, his voice low and almost ragged, and Liam clenches around him instinctively, biting his lip. Louis doesn't answer and Liam wonders if Harry's actually managed to stun him speechless.

It aches, the way Harry's just pummelling into him, but Liam knows he doesn't want him to slow down. It's just—making everything all the more intense, just on the very edge of being too much, and it's scary because Liam doesn't feel like he's in control at all, he feels like he's totally surrendering to Harry and he wonders if that's what Harry wants, wants to just get him to lose it and give in to the pleasure completely. He's pretty sure that's something about him that's always bothered Harry, the way he can't just go with his gut, the way he struggles to enjoy things fully sometimes because he can't get his brain to shut up.

"Tell me you like it," Harry says, voice low, and Liam can feel the incessant slap of his hips against his arse, the constant thick drag of his cock inside of him. It's making his cock start to fatten up again and he can't believe it, can't understand how it's possible. He opens his mouth but all that comes out is a helpless wail that he's too far gone to be embarrassed by, and he heaves his head up to see Niall staring at him, glassy-eyed, transfixed, his hand working his cock slick and fast.

"Liam, god, you're doing so good," Niall says and it comes out in a rush, his voice rougher than normal, gritty, and he cups Liam's chin to hold his head up as he presses a quick warm kiss to his forehead. Something about the contrast there, Niall's tender affection combined with Harry's ruthless pounding, makes Liam even harder and he grabs out and finds Zayn's thigh, grips it hard and holds on, whining. Harry just keeps at it, his hips snapping back and forth, cock slamming in deep.

Harry's rough thrusts are wracking his body and all Liam can do is take it, it's like he's paralysed from how good it feels, frozen stiff. The muscles in his arms are cramping from holding himself up and when Zayn shifts on the bed and moves a little closer, Liam drops his head into his lap gratefully, going down like a puppet getting its strings cut. Harry keeps Liam's arse in the air, his fingers biting into his hips and keeping him bouncing back onto his cock. Liam moans and the sound is muffled against the sweaty fabric of Zayn's jeans. His nose bumps against Zayn's erection through the denim and he hears Zayn breathe in sharply, but he barely registers it; everything feels hot and electric and his whole body is starting to tremble.

He clings to Zayn's thigh with one hand and the sheets with the other, stops trying to think and just feels, feels the thick hot shape of Harry's cock spreading him wide and fucking him raw, the rough denim of Zayn's jeans rubbing against his face and the damp heat of his own breath. His cock is bouncing up against his stomach repeatedly now and before he even knows what's happening he's coming again—shaking all over and crying out feebly, spurting onto the sheets as Harry keeps going, rocking Liam's body back and forth.

Harry fucks him right through it, until Liam's cock is just barely dripping, and then he slows gradually, leaning over him and rolling his hips gently. He comes a moment later and Liam's not sure he'd even notice except that he bites Liam's shoulder as he does it, hard. Liam feels the pulse of his come, and then Harry's licking out over the mark he's left, and his tongue feels oddly cool and soothing against Liam's fever-hot skin.

Harry pulls out gently and Liam feels oversensitised and bewildered, his whole body heavy and loose.

"Fucking hell, Haz," says Louis, finding his voice and sounding equal parts impressed and taken aback. "Liam, you okay?"

Liam mumbles something and tries to roll over, but can only flop down onto his side. The sheets are sticky and so's his chest and his stomach, and it's even worse between his legs, Harry and Louis's come beginning to drip out of him, making him squirm. It feels like—it feels like they're claiming him, filling him up and making him theirs, and the thought is too much to process. Zayn's hand smoothes over his forehead and Liam pushes into the touch appreciatively, making little incoherent sounds.

"Hmm," considers Louis. "Let's put it this way: can you still take two more?"

Liam whimpers at that. His mind is hazy, but he knows he doesn't want them to stop, doesn't want this to be over even though he's sore and exhausted. His legs are together, curled in, but now he splays them out, turning his arse up in answer.

"Liam, Christ. I've created a monster." Louis sounds awed. "Go on then, who's next?"

Liam tunes out for a moment and then realises that Niall's there, naked and pale and wedging himself in behind Liam's thighs, stroking him reassuringly.

"Liam, you're so amazing, you're—this is amazing," Niall says, quiet and sincere, leaning down to kiss Liam's hot cheek. "I'll go slow, okay? Tell me if it's too much."

"Uh huh," Liam manages, and Niall straightens back up. The mattress judders and Louis settles down next to them, budging Zayn over. Harry joins them, flopping his head down into Louis's lap. Louis's fingers card through his sweaty curls and Harry sighs happily, looking angelic as he smiles lazily back at Liam like he wasn't fucking him like an animal just moments ago.

"I assume you're gonna get out of those clothes at some point, Malik," says Louis, and Liam glances up to see that, though he's unzipped his fly now to relieve some of the pressure on his erection, Zayn's still fully dressed. "Unless you're planning to fuck Liam through your pants."

"Shut up," is Zayn's only response, and Louis looks at Liam and shrugs, grinning.

Niall presses the flat of his hand to Liam's arse, spreading him open a little more and gently dipping his thumb inside to feel just how wet he is. "God," he groans quietly, before fitting his cock there instead. It goes in smooth and easy but Liam is so tender that he's hyperaware of every inch, and when Niall starts to fuck him, little shallow bucks of his hips, Liam whimpers pathetically. It's good, so good, just intense, and he feels somehow more on display than he did before with the other three right here in front of him so he can see them watching. His eyes slide shut because the way they're looking at him is starting to make him feel prickly and hot, and Niall curves a sure hand over Liam's hip and starts to pick up speed.

He doesn't pull out too far, stays deep, rocking and grinding against the swell of Liam's arse and keeping him full.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, and Liam smiles sleepily. "God, you're just. You're so. I wish you could see yourself."

Liam doesn't even want to think about how he must look—totally ravaged, probably—and he squirms, shaking his head a little.

"No, you look gorgeous," Niall insists, his voice a little breathy and unsteady as he continues to rut against Liam, his cock dragging shallowly back and forth inside him. "You look so—happy, and your arse, jesus, you're just—you're so pink and wet and open..."

Liam squirms again, more violently this time, and Niall has to hold him still, fingertips pressing into the skin of his hip. His face feels hot and he turns it into the sheets.

"Dirty mouth, Niall," Louis observes, tutting. "You're making him blush."

Niall chuckles and starts to go at him a little harder, spreading his other hand out at the base of Liam's spine and thrusting more quickly, moaning. Liam's toes curl at the sound and he grasps hold of the sheets.

"God, he's so—eager," Zayn says then, so quiet Liam almost misses it, and it's only then that he realises he's moving back to meet Niall's thrusts, grinding back against his hips to take him back in deep every time he starts to ease out. He's embarrassed but he can't make himself stop; it's like his body's moving of its own accord, just wanting more.

"Yeah. Fuck." Niall shifts, pushing Liam's thigh forward just a little to tilt his arse up further, and the change of angle gets him grazing Liam's prostate every few thrusts. Liam shudders involuntarily but then Niall goes all slow and shallow again and Liam lets out a little frustrated noise before he can help himself, wriggling back into the cradle of Niall's hips. He's too worn out to do it properly, to fuck himself on Niall's cock, but he tries, weakly shifting his hips back against Niall and riding against him.

"Liam, can you—I just wanna see—" Niall murmurs, and then Liam feels a fingertip stroking around his rim, teasing and touching where he's being filled. Liam goes still instantly and feels it slip in, and it's so quick and easy that Niall moans out, "God, Liam," and Liam shivers at the sound of his name being said like that. Niall tries a second finger and this time Liam really feels the stretch of it, and it feels strange but good and he realises he'd even let Niall put a third in if he wanted to. He'd let him do anything.

"Fucking hell," Louis swears, watching, "Liam, you're—you're being so fucking good."

Liam whimpers as Niall starts in on him again, speeding up, fucking him with his cock and his fingers at the same time. His thrusts are uneven and wild and he's kneading at the skin of Liam's thigh with his other hand.

"God, look at him taking it," Louis goes on, his voice breathy, "god, I bet—I bet he could take two of us at the same time."

Liam lets out a shocked little sound and tenses up, and Niall groans long and low and comes suddenly, digging his fingernails into Liam's thigh. He rides it out and stays inside even when it's over, and Liam feels faint and a bit like the room is spinning until Niall leans down over him and nuzzles his cheek. Their noses brush together and Niall looks smiley and sated, and a little bit sheepish. His hair is sticking up in odd directions with sweat and his cheeks are spotted pink.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, and kisses Liam's chin when Liam nods.

Niall straightens up and carefully slides out, and Liam hears him hiss quietly to himself.

"He's all yours," he says to Zayn then, and Liam wonders vaguely if that means he's gonna have to move. He lies there in a bit of a daze, watching out of the corner of his eye as Zayn sheds his clothes, still distantly wondering why he kept them all on until now. Niall takes Zayn's place beside the others, slumping on Louis's shoulder and snuggling up close.

Zayn clambers back onto the bed and Liam smiles sleepily at him in greeting, but Zayn looks oddly serious, intent. He moves in close and turns Liam over gently, rolling him onto his back and then hitching him a little further up the bed so his head rests properly against the pillows, and Liam sprawls out, sighing at the cool feel of the sheets against his hot skin. He wiggles his hips a bit, trying to get comfortable—he feels so hot and sticky between his legs, this slight dull ache, but he also feels empty, and despite the soreness he still finds himself waiting impatiently for Zayn to fill him back up.

He wishes he could say so, because Zayn is taking his time, getting Liam settled around him. Liam whimpers pathetically because he's not sure he has the muscle strength to keep his legs up anymore, but once Zayn's got his cock lined up he hooks his arms under Liam's knees and holds them up for him. Liam is a little worried that he might be kind of disgusting by now, loose and too wet, but he watches Zayn's face as he begins to slide in slowly and he looks like—like this is the best thing he's ever felt. He doesn't guide himself, his hands too busy curling around Liam's thighs and holding him close, and Liam shudders, so sensitive now that it almost hurts. He can feel his eyes pricking with tears, but he nods weakly, and Zayn goes slow, so slow it's torturous, drawing carefully back out of him before letting himself glide in again.

He leans in, hands flat against the mattress either side of Liam's shoulders as he pushes as deep as he can go and stays there, eyes closed, forehead pressed to Liam's as he breathes in shakily. Liam squirms a little under him from the pressure of his cock so solid and still, and Zayn opens his eyes, stares right into Liam's as he begins to fuck him, hips rocking back and forth slow, making sure Liam feels the whole length of his cock driving in and out. Liam shudders again, barely able to take the way Zayn's staring at him so intensely. His mouth falls open as Zayn churns his hips and finds Liam's prostate, nudges firmly against it and makes Liam gasp.

"Can you get hard again, Li?" Zayn asks, his voice low and serious, barely a murmur, like this isn't for anyone else to hear. "I want to make you come."

Liam's toes curl tightly and he draws up a fistful of the sheets in his hand. There's no way, he thinks, shaking his head, but he can feel his cock starting to swell up already, as if on command. When Zayn drags over his prostate again he cries out loud, and holds onto him instead of the sheets, one hand curling round the back of Zayn's neck and the other around his skinny waist. Zayn picks up the pace and all Liam can do is cling to him, his eyes welling up. He feels strangely small, curled up under Zayn like this, limbs draped all over him, fingers clutching him tight.

The persistent deep press of Zayn's cock inside is so good Liam feels almost doped up on it, only realises he's smiling when his cheeks start to ache. His face is wet with tears and he's exhausted, drained, completely fucked-out, and yet he feels like he doesn't want Zayn to ever stop fucking him. He runs his fingers over the soft hair at the nape of Zayn's neck, and Zayn leans in close again, close enough for Liam to bury his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Liam inhales deeply, the familiar comforting smell of Zayn's favourite cologne mixed with his sweat, and he sighs out contentedly, wrapping himself more tightly around him.

Zayn eases back a little. "You good?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," Liam gets out, gasping, and Zayn moves back in. When their lips meet it happens so easily and naturally that it takes Liam a second to process, but there's nothing he wants more than just to go with it, part his lips for Zayn's tongue, and the kiss is salty and deep, slow and languid, and Liam feels like it could go on forever.

His cock is throbbing, caught between their stomachs and slicking their skin, and when Zayn pulls back and straightens up Liam thinks he's going to reach for it but he doesn't, instead shifting Liam's legs so that they're hooked over his shoulders and then leaning right back in, pinning Liam's thighs to his stomach and shoving his cock so deep it makes Liam tremble.

"Okay?" Zayn breathes, still watching him closely.

Liam nods, unable to speak, and Zayn draws out and slams in again with another harsh heave of his hips. Zayn kisses his neck, licks along a vein there and Liam turns his head, and it's only then that he's reminded of their audience, the other three sitting silent and watchful beside them. There's something in their faces that seems different, something about the way they've gone quiet like they don't want to disturb, but Liam is too out of it to give it any more thought. He feels a buzzing in the base of his spine as his erection rubs between his own thighs and against Zayn's stomach, and Zayn kneels up straight again, knowing what Liam needs, spreading his legs and taking his cock in hand. Liam's body jerks at the firmness of the touch, his skin feeling raw and hot under Zayn's palm. Zayn finds a rhythm, fucking him and stroking him in tandem, until Liam is almost thrashing under him with how intense it feels. Zayn holds him steady, working his cock relentlessly until Liam's orgasm is ripped from him and he clings desperately to Zayn's hips, spilling weakly over Zayn's fist and letting out a helpless, choked sob.

His body is tingling so much in the aftermath that he's just on the verge of going totally numb, maybe even passing out, but then Zayn's running two fingers through the mess of come on Liam's quivering stomach and tucking them between his own lips, tongue rolling over and between to gather the taste. Liam stares and shakes and clenches so tight around Zayn's cock that Zayn comes too, like he can't help it, suddenly letting out a sharp gasp and going rigid. Liam is transfixed, gazing at him, at his parted lips and fluttering eyelashes, but just as quickly as his orgasm came, it's over, and Zayn's pulling out and slumping back, his chest heaving and a look on his face that Liam can't read.

Liam goes limp without Zayn keeping him up, his limbs spreading out until he's in a sort of starfish shape. He lies there for a long moment, still reeling, until the sheets are uncomfortably wet beneath him and he becomes slowly aware of the come leaking out from between his open, trembling thighs.

"Oh god," he mutters. "Oh, god."

He starts to roll over, to curl into a tight ball, but Louis stops him, leaping into action and pulling him into a cuddle instead.

"No no," he says firmly. "None of that."

He overpowers him easily, because Liam is incredibly weak right now, and Liam hides his face in Louis's shoulder, shaking and hot and sore.

Louis holds him tight, kisses the top of his head gently. "Liam, Liam, it's okay, yeah? That was amazing. You're amazing. Unbelievable. Awesome. Fantastic. Ridiculously fucking incredible."

The others chip in, echoing the sentiment, and Liam's face burns but he can't help smiling at the praise, feeling dizzy and out of it, somehow ashamed and proud at the same time.

"Haz, fetch us a flannel and some water, okay?" Louis murmurs, and strokes Liam soothingly, smoothing his hands over Liam's body. In fact, Liam can feel several hands doing that, so he assumes Zayn and Niall have joined in as well.

Harry returns from the bathroom and Liam buries his face further into Louis's shoulder when he feels someone gently mopping between his legs. It feels amazing, actually, the cool soft cloth where he's so hot and sore, but it's embarrassing. He's too dazed to be properly mortified, to worry about the noises he made and the way his body begged for more, but he still feels vulnerable and exposed. He should want to hide from them, he thinks, but instead he wants to cling, keep them closer. Louis gently eases him onto his back again so they can wipe the come off his tummy and his thighs, and then Zayn's coaxing him to sit up, proffering a little plastic cup of water.

Zayn looks so loving and Liam feels a wave of something cresting somewhere in his belly, a dizzy sort of adoration for all of them, the way they love and trust and accept him unconditionally. He doesn't know what you're supposed to do with something like that, it feels like he could be crushed under the weight of it and it's scary, but at the same time he wants to cling to it and make sure it never goes away.

"Liam, c'mon," Zayn says softly, grounding him, "have a drink."

Liam obeys, partly because his throat does feel a bit dry but mostly because of the gesture, because of the way it feels like they're all taking care of him, making sure he's okay. He supposes that's what all of this was, really, and his eyes start welling up again. He usually tries not to let the others take responsibility for him, because he's always had this strange determination to be the strong one, to not need anything from them, to not depend on them for too much because he knows it could get dangerous when half the time they're all he has. But now he knows how good it feels to put everything in their hands and he just wants more, wants to just lie here and let them look after him, wants to glut himself on their care and their love.

"Li-am," Niall sing-songs gently. "Liam, we love you." He clambers over Louis and snuggles into Liam's side. "Hope you can walk tomorrow."

Liam laughs hoarsely, remembering the busy day ahead. He's going to be sore, that's for certain, but he remembers how he felt the first few days after the first time with Louis, how strangely refreshed and relaxed he was. The others' teasing had made him nervous, of course, but for a little while work had seemed so much easier without the tension locked in his muscles and the miserable thoughts in his mind. He can only hope that tomorrow will be like that times four.

Louis finds a clean patch of the flannel and dabs gently at Liam's face with it, cleaning away the sweat and the tear tracks. "God, you look wrecked," he says fondly, caressing Liam's blotchy cheeks. "You're gorgeous."

He takes the flannel and the cup back into the bathroom and Harry and Zayn crowd in around Liam, cuddling in close. Liam needs that right now. It should be uncomfortable when his whole body is overheated and aching, but he wants the others as close as they can be.

"D'you think we'd all fit in that shower?" Louis asks as he comes back into the room, pointing back over his shoulder. "It looks pretty big."

"I don't wanna shower," says Liam, and doesn't recognise his own voice for a second, it sounds so croaky. "I wanna sleep."

Louis laughs, but clambers onto the bed anyway, joining them in their sticky huddle. "Flannels can only do so much, love. If we sleep now we might all wake up stuck together."

Liam's last thought before his eyes drift shut is that he might not actually mind that so much.

End.

someone who knows how to ride. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-07-23T13:19:45Z

Title: someone who knows how to ride
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s (god, when is that not one of my warnings), unprotected sex, hair-pulling, really mild breathplay and comeplay.
Summary: "You could just fuck me," says Louis almost conversationally. He's moving at a leisurely sort of pace, just gently rocking back and forth now, tiny movements that drive Harry mad. "Could just grab hold of me, make me bounce on your dick like you want. But you're not gonna do that, are you?" (~3,000 words)
A/N: Just a little PWP because it's been a while since I've written anything. :) Title from 'Pony' from Ginuwine.

"Are you gonna be good for me?" Louis asks, stroking Harry's cheek tenderly, just a brush of fingertips to cheekbone.

Harry's eyelashes flutter. "Uh huh," he murmurs, giving a little nod and watching as Louis smiles in response.

"Uh huh? Will I still be able to feel you tomorrow?" Louis asks, his voice sweet, and Harry nods again, right away. "Are you gonna make it so I'm aching for hours, so I can hardly even walk?" Louis ducks in, nipping at Harry's ear with his teeth, and the combination of that and his dirty words makes Harry squirm.

"Yeah," Harry says, grinning when Louis laughs, his warm breath tickly.

Louis reaches for the lube, drizzles some into his cupped palm and reaches down to smooth it over the length of Harry's cock. It's a perfunctory gesture, he rarely lets Harry have his hand or his mouth before they fuck. He wants Harry to be overwhelmed by the tightness of his arse, to go from nothing to sudden slick tight heat. He doesn't want to warm him up.

Even so, the quick once-over of Louis's hand on his dick makes Harry's body jolt. The friction is so good when he's been achingly hard for what feels like forever, lying still beside Louis and obediently not touching himself as he watched Louis get himself ready, fucking himself with three fingers until he was writhing and Harry was desperate to feel what those fingers were feeling. Louis smirks at the little whimper Harry lets out as his hand leaves him, the way his hips instinctively buck up for more.

"Don't worry, babe," he whispers, smiling sweetly as he strokes just one finger up the shaft of Harry's cock and watches it jump. "I'm gonna give you something better, yeah?"

Harry nods, looking pleadingly into Louis's eyes. "Yeah, much better," he says, and then before he can help it, a "please, Lou," tumbles out right after.

Louis grins, tilting his head to the side like he's having second thoughts, and Harry knows it's just because Louis wants to hear his frustrated little whine. Louis relents, shifting, throwing a leg over Harry's midriff, and Harry's heart rate speeds up instantly with anticipation. Louis eases himself up, so he's straddling him, careful to avoid Harry's cock until he's settled where he wants to be, knees either side of Harry's waist. He has to reach behind himself, guide Harry's cock in, and the grip of his fingers round the base as the head is pressed between the cheeks of Louis's arse makes Harry groan and squirm, impatient.

"Hey," says Louis sharply, taking Harry by the face with his other hand, and this time it's not gentle; he holds Harry's jaw firmly, forces eye contact. "Said you were gonna be good for me. So stay still."

Harry nods right away, as much as he can, blurting out apologies. It's hard to think when he can feel Louis's skin against his like that, and the promise of more. Louis nudges down just a little further and Harry feels a flutter of muscle against the very tip of his cock and so much heat and pressure that he feels dizzy.

Louis sinks down slow, and Harry's enveloped inch by inch, tight heat pulling him right in, and he's gasping, trying to keep still, fighting the urge to just thrust his hips up. Louis has his head tipped back, and Harry focuses on the length of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows and the cut of his jaw. He always looks so good when he's taking Harry's cock, flushed right down to his chest, face tight with concentration.

Finally Harry is all the way inside, Louis's arse nestled against his lap, and he trembles with the effort of keeping still, feeling the hot press all around his cock. Louis's hands settle on Harry's chest as he rolls his hips, letting out a breathy moan.

"Fuck," he says, voice shaky. He drops his head, looking at Harry's face again. "Yeah, babe. So big, aren't you? Feel fucking huge inside me."

Harry can't speak, can only bite his lip and gaze up at him.

"You stretch me so wide, yeah? And I can feel you so deep." Louis brushes a hand over his tummy, the slight swell of it, and Harry sort of whimpers at that. "You want me to move?"

"Uh huh." Harry's voice sounds strained, and Louis smiles, almost triumphant.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck myself on your cock?"

"Please, Lou," Harry begs, voice cracking, "pleasepleaseplease."

Louis churns his hips again, a tight little circle, Harry's cock shifting inside him, and Harry whines again desperately.

"You could just fuck me," says Louis almost conversationally. He's moving at a leisurely sort of pace, just gently rocking back and forth now, tiny movements that drive Harry mad. "Could just grab hold of me, make me bounce on your dick like you want. But you're not gonna do that, are you?"

Harry shakes his head, pulling at the sheets 'til he's got fabric clasped tight in his fists.

Louis shakes his head too, echoing the movement. "No, you're not. You're gonna wait, aren't you? 'Til I'm ready."

Harry's response is wordless, more of a sort of weak sound of agreement, but he means it. He's going crazy fighting his body's urge to move, but in his mind he knows he doesn't want to, he wants this, wants to have to lie here helpless until Louis decides he's teased him enough.

And thankfully Louis doesn't drag it out much longer; Harry knows it's hard for him, too, making himself wait. He pulls up, steadying himself with his hands splayed out on Harry's chest, and then pushes back down on him, and Harry gasps and nods and grips the sheets even tighter. Louis eases up again, almost all the way off, and then quits messing about and starts riding Harry properly, fingernails digging into his chest as he works himself up and down.

He moans, and all Harry can do is watch him, staring at the place where their bodies meet, catching glimpses of his own cock disappearing inside of Louis. He drags his eyes up to the weight of Louis's balls, heavy and full, and the stiff shaft of his cock slapping against his belly as he moves. Louis's chest is reddened and his biceps are thick and tensing as he holds himself up, and when Harry reaches his face he sees Louis's watching him too, grinning wickedly and out of breath as he slams himself down on Harry's cock over and over.

Harry moans openly as Louis picks up the pace, and Louis shakes his head at him, making a breathless sort of tutting sound. "Walls are thin here, remember?" he says, and then suddenly one of his hands is clamped down over Harry's mouth, palm sweaty and firm and shutting Harry up.

Harry lets out a huff of breath through his nose, twisting helplessly under Louis as Louis keeps it up, rocking back and forth now and keeping Harry deep, so Harry can feel him all around. It's so good he's gone lightheaded and he has to remind himself to keep breathing, Louis's hand ensuring that he can't use his mouth for that—or for anything else.

"Do you want to touch me?" Louis asks, slowing down, going maddeningly slow again and smirking.

Harry nods frantically, makes pathetic sounds into Louis's hot palm, trying to speak though it all comes out muffled and incomprehensible. Louis takes pity on him and removes his hand, and Harry sucks in a breath so fast he almost chokes on it. Louis murmurs something, maybe there, there, and soothes a hand through his hair, fingers teasing the damp curls.

"Please Lou, yeah," Harry gets out, "please."

Louis just quirks an eyebrow, still gently bucking in Harry's lap, riding his cock all lazy as he twines his fingers in Harry's hair, just playing with it. Playing with him.

"I wanna touch you," Harry pleads, "please let me."

"Hmm," says Louis, contemplating. He tugs gently at Harry's hair now, wrapping the curls around his fingers and pulling just a little so Harry's head is jerked to the side. Then he yanks harder, hard enough that Harry cries out at the sharp pain in his scalp and his head is pulled right up off the pillow an inch or so. But he takes it, staring into Louis's eyes, his own beginning to water as he waits it out for the few seconds Louis keeps him there before letting go. Harry's head drops back down onto the pillow and Louis says, "Okay," softly, grinning, "now you can touch me."

Harry releases the sheets from his grip and his hands ache from being clenched into fists for so long, almost cramping. He can't decide which part of Louis's body he most wants to touch, and his greedy hands go to Louis's arse first, fingers squeezing and kneading gently at the hot flesh and brushing between so he can feel where he's inside, where Louis is stretched around him. He's clumsy then, wanting to touch everywhere—fitting his fingers into the dimples in Louis's lower back, clutching Louis's biceps and feeling the strength of them, the muscle flexing beneath the skin. He clings to Louis's soft waist, his hips, and then he finally gets to his cock, so hard it's dripping. Louis can go so long without touching it when he's got Harry inside him, Harry wonders if he could even come like that, just from Harry's dick—but right now Harry just wants to feel it in his hand, the pulse of it, the precome getting his fingers sticky.

Louis moans quietly as soon as Harry wraps a fist around it, starts riding him quicker, so Harry's hand is sliding over him messily, losing rhythm. His thighs tremble a little and his eyes squeeze shut, and Harry feels him tighten around his cock, sudden and harsh and so good that Harry forgets himself for a second, goes still. Louis gets it together quickly, pushing Harry's hand away.

"No, stop, don't wanna come yet," he pants out.

He repositions, swiveling round and getting Harry's cock in deep again, and Harry's faced with a back view, Louis seated in his lap, his gorgeous arse round and full.

"Love the way you look like this, babe," Louis breathes, like he's voicing Harry's thoughts. He grasps Harry's knees, lifts himself up and sinks back down slow like he's savouring the feel of Harry opening him up. "Love your long legs. Your thighs, fuck. Wanna see your toes curl."

It doesn't take much—the change of angle is good, so good, when Louis starts moving again, his arse bouncing and his heels digging into Harry's waist. When he leans further forward, Harry can see himself sliding in and out, his cock splitting Louis open and Louis fucking himself on it fast, riding the thick length inside of him. Louis hitches his hips up, stretches out beautifully along Harry's body, his back arched, and Harry grabs at him again just to hold on, thumbs pressed into soft skin.

He can feel something curling in the base of his spine, and he knows it's too soon, knows it's hardly even worth asking, but—"Lou, I'm—I feel like I'm gonna come."

"Well, don't," Louis says simply, tossing his head back and grinding down against Harry, slowing down again and Harry feels the ache get a little more distant. "I'm not done with you yet."

He turns back around and Harry's struck by how graceful he is, the way he moves with Harry's cock inside him like it's just—like it's meant to be there. The thought makes Harry feel that twist like he's close again and he tries to fight it off, but Louis is—god, Louis, his eyes wicked and his mouth curling into a smile, and that relentless slick heat of his arse around Harry's cock.

Harry hears himself chanting Louis's name, over and over, pleading with him to let him come, and Louis shakes his head at first then grows exasperated, suddenly grabs Harry by the neck. Harry's words die out instantly. Louis's grip isn't tight, but there's enough pressure to make Harry feel a little bubble of something in his chest between excitement and fear, Louis's thumb pressing gently into the hollow of his throat and making him gulp.

"No," Louis says firmly. "Not 'til I do. 'Cause this isn't about you, is it? This about me getting myself off on your cock, isn't it, that's what you want."

Harry nods, and the movement makes the pressure on his throat increase and he feels dazed from it, staring up into Louis's eyes and forgetting about his own orgasm entirely. "Yeah," he says, voice barely there.

Louis lets up a little, just laying his hand lightly over Harry's neck, with the unspoken assurance that he could tighten it at any moment. "Yeah," he echoes teasingly. "It's about me using you for my own pleasure, because that's what you like, isn't it Harry? You like being used, yeah?"

Harry sort of gasps, and it's the only thing he can do besides nod.

"Maybe I'll just use your dick 'til I'm satisfied and I won't let you come at all," Louis taunts, but Harry can tell he's losing his composure, his voice getting weaker and his rhythm more frantic like he can't really help himself, like he's just riding himself ever closer.

Harry reaches out to hold onto Louis's thighs and Louis grabs at his hands, forcing them back and pinning them to the bed. He's lost his words, though, which Harry knows must mean he's right on the edge, and Harry just tries to focus on not coming until Louis's brought himself there.

Louis's still not touching his cock, just letting it rub against Harry's stomach, his abs, leaving Harry's skin shining with precome. The friction is apparently enough, because suddenly he's coming, swearing and digging his fingernails into Harry's wrists and shooting hot stripes over Harry's torso. Harry has to try really hard not to come then, when he feels the shuddering pulse around his cock. He bites his lip through it, watches as Louis comes down, listens to the way his breathing's gone all erratic. There's a look of something like surrender on his face, all peace and bliss like his mind's gone blank for once, and his grip on Harry's wrists slowly lets up, his limbs going looser. He looks beautiful, his features soft and his mouth slack.

He laughs after, like he always does, exhilarated from orgasm, and slowly starts to pick up the pace again, heaving his hips up and bringing them back down, keeping Harry's cock sliding inside of him even though he's so oversensitised from just coming.

"So good," Louis murmurs, his voice all rough, sounding worn out, "your cock always makes me come so hard. Look at that."

His hand goes to Harry's stomach and Harry's eyes follow it, looking at the splashes of white painting his skin. Louis slides a finger through the mess he's left, trailing it up to Harry's chest and collecting come on his fingertip, and Harry finds that his mouth is wet and open with anticipation, waiting for it. Louis just smirks at him and rubs his finger all over Harry's lips, making them glisten, before sweeping his whole palm through the slickness on Harry's torso and bringing it up to Harry's mouth. Harry whimpers embarrassingly, sticking his tongue right out for it, not even caring how desperate he looks, and Louis gives it to him, lets Harry lick it all off.

He keeps on riding Harry, clenching around him, and the combination of the tight squeeze of Louis's arse and the taste of his come makes Harry feel like something inside him is about to explode. Louis shoves two fingers into his mouth and Harry sucks on them almost gratefully, messy and noisy. He's vaguely aware that he's got spit and come dribbling down his chin and it should be fucking humiliating but Louis's murmuring to him about how gorgeous he looks, how good he is at getting Louis off, how he can come now because he deserves it, he can fill Louis up because he's been a good boy—

—and Harry comes, brain almost shutting right down as he does, orgasm coursing through him like a wave that pulls him right under with the intent to drown. When it lets him back up for air his head feels foggy and he's trembling, and Louis is petting at him.

"Hi," says Louis softly, stroking damp fingers across Harry's cheek.

Harry nuzzles into the touch, blinking dazedly. "Hi," he manages, voice gravelly.

"You nearly bit my fingers off, you little menace," Louis says fondly, and Harry has a vague recollection of clamping down with his teeth when Louis waves his hand in front of his eyes to show the indentations in the skin.

"Sorry," says Harry, though he's not, terribly, because the marks look deep enough to last until tomorrow and it's always nice when they leave something on each other, especially when they're in front of cameras and crowds all day and they need a reminder of what goes on behind closed doors. Louis doesn't seem all that bothered either, probably for the same reason.

"You okay?" he asks, pushing Harry's sweaty fringe back from his forehead. He still hasn't moved from Harry's lap, always likes to keep Harry's cock inside him for as long as possible, and Harry's not quite soft yet.

"Yeah. I love you." Harry says it half through a yawn, and Louis chuckles at him.

"I love you too." He straightens up, climbing off Harry with a sort of sigh, and then rests a gentle hand on Harry's stomach. "All right if I leave you for a minute to go clean up?"

"Uh huh," Harry says, because he kind of likes to watch Louis go, to see the way his knees buckle once his feet hit the floor, every time without fail. "If you bring me a flannel."

Louis leans down and presses a kiss to Harry's chest, right over his heart. "Demanding," he tuts, grinning.

Harry smiles sleepily back at him. "Hmm. Look who's talking."

End.

with the hope that you would tame me (1/2). liam/louis, nc-17.

2012-07-05T12:27:09Z

Title: with the hope that you would tame me
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Liam/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Pain!kink, D/s, and a little bit of blood. Pain used as a coping mechanism. Liam is seventeen.
Summary: Once, on a dull night off, Liam tries asking Google on a whim. He stares at the blinking cursor in the search bar for a while, trying to figure out how to phrase it, because something tells him "why does my mate like it when I hit him" won't bring up a lot of helpful results. (~14,300 words)
A/N: EXPERIMENTS IN SUB!LOUIS. Sort of. Many thanks to tracedust. ♥ Title from Hot Chip's 'One Life Stand'.

Louis can't know that it's what he wants, not until it happens. But he's pretty sure. He's had an inkling for a while, ever since sixth form when he and Hannah used to wrestle playfully and he enjoyed it maybe more than he should, when she'd knock the wind out of him or pin his arms above his head or tickle him 'til he cried mercy. He's usually pretty competitive, but this was different, because he never really felt the urge to fight her or try and beat her at the game. At the time he figured it was maybe just because she was a girl or something, but in retrospect it's really just because he didn't want to. He liked the physicality of her attacking him, and he didn't need to make any effort, really, to get that to happen.

It only became obvious that he liked it when The X Factor started and he found himself missing their playfights almost more than he missed her. He tried hurting himself a little bit as an experiment, tugging on his own hair like she sometimes would or pinching himself hard, and then at some point he found himself doing those things while wanking furtively and after that it was pretty easy to connect the dots. It just felt good, made him come harder, and he was always so much more relaxed afterwards.

The complicated part came when he connected a few more dots and realised he'd been trying to goad the others into fighting him all this time. He honestly hadn't even been aware he was doing it, at first, thought it was just boyish roughhousing brought on by the way they were all so physical with each other anyway. But then he realised no one was actually joining in, that he was just doing it because he wanted someone to retaliate, and he couldn't stop—can't stop—and that's maybe a bit weird.

But it's just small things, mostly. He gets Zayn into a headlock sometimes and messes with his hair, but even though that'll piss Zayn off he just tends to call Louis a wanker and kind of half-heartedly bat at him, too distracted worrying about the damage Louis's done to bother with payback. Niall's tricky too, because Louis can never really bring himself to hurt him. Usually he'll just be as irritating as possible instead, in the hopes Niall might lose his patience and shove him away, sick of Louis singing Ke$ha songs directly into his ear all day or whatever else Louis has deemed appropriately annoying. Niall has endless patience, though, and for the most part he just seems to find Louis's antics hilarious, and not maddening at all.

So then there's Liam, and Harry, and if Louis's honest with himself he will admit that he goes for them the most. He's not sure why, because he's definitely not getting anywhere with them, but there's just something that draws him to them more often than Zayn and Niall. Liam, he likes to slap across the face, and he likes to pinch his nipples too, twist them 'til they sting. It's partly just because his reaction is amusing, the way he'll always act so startled even though Louis does it all the time, but of course Louis is secretly hoping one day Liam will react with something other than vague shock and actually do it back.

Harry is nearly impossible. Harry puts up with anything. Louis learnt this quickly, after a couple of weeks of fruitless harassment. He doesn't know if Harry just has a very high tolerance for both irritation and pain, or lacks the normal human fight-or-flight response, but even hitting him in the balls has little effect. Harry's response to that is just a lot of groaning and clutching at himself without ever considering getting revenge. He'll be cuddling Louis again ten minutes later, and Louis just doesn't understand what's wrong with everybody and what they have against putting him in his place.

He tickles Niall for what feels like half an hour, once, and Niall just sort of wriggles about and laughs like a hyena and tells Louis to stop a couple of times through hysterical giggles, but never actually makes any attempt to get him to. Eventually Louis gives up, slumping back on the sofa and lamenting, "Why doesn't anyone just like, kick me when I'm being annoying?"

"You were sitting on my legs," Niall points out, which is a fair point, and then, "also, we're all a little scared of you, mate."

Louis lets out a frustrated whine and stomps off, which probably seems like a bit of a weird response, but Niall doesn't question it. Which is annoying, really, because maybe if they talked it out Niall would agree to hit Louis round the face or something just so Louis could get this thing out of his system, finally know how it actually feels. But Louis can't exactly bring it up with anyone; it's embarrassing to think of saying it out loud, easier to let his body do the talking even though no one seems to listen.

It's not fair on the others, this whole thing, but Louis doesn't know what else he can do. He needs this. He can still hurt himself, but that's not really right, that's something he can control and expect and what he wants is for it to be unpredictable. Still, it's better than nothing, pulling at his own nipples while he's bringing himself off, biting hard into the soft flesh of his own arm, deliberately keeping his palm dry around his cock so it drags a little on the downstroke. He's always in this weird mood after, where he's happy to just sit still and listen to things and let the world go on around him. The only thing he can really compare it to is how it felt when he went to the hospital after he got stung by the sea urchin in Marbella, and they put him on all these powerful meds that made it feel like everything was good and nothing really mattered. Which is funny, really, because actually being stung in the first place felt pretty similar, and it seems odd for both pain and pain medication to put him in the same frame of mind.

Louis's really starting to pick up on patterns, starting to figure this thing out. He's realised that if he gets twitchy during interviews it'll help for him to pinch himself, the pain a distraction from his boredom or his agitation at having to sit still or his frustration at the reporter for asking the same questions as everyone else. If he's too hyped up on a night out or after a concert he'll find himself being a little more reckless with his own body, a little less spatially aware, and if he knocks into some furniture or goes over on his ankle it just calms him down, somehow. Pain seems to be able to bring him back to earth or make him drift off somewhere else, depending on what he needs it to do, and he's pretty sure it's not the effect it's supposed to have—other people get upset or angry when they're in pain, but Louis just...welcomes it. It does different things to him, but as far as he can tell, they're all pretty good. He doesn't know if that means some wires are crossed wrongly in his brain or something but if he's honest, he doesn't really care.

For the most part, anyway. Sometimes he worries about it, because he does so many things without thinking, just follows an impulse and it really feels like someday he could injure himself badly. By the time they're halfway into the X Factor tour he feels like he's losing his mind. He and Hannah have been drifting apart for months, Louis's busy schedule putting a lot of strain on their relationship, and they've finally decided to just take a break and see if that solves anything, but Louis feels like he needs her now more than ever. It's starting to feel like no one will ever ask him about this thing, and everyone is just going to go on acting like it's perfectly fine that Louis is regularly tormenting them for no apparent reason. It's not even something he feels he can control, he's just needling everyone all the time and being a total nuisance and he sort of hates himself for it but he can't fucking stop. Everybody's getting a little testy with him and Zayn yells at him a few times but that's it; they just seem to be going from one day to the next without anything ever actually happening. The shows help to get out some of the frustration, the excess energy Louis seems to have, but he's still aching for something else, something it's starting to feel like he might never get.

And then one day, Liam breaks. Louis's in Liam's hotel room after lunch on a day off and just nagging at him, trying to persuade him to come on an adventure with him outside and see how long it takes them to get lost, and even though it's pretty obvious that Liam's really not in the mood, Louis can't make himself shut up.

"C'mon c'mon c'mon," he pesters, "just for a bit, like, see how far away from the hotel we can get in twenty minutes."

"I want a nap, Louis," Liam says, and his voice sounds a little tight. Before, he was apologetic, telling Louis how sorry he was that he was a bit tired and how he'd maybe rather have a bit of a lie-down before dinner, but now his patience is clearly beginning to wear thin.

"Liiiiiiam," Louis whines, giving him a little half-hearted shove, hands on his chest.

Surprisingly, Liam responds to that, shoving Louis back—just a little, even more gentle, not like he really means it but even so—

"Come on," Louis demands, shoving Liam a little harder in the shoulder. "C'mon c'mon c'mon." He punctuates each word with a slap to Liam's cheek, and Liam is smiling, rolling his eyes, putting up with it—but when Louis brings his hand back down and gets in Liam's face, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously, suddenly Liam slaps him back, for the very first time. He laughs like it's a bit of a game as his palm swiftly bats Louis's cheek, and Louis loses all of his remaining sense in about two seconds flat.

He knows, logically, that the best thing to do would probably be to play it cool, to act like Liam's won and leave it for another couple of days and then go through this all again, get him to reach breaking point for the second time. Or maybe to slap Liam right back, turn it into a little fight. But in the moment, he just can't control his reaction. His eyelids flutter again but it's involuntary this time, and he hears himself hiss out a "Yesss," and then he's saying, "do it again," before he can stop himself.

"Wh-what?" stammers Liam, taking a step back, the goofy grin vanishing from his face. "Why?"

"Just—" Louis is impatient, now that he's felt it he just wants it again, and again and again. He doesn't want to talk about it. "Just—do it Liam, come on."

He finds himself tilting his head, offering his cheek, the one that's still tingling.

"Why?" asks Liam again, bewildered.

"Just," Louis says, knowing he can't possibly explain, especially not now when his whole body is thrumming with something frantic, a hum of promise, "I want you to do it again."

"But I don't—"

"Liam, I liked it, c'mon please—" Louis's begging before he even realises what he's saying, crumbling into pure desperation right before Liam's eyes, "please please please, just fucking hit me."

Liam is looking at him with a sort of fierce confusion and Louis is too far gone to even feel ashamed of pleading with him like this, too hungry for it. He watches, begging with his eyes, and Liam seems to be bracing himself, jittery with something just like Louis is, tapping his foot against the carpet. The rhythmic sound of it is sending Louis crazy; he grabs for Liam's hand instinctively like he's going to somehow draw it across his own face but just as he takes it Liam snatches it away and then suddenly there's a fresh jab of pain in Louis's cheek, a hot sting that spreads.

Louis gasps and his knees buckle; he stumbles back a step and drops onto the foot of the bed without thinking, dazed and staring up at Liam, Liam who still looks completely bewildered but hasn't left, hasn't told him he's a freak and gotten the hell out of there. Louis feels a sudden rush of gratitude.

"Again?" he says hopefully, and Liam's face goes tight, brow wrinkling.

"Louis, I don't understand," he says helplessly, "what's this about?"

Louis heaves an impatient sigh. "I don't know, alright?" he says and it comes out harsh. "Can't you just do it without asking questions?"

Liam looks taken aback, hurt, and Louis immediately feels guilty. "I just don't want to hurt you," Liam says in a small voice.

"But that's what I want," Louis snaps back without thinking, and then he does think, and realises maybe he's just being selfish, and maybe he was an idiot to think Liam would actually be willing to do this. He might've learnt how to box to beat up bullies but these days he wouldn't hurt a fucking fly.

Liam sighs and he sounds frustrated now, fists clenching. "I just don't get it."

"Do you have to get it to be able to do it?" Louis asks, his heart sinking.

"Well, yeah," Liam says hesitantly, "yeah, I think so, 'cause otherwise I feel like it's just—for no reason and I don't—"

"Alright, alright, whatever, I'm a weirdo, I get it," says Louis hurriedly, cutting him off and getting to his feet, feeling embarrassment beginning to creep up his spine.

"No, Lou, don't just—are we okay?" Liam says in a sort of broken voice that just makes Louis inexplicably angry.

"Yeah, just, leave it for a bit okay? Let me go stew in my own shame," Louis tries to turn the sentence into a joke halfway through but it falls flat, and Liam is looking at him with something like pity, which Louis can't stand.

"Don't be—I mean it's not—I'm just confused."

"Yeah, well, I can't help you with that," Louis says, still trying to keep the tone of his voice jovial, but he knows Liam can see straight through him. "See you later for dinner, all right?"

He goes for a wander around the hotel because he doesn't really want to face any of the others like this, but eventually his feet take him back to his and Harry's room where he slumps face-first onto his bed and lets out a frustrated groan. Harry comes over and, after two aborted attempts at trying to find out what's wrong, stops asking questions and just cuddles him, and after half an hour Louis is starting to feel better. He doesn't really want to have to see Liam again right now but they're going out for pizza, the five of them, and he just has to grit his teeth and bear it.

Liam is annoyingly gentle with him, walking on eggshells like Louis is someone who has to be treated delicately all of a sudden, like some crazed mental patient who might suddenly throw down his pizza and demand that Liam slap him in front of the entire restaurant. It's humiliating, and Louis hates it, and it doesn't pass. Louis can't help not wanting to be alone with him, not wanting to engage with him for any longer than necessary when he can see the concern in Liam's gentle eyes and sense the apologies on the tip of his tongue.

It's made worse by the fact that he can't just put the whole thing out of his mind, can't just forget what happened and put it behind him. He can't stop thinking about it; it drifts into his mind when he's wanking off in the shower in the mornings and he'll brace himself against the tiles and remember the sting of Liam's palm on his cheek and it makes him come so hard that his thighs tremble and his knees go weak. He needs it, now that he's had a taste of it he needs it to happen again. He's climbing the walls without it and it's driving him crazy.

Harry's concerned about him, he can tell. He doesn't pry, and he doesn't get all patronising with his worry like Liam, but he sticks by Louis's side more lately, offers more cuddles, encourages him to share his bed at night for comfort. Louis has the feeling he's waiting, patiently waiting for Louis to open up to him, but Louis wouldn't even know where to start. It makes him wonder, though, whether this is something Harry could do for him after all, if Louis only asked. Harry accepts Louis—and everyone—just the way they are and Louis knows he'd never judge him, would probably be willing to give Louis what he wants even if he doesn't understand why he wants it. Louis just doesn't know how to ask, and he knows he'll have to, because slapping Harry around has absolutely no effect. Harry will never retaliate, unless perhaps Louis explicitly asks him to.

They're curled up in Harry's bed together one night, Louis gazing at the ceiling and chewing on a fingernail while Harry makes his way through a reread of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, heavy book balanced on his bare chest.

"Haz, would you," Louis spits out suddenly, and they've both been silent for so long that Harry actually starts a little at the words and then laughs at himself. Louis tries not to be thrown off track, rolling over to look Harry in the eye. "Would you like—would you ever, y'know, like...hurt me?"

Harry frowns, eyebrows drawing in and forehead crinkling, confused. "No," he says then, sounding almost aghast. "Like—no, Lou, 'course I wouldn't."

Louis's heart sinks as he realises Harry misinterpreted the question, but it feels too late to clarify now, especially with Harry looking at him like hurting him is the last thing he'd ever be willing to do.

Harry puts the book down, open on his chest, and then shuffles closer, pulling Louis to him. "Why would you even think that?" he murmurs, kissing Louis's temple.

"Dunno," Louis mumbles. "Just. Never mind."

The frustration bubbles up in his stomach again as Harry holds him close.

***
The show the next night is brilliant. Like, really brilliant. They've been having a lot of fun on the tour so far but it hasn't quite felt like they actually know what they're doing until tonight. Tonight they're just on, they all sound so good and the crowd is wild and for the first time Liam can properly taste it, can see them doing this all by themselves on a headline tour. He knows the others all feel it too, he can sense it, they're all on the same wavelength and every time he catches someone's eye they end up grinning like idiots at each other, overwhelmed by it all.

It's hard coming down after a show anyway but tonight it feels impossible. Everybody piles into Zayn's room and ransacks the minibar because out of the four of them who drink, only half are actually legally allowed, so they can't go down to the bar or anything. Liam's heart thuds in his chest with leftover adrenaline as he watches the four of them galloping around the room, Louis mixing Harry a drink with far too much overpriced rum in it and then trying to pour it into his mouth. He watches Louis the most, actually, pleased by how happy he seems for the first time since what happened between them. He's been so distant, and it's sort of a relief to see him acting like a twat again. Liam keeps a close eye on him and notices he only has one drink, a splash of vodka in some Coke that he abandons after only a few sips and it's strange, because Louis's usually the first to get totally pissed, but it seems like he doesn't need it tonight, like the high from performing is enough.

Liam starts to get a little concerned, though, as the night goes on and Louis doesn't wind down. It always takes him longer than the rest of them, but there's usually a noticeable decrease in his excitement levels even if he is still buzzing by bedtime, and tonight he seems exactly the same as he did when they got offstage. The others are getting sleepy, Zayn already half passed-out, sprawled across his bed, and Louis is turning the music up louder and trying to get Niall to dance with him, even though Niall is so far gone that he can no longer co-ordinate his limbs. There's just something wild in Louis's eyes, some kind of hectic desperation like he doesn't want to stop, or more like he can't, and Liam doesn't know what to make of it, of the way he went from snapping at everybody before the show to this.

"Liiiiam, Liam, come dance," Louis demands, as Niall gives up and flops down on top of Zayn. Zayn grumbles half-heartedly and Harry, who recently joined him on the bed, lets out a drunken bark of laughter.

"I'm good," Liam chuckles. He doesn't mind watching the rest of them try use up their lingering excitement but their methods have never worked for him; he prefers to just sit and be still and let it all simmer down.

"Nooo, come on," Louis pesters, trying to heave Liam up off the bed. Zayn half-heartedly takes a hold of Liam's ankle in solidarity, but Liam shakes them both off.

"I'm gonna go to bed actually I think," he says, getting to his feet.

Louis pouts at him. "Uh uh," he protests. There's something frantic in his eyes and it's unsettling, especially after a whole week of Louis seemingly avoiding him, even when Liam was trying so hard to be nice.

"Uh huh," Liam insists. "I'll see you all in the morning. Don't choke on your own sick or anything. Zayn, make sure they don't choke on their own sick."

Zayn lifts his head, says, "Will do," and then drops it back into the duvet. Liam is unconvinced, but this has happened before and they've been even more intoxicated, and he knows he can trust them.

"Alright," he says with a wave, "night night."

Louis is still looking at him with a weird sort of angry desperation, and all the way back to his own room Liam is waiting to hear the door opening behind him and Louis chasing after him, but it doesn't happen. In his own hotel room he finds that he's still wired, not ready for sleep yet, and he considers taking a bath so he'll be forced to do nothing but lie there and relax. He paces the room agitatedly, wondering if he should've stayed with the others. It seems so quiet now.

Just at that thought, there's a sudden hammering on the door. Liam almost wants to laugh but at the same time there's a tight spiral of anxiety twisting up inside of him as he heads to let Louis in, knowing without a doubt that it's him.

"They're all just falling asleep and it's boring and I'm bored and I can't fucking sit still and I want—" Louis babbles, stumbling through the doorway, "—I just wanna do something, Liam, I'm like—I'm going out of my mind."

Liam realises, then, with a shock to his system, how distressed Louis seems. He's on that concert high that's very familiar to Liam but it's like he's not actually enjoying it anymore, like it's eating away at his nerves and that's not something Liam's ever seen in him, Louis always embraces it and refuses to let it get the better of him.

"Alright, okay, um," Liam says, taking Louis hesitantly by the shoulders and trying to guide him towards the bed. "Maybe just—maybe try and sit still for a minute and just breathe—"

"No," Louis cries immediately, shaking him off, "no, I fucking can't, I'm like—Liam can we go do something, can we like—fuck, I don't know, run somewhere or like, I need to move, I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin."

He laughs and it sounds sort of hysterical and Liam's anxiety spikes. "Are you—Lou, are you drunk?"

"No," Louis says again, with heavy emphasis, "I don't—I had the tiniest bit, it was making things worse."

"Okay," says Liam, still floundering, wondering what the hell to do. It's not like Louis's never had moods like this before, but he's never asked for help with them, he's just gone with his instinct and done ridiculous things to get it out of his system, cartwheeled down hotel corridors. The way he's acting now, it's almost like a panic attack of some kind, like he's overwhelmed by the energy thrumming through his own veins and scared by the way he can't get rid of it. He won't stop moving, even now, shifting from foot to foot and picking at his fingers, revved up and twitchy and if Liam didn't know him he might think he was on some kind of drug.

"Liam," says Louis in a hopeless sort of voice, "Liam I know you don't want to but I really—I think I really need you to hit me."

Somehow Liam's not surprised, when he hears it, like in the depths of his mind he already knew that might be what Louis was needing. And he knows Louis isn't manipulating him into it, knows that whatever Louis is feeling right now is genuine and a little out of control and—Liam doesn't understand how it could help, Louis had gone all frantic when he did it before, like someone had lit a fire under him, but—then Liam remembers the way Louis went all dazed after the second slap, sunk down onto the bed, going still.

Louis draws in shaky breath after shaky breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Liam does it, surrenders because he doesn't know what else he can do, and slaps Louis across the face. It's not harsh, more of a light thud of Liam's hand against Louis's cheek, but the reaction Louis has is—is incomprehensible. He relaxes instantly like the tension has drained right out of his body, lets out this little sound of relief, and goes still, limbs loose.

"Thank you, thank you," he says then, exhaling loud. "Shit. Okay. Again?"

Liam clenches his teeth and tells himself once more and obliges, and Louis's chest heaves with it as he sighs with some sort of relief. He goes and sits down at the end of Liam's bed, and for a moment he looks happy, but then almost instantly his expression switches and he looks—sort of scared, or ashamed maybe, dropping his head down into his hands.

"Lou, it's okay," Liam says, his voice wavering a little as he steps closer to stand before him. "I—it's okay, you're okay. We're okay."

Louis nods, but he seems distant again all of a sudden, like he's somewhere else.

"Lou, just—just tell me this isn't like, a weird self-harm kinda thing," Liam says softly, placing a gentle hand on Louis's shoulder. Louis brings his own up to cover it, his eyes fixed on Liam's, pupils full-blown. "Like I don't, I don't want to do this if it's because you feel like...you deserve it or something. Is it because you're unhappy?"

Louis keeps staring at him for a further moment, and he looks so out of it that Liam's starting to think maybe he didn't even hear him, but then Louis shakes his head, back and forth, slow and very deliberate. He takes a firmer grip of Liam's hand and at first Liam thinks he's just holding it tight but then he drags it down, skimming over his torso to settle down between his legs. He keeps it there, Liam's palm flat over himself where he's hot and achingly firm beneath the fabric of his jeans. Liam's mouth goes dry and he goes to pull away, and Louis allows it, his own hand going slack and letting Liam's go. His gaze is still focused on Liam, intense, and Liam forces himself to look down, down to the very obvious bulge in the front of Louis's trousers. He can even make out the shape, just about; the long slight curve of Louis's dick, trapped tight and surely painfully hard.

"Oh," he hears his own voice say, faintly. "Oh, um."

"Yeah," Louis's reply is faint too, breathy, and Liam drags his eyes back to Louis's face. His cheek is slightly reddened from Liam's hand and Liam can't fight down that instant welling-up of guilt even though he knows just how much Louis wanted this, knows now exactly how he was affected by it.

"I don't, um," stammers Liam. He has no idea what to say. Surely Louis doesn't expect him to—help, with this?

"Just—just—I need," Louis says incoherently, and then sort of whimpers, helplessly, "it hurts."

He's fumbling with his zipper and Liam's heart leaps into his throat; he averts his eyes instinctively but Louis's just alleviating some of the pressure, getting his fly open and breathing out shakily.

"Okay. Sorry. Shit." Louis seems to be trying to slow his breathing down and Liam thinks of how he'd relaxed instantly from just that one slap, wonders how many it would take for him to calm down properly. "Li," Louis says, "can we—I need more."

"Right, yeah, okay." Liam feels slightly dizzy, trying not to think too much about how hard Louis is, trying not to let his eyes flick down and see whether it's even more obvious now with just the thin fabric of his boxers covering him. He doesn't know what to think about the fact that this is—sexual, doesn't want to know what that means for his own involvement.

Louis shuts his eyes and lifts his chin, offers the right side of his face, and Liam sucks in a deep breath and takes Louis by the jaw. He didn't think to do that before, but now that they're actually doing this, properly, he needs to make sure they're being safe. He can remember certain stuff from when he used to box when he was younger, stuff about fractured jaws and cheekbones and he knows there's a difference between hitting someone with a fist in a glove and doing it with an bare palm but either way the thought of breaking bones is terrifying.

He holds Louis steady, slaps light with his other hand and then harder, and then again, feeling the raw heat of Louis's cheek. He turns Louis's face the other way, thinking he should keep things even so that in case the redness lingers it won't look so strange, and he's so focused, counting, that it takes him a second to notice that—that Louis's touching himself, his hand shoved down the front of his boxers and stroking rapidly.

"Louis," he chokes out, stunned, "Louis, stop."

And Louis does, instantly, and that shouldn't shock Liam even more but it does; he's left floundering for a moment trying to think of a single other time that he's told Louis to do something and he's obeyed, and he can't. And yet this was instantaneous. He knows Louis is probably just aware of his discomfort but it's jarring, unsettling, to see him do as he's told without question or protest or mockery.

For a long moment they just stare at each other. Louis inches his hand out of his boxers, the waistband snapping gently, and Liam tries not to look down.

"Fuck. Liam, I just—I really, I really need to come, I can't—" Louis says weakly, and Liam can see from the tension in his shoulders how much effort it's taking for him to keep his hand away from himself and that's—Liam doesn't even know what that is. He doesn't know how to deal with that at all.

It's not that he doesn't want Louis to, but he's not sure he can cope with him doing it right in front of him either. But at the same time he has this feeling, he knows with absolute certainty that he can't just leave—can't just slap Louis 'til he's burning up and then shut the door on him.

"Liam," Louis is whining, properly whining now and Liam's never heard him sound like this, "Liam, please, please, fuck."

It's—bewildering, really, the way Louis is begging, begging for permission, instead of just doing what he likes and not caring whether or not it makes anyone uncomfortable, which is his usual attitude. Liam isn't used to this at all, doesn't know how to react; it's throwing him off completely. Louis keeps up this litany of please and curses and Liam's name, and Liam can't stand it, has to make him stop.

"Okay, okay, you can," he says hurriedly, and Louis shuts up, thankfully, but his hand goes straight back inside his boxers and Liam's eyes can't help but follow. He catches a glimpse of the flushed, shining head of Louis's cock poking out from the waistband as Louis fumbles to get his fist wrapped right around it.

Liam looks frantically away, then, but it's like everything gets intensified, he can hear his own blood rushing in his ears and the slick sound of Louis's hand working his cock, the stuttering of their breath, almost hysterical.

"Liam, I need you to," Louis pants out and this time Liam doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think, so worked up and on edge from it all that it's instant, his hand taking a firm hold of Louis's head to keep it still as he slaps him harshly across the face.

Louis whimpers, trying to nod in Liam's tight grip, and Liam can see the way his hand is moving frantic and clumsy in his boxers and it's—this is—it's all so wrong, Liam shouldn't be doing this and Louis shouldn't be liking it. But Liam can't stop, not now; the knowledge that he's bringing Louis closer is urging him on and he doesn't even know if it's because he wants this to be over or because he just wants Louis to get off. He bites down hard on his own lip and tilts Louis's head and dares to hit him just that little bit harder, almost too hard, and Louis's hips buck and he sputters, and swears, and comes. Liam tries to resist but he can't not look, his eyes drawn to where Louis's black boxers are going darker with wet and his wrist is glistening.

Louis is breathing heavy, almost wheezing, and he turns his face into Liam's hand, nuzzles against it like a cat. His skin is fever-hot and flushed so dark, his hair plastered across his forehead with sweat, and he's smiling, dazed and blissful and absurd, his shoulders slumping heavy.

"Fucking hell," he sighs out, "thanks for that."

Liam just sort of nods, speechless, and sinks down onto the bed beside him. Louis's head immediately drops down onto Liam's shoulder and he wriggles closer, and Liam reaches out shakily to put an arm around him and hold him there, close. He sits, and listens, until Louis's breathing returns to normal, and then he says quietly, "Are you okay?"

It's maybe a stupid question, because Louis seems utterly elated.

"Yeah," says Louis, and his voice is small and weak but he sounds sure. "Can I—can I sleep here?"

"Oh," says Liam, "yeah, um. Yeah, of course."

Louis stays resting on him for a bit, coming down, and then heads into the bathroom on wobbly legs to clean himself up, comes back in a pair of Liam's pyjama trousers and flops into bed. He's even more cuddly than usual that night, curving his body alongside Liam's under the sheets, carelessly tangling their legs. He's always been this kind of sleeper, even when they all shared beds for the first time at the bungalow and hardly knew each other he had no qualms, in his sleep, about snuggling up to one of the boys like a lover. Liam felt a bit weird about it back then, especially when Louis revealed during a drunken game of Truth or Dare that he'd fancied guys before, but after a while it became clear that it wasn't really about that. This is just the kind of person Louis is; he craves the touch of other people, and Liam's learning now that it doesn't always have to be tender.

But tonight Liam saw him come, tonight he felt the hardness of Louis's cock through his jeans, and now Louis's curling up with him in bed, using Liam's chest as a pillow. Liam can feel it again, that discomfort he had around Louis at the beginning, and he tries to push it out of his mind because he knows this doesn't have anything to do with him, it's just the pain that got Louis off, but—still, he can't relax enough to fall asleep. He can feel the heat of Louis's cheek against his chest even though the sheets, and he just hopes the redness will have gone down by the morning because he doesn't think Louis can claim sunburn in February.

While Liam lies awake, his brain busy and his body shifting because he can't get comfortable, Louis is utterly still. It's bizarre to see him like this. Liam has seen him sleepy before of course, exhausted even, but this is—different. Usually when Louis gets tired he gets grumpy, like everything's drained right out of him and he's miserable about it, getting snippy with everybody. But this isn't that at all; he's just so calm, and contented. It somehow makes Liam feel better and more nervous at the same time.

It's different the next day, too. Usually Louis springs into action in the mornings, but when the two of them wake up the following day he's sprawled and lazy in Liam's bed and Liam has to remind him they've got an interview. He gets up without complaint though, and is strangely quiet all day. It's not like he's mardy, or stuck in his own head, he's just—chill, and it's so unusual for him that Niall actually demands to know who he is and what he's done with Louis.

It carries on, Louis's weirdly blissed-out mood. It's almost like a sort of sleepiness, only he's able to summon energy when it's needed; he's not having any trouble with rehearsals or performances or anything. He's just—for the most part—settled and satiated, sort of tranquil. Liam might be disturbed by it, but Louis's still himself, still cracking jokes and acting like a bit of nutcase on occasion. His madness is just different now, like it's not controlling him anymore, and that definitely seems like a positive change.

Liam doesn't get it, doesn't get why being hit across the face could have this much of an effect on Louis's attitude. He can't stop thinking about it, trying to puzzle it out. He supposes maybe it just brings Louis some kind of relief, helps him get out of his own head and focus on something other than his own thoughts for a while, but it still doesn't really make sense.

Once, on a dull night off, Liam tries asking Google on a whim. He stares at the blinking cursor in the search bar for a while, trying to figure out how to phrase it, because something tells him "why does my mate like it when I hit him" won't bring up a lot of helpful results. In the end he sort of stumbles around cyberspace reading about the psychological effects of face-slapping, about pain and endorphins and trust and control. Some of it sounds familiar, some of the safety stuff he learnt from boxing but the rest still doesn't make a lot of sense to him. He reads for a long time trying to understand and storing information away in his brain because he has a feeling that whatever this is, it isn't over.

He wonders if maybe he should make it be over but he knows if Louis asked him again he'd do it right away. He wants to. That doesn't make a lot of sense to him either, but it's—it's just so good to see Louis calm for a change, to have him relaxed and not leaping around all the time and yelling. He's never really felt comfortable with Louis's mania; even though they've known each other for more than half a year now he still can't relax fully in his company, because he never knows what to expect from him. He's also always suspected that it might be more of a problem than Louis lets on, something not entirely genuine. It seems like a sort of mask of reckless insanity that he can put up and hide behind to keep people at a distance, but one that he's been wearing so often for so long that he no longer feels in control of it. Liam's seen him vulnerable and quiet a couple of times before, of course, but it's nice to think there's a way to make that happen, especially if it's something Louis feels the need for every so often.

Liam tries not to think about the sexual side of it, because that part is a lot harder for him to deal with. He doesn't know what it really means for him that he's willing to participate in something that Louis actively gets off on, doesn't know what it means for their relationship if he does something to Louis that gets him so turned on he has to wank off right then and there. Liam keeps telling himself it's not him, really, that Louis would probably still get horny even if it was Simon Cowell slapping him across the face (though Liam shudders to think) because it's not a reaction he can control.

And as long as Liam keeps his distance from that side of things, he thinks he'll be okay, but he can't help but think about it sometimes, about the sight of Louis's hand stuffed down the front of his boxers and rubbing at his cock, or the feel of it when he put Liam's hand over it through his trousers, or the look on his face when he came. It keeps coming back to him when he's with Danielle and he tries to shove it out of his mind because he needs it not to become an issue, he needs to keep these things separate. He tries to distract himself with Danielle for a while, but they don't have anything serious that he can really throw himself into. It's too complicated with the tour, difficult to find time for dates, and instead he finds himself thinking about Louis a lot—too much—watching and waiting for his usual hyperactivity to return and wondering what he should do when it does.

2/2.

with the hope that you would tame me (2/2). liam/louis, nc-17.

2012-07-05T12:27:02Z

See header post for details.

It happens again, and Louis doesn't have to wrangle it out of him or let himself get to the point where he feels like he's going to die. He's just kind of antsy all day; they have all these interviews and he can't sit still and at one point Liam flicks him on the thigh, under the table, a harsh snap of his finger through Louis's trousers and Louis gasps quietly with the shock of it but already he feels the distracting spread of pain through his nerves, and he steadies his breathing and looks at Liam sidelong, sees him grinning shyly.

He does it again when they're out for dinner and Louis's being too loud—he knows he is but he can't seem to shut himself up and he's getting on everyone's nerves but his mouth is running away from him and then there's Liam, this time reaching beneath the table and clutching his forearm, hard, digging in his fingernails. Louis's heart rate slows and the volume of his voice goes down a few decibels.

After, traipsing down the hotel corridor, Louis elbows Liam gently. He tries to keep his voice low so the others don't hear, says, "Can we—"

He doesn't even know how he's planning to finish the sentence but Liam says, "Yeah," immediately, to Louis's surprise. "Yeah, if you need—"

"I think I do." Zayn and Niall are heading off to their rooms but Harry's hanging back, waiting for Louis and looking suspicious. "I'll be back in a bit?" Louis says, trying to ignore the twist of guilt in his stomach at keeping secrets from Harry like this.

Harry frowns. "Okay," is all he says, as he turns on his heel.

"I'm not—I'm still not—" Liam stammers when they get into his room and Louis kicks off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket. "Like I'm still not comfortable with this but it's, it's something you need, right?"

"Yeah," Louis says, keeping it simple and joke-free because he can tell Liam's being serious, needing answers or this won't happen.

"Okay, can you—can you go stand against the wall?" Liam asks uncertainly. "I just—I don't wanna be like, looming over you this time."

Louis nods, following the line of Liam's finger where he's pointing. He breathes out unsteadily, his back to the wall, anticipation building in his gut. Liam rubs nervously at his thighs through his jeans and then comes towards him, taking him by the chin.

"Yeah, Liam, come on," Louis urges when Liam hesitates. "Do it, please."

He's excited for it, heart pounding fast and body sort of trembly all over. Liam is just looking at him uncertainly and Louis reaches out, prods him hard in the stomach.

"Don't be a tease," he quips.

Liam lets out a breathy laugh, uneasy, but gives a sharp little nod and holds Louis's chin tighter, slapping him once across the left cheek and then the right. Louis grins, wide, feeling the flood of endorphins through him like a wave, and he steadies himself, trying to keep still. One more slap and he's already swelling up in his trousers, aching. He reaches to fidget with his zipper, just to get Liam's attention, and Liam glances down and nods at him shakily.

"Yeah, you can—" he says, and Louis does, quickly unzipping and getting his hand inside to wrap around himself and it's so fucking good, the combination of the burn in his cheeks as Liam continues to slap him and the slick pleasure of his hand on his cock.

When he comes, shuddering gently against the wall and spilling over his hand, Liam caresses Louis's face gently instead, stroking where it's red and sore. Louis still feels like he's got something left, some little bit of frenzy whirring inside of him that's only been dulled, not stamped out. He wants to go again.

"Li, can you—" he says, voice a little hoarse, "can you not stop? Like—I'm, I'm not done, I want more."

Liam looks torn. "I can't—it's too much. And it'll show, Lou. If I keep going you're gonna be, like—you're gonna be bruised, I think." His voice cracks a little.

"Hit me somewhere else, then," Louis says instantly. He gestures to his belly, thinks about Liam's strong fists pummelling it, how different that would be to a slap to the face, how it might make him double over. "Hit me here instead."

"But you've got—I mean, you've got organs there, Lou. I can't hurt like, your kidneys."

"My kidneys?" Louis grins. "Yeah, gotta be wary of my kidneys. We've only got three between us, after all."

Liam laughs then, and it's high-pitched and nervy and sets Louis off, falling into him and giggling into the crook of his shoulder.

"Have you been reading up?" Louis teases.

"Don't want to hurt you."

"Hurting me's kind of the point, Liam."

"Don't want to break you."

"What can you do, then?" he asks, breathing hot into Liam's neck, and Liam shudders a little, pushing Louis back against the wall. It feels cool against Louis's shoulder blades and he leans into it, looking up into Liam's eyes, waiting. Something rises up in his chest as they look at each other, Liam's lips quirking in a bashful smile, and Louis wants him to touch him again.

Liam reaches out and feels for Louis's nipples through his t-shirt, pinching them between thumb and forefinger, hard. Louis lets out a gasp that's half of a laugh when he thinks about the number of times he's done this to Liam, done this to all the boys and they've never fought back. He's done it to himself too of course, but it's never felt as good as this.

Liam lets go, and Louis breathes, "Yeah," and pulls his t-shirt up over his head. His boxers are still sticky, his come cooling in them, and he takes a chance, decides to just strip all the way off while he's at it. Liam makes a little sound but it doesn't sound like protest, so Louis carries on, wiggling out of his trousers and pants and kicking them aside.

He straightens back up and it feels scary and exciting to be standing in front of Liam without any clothes on like this, totally exposed. He doesn't know what he wants Liam to do about it but his heart's beating out a frantic rhythm against his ribcage and he feels small and vulnerable and it's not something he ever expected to feel so good. He thinks about Liam really beating him up and his throat goes dry.

He thinks about Liam holding him close after, kissing his hair, and his stomach flips.

Liam's gaze is all over the place, like he's trying to avoid looking at Louis's cock but he can't quite keep his eyes fixed on his face either, and he's trying to work out what else to do. Just that, the strangely calculating look in his eyes as he looks over Louis's body, is making something buzz in the base of Louis's spine all over again. Liam takes his nipples, but this time he's rougher, pulling until the skin stretches and Louis can't help but let out a cry.

"Okay?" Liam asks, letting go instantly and looking worried.

"Yeah yeah, more," Louis pants out.

Liam swears under his breath and then takes Louis by the hips, gripping tight as he forces him further back against the wall, and Louis moans at being shoved around like that, Liam's large hands on him. He can tell Liam's worried about squeezing too much because his fingers don't dig in for very long, but it's hard enough that Louis thinks he's going to have bruises there, maybe just above his hipbones, little purpled marks from Liam's fingers and the thought makes his cock start to fill up again. Liam slaps him suddenly on the thigh, and then again when Louis nods at him, and then up on his chest, twisting his nipple again before Louis's had a chance to recover.

Louis takes a hold of his cock and it feels sensitive from coming so recently, sending shivers down his spine. His fingers wrap around the shaft, still sticky with his come, and he trembles as Liam slaps at him again, his hand harsh just beneath Louis's collarbone. His fingernails are short and blunt but he digs them in anyway, scratching at Louis's back, and Louis lets out a shaky cry at the different feel of it, the sharpness of the pain and the thrill that it's Liam doing this, Liam.

Liam checks in with him, murmuring another "Okay?" and Louis nods and says yes over and over, urging Liam on, zoning out when Liam keeps going, repetitive slaps on Louis's chest, his shoulders, his thighs. Louis's hand keeps working over himself like it's automatic, his head floating somewhere else, but there's something holding him back, his second orgasm cresting without overflowing, caught on the edge. He thinks Liam must be able to sense his struggle because he's trying harder, being a little rougher and switching between different types of pain, sharps stings and dull aches until Louis feels like he can't predict anything, like he's completely at Liam's mercy. The thought brings him higher, so close, and then suddenly Liam is striking his cheek again, just once but brutal, and the shock of it sends Louis tumbling through, spurting just once up onto his belly and then slumping against the wall and letting himself sink to the floor as his knees give out. He's trembling and his whole face feels hot and his vision's gone sort of swimmy, sparks bursting in the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly he's aware of Liam kneeling on the floor in front of him, trying to get him to look him in the eye like he's searching for something. Louis registers him slowly, and is confused to see something like panic in his eyes.

"I'm okay," Louis half-slurs, his mind feeling foggy from all the pain, from coming twice. "That was really good."

His head rolls back against the wall and Liam suddenly grabs at it and tips it forward, and Louis sees a drop of red suddenly splash onto his own chest. He stares at it blankly.

"You're having a nosebleed," Liam says in a very controlled voice.

"Oh," is all Louis says. That explains the hot sting in his sinuses and the wetness on his upper lip.

Liam produces tissues, seemingly out of thin air, and gently holds them up to Louis's nose. Louis takes them, crumpling them where it's bleeding, feeling a faint throb when he holds it a little too tightly, and when he looks up at Liam he sees that he still looks alarmed, wide-eyed.

"I'm okay," Louis says again, slowly turning the tissues red. Liam says nothing. He looks very pale. "Hey," says Louis, his voice sounding sort of thick with the tissues pinched to his nose, "you made me bleed. That's awesome."

"It is not," Liam squeaks, all the control going out of his voice. "Louis, I'm so sorry, shit, I—you were, and I thought you needed—"

"I did," Louis interrupts, waving a hand vaguely, "I came so hard, Liam. I'm like...that was amazing."

"Well, I'm not doing it again," Liam says, cheeks suddenly spotting with pink as he reaches out to tip Louis's head down again. Louis hears himself make a noise of protest. "I mean—this, I can't—I'll slap you, but I'm not gonna do it that hard again, okay? Or that many times. The capillaries are too close to the surface of the skin in your cheeks and I know that but I wasn't—"

"The what-aries?" Louis says blearily. "Did you eat a biology textbook for breakfast?"

Liam shushes him, gently pulling the tissues away to assess the damage.

"Am I gonna live?" asks Louis. He grins, which is painful.

Liam frowns at him, but he visibly relaxes a little as he starts to dab at the blood around Louis's nose. "Yeah. It looks a lot worse than it is, I think. Let me get you a flannel. Is it okay if I leave you?"

"To go into the bathroom?" Louis asks. "Liam, that's like two feet away."

Liam stammers something and then gets to his feet, returning a moment later with a warm compress and gently wiping at Louis's face. Louis makes a soft noise; it feels good and the flannel smells like Liam, and the throbbing is beginning to turn into more of a faded ache. Liam makes him drink some water and by the time Louis's finished the whole glass—at Liam's insistence—he feels sleepy, a combination of afterglow and sheer exhaustion. He makes Liam sit with him against the wall because he's not ready to move yet, and snuggles up against him. Liam pulls him into a hug, holding him closely but tentatively, and Louis isn't sure if it's because he's afraid of hurting him or if he's just suddenly very aware of Louis's nudity now that there's no longer any actual reason for it. Louis wants to bury his nose in Liam's shoulder because his jumper is all soft and warm and nice-smelling but it hurts too much—this is the only time the pain is unpleasant, he thinks, after, his body already oversensitised from it.

He makes a little frustrated noise, and simultaneously hears two other sounds—the buzz of his phone vibrating in his trouser pocket and a very loud sniff from Liam. He pulls back, more concerned about the latter than the former of course, and is surprised to see that Liam's eyes are wet and red-rimmed.

"Li?" he says gently.

"Shut up," Liam says, uncharacteristically defensive, "I made you bleed."

Louis can't help but laugh, which might not be the right response, but Liam sort of screws up his face and a couple of tears roll down his cheeks and Louis he huddles Liam back into the hug, patting him comfortingly. "I'm fine," he tells him, and Liam presses his damp nose into Louis's neck and cries, in a sort of quiet choked-off way like he's trying really hard to stop but just can't. Louis's never seen Liam cry, not even when they didn't win X Factor and Harry was sobbing so hard for so long they all thought he'd die from dehydration.

"I'm so sorry," Liam gets out, clinging to Louis's back.

Louis pets at him. "Liam, love, it's okay," he says, bemused, "I—this is what I want, you don't have to feel bad."

"It's just—" Liam says thickly, "I don't know, I just, it's all so."

Liam starts to draw back and Louis lets him, watches as Liam's eyes scan over Louis's body. He colours a little, carefully avoiding looking at Louis's cock—Louis follows his gaze and picks up on the marks Liam left, the red flush across his chest and the rawness of his nipples, and the mottled beginnings of bruises around his hips. He wants to look in the mirror so he can see them properly, or poke at them, or have even more.

But Liam says, "Oh god, I'm sorry," looking horrified. "I made you bleed and I've left you like this."

"No," Louis says firmly. "I like it. I swear to you, Liam, I like it." Liam still looks distraught and Louis cuddles him close again. "I like it, I like it, I like it," he murmurs over and over, pressing his lips to Liam's neck, carefully, and letting the words hum against his warm skin. Somewhere along the way I like it becomes I love you, words tumbling out and making his heart beat harder, and Liam chokes out something between a laugh and a sob.

"I love you too," he says, and Louis lets the smile spread back across his face as he nestles into Liam's chest.

His phone buzzes again and he swears, pulling back to check it. He has three texts from Harry, all variations on the theme of where are you and what are you doing? He doesn't know how to sum it up in a text, doesn't even know if he wants to, and he looks up at Liam uncertainly.

"It's—it's Haz," he says, flicking Liam's fringe out of his eyes for him.

Liam gives him a wobbly smile. "It's okay, you can—you can go."

"I don't wanna leave you in a sobbing heap," Louis says.

"I'm—oi, I'm not a sobbing heap," Liam retorts, running his hands over his face to wipe away the tear tracks, blushing. "No, I'm—honestly Louis, I'm okay, I'm more worried about you, I just—I got—it's overwhelming."

"I know." Louis nuzzles Liam's shoulder with his nose, and Liam giggles. "But I'm great. I'm brilliant. I'm on cloud nine. And I can stay with you if you want me to, I can tell Haz to fuck off."

"Don't do that," Liam says immediately. "No, go—it's fine. I'm fine. We're fine."

"Everything's fine!" Louis teases.

"Except for your skin," Liam points out, frowning a little again.

"My skin is much improved," Louis assures him, giving one of the bruises on his hip a little prod and relishing the gentle stab of it. "You do good work, Mr. Payne," he teases.

"Ha," Liam laughs weakly, "Payne."

"Oh, god," Louis shakes his head, "I refuse to even laugh at that."

"Then go, instead," Liam says, and he's grinning, looking much better now, "as long as you're okay."

"As long as you're okay."

"I think we're both okay."

Louis smiles. "Okay," he says, and gets to his feet rather clumsily. He hops around trying to pull his trousers back on and Liam laughs at him, and then laughs again when Louis picks up his damp boxers and wrinkles his nose before stuffing them into his pocket. He puts his t-shirt on, taking a last look at the redness of his chest first, and then Liam finally gets up as well.

Louis doesn't want to say it, but he knows he should. "We can," he starts, looking at Liam cautiously, "we don't have to do this again, if you don't want. I don't wanna keep doing something that makes you cry on me."

"No," says Liam, and Louis feels a flood of relief, "no, I like it. That's kind of what's so scary. I like it but I don't know why. It's so weird."

"We can be weirdos together," Louis tells him, and then pulls him close for another cuddle. His phone buzzes again and he sighs, pulling away. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, go back to your worried husband," Liam teases. Louis prods him in the ribs, sticking his tongue out at him, but goes, feeling a little unsteady on his own legs as he heads back down the corridor, achy and sore.

Harry is waiting up for him, of course, but thankfully he doesn't ask any more questions. Louis grabs some pyjamas and slips into the bathroom to check on the state of his nose—which looks fine—and clean himself up a little more. Most of the time he sleeps naked when he's rooming with Harry because Harry doesn't care, but he needs to cover up the marks Liam's left on him so he pulls on the plaid trousers and the baggy old t-shirt and just hopes Harry will think he's cold. When he comes back out it's still dark and Harry is quiet, so Louis slips into bed, breathing a sigh of relief. The guilt penetrates his bubble of bliss when Harry suddenly rolls over to face him in the dark and says goodnight, but—Louis just doesn't know how to explain this to him, wouldn't even know where to start.

He knows he won't be able to hide it for very long, though. They're with each other almost 24/7 and though Louis does his best to keep covered up, he can't hide the psychological effects of what he and Liam are doing. He can't hide the way he'll be all keyed up one moment, and then he and Liam will disappear for a while and when they return he'll be placid, curling up next to Harry and resting his head on his shoulder and enjoying the way the press of Harry's body against his makes the blossoming bruises feel more tender. Everybody notices that, he's sure, but nobody mentions it; they probably all appreciate Louis's slightly less manic attitude and the fact that he's quit bugging them, and don't want to draw attention to it in case it goes away again.

A part of him wants Harry to ask, because he doesn't know how to broach the subject himself and he knows this is something Harry should know about, and eventually Harry gives up waiting for Louis to confide in him and just asks flat-out what's going on. Louis struggles his way through an explanation and it's like torture, not just because of the embarrassment but because of the way Harry looks at him, brow furrowed and expression almost pained. Harry doesn't like the fact that Louis's being hurt, even though Louis enjoys it, but mostly he just doesn't like that it's Liam doing it to him, doesn't like that Liam can give something to Louis that he can't. They depend on each other for so much and Harry doesn't seem to understand that he can't be everything for Louis, that there are certain things Louis needs to get from other people.

Over time, though, he adjusts to it, the positive effect it's having on Louis more important to him than his own discomfort with the idea. Harry's worried it might be unhealthy, but for Louis it feels so much healthier than how things were before—he feels settled in himself now, knowing he can count on Liam for this. Liam is always careful where Louis is utterly careless; Louis might've ended up doing himself some serious damage if Liam hadn't taken over for him. He's still relying on the pain but it's in a safer way, a more controlled way than Louis ever used for himself. He tries to explain that to Harry and Harry seems to get it, well aware of Louis's recklessness and the danger it can cause. They don't talk about it much, the two of them, but sometimes Harry will check in, just making sure Liam hasn't gone too far and that it's still helping, and Louis's reassurance seems to help. Both of them know Harry's never really going to like the idea, but that's just something they have to live with, Louis decides, because this is good, so good.

It's—maybe a little too good, he starts to realise. He always figured he'd get back with Hannah eventually, maybe when the tour ended, but now he's not sure he wants to. Now he thinks he wants this, instead. There's something about Liam that makes his nerves tingle, more than just the pain, something he tries really hard not to address because it's Liam, Liam who's still chatting up Danielle the dancer, Liam who's only doing this because he's a good friend, Liam who most certainly doesn't see this the same way Louis does. Louis can't avoid thinking about it though; it's difficult to keep it in a closed-off part of his brain when he's literally getting off on something Liam is doing to him, when Liam is bringing him to orgasm—it doesn't even matter that Liam doesn't touch him there, it's still the movements of his hands that send Louis spinning off somewhere starry and perfect.

Liam makes him feel different in such a good way when they do this, like he doesn't even have to think. It's like—submitting to him, and Louis never knew he needed that, has been fighting for dominance with Liam in some subtle way ever since the band formed because they both feel the urge to lead, albeit in different ways. But Louis doesn't feel like that anymore. Liam makes him feel like it's okay to let his mind go blank. Doing this with him feels like climbing into bed at the end of a long day and just switching off. He doesn't need to bother telling Liam what to do anymore, how to do it, because Liam is more confident with it now and Louis can just relax and surrender to him and it's strange, but the relief that brings is so powerful that somewhere along the way gratitude has turned into something else, something almost wistful.

For the most part, this is enough. It's enough to have Liam doing this for him, the pain and the sweetness after, and it almost feels greedy to want more, but—sometimes in the moment, when Liam's pushed him to the point where his thoughts have mostly turned to simple static, he forgets, and he just longs to make Liam feel as good as Liam makes him feel.

***
As time goes on, Liam worries he might be starting to depend on this just as much as Louis is. It becomes routine, in a strange way. He'll keep an eye on Louis, aware of his moods, able to tell when Louis is just the wrong side of hyper or stressed, and then he'll do what he can to help calm him down. Sometimes Louis will be the one to come to him, and sometimes Liam will offer, and it's not—it's not like it's every day but it's enough for Liam to come to depend on it, to know that he would miss this if it stopped. It's not even about keeping Louis under control for his own benefit anymore, he just likes being able to do this for him. Seeing the dazed, euphoric smile that spreads across his face after, when he's bruised up and aching and totally satisfied—it makes something flutter in Liam's belly and he'll always hold Louis close, cuddle him for much longer than he ever would normally, cleaning him up and tending to any particularly bad injuries (though Louis will protest).

He feels—special, somehow, being allowed to see this side of Louis. Louis is still so guarded with the boys, not wanting them to see him vulnerable, but he lets Liam, he opens up to Liam, stands naked before him shivering with anticipation and staring trustingly into his eyes and Liam just—it just means so much to him that Louis wants him to do this. This is something the two of them share, something the others have nothing to do with, a part of Louis that Liam can have just for himself.

Liam begins to get more used to it, as well, more willing to hit Louis harder like he wants and more accepting of the bruises he leaves behind. There's still one part that he doesn't think he'll ever get used to, though, and that's seeing Louis naked and hard and desperately stroking himself, seeing him splash his tensing stomach with come. It was easier, maybe, when that freaked him out totally, when he didn't like it, but now a part of him does. A part of him likes having that effect on Louis, knowing he can make Louis adjust his rhythm according to the type of pain, knowing which things he likes best, what makes him come the quickest or the hardest. The relief is almost contagious when Louis comes, when he's flushed and happy and satiated and he'll drape himself over Liam and thank him—it's hard not to like that, Liam tells himself, because Louis is his friend and he likes making his friends happy.

It's more than that, though, and he can't keep pretending. It's not just about helping Louis out anymore. He realises that when he asks Louis if he wants to come into his room for a bit before bed, after a show, when Harry and Niall have gone off to play Xbox and Zayn's down at the bar with Rebecca. He realises it at that moment because Louis's not even that hyped up, it was only a few nights ago that they last did this and he hasn't gotten any of the telltale signs that Louis needs it again yet, but he asks anyway. Because he needs it. And that's—that means something. He's not quite sure what, but it's making something settle low in his stomach, something he tries not to think about as he tries to keep his face clear of hope and his voice casual.

"Really?" Louis says, lighting up. "Yeah, that'd be fantastic, are you sure?"

"Uh huh," is all Liam says, and they head into his room.

Louis kicks off his Toms and goes into the corner—he's been doing that lately and Liam thinks he must like feeling like he doesn't have an escape, walls on each side of him and Liam in front, crowding him in. He looks a little bouncy still but mostly relaxed, cosy in sweatpants and a t-shirt that was once Liam's, hanging loosely from his shoulders and low over his hips. He's wearing his glasses, too, and Liam carefully removes them so he doesn't break them by accident while they're—Liam never really knows what to call it, in his own head. It's just this thing that they do, that there isn't a name for. Louis blinks, his eyes adjusting, and Liam goes and puts the glasses on the bedside table before coming back.

There's something really different about it this time, with Louis calmer than usual, not begging for it, just waiting patiently. It feels like he really trusts Liam, trusts that he's going to do this and he's going to do it well, and not make him wait too long. Liam likes that.

Louis hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweats and tugs them down, doing the same with his pants. He doesn't always, sometimes he'll just get his hand inside, but they both know it's simply easier for him this way so usually Louis will just pull his trousers down swiftly while Liam averts his eyes, still finding it awkward though they're comfortable enough now to joke about it sometimes. Louis doesn't usually take his top off 'til they've started, because sometimes he can get off from Liam slapping his face alone and doesn't need him to move onto the rest of him. Seeing Louis standing there in Liam's top and nothing else is a bit different though—it makes him look really small, somehow more vulnerable than when he's naked.

"Yeah, it's yours," he says, noticing that Liam's looking at the shirt. "Nicked it this morning, sorry."

"It's okay," Liam says immediately. "It looks good on you, actually."

This, he thinks, is really different—they've never just made idle chit-chat beforehand, Louis's usually so desperate for it. And it's not like he doesn't seem to care; there's an expectant glow in his eyes and a slight twitchiness to his movements now like he's ready for it. He's tugging at the hem of the shirt, biting at his lip, but he's not saying "You gonna hit me then, or what?" just—waiting. It's unusual, but Liam kind of likes it, likes that they've reached the point where Louis trusts him enough to just do this, isn't so uncertain and insecure that he has to push him for it.

There's a moment, then, when Liam is reflecting and he realises he's been staring at Louis's face the whole time, and Louis is smiling, sweet and a little bemused and maybe sort of fond as well. Liam reaches up to take his face and his instinct is to be gentle, his fingers brush Louis's jaw in something like a caress before he gets a handle of himself and holds him more firmly, keeping his head still. Louis lets out a rush of breath; his eyes slide shut and his hands cease their fidgeting immediately. Liam slaps him. Again, and again. He feels Louis's skin heating up under his palm, listens to Louis's quiet whimpers. Louis's so—still, arms hanging by his sides, just taking it, and it's longer than usual before he's hard, probably because he hasn't been needing it so badly. Liam's eyes flick down and he sees Louis's cock distorting the fabric of his t-shirt, the shape of it under the thin fabric.

Louis reaches for it and Liam looks back at his face again, but for a second he's thrown and he's not sure why, breath catching in his throat and hand faltering halfway to Louis's face. Louis doesn't seem to notice, wrapping his hand around his cock and beginning to stroke himself, starting quick right away; Liam can see the blur of his hand out of the corner of his eye. He watches Louis's face for a long moment, the way his eyes squeeze tighter shut and his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips, and then Liam gathers his senses and strikes Louis again. Louis moans, now, eyes snapping open, and there's that look that Liam was missing, that neediness, that pleading expression. Liam reaches down, slaps at the side of Louis's left thigh now, watches him jolt in surprise. He keeps going, watching Louis's reactions to each hit, the way his eyes glaze over.

He alternates between face and thigh, blows rhythmless and random because he's distracted by Louis's expression, his gasping mouth and glossy eyes and the gorgeous flush across his cheeks. Louis is unsteady on his feet, keeps swaying and knocking into Liam, and Liam keeps feeling the nudge of Louis's cock against his thigh, rigid and hot.

At some point, Liam grows hard too. That's never happened before when they've done this. He's felt a slight stirring there a few times, but it's never been—this, his cock aching in his trousers from watching Louis space out.

He hears himself saying, "Lou," in a small voice, before he can stop himself. He's almost scared, which is silly because he's sure this could be explained away as something totally biological and meaningless but—in his gut he knows that it's not. And maybe he needs Louis to know that too.

But Louis is drifting away from him right now, and Liam doesn't know how to bring him back. "Lou," he says again, a little louder. Louis is staring at the ground, and his gaze slowly drags up, up Liam's long legs to the tented crotch of his trousers and then finally, up to his face. Louis blinks a few times before his eyes focus, and his pupils are so large there's only a thin sliver of blue around them. He stares at Liam open-mouthed.

When he drops to the floor a second later, he goes down like a puppet with its strings cut, only somehow more graceful, a swift collapse. Liam panics instinctively, thinking he's fainting, but Louis only falls to his knees. He reaches up with shaky hands to undo Liam's zipper and Liam hears himself make a sound but he's not sure he can form any sentences, not with Louis kneeling before him like this, making quick work of Liam's fly and trying to prise Liam's boxers down so he can get at his cock.

"Lou, what're you—what're you doing?" he manages to choke out, taking a feeble step back just as Louis exposes his cock.

Louis looks up at him, and Liam can see that he's caught somewhere strange between being totally out of it and still a little excitable—Liam hasn't pushed him into that state of mindless bliss yet so his arousal is a little overwhelming to him, making him buzz with energy. "I need to suck you," he says, voice slightly hoarse, "you're hard, and I want—"

He cuts himself off abruptly, staring at Liam's cock, and the look on his face sends Liam reeling. He looks like he's never wanted anything so badly in his life before, like he wants this even more than he wants Liam to hurt him. Liam doesn't know how to deal with that.

"Okay," Liam says shakily, and he's barely got the word out before Louis's delving forward, sucking Liam down, hungry and eager and almost choking himself on it right away as he tries to get Liam into his throat. Sparks go through Liam's veins and he forces himself to keep still, hears himself murmur, "Woah, Lou, breathe."

Louis pulls off, mouth wet and panting. "Liam, Liam," his voice cracks, "I want to do this for you."

"I know," Liam says, bewildered, running his fingers through Louis's soft hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead. "It's okay."

Louis nods jerkily, still looking just a little bit like his mind is somewhere else, and then he takes Liam's cock into his mouth again. He's clumsy with his enthusiasm and Liam feels the tiniest hint of teeth, but then Louis's pulling him over the flat of his hot tongue and Liam's legs start shaking. His hand is still resting on Louis's head and he strokes gently at his hair as Louis takes him deeper and then begins to work back and forth, suckling him, messy and noisy and frantic. Liam stares down at him in stunned amazement; the sight of his cock disappearing between Louis's stretched lips is too much and the way Louis flicks his eyes up to look at Liam—that's even worse.

Louis pulls back, stopping in order to shove Liam's trousers and pants down properly in a frustrated sort of way, yanking at them 'til they're around Liam's ankles. He smoothes his hands up Liam's thighs and Liam feels all the little hairs stand on end in the wake of Louis's palms, his skin tingling as Louis moves back in, his breath ghosting over the head of Liam's cock before he sucks it back between his lips. He clutches at Liam's hips and Liam finds himself placing his own hand over one of Louis's a little awkwardly, holding it there, just needing to touch him. Louis is determined, works Liam's cock all the way in, his nose brushing Liam's stomach just briefly before he's easing back off, eyes welled up and face red.

"Lou," Liam hears his own voice saying faintly, a kind of awed whisper as he feels his orgasm building, quicker and quicker as Louis drags his mouth along the shaft.

It all happens much too quickly for him to feel like he can get a handle on any of it, he's toppling over the edge so fast, clinging to Louis's hand tightly. Louis just keeps going, the pressure of his mouth increasing as he swallows each pulse of Liam's come until Liam is making a hurt little sound and pulling away, oversensitive, all of his nerves jangling.

He feels like he could collapse, but looking down at Louis slumped on the floor, he thinks he sees something apologetic in his expression, a different sort of desperation and some kind of shame, like he's silently begging Liam not to freak out and leave him. And it makes Liam's heart ache, because he wouldn't dream of it. He wants this, wants it badly, and he doesn't even give himself time to recover from his orgasm before he's hauling Louis to his feet, hands heaving him up by his armpits and then dragging him the couple of feet to the bed. He throws Louis down and Louis looks wild, and stunned, and Liam kicks off the tangle of clothing from around his ankles and then clambers over Louis, straddling his thighs. He keeps his eyes on Louis's as he blindly reaches for Louis's cock, curls his fingers inexpertly around the firm shaft of it and feels the hot, slick pulse of it against his palm.

Louis just gasps out a barely-there "Yes," his hips jolting. Liam holds him down and this time Louis melts under him, pliant and beautiful, his eyebrows drawn up and his forehead crinkled as his mouth tries to form words and quickly gives up. Liam grips him tightly by the hip, pressing his fingers into bruises left earlier and watching Louis nod and squirm helplessly. He tugs at Louis rough and fast, fist a quick drag over the firm and aching flesh of his cock, and it's so much better, so much better like this, stroking Louis with the tight curl of his hand, a direct touch rather than something vicarious. He's not just the link that allows Louis to get off anymore, he's actually getting him off and it's—it's overwhelming.

He hitches up Louis's t-shirt—Liam's t-shirt—to expose the mottled marks on his hips from the other day, and pushes his fingertips to them, listening to each sharp, pleased cry that falls from Louis's mouth. It's when he ducks down, shoves the neckline of the t-shirt aside and sinks his teeth into a pale shoulder that Louis comes, sudden and almost sobbing, grabbing at Liam's back as his hips shudder erratically. He coats Liam's fist, hot, and Liam can't stop staring at his face, watching his comedown, the way his throat is working like he's gulping in air and his eyes are steadily regaining focus.

Louis goes softer in his hand and Liam lets him slip out of his fingers, but his hand lingers on Louis's stomach, wet, feeling it quiver. Eventually Louis meets his gaze with a clarity in his eyes that tells Liam he's back.

"Was that just a thank you for the blowjob?" he asks, and he sounds wrecked, but still so Louis, his teasing tone of voice tinged with insecurity.

Liam shakes his head, eyes fixed on Louis. "No," he says simply, doesn't know how else to explain.

Louis grins, almost sheepishly like he's embarrassed, reaching out and spreading his hand wide across Liam's face, pushing his head away to get him to stop staring. Liam laughs in a dazed kind of way and slumps beside Louis on the bed, stroking gently at Louis's stomach and still watching him because he can't help it, looking at Louis in profile now, the angle of his jaw and the slight point of his nose. The room seems very quiet all of a sudden, and the silence, Liam thinks, is oddly expectant. Louis turns his head and Liam offers him a little, hesitant smile, but Louis doesn't return it. He just looks at him.

They go in at the same time, like it's an inevitability, and Liam thinks distantly that maybe it was, all along, without either of them realising it. Louis kisses him with a sort of fierceness, his tongue hot and sure and still faintly tasting of Liam's come, and his hands everywhere, skimming over Liam's back and up into his hair. Liam holds Louis closer, a hand on his hip drawing him in, and licks softly into Louis's mouth until he calms and they're kissing lazily, sweetly, like they have all the time in the world.

It feels good, and safe, and like something that should have happened a long time ago. It feels like Liam is tethering him.

End.

might like you better if we slept together. liam/harry, nc-17.

2012-06-27T14:25:43Z

Title: might like you better if we slept together
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Liam/Harry (mentions of casual Harry/Louis)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slightly rough sex and a little bit of comeplay.
Summary: Liam is one of those people who seem to be able to handle everything, so Harry likes finding the cracks in his armour and poking at them. It's satisfying somehow, making him vulnerable. (~7,000 words)
A/N: Okay, I think part of the reason more people don't write this pairing is just that it's REALLY FUCKING HARD. :| Title from Amanda Blank's 'Might Like You Better'.

It's not a sexual thing. It's really not. Louis says it is, but Louis can find a hidden sexual meaning in anything. He's like Freud in stripes and braces.

Harry will admit that he's a little more interested in Liam's sex life than he perhaps should be, but it's just because he's curious. Liam keeps it such a mystery, and Harry is intrigued by mysteries. He's heard all the others wanking (so many times he's lost count) but never Liam, and it makes him wonder if he's just that quiet or if maybe he doesn't do it at all. He never talks about shagging Danielle, or any of the other girlfriends he's had, never talks about being hard up for it when they're on tour. He never even talks about watching porn, though Zayn did once manage to wheedle it out of him that he does.

A few months ago, Liam confided in Louis that he and Danielle have something of an open relationship, and of course Louis told Harry about twenty minutes later. (Liam should know better than to try keep secrets in this band, especially when he's telling them to Louis.)

"Whaaat," says Harry flatly, the word long and drawn-out, when Louis spills the beans. "So he can—what, so he can fuck other people while we're on tour? That's impossible, we'd know."

"Yeah, he hasn't actually done it," Louis explains. "She just said she'd understand if he did. Distance and stressful environments and that."

Harry ponders this. He tries to imagine Liam hooking up with like, a groupie or something, and finds it completely impossible. "He hasn't done it, then?"

"Nah, said he'd feel too guilty just picking up some random. I mean, come on, it's Liam." Louis regards Harry suspiciously for a moment. "You're going to tell him I told you, aren't you?"

Harry can't exactly help it; it's a brilliant opportunity to wind Liam up. For the entirety of the next week, Harry keeps attempting to set Liam up with various girls, trying to slip female interviewers Liam's mobile number and telling fans at signings that he's been eyeing them. It's all in good fun, really, just to see Liam do his Angry Face, but a part of him really wants one of these girls to take his offer seriously, just to see what would happen. He wants to see some kind of proof that Liam does have a sex drive after all.

"What would you even do, camp outside his hotel room with your ear to the door? Freak," says Louis, ruffling his hair.

"Nooo," whines Harry, "I just think he maybe needs to get laid."

"Uh huh," says Louis doubtfully, eyebrows raised. "That doesn't explain why you keep grabbing his crotch."

In fairness, it doesn't. Harry just does that because it's one of the few ways he can actually get a rise out of Liam. In the beginning, the best way to make Liam uncomfortable was to get suddenly affectionate with him at unexpected moments—fall asleep on him, tackle him into a hug, nuzzle into his neck. It took him a while to get used to the physical affection of the others and Harry always loved overdoing it just to see him squirm. But he adjusted to it fairly quickly, and Harry had to find a new tactic. He started winding Liam up with violence instead, hitting him and throwing things at him, giving him Chinese burns. That used to be fun, because he'd just go all tense and weird, but now he either ignores Harry completely or fights back, and that's not really what Harry's going for.

He's figured out a pattern, though. There's a surefire topic that always Liam feel awkward, and that's sex. It seems to be the only thing Harry can hold over him, the only way to get him to stammer and blush and lose his usual perfect composure. And Harry takes advantage of that, talking about sex whenever he can crowbar it into the conversation, making lewd innuendo, touching Liam in inappropriate places. It's just funny, because Liam has no idea how to react; he'll half-heartedly tell Harry to stop sometimes but for the most part he'll just kind of freeze up and Harry's not quite sure why he enjoys it except that—Liam is one of those people who seem to be able to handle everything, so Harry likes finding the cracks in his armour and poking at them. It's satisfying somehow, making him vulnerable.

Harry's found that what works best is actually a combination of all three methods, so Liam never knows quite what to expect, doesn't know if Harry's approaching him for a cuddle or a harsh nipple-twist or to paw at his dick through his jeans. Liam gets all jumpy around him then, trying to predict Harry's next move and work out if he's safe, but he pretty much never is. It's fun. It's just a game. It doesn't mean anything.

Louis disagrees.

"It's like pulling the pigtails of the girl you fancy at primary school," he mutters, on more than one occasion after Harry's been messing with Liam's fragile nerves, and he only shuts up when Harry points out that he engages in some very similar behaviour with Liam himself.

For the most part, Liam's pretty sure Harry's just being a dick. But really, it's hard to tell. It's just—confusing. He can't exactly help being confused, when everything that Harry says to him is a double-entendre, when he'll curl up against him on the sofa mumbling about being sleepy and Liam will relax only to find that Harry's hand is cupping his balls three seconds later. It's not that he's a prude, exactly, he's just not as open about these things as some people. He's not the type of guy to brag about sexual encounters or to take nude photos of himself to send to someone, and Harry is that guy, and it's not something that should cause tension but Harry's making sure that it does. Liam just doesn't get it.

It's even worse when they're alone together, or when it's just the two of them and Louis. Harry seems to get worse with it then. He'll interrogate Liam about his sex life, utterly shameless, like he doesn't see how weird he's acting. He badgers Liam about when he lost his virginity, and when Liam claims he doesn't remember, Harry just explains in vivid detail how he lost his own, though Liam's pretty sure he does nothing to encourage the volunteering of this information. Harry is usually naked during these conversations, which doesn't help matters. Liam knows he's often naked and it shouldn't be significant, but—it seems to be pretty much always lately. He hopes he's not imagining it.

Liam's just—not sure how much more of this he can handle. Sometimes he wishes something would happen, that Harry would kiss him or something so at least he'd know what all of this means, but then again he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle that, either. The thing is, he probably wouldn't have even started thinking about Harry in That Way if Harry hadn't encouraged it, getting in his space all the time and touching him and being all naked and talking about sex constantly. It's not even—Liam doesn't even think—it's not like that, it's just that somehow he's forgotten how to look at Harry and not think about sex. And he knows it's possible, because he used to do it all the time.

In some ways he thinks this isn't new. He and Harry have always clashed just a little bit, and Liam knows it's nobody's fault, knows it's just that their personalities don't gel as well as the others'. It never used to be a big deal, though—they'd bicker sometimes, Harry would find various ways to irritate Liam but it was always just playful and childish and this feels...not like that, at all. This feels charged with something. And the weird thing is that it doesn't even seem like Harry realises he's doing it, sometimes.

No, probably the weird thing is that Liam doesn't exactly hate it. He doesn't like it, the entire situation is scrambling his brain, but at the same time he knows he'd miss this bizarre behaviour if it went away. That's the worst bit, the fact that there's a little part of him that enjoys the attention, the way it makes his heart beat a little faster and his mouth run dry.

"I'm just saying, if you don't stop harassing him he's probably going to explode sometime soon," says Louis with a shrug.

Harry wrinkles his nose at him. They're in bed in their hotel room and neither of them can sleep, and Louis is offering his opinion on the whole Liam thing again, though Harry is pretty sure he never actually asks for it. "Explode? From like, anger?"

"No, from sexual tension," says Louis, rolling his eyes.

"There is no sexual tension," Harry informs him wearily, "because it isn't sexual."

"Mmhm." Louis sounds unconvinced, and it's irritating, because how many times does Harry have to say he just enjoys winding Liam up? They all do it, because it's funny, because Liam can be kind of uptight. Harry's methods are just a little more unorthodox.

Before he has a chance to argue, though, Louis's phone buzzes on his bedside table and he reaches for it with a sigh.

"Zayn's having girl troubles," he announces a second later, getting out of bed and pulling a t-shirt on.

"Did he text you to tell you that?" snorts Harry.

"Yeah, in the interest of privacy," Louis explains, then shrugs. "Fat lot of good that did. I'm gonna go over there so he can talk it out."

Harry wants to say, because you're such an expert when it comes to girl troubles, but does not. Instead he says, "Are you gonna sleep over?" hoping the tone of his voice accurately conveys his desire for the answer to be 'no.'

"Yeah, probably," Louis says, plucking another shirt and a pair of jeans out of his suitcase and then nipping into the bathroom to fetch his washbag.

"Oh," says Harry. "I don't wanna sleep on my own."

"Suck it up, Styles. Zayn needs me. Go bug Liam or something." Harry considers this, and Louis laughs at him. "I wish you could've seen that, your face actually lit up at the idea. Go on then, go make his night hell, you little nuisance."

Louis's eyes are sparkling with mischief. Harry throws a pillow at him.

"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do," Louis warns, on his way out of the room.

Harry rolls his eyes. "That is the most pointless advice I've ever heard," he mumbles as the door swings shut.

"I HEARD THAT," Louis bellows back at him from the corridor.

Liam knows it's one of the lads from the complicated tune rapped out on the door of his hotel room; it's their special knock. He's even pretty sure that it's Harry, from the way the knock is so precise. Niall tends to forget, Zayn often gives up halfway through, and Louis usually just ends up banging with both fists until someone lets him in. Liam and Harry are the only ones who really bother.

"Hello," he says, opening the door to see Harry standing there in a pair of pyjama bottoms, with some clothes draped over one arm and a washbag dangling from his other hand. "Did you and Louis have a fight?"

"No, he's just with Zayn, so I'm gonna sleep here," says Harry, stepping forwards into the room. Liam stands aside, and Harry strides straight to the bed, dumps his stuff beside it, pulls off his trousers and then throws himself face-first into the pillows.

Liam blinks at him, and then shuts the door. "Are you sure you didn't have a fight?"

Harry says something Liam can't understand, because his mouth is buried in pillow.

"Oh," says Liam. "Okay."

He tries to act like it's normal for Harry to just show up in his room at midnight, but it's really, really not. He's actually not sure it's ever happened before. Definitely not Harry on his own, anyway. But that's okay, he tells himself. It's not like they never spend time alone together.

Liam goes back to sit down where he was before Harry came in, though he has more limited space now that Harry's flung himself sort of diagonally across the bed. He settles back against the wall, pulling his laptop back into his lap. He's in the middle of an email to his sister but he's totally lost his train of thought now. It's a bit hard to concentrate with Harry sprawled out beside him, motionless and silent and naked.

"Whatcha doing?" Harry says, lifting his head, and Liam jumps.

"'m on the computer," he mumbles, staring blankly back at his email and mentally adding, not staring at your arse.

Harry is quiet for a moment, and Liam is just managing to remember how he was going to end the sentence he stopped typing in the middle when Harry suddenly says, "Watching porn?"

"What?" Liam splutters. "No. Harry, you're right next to me."

Harry laughs, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbow. "Were you watching porn before I came in?"

"No," says Liam again, emphatically. He tries to gesture to the email open on the screen but Harry doesn't even bother glancing at it.

"What kind of porn do you like, Liam?" Harry asks, conversationally, idly scratching at his hip, drawing Liam's eyes downwards before he can catch himself. "I bet you spend hours searching for something you don't have to feel guilty about. Or maybe you're secretly into the kinky stuff." He considers Liam for a moment. "Are you secretly into the kinky stuff?"

Liam says "No," again, but he's starting to feel like there's very little point.

"It's all right," says Harry, shrugging. "We've all given it a go. I watched something where a guy was like, tied up and being whipped and stuff once."

"Um," says Liam, "good?" He stares at his email again but he knows it's a lost cause at this point. If he were to start typing again he'd probably end up just talking about porn and he's not sure Ruth would appreciate that.

"It was, actually," says Harry, his tone still light, casual. "Pretty hot. I came really hard, watching that."

Liam's finger skids across the touchpad and he somehow manages to shut his browser, email lost. Shit. Now he's just imagining Harry wanking off, and he really really doesn't need to be imagining that, especially not right now with Harry sprawled naked beside him, so close. He clenches his fists, knuckles popping out. He really, really doesn't know what to do, or say, or how to deal with this at all.

"You know, sometimes you get so tense it's like you haven't wanked off for a month," Harry tells him. "It's probably not healthy, that, Liam. You should do it more often." He looks at him closely. Liam stares fixedly at his laptop, feeling Harry's eyes on him. "When's the last time you got your rocks off?"

"I'm—we're—we're not talking about this," says Liam tightly. He wishes he could call Harry's bluff, talk back, but for one thing that's what Harry probably wants, and for another, he's pretty sure he couldn't without dying of embarrassment.

Harry shrugs. "Just asking," he says. "I mean, I don't do it so often these days either, but that's 'cause I've got Louis. Well, sometimes, you know. When we feel like it. Still have to make do with my own hand when the timing's not right."

"I don't—" says Liam, flustered. "We—you shouldn't—"

It's not like the Louis thing is news to him, but he still gets sort of twitchy whenever one of them outright mentions it. Especially because neither of them have any shame about the subject—not that they should, but Liam's pretty sure it's not normal for Harry to go around boasting about—about how hard Louis gave it to him the previous night, or for Louis to casually mention how good Harry is with his mouth.

Liam doesn't want to think about these things. He really, really doesn't. He doesn't.

"Have you ever had sex with a bloke, Liam?" Harry asks suddenly. "You should try it."

Liam is floundering. How is he supposed to interpret all of this? It's becoming increasingly clear that this isn't just a joke anymore but if this is—if this is flirting, why the hell is Harry always just talking instead of doing something? It seems absurd, but Liam's beginning to feel like this is never going to end unless one of them makes some kind of move. And right now, in this moment, Liam's pretty sure there's only one move to make.

"Right," he says, steeling himself. Harry is staring at him sort of challengingly, green eyes glinting. "Right," Liam says again, and then pounces.

The kiss only lasts about three seconds, but that's all Harry needs to make him realise this is what he's been wanting all along. When Liam lunges at him he's a little bewildered, but then their mouths collide and everything clicks into place and Harry thinks yesyesyes and throws his arms around Liam, trying to pull him in closer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's really annoyed to realise that Louis was right, but it doesn't really matter, not with Liam's lips all soft and warm against his.

Liam pulls back suddenly, steadying himself on one hand so he can put the other one over his mouth. His eyes are wide and shocked like his body did that without consulting his brain. Harry scowls at him impatiently, trying to tug him back in, but Liam is stronger, resisting and then actually kneeling back to get some more distance between them.

"Sorry," he sort of squeaks, voice higher-pitched than normal. He's between Harry's splayed legs, looking sort of shellshocked. "Sorry. Wow. I don't—I didn't—that was—"

"What? Shut up," says Harry, sitting up too and trying to pull Liam back down, curling a hand around the back of his neck. He feels the tension there and rubs gently with his fingertips. "Li, c'mon."

"But I—you—you want—?" Liam stammers.

"Yes," Harry almost hisses.

He may have only realised it a few seconds ago, but he's pretty sure that doesn't matter. Liam's hand slips from his mouth and Harry takes his chance, ducking in quick and pressing his lips to Liam's, sucking gently on his bottom lip and trying to get him to open his mouth. Liam relaxes a little, letting Harry deepen the kiss, and Harry manages to pull them back down onto the bed, and, god, having Liam on top of him feels really really good, their chests pressed warm and firm against each other.

"I thought," says Liam against Harry's mouth, his voice quivering as Harry continues to try and kiss him, nipping at his lower lip, "I thought you were just messing with me."

"Well, I was," Harry says, "but this is a lot better." Liam still looks slightly panicked. "Liam, c'mon. You're the one who kissed me."

"Yeah, but—" Liam flounders, "I—I wasn't thinking."

"Well, you should not-think more often," Harry decides.

Liam seems to go with this, kissing Harry with a heightened intensity, like—like he really wants it, stroking his tongue into Harry's mouth, and Harry can't get over how good it feels, how this is exactly what he was trying for without even realising. This is why he couldn't stop, why he kept nagging and pestering; all he wanted was for Liam to snap, throw him down and kiss him like this. It's exciting, because it feels like Liam's lost control of himself a little bit; Harry's managed to wear him down, get him to push past that sensible part of him and just go with his gut. It's so rare.

And Liam is good at this, the weight of his body on top of Harry feels so right, like he could really hold him down. Harry gets the feeling he's still thinking; his kissing is sort of careful, his tongue skilful like he's trying to—impress Harry, almost. But he doesn't mind, if it's this good. He likes how Liam tastes, too, sweet in a non-specific kind of way, and he always has that comforting warm smell like clean clothes, even now when Harry knows the basketball shorts he's wearing haven't been washed for a few days. Only Liam would have a natural scent like fabric conditioner.

Harry's getting hard, cock filling up against Liam's thigh, and he whimpers into Liam's mouth, pushing up with his hips and hoping Liam will get the hint. Liam seems to get all hesitant again then, like he's distracted by the feel of Harry pressing into him and too nervous about it to concentrate on kissing him properly.

"Do you want to touch me?" Harry murmurs against his lips.

Liam draws back. "What?"

"My cock, Liam," says Harry slowly, "do you want to touch my cock?"

Liam bites his lip, going pink, and then nods. "Um. Yeah," he says, "like—yeah, that's—something I want to do."

Nothing further happens for a few seconds.

"Then do it?" Harry suggests.

"Right. Sorry. Shit, Harry, I don't—" Liam takes a deep breath. "Okay. Wow."

He lifts himself up enough so that he can comfortably reach down between their bodies, hand quivering just a little until he rests it over Harry's erection. The slight contact of his palm is almost blissful, and Harry arches up encouragingly until Liam wraps a clumsy fist around him.

"You're—you're really big," Liam says in a small, sort of awed voice, "I mean, I knew that but I—it's different like this."

Harry grins, hitching his hips up some more so he can push through the circle of Liam's fingers. Liam makes a sort of oh sound and then takes his hand away, and Harry makes a frustrated noise but then he sees that Liam's just cupping it to his mouth and spitting into it. This time when he curls his hand around Harry's cock he's a lot more sure of himself and he works over the length smoothly, his palm slick and firm, and Harry moans and nods eagerly, pulling Liam back down to kiss him again.

It's clumsy then, Liam's hand sort of trapped between them and Harry's hips bucking because he can't seem to keep still, and Liam's struggling to multitask, to kiss Harry and wank him off at the same time. But Harry likes that, likes that it's messy, likes that Liam doesn't exactly know what he's doing but he's not freaking out about it and trying to make everything perfect for once. Liam twists his wrist and then the pad of his thumb skims over the head of Harry's cock, and Harry's teeth graze against Liam's bottom lip as he hisses.

He can feel that Liam's hard too now, cock a stiff line against Harry's thigh, and he can tell he's trying not to just rut off on Harry's leg but they're both sort of thrusting clumsily against each other for more friction, and the knowledge that Harry got Liam hard is really doing something to him. He wonders if that's what he was secretly hoping for every time he put his hand between Liam's legs, every time he felt out the soft shape of him.

"I wanna suck you off, Liam," he murmurs, deciding suddenly, "can I do that?"

"Oh, god," says Liam, and the flush across his face is instant, his cheeks darkening at the words.

"Yeah?" Harry goes on, that usual thrill thrumming through his veins at making Liam blush. "Wanna feel you in my mouth."

"Shit. Harry," Liam sounds breathless.

Harry is grinning, getting off so hard on having this effect on him, desperate to know how he'll react with Harry's mouth around his dick. He lowers his voice, bats his eyelashes. "Need to taste your cock, Liam, will you let me?" he says, and that's what does it.

"Yeah," Liam sort of whines, his head spinning, as Harry knocks him onto his back on the bed, rolling them over and nearly sending Liam's laptop flying. Liam reaches out for it, trying to shut it and put it somewhere safe, but Harry's pulling at the waistband of his shorts and Liam's brain is going fuzzy and he can't focus on anything but the fact that Harry is trying to undress him. This is okay, he keeps telling himself, because it is, it's just—experimentation or something, it's normal and if it's not a big deal for Harry then it doesn't have to be a big deal for him, and Danielle will understand. Probably. Once Liam understands it himself.

He manages to feebly push the laptop out of their way and then turns his face into the pillows, watching through half-shut eyes as Harry gets him to lift his hips up and let him tug down his shorts and boxers, slowly revealing his cock, flushed dark and curved up against his stomach. Harry touches it instantly, slender fingers sliding confidently over Liam's length and making him gasp. It feels weird, being so exposed like this, his arousal so evident when he's put so much effort into trying to hide it in the past, gritting his teeth and thinking about unpleasant things whenever Harry started touching him here. And now that he knows this is what Harry wants, he wants to see that he's made Liam hard, and not just for some weird twisted joke—that's different, and kind of scary, but he likes it.

Harry parts Liam's thighs a bit more, and then gets his fingers wrapped round the base of Liam's cock so he can keep it steady as he guides it into his mouth—Liam feels himself push over the wet warmth of Harry's tongue and then Harry's closing his lips around him, sucking him into the silky heat of his mouth and oh, god, it's so good Liam almost wants to cry. He watches, awed, as Harry takes him deeper, fitting his throat around him and Liam can feel the soft flutter and pulse of it, the way Harry's straining himself but doing it so expertly, and Liam can't help but wonder how many times he's done it, knowing it must be because of Louis that he's so good. Harry's eyelids are lowered, his fringe sweeping down over his forehead, his lips reddened and shining, but when he senses Liam staring at him his eyes flick open and he looks up at Liam wickedly.

He pulls off a little, gently, teasing at Liam with the tip of his tongue. Liam's hips jolt and Harry takes him right back down in one smooth motion, a tight swallow. Liam reaches out, wanting to touch him but not sure how. He curls a tentative hand over Harry's shoulder and Harry's head begins to bob, his throat working, and Liam gasps out a mindless, "Oh, Harry, wow," and clutches helplessly at Harry as he sucks. He feels close already, about to spin off the edge, but Harry eases back off right then.

"I—" says Liam, "I was going to..." He trails off.

"I know, I don't want you to," says Harry simply, and his voice sounds rougher, and Liam feels a tingle go down his spine at the knowledge of why. And then Harry says "I want you to come while you're fucking me," and Liam nearly chokes.

"Wh-what?" he sputters. He really didn't think this was going to go that far. He thinks guiltily of Danielle again, but—she did give him permission. Not for this exactly, but it's—it's not some random girl, it's Harry, and Danielle trusts Harry, and it's not like this is going to get completely out of hand. Though Liam does sort of feel like it's heading that way. "Um," he says, "are you sure? I mean, I've never—are we really—?"

"Yeah," Harry says plainly, and he's leaning over the side of the bed now, finding his washbag in the pile of clothes he brought in. He unzips it, keeping his eyes on Liam as he says, "Louis hasn't given it to me for ages, I'm dying for a fuck."

"Harry," Liam says, though reprimanding him for saying things like that at this point feels a little futile.

"You want to, right?" Harry asks.

"Y-yeah," Liam says, and it's sort of bewildering to realise just how much he does, and to admit it. Especially to admit it to Harry, when he still feels like this could just be some elaborate prank and Harry might snatch this all away in a second and cry victory, claim he's won whatever game they've been playing.

But Harry's smile goes soft, instead. He leans over Liam and kisses him deeply, and Liam can taste himself on Harry's mouth, a slight musky sweetness. "Good. Okay," says Harry then, breath hitching for a second and his eyes going dark. "I'll show you what to do."

He takes Liam's hand and pulls him up, so he can lie down in Liam's space. He bends his legs, bringing his knees up, and Liam settles between them uncertainly, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding dangerously fast. Harry's got a condom in one hand and a tiny little bottle of something in the other, and he proffers the bottle.

"This. Fingers. Inside," he says simply.

Liam fumbles with it, trying to snap the cap open and drizzle the liquid over his fingers, and he's so shaky and Harry's so impatient for it now, now that he knows this is actually going to happen. He's so aware of how long he's been wanting it without even realising.

Liam brushes two fingers down behind his balls and Harry starts at the cold touch, which makes Liam draw back suddenly. "Sorry," he says. "Um—"

Harry tries not to roll his eyes. "It's okay," he says. "Just. One at first, okay? And slow."

Liam nods. "I just—I want to make it good for you."

"You will," Harry grins, "but only if you actually do something."

"Right."

Liam is more self-assured, then, stroking at the tight hole until he can gently begin to push inside, his middle finger turned upwards and sliding in ever so slowly. Harry nods encouragingly, glad for once that Liam is always so desperate to get things just right. His finger sinks in to the knuckle and then he freezes, like he's not sure what to do next.

"Liam, I know you must've fingered girls before, c'mon," Harry says impatiently, trying to grind down against his hand. "It's really not that different."

Liam bites his lip. "I just—it. You." Harry doesn't bother asking him to elaborate, especially because then he actually starts moving, finger working back and then in again, easing Harry open just a little.

"Yeah," Harry breathes, "yeah, that feels good."

He's still sort of bucking against Liam's hand, trying to encourage him to go faster, and Liam misinterprets it and starts to push a second finger alongside the first but Harry's not complaining, feeling the stretch turn into something more, that slightly fuller feeling that he loves. Liam works at him with his fingers until Harry is moaning, spread out on the bed and begging for Liam's cock.

"Are you—are you sure you're ready?" Liam asks uncertainly, fingers still gently pumping in and out.

God, he's such a tease and he's not even doing it on purpose, has no idea. "C'mon, Liam, need you to fuck me, hurry up," Harry whines impatiently.

Liam colours. "Stop saying that."

"But I want it."

Liam heaves out a breath and withdraws his fingers, reaching for the condom at Harry's side and getting it unwrapped and on with surprising dexterity. He slicks some of the lube over himself and Harry notices how he's gone all tense, his shoulders hunched and back taut. Harry thinks he must be getting under Liam's skin again, making him want to retaliate, because he doesn't waste any more time—he lowers himself down over Harry, hooking a hand behind Harry's left knee to pull it up around him, and Harry finds himself complying instantly, wrapping his legs around Liam's waist and watching his face as he reaches down to guide his cock inside. He wants to taunt, to urge Liam on, but somehow he can't find words, not when he feels the head of Liam's cock breaching him, opening him up. He bites his lip, hard, staring up at the concentration on Liam's face.

"Are—are you okay? Is that—does it hurt?" Liam asks, still going so slow, gradually sinking in, showing great restraint. His other hand is clutching at the duvet, fingers digging into the fabric, and the tension in his body shows how good Harry feels, how tight and hot around him.

"No," Harry says instantly, breathing through it, "keep going, it's so good, fuck."

Liam swallows, steadily letting go of himself and easing in all the way, 'til they're flush against each other and Harry can feel the whole length of Liam inside, smooth and solid and still.

"Fuck," says Harry again. He knows he should wait, knows he needs to give himself a moment to adjust, but all he wants is for Liam to pound him into the mattress.

"Tell me when you're ready for me to move," says Liam softly, and he doesn't sound so nervous now all of a sudden; it's like he's switched over into that mode he has of wanting to take care of everybody, so focused on everyone else's needs that he forgets to think about how he's feeling. Harry wants to break that down right away, get Liam to just take what he wants.

"You can move," Harry tells him, and it's probably a little too soon but he knows Liam is going to go slow at first anyway and he's right—Liam draws back a little, and Harry feels the shift of his cock inside, the friction as it slides out and leaves an empty ache behind before Liam fills him slowly back up.

Harry whimpers, nodding, and throws his arms over Liam's strong shoulders, loosely wrapping them around his neck. It feels good, curled under him like this—Harry's technically taller than him but it doesn't feel like it now. Liam always has a way of making him feel small, and young, and maybe that's partly why Harry's always doing whatever he can to get one up on him, but right now he doesn't care about that, right now he likes it, wants Liam to show him how strong he is and fuck him really hard.

He says so, and Liam goes pink-cheeked and flustered again, but this time Harry doesn't consider it a victory.

Liam tries to give Harry what he wants, but it's—god, he's so tight, so tight, it really feels like Liam could hurt him. He thrusts in a steady rhythm, trying to build it up, feeling the hot clench of Harry all around him and it's making him light-headed, making his heartbeat short. Harry keeps talking to him, looking into his eyes and saying how good it feels, and Liam doesn't—he doesn't know how to deal with that, with the sudden sincerity in Harry's voice like he means this, he's not just saying it to make Liam blush. It's stupid, but he feels so close to Harry right now, so much closer than they've ever been. And it's not like they've never tried, before, they used to make so much effort to click the way they did with the others, used to get so excited whenever they found something they had in common. It's never been an issue of not liking each other, of not being able to talk to each other, and they are close, but there's always been a distance, something missing from their bond. It seems ridiculous that it might be this, but—

"C'mon Liam please, give it to me hard, make me feel it tomorrow," Harry's pleading with him, and Liam kisses him mostly to shut him up because he really can't handle him talking like that.

Harry moans into his mouth as Liam's hips begin to work faster, his cock plunging deep over and over. Harry's clawing at his back, scratching him, and he shouldn't like that, but there's something about being able to do this to Harry—for Harry—that's sending him crazy. One of Harry's hands drops down between them to stroke at his cock where it's lying dark and heavy against his tummy and he's tugging at it in time with Liam's thrusts, quick and harsh, arching his back like he's trying to get Liam in even deeper.

"C'mon, c'mon, harder," he chants, breath damp and hot against Liam's cheek now, and Liam is already going harder than he's ever fucked anyone, harder than he's comfortable with, really, but Harry just wants more. "Liam, come on, be rough with me," Harry begs and there's a different note in his voice now, frustrated and impatient, urging Liam on. It's like he doesn't think Liam can do this, and Liam wants to prove that he can.

He straightens up and Harry's legs slip from his back, and he grabs at them instinctively, holding them bent up in the air and far apart, keeping them spread wide as he pounds into him. Harry moans desperately, nodding, hand flying over his own cock as he keeps saying "Fuck me, fuck me," like a mantra. It's all Liam can do; his hips snap back and forth and his grip goes tight around Harry's ankles and Harry is just spread out and taking it, fingers grappling with the pillow beneath his head, his star tattoo standing out crisp and black against his pale skin and the muscles tensing beneath. Liam feels like he's losing control, like his body's moving of its own accord; he can't stop just thrusting into the tight heat, driving his cock into Harry over and over, staring like he's hypnotised by the expression of pure bliss on Harry's face. He looks like nothing's ever felt this good.

Harry cries out suddenly and Liam realises that he's coming, clamping down around Liam's cock as he spills messily over his own fist, come dripping down over his clenched knuckles. Liam is transfixed by his face, still, the pleasure so evident on it, and he doesn't notice what Harry's doing until he feels the swipe of something wet and warm across his cheek. He startles and Harry grins cheekily at him, cleaning off his hand on Liam's face. Liam inhales sharply and hopes he looks sufficiently scandalised but—but Harry's going tighter around him in a strange rhythm with the aftershocks of his orgasm and it's sending something buzzing down Liam's spine. He surrenders to it, doubling over and clutching tight at Harry's hips as he buries deep, gasping as he comes.

He feels dizzy after, the room going swimmy around him for a moment before his eyes focus on Harry's face. Harry looks sort of smug, smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and Liam is slumped over him trying to catch his breath when Harry suddenly pulls Liam down by his head and licks his cheek, tongue gathering up his own come, and Liam makes a helpless sound somewhere between disgust and arousal, pushing Harry back down as Harry persistently tries to lap up the last traces.

"You—I don't—" Liam stammers, and Harry cuts him off with a kiss, and Liam goes utterly boneless against him when he tastes Harry's come in his mouth.

Harry breathes a sigh, stretching, his muscles feeling cramped in a familiar sort of satisfying way as Liam tries to disentangle their bodies, fumbling with the condom. He watches through sleepy eyes as Liam manages to tie it off neatly while simultaneously touching it as little as possible, but when he actually tries to get up Harry locks his legs back around him, keeping him down.

"Not yet."

"But—"

"Oh, leave it," says Harry, batting the condom out of Liam's hand and frankly not caring where it lands. Liam makes a disapproving face but gets distracted when Harry pulls him down for another kiss, fingers combing through his hair. "Just lie down a second, yeah? And try not to think about anything."

Liam makes a small noise of protest, but gives in, flopping down beside Harry and shuffling about for a moment trying to get comfortable. Harry pulls him close, absentmindedly tracing patterns on his soft skin, prodding him to get him to turn over slightly so Harry can admire the faint scratch marks he left on his back. Liam seems all twitchy and agitated, and Harry not sure that's normal when someone's just had an orgasm but then, this is Liam.

"I'm sorry, I'm thinking," says Liam after a while, his voice small and pathetic. "Harry, I really want that to happen again."

Harry turns his head to look at him. "Will Danielle mind?" he smirks.

Liam makes a face. "Will Louis mind?"

Harry doesn't really want to think about Louis, because he knows when they see each other again tomorrow morning Louis will recognise his just-got-fucked look right away and will probably gloat for about a week because he knew what Harry wanted before Harry did. Because he was right.

Because, yeah. It's totally a sexual thing. Lying here wrapped around Liam, both of them naked and in a sort of post-coital haze, Harry can't exactly deny that anymore.

"We could probably work something out," Harry says. If Louis does mind, maybe he can use that to his advantage, make him all jealous and get some possessive sex out of it.

"Okay," says Liam quietly, nuzzling into Harry's shoulder. "Okay. Um. Good."

Harry chuckles. "Yeah," he says. "Good."

End.

give it to me like i want it. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-06-22T16:59:25Z

I posted this ages ago at the kink meme, but I've been meaning to post it here as well so all my 1D fic is in one place. Just for archiving purposes, really! Sorry it's nothing new!

Title: give it to me like i want it
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None?!
Summary: Harry is overwhelmed by Louis's size and after being fucked by him, he just can't stop wanting to have him inside of him at every opportunity. (~1,400 words)
A/N: Title from 'Roc Me Out' by Rihanna. Originally posted here.

"You okay?" Louis murmurs, smoothing a hand across Harry's tensed stomach.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry replies quickly, but his breath is hitching and his voice comes out rough, and Louis can feel him quiver under his hand.

Louis smiles softly, easing back a little. "You sure?"

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah, just—fuck." He opens his eyes and looks at Louis, his gaze heavy-lidded and intense. "You're, y'know. Big." He chuckles, and Louis is pretty sure he instantly gets even harder, heat pooling in the pit of his belly and making his brain short-circuit.

"Do you want—" he starts, but he's not even sure what he's going to say. More lube? To slow down? To—god forbid—stop?

But Harry's shaking his head rapidly. "No no, no," he says. His legs, sort of carelessly sprawled open with Louis between them, spread even wider and he hooks his ankles around Louis's hips, pulling him closer. Louis steadies himself, slides in a little deeper, and the tight heat envelops him and god, it's good, so good. Harry makes a sound almost like a whimper, and when Louis looks at him he sees wide glazed eyes and pink cheeks and a slack, open mouth.

"You okay?" Louis says again, and Harry can only nod this time. His cock is lying heavy and full against his stomach now, flushed dark and wet at the tip, but Louis knows it would be way too much for him to touch it right now, Harry already hypersensitive and overstimulated from slowly being stretched this way.

Louis watches himself as he pushes deeper, in awe of how thick he looks, almost too big to fit. His throat is dry and he swallows, holding Harry steady by the hips as he slides in all the way, slick heat all around him and so fucking tight it almost hurts. They're fully skin-to-skin now, Harry's arse cradled against Louis's hips, and Harry grabs at a tight fistful of duvet and chants, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

Louis wants to ask him if he's okay again, because he looks wrecked—teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, eyes almost watering—but he can't seem to speak. All he can do is hold him close.

"You can move," Harry chokes out after a few seconds, and Louis isn't actually sure that he can but god, he needs friction, and so he draws his hips back a little before pushing back in, and Harry almost whines. Louis does it again, still so slow, and Harry looks sweaty and wild and totally dazed. He looks almost drugged, like he's high off of it, off the feeling of Louis splitting him open, rocking back and forth, driving in deep.

Louis runs his hands along Harry's thighs, holding his legs apart, thumbs pressed into the tender skin behind his knees. He goes a little faster and he's not even sure Harry can handle it—Harry stares up at him with those wide eyes, curls damp with sweat plastered to his forehead, his cock leaking precome against his stomach, smearing wet. He moans brokenly. His knuckles are white against the sheets.

"I'm—oh, fuck, Louis, I'm gonna—" he pants out, and Louis doesn't even have a second to process it, can only watch in awe as Harry shudders and comes, splashing up onto his chest, cock pulsing and twitching untouched. He writhes against the bedcovers, panting, and Louis eases out of him, stunned, running his fingers gently through the wetness on Harry's heaving chest like he can't quite believe it.

"Um," he croaks. He can't come up with any other words. His wandering fingers begin to pet Harry instead, patting, soothing.

Harry stares up at him, and slowly an enormous, beaming smile spreads across his face. He's an utter mess, but he looks completely blissful and Louis can't help but grin right back at him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"We're, uh," Harry says, and his voice is so raw he has to clear his throat, "we're doing that again."

"Yes, please," Louis replies, and he's already thinking about when they'll get a chance to, their next night off—it takes him a second to realise that Harry is pulling him in close again. He feels the head of his cock press up against Harry's flushed hole and his heart jumps. "Now?"

"Mmm." Harry has that dazed look on his face again; his eyes are sleepy as he hitches his hips up, reaching down between his own legs to try and get Louis back inside him.

Harry is insatiable after that. Louis thought it was bad enough when they first started messing around—it was nearly impossible to find private moments to themselves and he still remembers the heady days of wanking each other off in toilet cubicles and dressing rooms, the hurried blowjobs whenever they got a chance. But this, this is on a whole different level, and Louis doesn't feel like it's the kind of thing they can really do between interviews or in a spare few minutes before a performance.

Harry, however, does not feel the same. Practically every moment they're alone, he's jumping on Louis, kissing him and undressing him with a sort of frantic desperation. Louis tries to tell him to wait, that they've got the privacy of a hotel room waiting for them if they can just hold off til tonight, that they can literally go without sleep if he wants—but it's not enough for Harry, and by the time Harry's got them both half-naked Louis can't really resist either.

The morning after that first unbelievable night, they had to get up at seven for some radio interviews, but Harry woke Louis early by clambering on top of him. Louis barely had the energy and found himself more of a passive participant, lying there watching sleepily as Harry fingered himself—clumsy but determined, his brow furrowed, curls hanging down over his eyes—and then sank down onto Louis's cock and rode himself to a quick, messy orgasm within mere minutes. The alarm went, and Louis half-heartedly mumbled something about them having to get ready, but Harry leaned in close and pleaded "more," and Louis couldn't deny him that, not when he had that look in his eyes like he could do this, just this, for the rest of his life and never want for anything else.

And from then, it's more, moremoremore, an obsession, and they get reckless and stop worrying—and even caring—if the other boys can tell something's up, if they can hear Harry's wrecked sobs and moans through the hotel walls. They show up late to interviews, and Harry shifts uncomfortably and Louis knows he must be sore, and they can't help but exchange knowing little glances and god, it's all so crazy and stupid but it's like Harry fevers for it, like he literally can't get enough.

Once, with three fingers twisting deep inside Harry, Louis asks him why. Harry groans and squirms with frustration, hips churning helplessly. "Because it makes me feel good," he says, breath catching as Louis curls his fingers just right, "so full, full of you, stretching me and—" he's red-faced and eager for it and Louis knows there was no point in asking, not now when he wants it so bad he can barely form sentences, "I can't explain it, just fuck me, Louis, please."

And Louis can't ever tell him no, doesn't ever want to tell him no, even when it's the worst timing and everyone around them is starting to get seriously annoyed by the way they're always showing up late, with flushed cheeks and obvious sex hair and thrown-on clothes. Even when they've got a scant ten minutes before a show and Harry drags him into the bathroom and locks the door and just fucking goes ahead and bends over.

"I need it, I need you in me, Lou, I can't—fuck," he says, voice low and wavering, his fingers slipping on Louis's zipper, "I can't function." He laughs then, sudden and wild, at the ridiculousness of all of it, at how foolish they're being, at how brain-meltingly wonderful it all is.

Louis kisses him softly to try and calm him down, and then holds him close with his fingers combing through dark curls, and then—pressing him face-first against the cool tiles—gives him what he wants.

End.

leave you drowning until you reach for my hand (1/2). harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-06-20T14:48:21Z

Title: leave you drowning until you reach for my hand
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, rough sex, overstimulation, spanking, facials, facefucking, unprotected sex. Mentions of bondage, face-slapping, and humiliation. Under-negotiated BDSM which leads to the discovery of limits. (But everything is all right in the end!)
Summary: If Louis told him to do something that he really didn't want to do, it would be different, but Louis's never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn't handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement. (~16,500 words)
A/N: For elipie, inspired by this prompt. Many thanks to littlemousling! Title from 'Radioactive' by Marina & the Diamonds.

The thing is, it's just not as much fun as it used to be. At first it was exciting, because it was new, because every time Louis told Harry to do something there was a little bit of doubt in his mind about whether or not Harry would actually do it. It felt like he was pushing him, like Harry was dragging himself out of his comfort zone purely to please Louis. And now it's just not like that, anymore. Now he knows that Harry will do whatever he says, and it doesn't really feel like it's much of a challenge anymore. Harry feels secure in it, because as soon as he's obeyed Louis's command Louis will shower him with praise and that's unwavering, that's something Harry can count on. Something that makes him feel comfortable.

And it's not like Louis wants Harry to feel uncomfortable, but he kind of likes him a little bit on edge. He misses getting a rise out of him, seeing that slight flash of panic or uncertainty in his eyes and then seeing him go through with it anyway. But lately he just seems to embrace it, accept it, without hesitation or trouble. He'll grin at Louis onstage as he sings the changed lyrics, and Louis can't help but grin back because he looks so giddy but it's not—it's not quite what he wants. It feels wrong lately, like something is off, and he's not sure what it is but it's making him antsy and frustrated.

It's not something he's planned out, at all. He doesn't think it through. It just—happens. One night onstage, the two of them are sitting either side of Zayn on the couch and Harry is leaning forward and it's just so easy to tap him, motion for him to lean back, and then ignore him when he does. Louis figures Harry must think he wants him to lean back so they can talk, but Louis just starts fiddling with his sleeve instead, neatening it where it's rolled up, and then Niall gets his attention, distracting him. Louis grins, already feeling the blood thrumming a little quicker in his veins knowing Harry must be looking at him, confused, waiting for him to give some indication of why he wanted him to lean back, or even just to flash him a quick smile to show that he's pleased that Harry obeyed. But Louis does neither of those things, leaving him hanging until they have to stand up again because it's time for Harry to sing.

He leaves it for the rest of the concert, satisfied, but in the back of his mind he can't help wanting to repeat this. He caught a glimpse of Harry's puzzled expression before they got up and it just—it felt good to throw him off like that, he wants to do it again. Back at the hotel they shower and flop into bed and Harry doesn't ask him about it. Louis figures he probably thinks it was just a fluke, that there's no need to mention it, or maybe he liked it, liked being left floundering like that a little bit after a command.

So the next night, Louis does it again. And the next, and the next. It starts out slow, with the little things, silly stuff that he tells Harry to do just for the sake of it and Harry does just because Louis said so. And Louis looks away after, or even during, speaking to one of the others instead or taking a swig from his water bottle or grinning at someone in the crowd instead of at Harry, feeling that strange flutter in his chest when he catches sight of Harry's furrowed brow out of the corner of his eye. One night he even ignores the lyric change Harry carries out at his request, telling him what to sing and then acting like nothing is out of the ordinary, even as Harry is grinning in that goofy way he does when he knows he's breaking the rules and it's all for Louis. Louis sees his face fall, properly fall, and for a moment he feels guilty but then the chorus comes around again and Harry is belting out the wrong lyrics at the top of his voice, as clearly as he can, as though he thinks Louis didn't hear him or he didn't do it well enough the first time and that's—that's something. It makes Louis's heart hammer against his ribcage and arousal twist in the base of his spine, seeing Harry try harder to please him like that. It makes him want to kick it up a notch.

They've got a day off the next day, and Louis tells Harry what to wear in the morning like he sometimes does—it's something Harry particularly gets off on, Louis doesn't know why but it makes him do it less often so that it's special. Harry's pulling a t-shirt out of the wardrobe and Louis points at him and just says, "Uh-uh."

Harry takes a shaky breath, replacing the shirt back in the wardrobe. "Which one?" he asks, hesitantly like he's not sure if he's pushing it.

"Hmm. Blue one," says Louis, "with the black jeans."

He gets up from the bed, about to get dressed himself so he has an excuse to be distracted, when there's a knock at the door. He heads over to open it and Niall comes in, starting in on some story about what Liam put on his toast by mistake at breakfast or something—Louis's not really listening, hyper-aware of Harry changing beside him, slipping on the clothes Louis picked out for him.

Niall keeps on talking and Louis decides he should probably get dressed too, and all the while Harry just stands there in the outfit Louis chose, at a loose end, silent and fidgety, waiting for Louis's approval. Niall's presence alone isn't really enough of a reason for Louis to hold out, he could easily just give Harry a quick wink and a "Lookin' good, babe," but instead he just pulls on his clothes, chatting to Niall and pretty much ignoring Harry completely. There's a part of him, again, that feels bad, as they make their moves towards the door and Harry is still hovering there looking so lost, but then—

"Lou," Harry mutters in a sort of urgent voice, "w-which shoes?"

And again he's trying harder, thinking Louis's not pleased and he needs to do more, and god, there's something about that that sends Louis dizzy. "I dunno," he says, shrugging, "your trainers? I don't care."

He and Niall head out of the room and then have to wait another minute because—as Louis well knows—Harry brought three pairs of trainers with him on the trip and is clearly desperately trying to figure out which ones Louis was referring to, knowing he can't go out and ask him without being too obvious in front of Niall. Finally he comes out in his black ones, and Louis barely spares him a glance, just says, "Took you long enough, come on," and sets off down the hallway.

He's always liked seeing Harry flustered, that's not new, and he certainly likes seeing Harry eager to please, so maybe this is just an extension of those two things combined. Whatever it is, it's really working for him, and he keeps it going, needing more. It's actually a challenge for him at the same time though, which, if he'd thought about it, he's not sure he would've expected. He supposes it has something to do with habit; he's so used to commending Harry whenever he does anything for him that sometimes the praise slips out before he can remember he's supposed to be refraining from it. Sometimes he can't help but grin at him when he does something stupid at Louis's request, partly because he looks so happy and partly because he'll never get completely tired of seeing Harry do or say something completely inane purely for Louis's sake.

The inconsistency helps, though, as it turns out. If Louis wasn't giving Harry anything at all, he might give up, not bother to try so hard anymore, but because he can't tell whether he's going to get a big grin and a well done or not, he keeps trying in the hopes that he will, and Louis loves that, loves the feeling of control it gives him, knowing Harry is falling over himself trying to do his very best.

***
Harry doesn't understand it, any of it, but he always tries to take what Louis gives him and this must be something Louis is doing for a reason, he must think Harry can handle it. Harry keeps telling himself that, but there's this anxiety nagging at him, this worry that maybe Louis's not praising him sometimes because he doesn't deserve praise. But logically, he knows he's not doing anything different, definitely not slacking, and if Louis were genuinely unhappy with him he's sure he'd say something, or show it in other ways. For the most part things are normal, just as they've always been. It's not like Louis is suddenly neglecting him at all; they're still cuddling all the time and making each other laugh and fooling around.

It's just that sometimes when Louis tells Harry to do something and Harry does it, Louis doesn't seem pleased with him. He doesn't seem disappointed, just indifferent, but—somehow that's worse, like Harry's not even doing enough to keep his attention, and he can't help but want to try harder. And even though he's confused, he doesn't mind having to make more of an effort, because if Louis thinks he's not doing well enough then Harry needs to do better.

Onstage, Louis continues to get him to change the lyrics, and Harry listens intently to the new words he has to sing, and bellows them out proudly no matter how silly they are, but most of the time Louis will barely look at him. He'll tell Harry which impression to do when the Twitter questions call for it, but where he used to praise Harry almost excessively for his usual Niall impersonation, all Harry gets now is a quick smile if anything. Sometimes Louis will be busy talking to one of the others, or speaking to the crowd, and Harry finds himself hamming it up more and more, desperate to get some kind of reaction out of him.

When Louis tells him to make him a cup of tea on the tour bus, run him a bath in their hotel room, fetch him things, Harry tries to be quick and perfect, but it seems like Louis is often distracted when Harry comes back. He'll be texting or resting with his headphones in or doing something online, and he'll just flash Harry a grin, mutter a quick "Thanks," instead of giving Harry that warm, proud smile, ruffling his hair, whispering good boy in his ear and saying how lucky he is to have him.

They've been so busy lately that they haven't had much time for sex; it's always late when they get in from the shows and they've got to get up early in the mornings for interviews and photoshoots and they're just tired, settling for quick handjobs most of the time because they need their sleep. Louis doesn't praise him after those, either, but that's not that unusual—it's only when things are more intense, usually, that he'll reassure Harry that he did a good job, tell him how amazing he was.

Today is one of the band's few days off and the two of them are making the most of it, staying shut in the hotel room, glad to be able to take their time with sex for once.

"Want you to ride me," Louis murmurs, nipping at Harry's ear as he maneuvers the two of them to the bed.

Harry nods, watching as Louis lies back and starts stroking himself slick. Louis doesn't let him do this very often, and Harry likes it, it puts him out of his comfort zone a little bit to be on top when he's so used to being beneath Louis, feeling the weight of him. Louis's still in control, of course, and he makes that very clear, but there's something about the position that makes Harry feel so exposed. He likes the way Louis will lie back and watch him, urge him to go faster or to turn so Louis can get a look at Harry's arse bouncing up and down on his cock.

Louis already fingered him, backing Harry up against the wall and snaking his hand between his legs, plunging two fingers in and out, fast and deep until Harry was weak in the knees and clutching at Louis, pleading. So when Harry straddles Louis and starts to sink down on him, Louis's fingers still wrapped loose around the base of his cock to help guide it inside, Harry is ready. The stretch is like nothing else, though, and he groans, tipping his head back as he lowers himself, taking it deeper until he feels Louis's fingers. Louis retracts them, letting Harry sink down all the way.

Harry forces himself to lift his head back up because he knows Louis will want to see him, and Louis watches, eyes flicking from Harry's face to where their bodies meet, his lower lip caught between his teeth and his face and chest already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Harry takes a moment, letting himself adjust, waiting for Louis to tell him he can move, and Louis makes him wait so long for it that he's soon desperate; the thick solid feel of Louis so still inside him is making him ache for friction. He's so hard from it, cock curving up against his own stomach.

"Lou," he says weakly. He needs to steady himself, and he places his hands on Louis's stomach, trying not to lean down too far and shift Louis's cock inside him. It's always—strange, like this, knowing that he's technically in a position of power with Louis beneath him, but not feeling any urge to actually take control. He looks down at his own hands on Louis's belly; sees how large they look, especially when he splays out his fingers. Louis's skin is hot and soft, and Harry presses pleadingly, almost kneading at him. "Lou, Lou, please can I—"

"Yeah, go on," Louis says, finally, and it comes out like a long exhale, like he'd been holding his breath.

Harry sighs out a "Thank you, thank you," and starts to move, and he's too eager, too quick, using his hands on Louis's belly to lift himself and up and slam back down, moaning loudly at the hot slide of Louis inside him.

"Hey," says Louis firmly, reaching out to take Harry by the hips and hold him still, "slow for now, yeah?"

Harry nods, trying to hold in a whine, and Louis guides him, fingers biting into his hips as he gets Harry to rock gently against him. Harry hisses out a breath and Louis brings his hands back, up behind him so he can rest his head on them. It's so trusting that Harry feels a little rush of pleasure, thanking him again and trying to keep at the pace Louis showed him, gradually letting himself speed up and keeping a close watch on Louis's face to try read his reactions, make sure he's doing it right. Louis doesn't protest, so he builds up quicker and he's just found a good rhythm when suddenly Louis's phone is ringing, his ridiculous dance remix ringtone blaring out suddenly.

Harry laughs, but to his surprise, Louis doesn't. Instead he just reaches out for it, and Harry goes stock still, puzzled.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head, biting his lip as he realises Louis is actually going to answer the call. This has happened before, actually—Louis was feeling particularly cheeky once when their house phone rang during sex, and he decided to pick up. It was nervewracking but kind of fun, an inside joke, knowing the person on the other end of the line had no idea what they were doing.

"Well hello yourself, Liam," says Louis into his phone, in a sort of booming voice that makes Harry giggle and try to catch his eye. Louis is just listening intently, though. "Yeah, I think that's it," he says and Harry wonders what they're talking about. Liam's gone out shopping today so it's probably this hair product Louis's been trying to hunt down—he can't get it back at home and it's hard to find even here; he's got everybody looking out for it. "No, it's like dark blue. The logo's white I think."

Harry is kind of impressed at how casual he sounds. It would probably take Liam a while to catch on to what's happening even if they were both moaning away, but like this, there's no way he's got any idea. Harry is grinning at the thought of it, rocking back and forth on Louis's cock, keeping him in deep and trying to catch Louis's eye again, but Louis's got his head turned to the side and he's gazing out of the window. Probably he thinks he'll lose it if he looks at Harry, but that didn't seem to be a problem when this happened before; part of the fun was that they were giggling breathily at each other and confusing the caller, Louis making all these sly little comments, and this seems—different.

"There's a difference between navy and black, Liam," Louis teases, and Harry goes a little tense then, at the way Louis seems so happy to be joking around with Liam even when he's got Harry right on top of him like this. Jealousy flares up in Harry and he grips at Louis's stomach a little tighter, heaving himself up and then back down, churning his hips in a tiny circle and watching closely to see if Louis's eyelids flutter.

They don't.

Louis just says "Ah well, we'll find it somewhere," scratching idly at his chest, "how's the shopping going, anyway?"

Harry clenches his jaw, watching as Louis listens intently to whatever Liam's answer is. He wants Louis's attention back on him, needs it, and he starts riding him quicker, hitching his hips to lift off a little and then slamming back down, over and over. He sprawls his hands up over Louis's chest, stretching out further so he's working himself back on Louis's cock fervently. His own erection skims Louis's stomach like this, adding to the pleasure, but he tries to ignore it, tries to concentrate on Louis.

This must be what Louis wants, for him to make more of an effort—Harry must not be doing a good enough job if Louis can still carry on a conversation. They're talking now about the things Liam's bought and Harry doesn't listen to the words, trying instead to hear if Louis's voice wavers at all, and when it does—just a little—Harry is spurred on. He fucks himself fast on Louis's cock, starting to ache a little from doing all the work but not caring, and he's surprised to suddenly hear his own name.

"Haz?" Louis's saying, impassively. "No, I dunno. He went out or something. Think he's with Zayn."

Harry frowns, a strange mixture of anger and determination boiling in his blood, and he forces himself to straighten back up, remembering that Louis likes to see when they fuck like this. Maybe he's acting like Harry's not even there because he's not giving him what he wants. Harry stretches back, holding onto the balls of his own feet and then clutching behind him at Louis's thighs, hips still moving in desperate jerky movements, torso outstretched, cock slapping hard against his own taut stomach.

Louis still doesn't look at him, but the change of angle hits Harry deep and feels so good, he can't hold back a whimper. Louis's eyes flicker then, but he still doesn't look over, not even to give Harry a sharp glance of warning. Harry whimpers again, partly out of frustration now, but it—it feels so fucking good, there's something about having to try so hard that's making him hot, making something fizzle inside of him. He always has this urge to please Louis, and it's something he's always liked, but right now it's even stronger, it's a desperate need—he's not good enough but it's not making him feel hurt or defeated, it just makes him want to be better. But it's hard now, he's losing focus, every time he draws Louis's cock in he feels it brush that spot that sends him crazy and he's trembling, muscles aching, but it feels so good that he can't stop, he's so close.

He knows he should be concentrating on Louis, should be trying to get him off first—what if that's what he wants, what if he won't stop talking to Liam until Harry manages to make him come? But Harry's already teetering on the edge, working himself into a frenzy while Louis stays calm, still chatting. His breathing seems quicker and his voice has maybe gone a bit fainter but Harry doesn't know if he's just imagining it. Louis's free hand clutching the sheets tightly is the only real sign that he's feeling anything at all. Harry forces himself to stop, to pull forwards once again and steady his hands on Louis's chest—but it's the sudden shift that sends him over the edge, his cock rubbing sudden and rough against Louis's belly, and he splutters and gasps, whole body jerking forward as he comes, hard, all over himself and Louis, hot wet between their bodies.

Harry feels like he's spinning. Louis's cock is still inside him, and the stiff shape of it still stretching him wide is making him ache with oversensitivity. He's slumped over Louis now, clinging to him and panting hot into his shoulder. He's only vaguely aware of Louis saying "Yeah, all right, you get going," into the phone, and then suddenly he feels his body being heaved up. Louis's hands hold tightly onto his arse as he pulls out and then shoves back in so hard that Harry lets out a choked gasp, fingernails digging into Louis's shoulder. Louis pounds into him, hips hammering, and Harry feels dizzy—maybe this means he got Louis a lot more worked up than he thought, that Louis was just pretending for Liam's sake, and the thought makes Harry feel proud. Or maybe it's punishment, maybe Louis's being deliberately rough with him because he's angry that Harry was trying so hard to distract him. It's all so confusing and it hurts, but it feels good at the same time, and all he can do is cling on tight until Louis's coming, burying himself deep and moaning into Harry's hair, and Harry shudders right along with him, dazed and overwhelmed.

They go limp against each other, overheating and sticky, and then there's fingers combing through Harry's curls and a gentle voice murmuring, "You okay, babe?"

Harry makes a weak sound in his throat, nodding. "Mmm. Yeah, just." He wants to ask, wants to understand this better but something tells him he shouldn't, that Louis has a plan and Harry shouldn't question it. He can't really make sentences right now anyway.

"D'you wanna clean up or do you wanna have a nap?" Louis asks quietly, turning so he can speak right into Harry's ear, and his breath makes Harry shiver again with some kind of aftershock. Louis has slipped out of him now but it feels like he's still there.

"I don't—I don't know," Harry mumbles pathetically, still clinging on tight.

"Okay, babe, it's all right," Louis says, chuckling a little, rolling Harry off him and then pulling him in close again, and it's more comfortable like that. "You got yourself all wound up," Louis murmurs, voice tinged with amusement as he strokes at Harry's hair again, fingers gently rubbing into his scalp like Harry likes.

Harry wants to say so did you, but—he's not even sure if Louis did, not sure if he succeeded at all. Louis is being sweet now, but he's not telling Harry he did a good job, not reassuring him, and it's weird and Harry doesn't understand and he's exhausted and achey and he just keeps holding onto Louis tightly, unable to find words.

"We can rest for a bit, okay?" Louis says. "The others won't be back for a while. Sleep, Haz."

It's like the last two words press some kind of button in Harry's brain, because when he wakes up later that's the last thing he remembers hearing. He must have dozed off right away. He rolls over, heart jumping in his chest when he realises he's alone, but then he hears the sound of water running in the bathroom and when he sits up, bleary, he sees Louis poking his head round the door.

"I'm running a bath," he says with a grin. "Come join?"

Harry stands up, peeling the sheets off his body, feeling sticky, and sore like all his muscles are strained. He's quiet in the bath with Louis, lost in his own thoughts, but Louis doesn't seem to mind, humming to himself as he washes himself off. Harry can't tell if Louis understands and is just letting him think, or if he's oblivious, if he hasn't even noticed that Harry is still in a bit of a daze, and there's something about that that gnaws at him. Again, he wants to ask, but he's starting to think this must be some kind of game Louis's playing, and—that thought is frustrating now, making him feel angry and bitter and he doesn't want to play along, not if Louis's not even going to explain.

Louis is still sweet with him, offering to wash his hair for him like he sometimes does, but there's something about the way he's acting like nothing is out of the ordinary that just makes Harry more cross. He's lost in his own head for the rest of the day, trying to work out what Louis is doing and how he's supposed to be respond to it, and whether or not that matches up to how he is responding.

The only thing Harry can come up with is that Louis's trying to—to train him or something. He thinks of how people train dogs, starting out by giving them treats when they obey commands and then making it less consistent, with the aim of getting the dog to respond even when the positive reinforcement isn't there. And if that's what Louis wants from Harry, Harry really wants to be able to give it to him, but he's just not sure he can. He needs some kind of response and he can't see why Louis doesn't understand that. It makes him feel sort of resentful, thinking that Louis might not get it, or that he does and he's doing this anyway.

He still stays by Louis's side all day, curls in close to him when they watch a movie with Zayn in the evening. It's not that he resents him, just—when Louis tells him to go make them some microwave popcorn, for the first time there's a part of Harry that wants to say no.

That feeling only increases, and he realises he wants to fight back against whatever it is Louis's doing, hurt and irritated by the way Louis isn't giving him what he needs. It's childish, maybe, to react this way instead of trying to talk to him about it, but there's a part of him that feels like Louis deserves it. Why should he do what Louis says if he's not getting anything out of it?

It's harder than he anticipates. It's like it goes against some fundamental part of him, and he never really thought of it that way. He knew it was important to him, obeying Louis, but he didn't realise how important, never thought that he might not be able to stop even if he wanted to. If Louis told him to do something that he really didn't want to do, it would be different, but Louis's never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn't handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement. Sometimes it doesn't matter if Louis is really impressed with him, as long as he's giving Harry attention of some kind that's what matters. That's the most important part to Harry, it always has been, and if he isn't getting a reaction out of Louis anymore, then this isn't—this isn't fun anymore.

But it's hard to go against his instinct like this, to force himself to disobey Louis when it's habit, when it's everything his heart wants. Louis will tell him to do something and he'll start to comply before he's even aware he's doing it. Twice, he tries not to go along with Louis's lyric changes but he can't help it in the end, it feels wrong not to. The second time, he manages to sing a whole chorus exactly as it should be even after Louis's told him to switch it for something else, but after, Louis is displeased and Harry pretends he just didn't hear him properly, promises to do it for the next chorus because he can sense Louis's disappointment. It's a relief to do what Louis wants, then, and he can't help beaming, and it's only later that he realises that Louis wasn't quite smiling back.

***
Tonight onstage, Harry directly disobeys an order. It's another lyric change and it's not even a particularly embarrassing one but for some reason Harry takes a stand, listens to Louis's instructions all calm and focused and then just flat-out ignores them. And Louis didn't think it would make him as angry as it does, but there's something about it that really gets to him. Maybe it's because it's never happened like this, never so obvious and intentional, and a part of him wants to try play it off and not show that it's getting to him but he can't, sullen for the rest of the show. He knows he really pushed things the other day, ignoring Harry even while they were fucking, but—it's like he can't help it. Now that he's started, he doesn't know how to stop.

As soon as they get back to their room, Louis's shoving Harry up against the door, hitching up on his toes to get right up close to Harry's ear as he hisses, "What're you playing at, hmm?"

Harry goes lax against him, letting out a long breath like maybe was holding it in anticipation, and he wraps his arms around Louis's waist, tangling his fingers loosely at the small of Louis's back like he's trying to pull him in even closer. Louis almost off-balances, holding tight onto Harry's hips to keep himself steady.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it, Harry," he says, words taunting, and he shakes Harry's arms off him so he can reach down to undo his fly. "Did you forget that?" Harry sort of whimpers, not giving him a real answer. "You gonna make it up to me? Show me you're sorry?"

This time Harry's response is an emphatic "Yes," and he's sinking to the floor immediately in response to what he thinks Louis wants from him.

"Hey," Louis snaps, hands sliding into Harry's underarms to drag him back up to his feet. "Did I tell you to do that?"

Harry shakes his head, keeping his gaze fixed on Louis's face, and his eyes are wide and dark and he's biting his lip and—Louis knows, then, knows that Harry probably did this on purpose, to get a reaction out of him, and he's aware of the power imbalance there and the fact that he doesn't like it but god, he doesn't have the willpower to refuse this right now. Not when Harry's practically gagging for it, cheeks flushed, expression hopeful and apologetic and so, so willing. Louis thinks about how it hasn't exactly been easy holding back all this time—the effort it takes to look away when Harry's trying so hard to please him, to act like it's not affecting him.

"You're gonna do what I say, yeah?" Louis murmurs, shoving his trousers and boxers down in one swift move and getting his dick in his palm, feeling the hard pulse of it.

Harry nods eagerly. "Yeah, yeah," he says, swallowing like his mouth is already watering at the thought of sucking Louis's cock, and Louis has to squeeze himself at the base. "Yeah, just—tell me, Lou, I'm sorry, I'll do whatever, I—"

Louis reaches up with the same hand that was on his erection and slaps it over Harry's mouth to quieten him for a moment, and Harry inhales sharply and his pupils seem to dilate even more. Louis reaches back down to stroke himself, skimming his thumb over the tip of his cock to gather the precome there before bringing it back up to Harry's face, smearing the slickness over Harry's reddened lips. Harry breathes in sharply, going tense with the effort not to lick out.

"Go on," Louis says, dipping his thumb gently into Harry's mouth, and Harry closes his lips around it instantly, licking and sucking at it messily. "You gonna do that to my cock, yeah?" Louis breathes, eyes fixed on the soft plush of Harry's lips. Harry whimpers, the noise muffled around Louis's thumb in his mouth, and Louis tugs it out, says, "You can get on your knees now," and watches as Harry drops instantly.

He pushes into Harry's mouth without really giving him a chance to adjust, shoving in deep right away so that Harry's head knocks back against the door as Louis slides into his throat. He takes it, though, breath wheezing through his nose and throat clenching as he tries to keep calm and not gag. Louis wants to praise him but there's a bitter part of him that deliberately holds back, telling himself Harry hasn't earned it yet. But when he draws back, easing out, and Harry immediately dives forward and sucks Louis's cock right back down, Louis can't help gasping out a, "Oh, fuck—good boy—

Harry seems to explode with some kind of sudden energy then, taking Louis in deep with every motion, and Louis's never seen him work that hard for it before. He's fucked his mouth, but that's different, that's him making Harry take it and this is Harry doing it all on his own even when he's clearly struggling, forcing Louis's cock into his own throat and making sure his nose touches Louis's belly each time he goes down. He's making weak little choked sounds each time he comes off—only for a split second before he's sinking right back down again—and he's staring up at Louis with watery, red-rimmed eyes, desperate. Louis stares right back at him, slack-jawed, unable to even protest at the way Harry's basically taken control of this when Louis intended to knee him up against the door and hold him there, keeping him still and thrusting into his mouth. It's just so fucking good, seeing him trying this hard, watching him do this to himself because thinks Louis is disappointed in him.

Louis can't enjoy it for that long before he's coming, though—can't even try to hold off with the almost-constant tight heat around him, the suction and the pressure—he grips at Harry's hair to keep him from pulling off and spills right down Harry's throat, listening dazedly as Harry struggles to swallow with his mouth still stuffed full.

Louis sinks onto the floor with him after, practically tearing Harry's trousers open to get his hand inside, finding Harry painfully hard as he knew he would. He strokes Harry roughly, just once over, and then brings his hand up to Harry's mouth and says, "Spit," and Harry does, and it's a mixture of saliva and Louis's own come that slicks his palm as he takes Harry's cock back in hand and starts to stroke him off with quick jolts of his wrist. Harry whines, bucking his hips, still breathless and panting as he slumps back against the door, legs tangled. Louis holds him down, a firm hand on his hip, and jerks him over and over, grip tight until Harry is babbling and coming hard, soaking Louis's fist.

There's a surge of something in Louis when he sees it, and he can't stop, keeping up the movement of his hand even as his muscles ache, and Harry cries out, squirming against him, thighs trembling when Louis keeps at it, the constant stimulation not letting his cock go soft.

"You want me to stop? Or do you think you deserve this?" Louis asks, voice steady, and Harry cries out again, writhing.

"Want—oh, fuck—no, Lou, I deserve it," Harry gasps out, grabbing a hold of Louis wherever he can get a good grasp on him, digging his fingernails in to stop himself instinctively shoving Louis's hand away.

Harry's cock is so hot in his curled fingers and Louis can feel the sensitivity of the skin, the raw heat, and he's ruthless, just starting to wonder if he can actually make Harry come a second time when suddenly he feels a weak spurt over his fingers and Harry is properly shaking against him, almost sobbing. Louis lets go right away, drawing Harry's limp body into his arms and holding him close, kissing his neck.

Harry's voice is shot when he asks, "Was I good, Lou?" and Louis murmurs, "Yeah, babe, yeah," into his ear, "let's get you into the shower and then bed, okay?"

Harry sleeps more soundly that night than he has in a while, not even snoring, dead to the world. But Louis is kept up by thoughts that keep nagging at him, the idea that Harry might have engineered this—he doesn't mind this being a game, but he doesn't want Harry winning, manipulating Louis into giving him the attention he craves when Louis's been trying to withhold it. He decides he won't give in again, even if Harry ignores another order, he'll just—he'll grit his teeth and leave it, he won't let Harry end up the one in control of this.

Over the next week Harry is unpredictable; sometimes he'll do what Louis says and sometimes he won't, and Louis tries to react with indifference regardless but it's hard. When Harry obeys him he has this hopeful look in his eyes and Louis remembers how good he was the other night, how hard he tried, and he longs to reward him. He manages to hold back, but it's different when Harry's defiant, his willpower is weaker then and he needs to keep his grip on it, not let Harry take over.

***
Harry acts out more, once he learns the pattern. Louis is much more likely to respond to that, he realises. When he obeys, he gets nothing, but when he ignores him Louis gets so pissed off and Harry can tell and there's a strange satisfaction there even though the reaction isn't positive. When Louis punished him it felt so good, just because he was finally getting something out of him, and Louis told him he did good like he couldn't help letting it slip out, and Harry desperately needs it to happen again. There's masochism in it as well, of course—he still feels so guilty about defying Louis, especially when he sees how much it stresses him out, so the punishment is cathartic; it feels good trying to make it up to him.

He manages to get a reaction out of him twice more after that first punishment. The second time, Louis's trying to get him to do some kind of stupid dance during the Twitter questions segment of one of the shows, and Harry flat-out refuses, even managing to make Louis needle him, try to persuade him to do it. That alone feels good, because it shows that Louis wants this, that Harry's refusal is getting to him. Harry knows Louis wanted to show him off to the crowd and he must be embarrassed by the fact that he can't get Harry to do what he wants. After the show Louis is all sulky and quiet and when they get back to the room Harry is wired for it, impatiently waiting for Louis to snap.

"Go put the shower on for me," is all Louis says, though, shrugging out of his jacket and looking at Harry with a weird sort of half-expectance, like there's a part of him already thinking Harry might not.

And Harry wants to push him over that edge, really make him lose it, so he just shakes his head.

"Right," says Louis, tapping his foot, all twitchy and agitated, and then suddenly he's dragging Harry to the bed, pulling him over his lap and yanking Harry's trousers down.

Harry can't help but hiss out, "Yesss," knowing what Louis's about to do, and Louis smacks him hard, losing his temper, his hand connecting with the tender skin of Harry's arse and stinging like hell. Harry just squirms, bucking up for more, and Louis's fingers are in his hair, pulling sharply as he spanks him roughly with his other hand, palm slapping the skin over and over 'til it's red and sore and burning hot.

Harry ruts against Louis's leg, thrilled to have Louis's attention on him again, to be reassured that Louis is actually affected by his lack of response. Louis still hasn't changed out of his stage trousers and Harry comes all over them, gets Louis's cock shoved down his throat as punishment, sitting back on his aching arse as Louis thrusts roughly in and out of his mouth 'til Harry feels totally bruised and sore and most of all satisfied.

Louis doesn't say he was good, this time, but Harry tells himself it doesn't even matter. He still misses the proud smiles and streams of praise, the reassurance that Louis is pleased with him that makes him feel like he's glowing inside, because lately it doesn't feel like Louis is pleased with him at all. But this is still something, and it's good—when Louis is holding him still and making it hurt Harry floats off to somewhere blissful.

The third punishment doesn't go how he expects, however.

He's been anticipating it all day, ever since Louis told Harry what to wear in the morning and Harry specifically went against his orders and chose a t-shirt he knows Louis hates. Louis is practically seething all day, and Harry can tell he's just waiting 'til they're alone so he can tell Harry off. Harry's eager for it too, starving for the attention, for Louis hissing in his ear about how bad he's been, maybe folding him over and fucking him into the carpet with a hand around his neck.

When they get back to the hotel Harry is docile and expectant for it, standing in the middle of the room and waiting for instruction. He knows he's been really bad this time, knows he doesn't need to push it any further. Louis takes off his jacket and shoes and then just folds his arms and looks at him, and Harry's heart is in his throat with the anticipation, flooding with something happy just from the way Louis's eyes are fixed on him like that.

"Take your clothes off," says Louis, his voice rough and heated, "all of them. That ugly fucking top first."

"Okay," Harry says, immediately undressing as quickly as he can and tossing the clothes over a chair so they won't get in the way before turning back to Louis, fully exposed, arms hanging by his sides.

They've done this before, and Harry is naked so often in front of people that it really shouldn't send shivers down his spine but it always does; something about the way Louis's eyes rake over him. It doesn't make him feel nervous or insecure; quite the opposite. Louis knows every inch of Harry's body so well and yet he still can't get enough of looking at it, and Harry could stand here in front of him for ages just being watched. They've done that, too—Louis has made him wait a long time before, just sat on the bed or in a chair, drinking in the sight of Harry and deliberating over what he wants to do with him. Harry loves it so much it makes his head swim; he could stand there for hours as long as Louis's eyes are on him.

But Louis has a different plan tonight, it seems. "On the bed," he says after a further moment's consideration, and his face is hard, jaw set. "Hands and knees, arse up, yeah?"

Harry nods, scrambling to get on the bed and into position. He's not facing Louis now, and he doesn't think he should turn around, but he hopes that Louis is looking at him approvingly.

"Are you gonna stay still for me?" Louis asks.

"Yeah, Lou," Harry says clearly, trying not to move anything but his mouth as he speaks, to prove it.

"All right," says Louis, "I'll be back in a bit then."

"What?" Harry blurts, caught off-guard.

"You're gonna wait for me, yeah? Show me how bad you want it, 'cause you obviously do, pissing me off on purpose like that," Louis says, his voice tight.

Harry swallows. This is different, but—maybe it's not that different to how it's been before, it's just that Louis won't be in the room, won't be watching him. It's a test of his loyalty, he supposes; Louis trusts him enough to stay still even without his supervision, and Harry wants to prove to him that he can, that he will.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, I can—I can wait." He doesn't know how long Louis is planning to be, but it won't be that long—he's been able to tell, all day, that Louis is desperate for this too.

Louis hesitates, but only for a few seconds, and then Harry can hear the soft tread of his shoes against the carpet, and then a click and the lights go out suddenly. The door creaks open, and then snicks shut. Harry stays as still as he possibly can, trying to keep his breathing steady—the sound of the door shutting behind Louis sent a strange shock of panic through him and he tries to stay calm, telling himself he can do this, Louis will be back before he knows it.

But—he can't be sure of that. He's really made him angry this time and so far their punishments have always been things Harry enjoys but this—this isn't just a challenge, he actually doesn't like it, doesn't want to be left alone like this while Louis goes off to do god knows what. He doesn't even know if Louis's doing it on purpose, really trying to hurt him, and the thought sends anxiety suddenly swirling through his brain. He tries to tell himself Louis just doesn't know, didn't realise this wouldn't be okay—Harry thought he could handle it too, after all—but immediately he feels a stab of anger in his gut, because how could Louis not know? How could he not realise? How could he think Harry would be okay with being abandoned like this?

The muscles in his thighs and arms are starting to ache from keeping himself up, even though it can't have been that long. The only time he's had to remain in this position before has been during sex, and then there's so many things to distract him from any sort of discomfort, but staying like this and doing literally nothing else is much more difficult than he thought it would be. He wants to slip down onto his forearms, rest his head on the mattress, but he can't bring himself to. Louis might be able to tell, when he gets back, and even if he couldn't Harry would still feel like he'd betrayed him and he's so frustrated at the realisation that he's still worrying about that, still wanting to make Louis happy even though Louis doesn't seem to care anymore about doing the same for Harry.

Harry feels a hot sting in his sinuses, and tries to hold it back, telling himself over and over that Louis is going to come back in just a few seconds and it's going to be okay, but then he realises that when Louis does come back he's probably still going to punish him and Harry doesn't want punishment anymore, this is already more than he can take. He realises suddenly that he's done now, he's sick of this game, he wants things to go back to the way they used to be, he wants Louis to press him softly into the sheets and tell him how amazing he is and how he's such a good boy. With that thought the tears start to spill over and he collapses into the bed, slumped there and sobbing, frustrated and annoyed and confused and just—distraught.

Even under all the hurt and anger he still feels guilty for letting Louis down. There's an ache in his chest at the idea of disappointing him, as well as just pure, raw panic from the abandonment. He knows how much Louis matters to him, but for some reason it's hitting him like a sledgehammer now; he never realised that being without him could make him feel so terrifyingly vulnerable. It's all too much, too painful; he straightens back up just to pull back the sheets and then crawls under them, crying in a sort of choked-off way that he can't help, his brain asking over and over what if he doesn't come back what if he doesn't come back what if he doesn't come back—?

2/2.

leave you drowning until you reach for my hand (2/2). harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-06-20T14:47:59Z

See header post for more details.

Louis's only wandered down the corridor, needing to be alone so he can try get his thoughts in order, calm himself down. He's still mad at this frantic urge he has to teach Harry a lesson whenever he disobeys, to really lash out at him, it makes him feel like he has no control and he doesn't understand why it gets to him so much, scaring him and infuriating him at the same time. He left Harry partly just so he could try and get a handle of himself. This was just an experiment, a game, but it's spiralled into something else entirely and he's not happy anymore. It brings temporary relief to punish Harry for his disobedience and he knows that Harry enjoys it but he's just left exhausted and dazed after and Louis misses seeing his face light up, misses seeing that giddy smile he gets when Louis is nice to him. But at the same time there's a part of him that doesn't want to go back, give in; it feels like he'd be letting Harry win and it's stupid, he doesn't want this to be so complicated, it was just supposed to be fun.

He's not sure how long he's been gone but it's only been a little while, more than five minutes but probably less than ten. He just can't figure out what he wants to do when he goes back in there. What if Harry's disobeyed him again, on purpose, just to rile him up even more? What if he's still exactly as Louis left him? Louis clenches his fists. He wouldn't know what to do with either scenario. He usually feels so sure of himself with this, he knows what to do, and he's never taken anything further than Harry could cope with. But what if the reason this has turned into such a mess is because Harry can't cope? It's so weird for Harry to act out like this, Louis didn't even think he was capable of it, and it must mean something, he's not just being a little brat for the sake of it.

Louis wonders if Harry's trying to send him a message and he doesn't get any further with that thought before he's basically sprinting down the corridor back to his and Harry's room, shoving the key card into the slot with such force that he nearly snaps it. It's still dark but he can tell that Harry has moved, crawled under the covers, and there's a sound from the bed, a sort of snuffle that has him instantly panicked, his heart rising up into his throat. He shuts the door behind him and flicks on the dim bedside light before climbing into bed beside Harry.

He leans in gently. "Haz?" he whispers.

"I'm so sorry," Harry gasps out, and Louis realises that he's crying, his voice thick and shaky with it and his nose blocked.

"Haz, no," Louis says, shuffling closer and pressing a kiss to Harry's exposed shoulder. "Babe, it's okay—"

Harry suddenly changes his tone, the weakness of his voice turns into something harsher. "It felt like so long," he says. The guilt churns in Louis's stomach and he feels sick. Harry rolls over now, and Louis can see that his eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks stained with tears. "Why did you do that? You can't do that," he says, urgent now, "just—don't, okay, don't leave me again."

"I won't," Louis promises instantly, nuzzling to kiss Harry's shoulder again, hugging him close. "I swear I won't. I won't."

He holds Harry tight and lets him cry, knows he needs to let it out, and mumbles reassuring nonsense at him, apologising over and over and telling Harry how much he loves him until Harry calms down a little. Louis is beginning to put the pieces together in the back of his mind, seeing how with each kind word Harry relaxes a little more. But then—

"I can't do this," Harry blurts out, pulling back. "I can't...Lou, I, this is—it's not working, I need—"

"What, babe? What do you need?" Louis still feels nauseous, just seeing Harry like this, knowing he fucking caused it and there's this feeling nagging at him, that this isn't all just from tonight, that this is something that's been building and that it might not be something they can recover from. "Talk to me. Please. I'm so sorry."

"I need you to—" Harry starts, and then breaks off again, trembling, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to try and ward off more tears. "I need your—attention," he gets out eventually, and everything clicks into place.

Of course that's what matters the most to Harry, of course it's all about Louis, the way Louis reacts to the things he does—that's why he does whatever Louis says, to please him, to get Louis's approval and praise. And it's why Harry's been acting out, Louis realises, just to get some kind of attention even if it's negative. It seems so blindingly obvious now that Louis feels fucking stupid not to have figured it out.

"God," he says in a small, stunned voice. "Fuck. Harry. I'm—I'm the biggest idiot on the planet. I'm a dick. I didn't even realise what I was doing to you."

They've never even talked about this, just fell into it without discussing why it got them off—it didn't even cross Louis's mind before now, it was just fun, and it made them both so happy that he never felt the need to analyse it. And they've always just been on the same wavelength until now, so in tune with each other that Louis never imagined he could go too far, could really hurt Harry like this.

"We should've talked about it. Shit, why didn't we talk about it?"

"'Cause we're both idiots," says Harry, and thank god, he's smiling a little now, his face sort of distorted with his cheeks still puffed up from crying.

"You don't hate me? Haz, you can totally hate me, I promise," Louis says. He still can't believe he could be so insensitive to take away the one thing Harry loves most in the world, just because he was fucking bored.

"I don't hate you," Harry tells him, tugging him closer, kissing him softly. His lips taste salty. "You just don't think things through sometimes. A lot of the time."

"I know," Louis whines, "I'm the worst."

"No, I like that about you," Harry says right away, "usually, it's good, you're spontaneous and it's exciting but it's—this is—"

"Something we shouldn't be spontaneous about," Louis finishes, his heart still feeling like a boulder at the bottom of his stomach somewhere. "I know. Fuck. I'm so sorry, Harry, let me be sorry, okay? Don't tell me it's okay, because it's not."

Harry bites his lip, and Louis can tell he wants to reassure him but—they both know that Louis is right, that Harry will forgive him (might even have done already) but it won't ever make Louis's actions acceptable.

"Why did you do it?" Harry says in a small voice, and Louis wants to—wants to cut off his own arm or something, to show how truly awful he feels about this, about seeing Harry in this state.

"God, I don't—I don't even know, I just—it was the way you reacted, you just—you kept trying so hard and, I don't know, it felt good, seeing you really straining yourself to please me like that."

"I kind of liked that too," Harry admits. "Like—until I realised it was pointless, I mean. But I—I don't mind having to work harder to make things good for you because—" he drops his voice lower, rolling over and nuzzling into Louis's chest, "because you deserve that."

Louis's heart flips and he reaches out, tangling his fingers in Harry's damp curls. "But only if you get something in the end, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry says, and Louis can feel his breath hot through his t-shirt. "Yeah that's—that has to be there, I have to know that I'll get something out of you—even if you, if you punish me, that's okay, if you think I haven't done a good enough job that's—but you can't—you can't just ignore me, I can't handle it."

"No," says Louis softly, understanding that now, holding Harry so tight and so close to him, tangling their legs together beneath the covers. "I swear I won't ever do that again." Harry breathes out, steady and slow, and Louis pets at him. "I love you. You're so good. I—I shouldn't have taken you for granted like that. You amaze me every day." Harry sort of shivers with pleasure at that, snuggling against him, burying his face in Louis's neck, and Louis thinks about how much he must have been needing this. Louis's missed saying it, but Harry has definitely missed hearing it even more. He thinks of how harsh he's been, how there was barely any sweetness to balance it out, and he feels sick again, stroking at Harry's back.

"Even when I was ignoring you too?" Harry asks.

"Well—" says Louis, hesitantly, and then laughs, a little awkwardly. "No. That, um. That really pissed me off." He feels guilty admitting it right now, doesn't want to say anything bad against Harry when he's feeling this fragile, but Harry doesn't seem to mind.

"I could tell," he says, voice a low rumble; Louis can feel the vibration of it against his neck. "Why?"

"No, I mean—it doesn't matter, it's not—I'm not blaming you, you were right to fight back, I was hurting you," Louis assures him.

"But why did it bother you?"

"We don't have to talk about it, Haz," Louis says. He doesn't want to imply Harry did something wrong, not when he's like this. "It's just me being weird, I felt like you were forcing reactions out of me and it made me feel like—like I wasn't in control anymore. It's stupid."

Harry pulls back, looking Louis in the eye as he shakes his head a little. "Why do you need to feel like you're in control?" he asks, and he's not mocking or concerned, just curious.

"I—I dunno," Louis says, caught off-guard by the question. "I never thought about it."

"Well, why do you tell me to do things?" Harry presses.

Louis laughs, feeling awkward again. "I dunno, Haz, I just like it. Why do you like doing what I say?"

"Because I like doing things for people. I like making people happy," Harry says simply.

Louis knows what he means. Harry's a people-pleaser, always putting the needs of others' above his own. He'll go out of his way to make fans happy, giving them food and water at signings when they feel faint, and taking photos with them even when they've been camping outside his house like stalkers. Anne once told Louis that when Harry's home and she's had a bad day at work, he'll run her a bath and cook one of her favourite meals for her, even if he's been busy all day too.

"It's like. It's really important to me. It's like my favourite thing," Harry goes on and he's gone quieter now, introspective. "And you're my favourite person. So I just...like doing things for you. Whatever you want. It feels good."

Louis goes silent for a moment. It seems so simple when he puts it like that, and he says it so clearly like he just knows, and Louis doesn't—Louis doesn't feel like he could ever understand himself that well. "But why do you need my attention so badly?" he murmurs, wondering if Harry knows that as well.

"So I can see how happy I've made you," Harry explains. "Or that I've disappointed you or...whatever, really. It shows that you care about me."

Louis chews his lip, thinking. "I guess that's why I like telling you what to do," he says, "because...you do it and you like doing it and that shows that you care about me."

"And also it gets us both hard," Harry teases then, breaking the tension, poking Louis in the ribs.

Louis laughs, squirming. "That too," he says, feeling his cheeks heat up, and it's silly, because they've both known all this time that this is something they're turned on by, or it wouldn't have bled into their sex life as well. But it's different to admit it, especially to hear Harry say it so shamelessly. They lie there in silence for a bit longer and Louis's brain feels like it's whirring. "The control thing...that's not...I haven't always had that. I think just since I met you, really."

Harry looks at him, considering. "D'you suppose that's because like—you have less control over your life in general now? Because of the band, and other people controlling like...us, and our relationship?"

Louis almost wants to laugh, because in a couple of sentences Harry's got it spot on when Louis was at a total loss. "What else do you know about me that I don't know about myself, eh?" he teases, pressing his nose into Harry's neck, feeling a little exposed by how well Harry can read him, how easily he can figure something like that out when Louis's barely even spoken about it.

"Oh, everything," Harry chuckles. "But you'll learn in time."

Louis laughs. "Creep," he mutters, voice muffled against Harry's skin, and he kisses him gently on his collarbone, snuggling close. "Haz," he says quietly, "we're okay, right?"

"Yeah," Harry replies, right away, holding Louis to him more tightly. "Yeah, things will go back to normal, we're gonna be fine. Better, I think."

Louis lifts his head to look at him. He seems so much better now, and Louis realises just how badly he needed his reassurance and caring; it must have felt like such an incredible relief to him after going so long without it. "And you're sure you're all right? You don't—do you need anything?"

Harry smiles, touching their lips together in a soft kiss. "Just this," he says.

***
The next day, Louis is so good to him that Harry can barely take it—it feels overwhelming after the way things have been, a rush verging on an overdose; he's not sure he's ever felt so happy in his life. Louis barely leaves his side, whispering sweetly in his ear all day long. They have an interview and when they're each asked to state their favourite things about the other members of the band, Louis says twice as much as anyone else when he describes Harry. It's a bit tongue-in-cheek and he does hold back a little—not wanting to add to the rumours—but even so Harry is blushing by the end of it, listening to Louis wax poetic about his hair and dimples and cooking skills while the others shoot them concerned, bemused looks.

In the car after, Louis sits so close to Harry he might as well be in his lap, and whispers addendums all the way to the photoshoot. "Wanted to talk about how good you always smell, too," he murmurs, and Harry squirms, cheeks aching from smiling, "and the way you sound when you come. And when you beg. And how good your mouth feels around my cock, how pretty your lips are, how red they go when you've been sucking me off. And..."

Harry is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when they get to the studio; he can't sit still properly for them to do his hair and make-up and in the mirror he can see how flushed he looks, how dark and wide his eyes have gone. Louis just keeps at it, praising Harry over and over, for how well that suit fits him, how good his poses are, and the photographer has to tell Harry about six times to stop grinning like an idiot.

When Louis has dragged himself away from Harry for a couple of minutes to go to the loo, Liam comes over to Harry and says, "I'm glad you two have sorted things out," with a wink.

Harry elbows him in the ribs, tells him to shut up, but still he can't stop smiling.

There's no show tonight and no early morning appointments tomorrow, so they have time when they get back from dinner for Louis to spread Harry out across the bed and take his time with him, though Harry barely needs it, so revved up from a day full of Louis's attention that he's shamelessly grinding up against Louis's thigh the moment Louis lies him down.

"I love how eager you are," Louis tells him, kissing his neck, "how badly you want me."

"Mm, please Lou, really bad," Harry whimpers, still rubbing himself desperately against Louis, just waiting for Louis to hold him down or tell him to stop, but Louis is just mouthing gently at his throat.

"What do you want?" Louis asks him, breath hot on Harry's skin and Harry shivers, puzzled by the question.

"You," he says.

Louis laughs but he looks—almost embarrassed, somehow. "Yeah, but, how?"

"I don't—" Harry says confused, "I don't mind, whatever you want." Louis looks Harry in the eye, and he looks so unsure all of a sudden, like he's lost some confidence. "Lou," says Harry gently, "you can—you can still tell me what to do, I—I love that."

"I just want this to be about you," Louis says after a moment's hesitation, "I wanna do the things that you want, because—because I was doing things that you didn't and I just—"

"What I want is for you to boss me around," Harry reminds him, grinning and biting his lip, "I don't like choosing." Louis laughs, shaking his head.

"All right. Yeah. Sorry. Just—"

"I know. I get it." Harry tilts his chin up and kisses him, licking hot into his mouth until Louis relaxes a little; Harry can feel the tension loosening.

"Let's take our clothes off, yeah?" Louis murmurs then, sitting up, and his voice is a little shaky and it's really more of a suggestion than a command but it's good to hear, anyway, and Harry springs into action immediately to encourage him, yanking his shirt over his head.

When they're both undressed Louis flattens Harry across the bed again, spreading out his limbs and pinning him to the mattress by his wrists. Harry is breathing heavily, gazing up at him, and Louis settles between his legs, making Harry moan at the hot nudge of Louis's hard cock against his own.

"Want you like this," Louis says, "so I can see you. Wanna see your face when I make you scream."

Harry can only whimper at that, and lift his hips a little off the bed to try rub against Louis again, needing the friction. Louis's grip tightens on Harry's wrists and he bites out, "Don't move," and Harry instantly goes still. "Good boy," Louis breathes, and a smile instantly starts twitching at the corners of Harry's lips.

Louis smiles back at him sweetly, straightening back up and running his fingers ever-so-lightly down from Harry's chest to his cock, making Harry shiver. Louis's fingers dance over him, and the tiny touches are making Harry tremble. He struggles not to move, not to buck up against Louis's hand, having to work so hard to keep his hips down.

"You're so good," Louis tells him, "so good, look at you, so still for me."

"Yeah," Harry breathes, greedy for the praise, wanting more even though Louis's been giving it to him all day long. "Yeah, Lou, wanna please you."

"You do, babe," Louis assures him, finally taking a firm hold of Harry's cock, fingers curling tight and making Harry groan. "All the time."

He strokes Harry roughly, only dampening his palm a bit with Harry's precome because he knows this is how Harry likes it, when it drags a little. He can't seem to take his eyes off Harry and it's making Harry hypersensitive, somehow overstimulated just from Louis's fixed gaze because he looks so—so in awe of Harry, and that's the best feeling in the world. Harry makes him want to look like that all the time.

Louis leans back down over him and Harry clings to the sheets with the effort it takes not to touch him, not to wrap his arms around him and hold him close. Louis keeps tugging at him, hand trapped between their bodies, and presses his lips close to Harry's ear. "Gonna fuck you with my fingers 'til you're begging for my cock."

Harry whimpers again. "Please. Want it."

Louis laughs softly, his breath tickling Harry's ear. "Already! You're so good, Haz." He kisses Harry's neck again and this time he latches on, and Harry startles, not expecting it—lovebites from Louis are one of his favourite things in the world but Louis rarely gives them, too anxious that someone will see, sticking to hips and thighs and never Harry's neck anymore. Harry bites his lip and moans at the feeling, at the knowledge that Louis is marking him like this in such an obvious place, and it—it feels like a reward, a gift, and he almost comes all over both of them at the thought.

Louis pulls off and Harry's neck throbs a little, his pulse quicker with the blossoming bruise, and he's a babbling mess now—"Thank you, thank you, oh god, please, Lou, your fingers, please, need you in me, want your cock, please—"

"So polite," Louis teases, stroking Harry's hair gently, smoothing it back off his sweaty forehead.

He clambers off Harry and shuffles over to the edge of the bed, getting the lube from the nightstand, and Harry makes a grateful noise. He forces himself to keep still, waiting while Louis slicks his fingers, impatient but willing to wait for as long as Louis wants to make him. Luckily it's not long at all; Louis might want to tease tonight but he can't, just as hungry for it as Harry is. Something about this feels so right, the way they're just clicking now like they haven't been lately. There was something about the challenges and the excitement of things before that Harry enjoyed, but this is what he really loves, knowing the two of them are on the exact same page, and he's just so thrilled to have that feeling back.

When Louis presses one finger inside Harry, he starts talking again, telling Harry how good he feels, so hot and tight and perfect around him, how he can't wait to feel him around his cock, and Harry is flushed and aching for it, Louis's finger crooked and stroking persistently, feeling so good already. Louis slides in a second finger quickly, stretching Harry wider, working them slow and steady and shallow.

"You can take another one, can't you, darling?" Louis murmurs softly, and Harry can't help but squirm at the words because Louis calling him that always just does something to him. Louis pushes a third finger alongside the other two and Harry moans weakly at the look on Louis's face; he looks so pleased. "Yeah, look at you just taking it, looks so good, Haz, fuck. Push back on them, yeah? Show me—"

Harry complies right away, eager for it, shoving down onto Louis's hand and feeling his fingers slide deeper, right up to the knuckles. He moans, needing to feel Louis's cock there.

"Gonna fuck you now, yeah? Really hard like you love," Louis says, leaning down over him to kiss his temple, nuzzle into his hair, and Harry can only lift into it, just nodding now, losing the power of speech. Louis's fingers are still working in and out and Harry can feel their cocks touch again and he's a mess, wriggling without rhythm just trying to get more, more of everything. Louis takes his fingers away suddenly. "Stop it," he says, and he's getting that harsh tone back in his voice, the one that sends sparks running through Harry's veins, "stay still."

Harry freezes right away even though is body is aching to keep moving, to feel friction inside him and against his cock. Louis kisses him again and presses a thumb to the lovebite he left before, sending a little dull jab of pain through Harry and he moans, head dropping back against the pillow. Louis moves back down, leaving kisses all the way along Harry's torso and pausing to take just the head of Harry's cock between his lips and suck, sudden and hard, making Harry cry out. Louis looks up at him, eyes flashing wickedly, and then he pulls off, grabbing for the lube again to get his cock wet, and Harry watches as Louis strokes over it, makes it shine. He wants it inside so bad and his heart is pounding with the anticipation of it, knowing he's going to get to feel it soon and have Louis's eyes on him the whole time.

"Spread your legs," says Louis. Harry's already got them kind of carelessly splayed but he knows what Louis wants, bends his knees and opens them wider so Louis can settle between and lean in close. "Around me," Louis says then and Harry obeys again, wrapping his legs around Louis's waist.

The first hot slide of Louis's cock makes Harry cry out, loudly—the feel of it breaching his tight hole feels somehow so much better than usual and Louis is staring right into his eyes the whole time and it's almost too much. Louis immediately covers Harry's mouth with his hand and Harry moans out a stifled yes, loves it when Louis tries to shut him up like that. Louis thrusts in deeper, murmuring dirtily to Harry about how he's opening up for him, how he's making Louis feel so good, how pretty he looks when he's taking Louis's cock.

"So good, aren't you, babe?" Louis whispers, easing out only to plunge back in again all the way and Harry's cry is once again muffled against Louis's hot palm. "So good at getting fucked, yeah? Taking my cock so well."

Harry nods, staring into Louis's eyes, half-dazed now, just gazing into the sparkling blue as Louis starts to pound into him, increasing the pressure of his hand on Harry's mouth so Harry feels slightly breathless, Louis's cock hitting deep and fucking into him fast, hard. Louis hasn't given him a chance to get used to the usual slight ache of it, knows Harry likes it better that way, when it hurts a little. Louis takes his hand from Harry's mouth and repositions Harry's legs, gets them hooked over his shoulders instead of wrapped around his waist. He can get in even deeper like that and Harry can feel it everywhere, hear the harsh slap of skin on skin.

He wants this to go on forever, but already he's close—this is what he's been deprived of for what feels like so long now and now that he's got it again he's not sure he'll be able to hold on, make it last. His cock is rubbing persistently against Louis's belly, a constant rough drag, and Louis's lips brush against his, teasing.

Harry is lifting his chin up to him, wanting more. "Lou, I'm—think I'm gonna—"

Louis just nods and kisses him, light at first and then properly, messy, his tongue hot in Harry's mouth. He breaks off, just to tell Harry again how good he's being, how much he loves him, and Harry's pushed closer to the brink by the words, gripping handfuls of the bedding as Louis fucks him relentlessly hard, not letting up, getting him closer and closer. He alternates between soft encouragement and kisses all the while, until Harry can't take it anymore and loses it, spilling hot between them, whole body tensing then shaking and Louis holds him through it, telling him how much he loves seeing him come and pressing his lips to the mark on Harry's neck.

Harry squirms helplessly; it's all too much—and then Louis backs off, drawing out of him and flattening Harry's weak legs against the bed again. He straddles Harry's stomach, careful to avoid his cock, and starts stroking his own, hand gliding so quickly over himself that it's practically a blur. Harry is still seeing stars but when he realises Louis is going to come on him he gathers his senses enough to begin begging again—Louis likes to come inside him, usually, but Harry loves this more, loves it when his chest or back gets striped with Louis's come like Louis is marking him with it.

Louis's other hand comes down to cup Harry's face, caress him, and he's still talking, the constant praise making Harry light-headed. The last words he gets out are so beautiful and then he's coming, streaking across Harry's chest and right up to his neck, and Harry finds himself just grinning, inanely, so happy that it almost hurts, and Louis is stroking over his dimple with his thumb, hardly waiting to get his breath back before he starts telling Harry how perfect he was, what a good job he did.

***
They go slow for a while then, gradually building back up to the way things used to be, and Louis can't help but be a little overzealous with his praise now that he knows just how important it is to Harry and how hard it must have been for him to go without it. One afternoon on the bus, Louis tells him to get him a can of Sprite from the fridge and when Harry trots back with it obediently, Louis pulls him close and presses a kiss to his neck, right on the lovebite he gave him, which almost makes Harry's knees buckle.

"You," Louis announces, grinning as he flicks the can open, "are the best boyfriend in all the world, you know that?"

"Steady on," snorts Zayn.

"Yeah, changed your tune a bit lately, haven't you?" Niall grins.

There's a knowing tone in his voice that unsettles Louis slightly—he knows the others have all noticed something odd but Niall is acting like he might know more than Louis is comfortable with. That evening they go out for drinks and when Niall brings Louis a pint and Louis just says thank you, Niall gasps, mock-offended.

"You mean you're not gonna tell me what an amazing boyfriend I am?" he pouts, and Louis thwacks him on the forehead with a menu.

Even when they've re-adjusted, things just don't feel quite right with him and Harry. It's as though something's missing, even though they've gone back to the way it was before, and eventually Harry suggests that maybe they should talk about it some more, that period of neglect and punishment that Louis just tries not to think about because it still makes his heart ache with guilt.

"I mean it's not—it wasn't all terrible," Harry reminds him. "I liked the challenge, you know, like I said? I like the idea of having to work a bit to make you happy and it just feels kind of—easy, now," he admits. They're having the conversation in hushed tones in Louis's bunk on the bus, the others all asleep.

"Yeah," Louis whispers, thinking about it. "Yeah, and—well, you know I like pushing you."

"And I liked it when you punished me," Harry murmurs, cuddling closer to Louis and dropping his voice a little lower, and a shock of heat runs through Louis as he remembers slapping Harry's arse raw and choking him with his cock. It still bothers him to think of how Harry wheedled that out of him deliberately but—in the moment it was so hot he could barely handle it. He really wants that again.

"Me too," Louis says, mostly into Harry's hair. "I could—I could do those things to you when you're good, though."

He can feel Harry shaking his head. "No, like—part of it was about wanting to make it up to you. Feeling like I had to be better."

"God," Louis moans. "Don't say stuff like that, you're gonna get me horny."

Harry laughs and then stifles the sound in Louis's chest so they don't wake the others. "Maybe you could give me stuff to do that I won't always be good at," he says, then, thoughtful. "Like—setting tasks, sort of. And if I do a good job you can reward me but if I mess up then you can punish me."

Louis swears under his breath. "That sounds really good, Haz."

"Yeah?" Harry says happily.

"Yeah. But—you're not allowed to fuck up on purpose, okay? And I won't punish you just for refusing, you have to try," says Louis, and Harry nods. "Wait, but—I mean, you can refuse, though. Like—please don't ever do something you don't want just because you want to please me, okay? You can always say no and I'll stop."

Harry chuckles. "Obviously. I know that."

"Yeah but we've—we've never said it," Louis persists. He pulls Harry's head back to get him to look at him. "Promise me you'll say something if you're uncomfortable with whatever, from now on."

"I promise."

"Good," says Louis, and Harry's head sinks back down, pillowed on Louis's chest. Louis toys absentmindedly with his hair, fingers playing through it. "So what kind of tasks are we talking?" he asks after a moment of silence. His mind is already overflowing with possibilities, flitting from one suggestion to another at top speed.

"Anything," Harry breathes, right away, pushing closer with his hips, and Louis feels that he's hard, cock stiff and pulsing against Louis's thigh.

Louis's heart pounds. "I want—so much." He's never thought of it like this, never really thought about all the different things they could do, they just got caught in a routine and he never considered trying anything new, not like this. Once again he feels so stupid, that his first instinct when he got restless was to ignore Harry when there was a whole world of other things he could have done, amazing things, things Harry might actually like.

"I'll try all of it," Harry insists, and Louis's getting hard too, mostly from Harry's enthusiasm, his cock swelling under the covers.

"Fuck," says Louis weakly. "Let's—can we start with me getting you off right now without you making any noise?"

Harry nods, catching Louis's mouth in an eager kiss, and—well, it turns out they're not exactly successful with that one, but that just means that Louis gets to keep stroking him after, until it hurts and Harry is squirming and burying his face in Louis's shoulder and, finally, begging him to stop.

"I think—" he says then, panting, his eyes teary and the sheets sticky around them, "I think this is gonna work."

It does. Even better than Louis expects.

He never realised how much more they could do onstage, for one thing. The entire Twitter questions segment is perfect for tasks and he realises how easy he goes on Harry usually, telling him to do the same old Niall impersonation that he's basically perfected by now. Louis's new favourite thing is to get Harry to imitate him, because Harry can't quite get the Yorkshire accent right and he's never been very good at things that involve mocking Louis in the first place. The audience just laughs when Louis fixes Harry with an unimpressed look afterwards and says, "Well, that wasn't brilliant, Harry, was it?" but the way Harry hangs his head and immediately gives a heartfelt apology probably looks a little more odd.

Louis never realised he could have more fun with the lyric changes, either. He starts making them dirty, rather than ridiculous things about cereal and shoes, and he says them in Harry's ear only moments before the corresponding verse comes up so Harry is on edge waiting for the instruction. Every time, Louis waits for an "I can't say that!" to follow the shocked look, but it never comes—Harry always listens, nods, accepts it. In the past sometimes he would mumble or slur and Louis would cheer and laugh anyway, but now he can be more strict. Now, if Harry doesn't sing it loud and clear, or if he chickens out at the last second, Louis can give him a slight shake of the head or wrinkle his nose to let Harry know he's not happy. He feels a bit bad about it, because he's hardly surprised that Harry's embarrassed to sing about dicks and deepthroating in front of thousands of young girls, but the way he goes all brooding and determined like he's desperate to make it up to Louis later makes it all so good, so worth it. In private after, Louis will punish him, pulling him over his knee for a spanking, and Harry will promise to do better next time.

Louis comes up with so many things for Harry to do, likes it best when the tasks are a little bit embarrassing, when Harry will have to push himself through the humiliation of it because he wants to make Louis happy. Louis sends him down to the vending machine in their hotel one night, telling him to get him a snack but to go shirtless. Harry makes a fuss about that one, whining about how there might be fans.

"They all know you love getting naked," Louis points out, and Harry argues something about context but when Louis asks him if he wants to back out, he just shakes his head and gets out of bed, pulling on his jeans and leaving the room, in just them and nothing else. He comes back empty-handed and apologetic and Louis would think he was pretending, doing it on purpose, but he can't fake the bright flush of embarrassment across his cheeks.

It turns out there were fans and some of them had cameras, because the pictures are up on Sugarscape the following morning, but Louis wouldn't know there was a legitimate excuse from the way Harry basically grovels for his forgiveness. They keep that one up for a while—once Harry succeeds, Louis makes him go without trousers the next time, in just his shirt and boxers, and then finally in his boxers and nothing else. Luckily, both of those times the nearest vending machines are much closer, and there aren't any eager fans waiting around to take snapshots, but Harry is still pink and flustered when he gets back to the room, clutching Louis's requested drink or packet of crisps tightly. Louis showers him with praise, kissing his red cheeks until they cool and telling him how gorgeous he is when he's embarrassed. He picks out Harry's outfits every day for a week as a reward.

There are so many things he wants Harry to do in bed, too. He wants to tie Harry up, which makes Harry nervous, but he obliges, gets through it without panicking and gets a lovebite sucked purple beneath his collarbone in return. He takes both Louis's cock and one of his fingers at the same time, and Louis comes on his face for that because Harry's been begging for weeks and Louis's been waiting for a time when he's earned it. The rewards are so much more frequent than the punishments because Harry's just so good, trying so hard for Louis, really pushing himself. They talk about it often, Louis checking in to make sure Harry's not putting Louis's pleasure too far above his own comfort.

One morning Louis decides that he doesn't want Harry to talk for the entire day, and Harry goes along with it. Their only commitment that day is one interview and Louis explains that Harry's got a sore throat, is on vocal rest, which is bought by most people but not the other boys, who are bemused at Harry's silence and apparent lack of illness. That night Louis lets Harry scream as loud as he wants even though Zayn's right next door and they've already discovered that the walls are pretty thin, and then Harry's throat is sore the next day, his croaky voice adding some convenient authenticity to the lie.

One of Louis's favourite things is to experiment with controlling Harry's orgasms, trying to see how many times he can make him come, or if he can come just from Louis inside him without touching his cock at all. Occasionally he tries to get Harry to come three times in a night and whenever he can't manage it, Louis withholds orgasms for a few days, only letting Harry get him off and leaving his erection neglected and aching. He loves how hard Harry tries, the way he'll strain his body, desperate to make it do things it can't quite cope with.

The first time Harry comes without a hand on his dick is fucking amazing, it's like Louis is pumping the come right out of him with his cock and he kisses him 'til their lips are bruised after, won't stop telling him how special he is for about a week. Niall gets so desperate to know why that he actually asks, and Louis is so proud of Harry that he tells him. (Niall's response is some stunned blinking and then no more questions about their sex life for a really long time. Which isn't actually that long, because it's Niall, and he's a nosy bastard.)

What Louis really wants is for Harry to be able to come on command. He does everything else Louis says, and it just—Louis wants control of that, as well, wants to be able to make Harry orgasm exactly when he tells him to. He thinks about it for a long time before mentioning it to Harry, because it's hard to explain without making him sound like a total control freak, though he knows Harry won't judge him. It feels so good to talk about these things with him, to know exactly how Harry feels about a task, and sometimes they get each other so excited just talking about something that they end up getting off before they've even had a chance to do it. When Louis gathers the courage to bring up this new idea, Harry is immediately turned on by it, going wide-eyed, telling Louis how hot it makes him to think of Louis having such power over his body like that.

But it's difficult, seems impossible at first, and Louis is kind of bitter and frustrated because he thought it would be pretty easy; the two of them are so in tune with each other and over the years they've had to rush a lot of sexual activity, had to come quickly, and this doesn't seem that different. Harry is equally frustrated—when Louis tells him to come he wants to so badly but his body won't co-operate.

Harry accepts the punishments eagerly when he fails, swearing he'll do it next time, letting Louis slap him across the face repeatedly or fuck his throat 'til he cries. And then Louis will gather him up in his arms, reassure him of how good he's being, how amazing it is that he's trying so hard, how he knows he can do this and he has so much faith in him and he'll get there, he will, eventually. The combination of discipline and reassurance really works for Harry, and one time he actually comes at the exact moment that Louis starts to tell him to, and Louis is thrilled because it's the closest they've gotten so far. Harry refuses the praise, though, saying he doesn't deserve it, that it was coincidence and he knows he can do better if they just keep trying.

It's—kind of overwhelming, how determined he is. Louis knows it's not just about pleasing him, because Harry is so into this idea too, but what he's into is the idea of Louis having even more control over him and the thought of that makes Louis feel giddy sometimes. It's a little weird now that he knows why he likes it so much, now he's aware that to some extent it comes from a place of self-doubt, an urge to be shown just how much Harry loves him through what he's willing to do for him. It makes him feel vulnerable, sometimes, but it's reassuring that Harry is the same, that his desperation for Louis's attention comes from a pure and simple need to know that Louis cares.

Finally, Harry succeeds. It's after Louis hasn't let him come for a whole week, so it's probably partly the pent-up frustration that does it, but Louis's pretty sure it's also got something to do with a slight change of tactic. He's been commanding it all this time because he just slips into that naturally, it's easy to snap out a sharp, impatient "Come, Harry," because Harry usually responds so well to harsh demands. But he's been thinking lately, about how much they both need each other, about how reliant Harry is on Louis's love for him, and this time he decides to do things differently.

He's got Harry on the edge of the bed, and he's wrapped around him from behind, his own cock pressing hot into Harry's back but left ignored so he can focus on Harry's. Harry has his hands on the bed, Louis reaching beneath his right arm so he can take a hold of Harry's cock, jerk him off at just the right angle like Harry's doing it himself. He's so desperate for orgasm that Louis knows he can't drag this out too long, so he makes his first attempt after only stroking at him a few times, hand tugging quick and steady.

He hooks his chin over Harry's shoulder, mouths at his neck. "Love you," he mumbles against his skin, and Harry moans and Louis can feel it in his body, how close he is. Spurred on, he murmurs, "Wanna see you come, Hazza, need it. Come for me—"

He's about to go on, but he doesn't need to, because Harry is suddenly going taut up against him, hips jolting as he comes and comes over Louis's fist, writhing until Louis wraps an arm around his middle and holds him tight and still.

"Oh, my god," Harry pants out, "Lou, I did it."

Louis beams, pleasure curling through him as he kisses Harry's shoulder. "You did it."

He's never felt more proud of him, his heart swelling, and it's clear that Harry's never felt more proud of himself either. He's so excited by it that he's hard again in mere moments and Louis lets him ride him, stares up at him and won't stop telling him how proud he is, how happy he's made him—and how much fun they're going to have with this, because Louis is already thinking about training Harry to get even better at it, so he can do it every time, so all Louis has to do is get him hard and whisper and it'll just happen.

When Harry says he's getting close again Louis urges him on, voice soft as he tells him to come, calls him darling just for the hell of it and Harry comes almost instantly at the word, with a shaky cry and a blissed-out smile. Louis lies him out and comes all over his face, painting his cheeks and smearing it over his mouth, and then holds him down and covers him in lovebites, for once not giving a shit about how much trouble it's going to cause. A lot, as it turns out—Harry has to use industrial amounts of concealer and button his shirts uncharacteristically high for more than a week, but he's so happy that he doesn't care in the slightest. Both of them are stupidly euphoric, joined at the hip even more than usual, and Louis feels like he could burst from all the love inside of him.

He doesn't know what it is exactly, that feels so good, and he tries to think about it because Harry's been encouraging him to understand why they both like the things they like, so that Louis is smarter about it, so there isn't a risk of them fucking up again. Maybe that's it—maybe it's just the way that their relationship feels so much stronger. The way they managed to take such an awful experience and turn it into something positive when at the time, Louis was afraid they might never come back from it. And maybe it's the way Harry has given Louis the kind of control he's been craving for so long without realising it, and how he's done it so happily. It finally feels like they're what they should be, what Louis naively thought they already were but couldn't be before, not when there was so much they didn't understand about each other. There will still be discoveries, maybe more conflicts, but Louis knows that they'll be able to handle them now. They can handle anything.

End.

so soft it twirls. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-06-12T20:52:34Z

Title: so soft it twirls
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hair!kink involving Louis pulling Harry's hair and uh, maybe coming in it a little bit. Possibly kind of D/s-y but tbh I don't even know with these two anymore.
Summary: Maybe it has something to do with how pretty Harry's hair is, how it's basically his trademark, the way people distinguish between Harry and the others if they don't know the band that well. And it's something Louis has always loved in such an innocent way, and there's something about making it sexual that feels dirty and wrong in a way that really gets him off. (~3,400 words)
A/N: This is kind of inspired by a combination of like, four different prompts on the kink meme. And also just by Harry's stupid hair in general. Title from Animal Collective's 'Bluish'.

Louis has always liked Harry's hair. He likes the soft feel of it, the way he can wind the curls around his fingers, the way it tickles against his skin. The smell of it is nice, too—the fresh, clean scent of his usual shampoo or something a little more sharp and musky if he hasn't showered, something uniquely Harry. Louis likes to press his nose to the very top of Harry's forehead, sometimes, just where his parting begins, because that's where the smell is best. Harry teases him for that, says his cat does the same thing and that it has something to do with pheromones, which makes Louis feel a bit like an animal.

Mostly, though, he likes to touch it, and the best part of that is the reaction he gets. Harry really loves it when people play with his hair. He loves when people run their fingers through it, when they ruffle it, even when they gently scratch at his head with their fingertips like he's a dog or something. He just relaxes completely, leaning into the touch and smiling all soft and sleepy. Sometimes he won't be in the mood and he'll shove people off, duck his head out of the way to avoid it, but he never does that with Louis. Whenever Louis's fingers find their way into his curls, he lets them.

It's never been a sexual thing, though, at least not for Louis. It's more about comfort, intimacy. It's only when they start having sex that it even occurs to him that Harry might like it that way. Sometimes Louis will run his fingers through Harry's hair while they're fucking, or lean in close and nuzzle into it to inhale his smell, and Harry will sigh all heavy, his smile wide and content like Louis's making him feel even better by doing that, increasing the pleasure all over.

One night after they've just had sex and they're cuddling, Louis asks about it, because he always asks about these things; the two of them don't tend to keep things from each other. They're side by side in bed, Harry snuggled up under Louis's arm, and Louis is lazily toying with Harry's curls.

"Is this like, a thing for you?" he asks, twirling one little spiral around his finger and then letting it go.

"What?" Harry is tranquil, maybe on the edge of sleep already, and it takes him a few seconds to understand the question. Louis is just starting to get impatient enough to clarify when Harry starts talking again. "Oh, the—hair thing? Yeah, like—" he clears his throat, "kind of. I mean like—no, not really, like—this is just nice, you know? Like, relaxing. So like this isn't really the thing..."

Louis frowns, getting a little frustrated with the way Harry's stumbling over his words. "Spit it out, Hazza," he says teasingly, giving his hair a sharp little tug in an attempt to get him to pull himself together.

It pretty much has the exact opposite effect, because Harry falls apart, letting out a soft whine and pressing closer to Louis, and some kind of change comes over him like someone's flipped a switch. This isn't like how he reacts when people pet his hair, when he goes all limp and pliant, this is—something else. Harry is gazing up at him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breathing coming faster.

"Oh, I see," says Louis, not liking the way his voice shakes a little, but he's caught off-guard by it, the intensity of Harry's reaction. "That's the thing?"

"Mm, Lou, do it again?" Harry asks, shameless, and Louis can't exactly resist, immediately tangling his fingers back in those curls and pulling, a little harder this time.

Harry whines again, loud now, and this time his body goes taut.

"Interesting," says Louis, and he's already so busy thinking about all the ways he could play with this, the things he could do with this new information, that he almost misses Harry murmuring something under his breath. "What was that?"

"Lou," Harry whimpers, curling into him, and Louis realises how hard he is, then, his cock suddenly firm and hot under the covers, nudging against Louis. "Want you to fuck me."

"I already did that, darling," Louis says, enjoying this, "'bout ten minutes ago in fact, did you forget already?"

Harry makes a frustrated noise, and Louis takes pity on him, slotting his own leg between both of Harry's, so that Harry's dick rests against his thigh. Harry immediately makes a little noise of gratitude and actually starts rutting against him, and Louis is overwhelmed by how desperate he got so quickly, just from one small thing.

"Really?" Louis asks mockingly, but Harry's too far gone to even be ashamed, just rocking his hips clumsily back and forth so his cock pushes along Louis's thigh, staring into Louis's eyes almost pleadingly. That look is what gets Louis hard, filling up quickly against Harry's stomach, and his voice is more gentle now when he says, "You want me to do it again?"

It's not like Louis actually needs prompting; he's dying to see that reaction over and over, but he also wants to see if he can make Harry ask for it. Beg for it.

But "Mhm," is all Harry can manage, along with an eager nod, and Louis reaches around again, this time tangling just a few curls around his fingers and yanking, so the pain is more focused and sharp. Harry cries out and for a split-second Louis thinks he's gone too far—but then Harry is rubbing against his leg even faster, the bucking of his hips more erratic now, as he gazes into Louis's eyes with his pupils full-blown.

Louis does it again, right away without giving him much of a chance to recover, pulling so hard that Harry's head is forced back, and takes the opportunity to duck in and kiss his throat. He can't leave a mark there (no matter how badly he wants to) because they've got a busy week ahead of them, but he sucks gently, grazing his teeth against the skin as he keeps Harry's head held back with the grip on his hair. Harry is making these desperate little noises and as he shoves his hips forward for more friction, Louis's fingers slip from the soft curls and he shifts his own hips, pressing his cock against the firm plane of Harry's stomach and giving up on trying to appear aloof and unaffected by this.

They writhe clumsily against each other, rhythmless, Louis tugging at Harry's hair whenever he can gather the coordination to do so, and when he grabs a rough handful just above Harry's ear and hauls his head to the side, that's when Harry comes, with a choked yelp, spurting wet over Louis's thigh and then dropping his head to pant hot into his shoulder. Louis drags him back up by his hair, sees how pink Harry's cheeks are and how he's shuddering weakly from the aftershocks and that's what makes Louis lose it, gasping sharply as he slicks Harry's stomach.

They come down, hot and sticky. Harry kisses Louis lazily, breathes something against his mouth that sounds like "thank you," and Louis runs his fingers through Harry's hair again but not to pull or yank this time, just to stroke and soothe. Harry sighs happily, snuggling against him, and Louis feels the sore heat of his scalp and tries not to put too much pressure on it, just gently moving his fingers through the strands.

"We should clean up," he whispers after a little while, because he can feel Harry starting to doze off against him and they're going to wake up stuck together at this rate.

"Mmm," Harry mumbles, nuzzling closer. "Yeah. In a minute."

***
After that, Louis kind of can't resist just pulling on Harry's hair all the time. It's like some kind of instant button to turn Harry on and he can't get over it, how it'll rev Harry up so fast and easy, how he'll be raring to go in mere seconds after a simple tug of his curls. Louis kind of wonders how none of them ever realised this before, but then, they've never really been rough with his hair, it's just never occurred to them. So it might look a little strange to the others that Louis is doing it regularly now, just for the thrill of Harry's reaction when they're in public, the way he'll get so flustered and have to try hold back his moan. He'll be on Louis as soon as they're alone together, begging him to do it again and to follow through.

It's just a natural progression, really, after that. A matter of experimentation. It just makes sense for Louis to start pulling on it when Harry is sucking him off. He'll thread his fingers through Harry's curls, both hands in his hair, and guide him on and off of his cock that way, dragging his head back and then pushing it down, filling his mouth back up, fingers twining tight around the strands and not letting go. If they're short on time he'll jerk Harry off with one hand round his dick and the other in his hair, yanking his head right back and pulling as hard as he dares, keeping Harry's neck outstretched, his throat long and pale and exposed for Louis to nip and kiss at.

When Louis rides Harry he likes to see how far he can lift Harry's head up off the pillow, raking his fingers through his hair and taking hold, pulling up hard. Harry has to strain, then, gritting his teeth, his face going red as Louis grinds down against him, taking him deep. And when he fucks Harry it's almost always doggystyle now, so that he can pull Harry's head right back towards him, get him staring at the ceiling. The first time they try that Louis can't help wondering why they never did it before; it feels so good to grab a messy handful of Harry's curls and wrench his head back, to use them as reins almost as he fucks him, holding on tight as his hips piston and he pounds into Harry until Harry is crying out and shaking and coming all over the bed and his own belly, cock completely untouched.

Harry's hair might not have been particularly sexual to Louis before but now—now it's really fucking distracting, because whenever he sees it he just thinks about the ways he can get Harry to react by touching it in different ways. He might—maybe—get a little bit obsessed.

Which is a bit of a problem, because he always used to touch Harry's hair a lot anyway, playing with it absentmindedly or ruffling it in a manner almost like that of an older brother. Now it's not like that at all. And now he's fixated on how it looks all the time, the way the curls will be almost like ringlets if Harry's let it air-dry after his shower and hasn't brushed it, and Louis will want to tease it, feel those curls coil around the length of each of his fingers. Sometimes Harry will comb it or towel dry it more and it'll be more flat, fringe sweeping across his forehead sort of haphazardly, and Louis will want to toy with the messy ends that flick out, stroke at the softer strands at the nape of his neck.

Sometimes it's just plain messy, when he hasn't washed it for a little while and the only upkeep has been in the form of him running his fingers through it, shaking it out. That's what really drives Louis crazy, because it reminds him of how it looks after sex, all mussed and sweaty, his skin hot against Louis's fingers as he looks up through his tangled fringe into Louis's eyes. It makes him want to try neaten it up just so he can focus, concentrate on what the interviewer is saying rather than think about Harry all flushed and sated, lips red and parted, hair a damp dark halo around his head.

But he can't. He touches Harry in public enough already, he's aware of that, and it's probably suspicious enough as it is without him actually grooming Harry in front of the cameras. So he finds himself muttering to Harry to fix it, sometimes just mumbling that he's not happy with it, and thankfully Harry will listen and do his silly signature little head shake which admittedly doesn't do much to make it neater, but at least changes it a little and gets Louis to stop thinking about sex for about the next fifteen minutes.

In private Louis loves it when it looks like that, particularly if he's the cause. He doesn't know why, there's just something about making it all messy and snarled, and sore at the roots, that gets him hot. He begs for Harry to leave it for a while, likes surveying his handiwork. There's a little part of him that's pleased with himself when Harry has to spend a bit of extra time combing out tangles and knots later, though he always ends up helping him, tutting a fond "useless" and snatching the brush out of Harry's hand to take over. It feels just as good as roughing him up, taking care of him after—stroking and petting at him, kissing him where it hurts, undoing the mess he's made.

***
Maybe it has something to do with how pretty Harry's hair is, how it's basically his trademark, the way people distinguish between Harry and the others if they don't know the band that well. And it's something Louis has always loved in such an innocent way, and there's something about making it sexual that feels dirty and wrong in a way that really gets him off.

He never thought of it quite like this, though, not until tonight.

They've been making out in bed, both naked, and when Louis tries to push Harry's head south Harry drags Louis down the bed instead, sits him at the foot of it and then drops to the floor in front of him. There's something about the position that gets Louis harder, seeing Harry staring up at him like that. His hair is hanging in his eyes, already damp with sweat, and Louis scrapes it back, Harry tilting his head instinctively with the movement.

"You wanna suck me off?" Louis asks, holding Harry's head there, his fingers carding through his curls.

"Yeah," Harry breathes.

Louis takes his cock in his other hand, curling his fingers loosely round the base, and he sees Harry swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his outstretched throat. Louis guides his cock towards Harry's mouth, still keeping his head tipped back at an uncomfortable angle so that Harry has to lick out as Louis gently presses his cock to Harry's lips. He tugs his head back a little further just to watch Harry struggle and hear him moan, and then he relents, letting go. Harry is breathing heavy, shuffling closer, parting his lips and taking Louis in, so eager that he's a little sloppy, hollowing his cheeks and sucking and making Louis grab for his hair again just for something to hold onto.

He guides Harry a little like usual, a hand on either side of his head, fingers tangled in his hair and pulling him off in a long drag that makes Harry wince and gasp, and then easing him back down, fingers rubbing into his scalp to soothe him, make him relax and breathe through his nose and take Louis's cock deeper. And Louis isn't sure what it is, exactly, that makes him think of it in that moment, but all of a sudden he's struck by the urge to replace his fingers with his cock, to know what Harry's soft curls would feel like against that tender, hot, sensitive skin. He pulls Harry off rather abruptly, and Harry gulps and looks up at him, expectant and so aroused, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wild.

"I want—" says Louis, but isn't sure how to phrase it. He takes his cock back in his hand, cupping it loosely in his fist, and he wants to pull Harry closer, slide his shaft along Harry's cheek and right into his hair but he doesn't want to do it without permission.

He doesn't even have to ask, though. Harry is on his wavelength, always, completely—he ducks down to get Louis to loosen his grip on his curls a little, and then nudges against Louis's cock with his head, and Louis feels the slight prickle of his hair and swears under his breath. "Yeah," he says, knowing instantly that this is what he wants, "yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry nods, and he's got his hand on himself, working so quick over his length that Louis can hear the slick sound of it.

Harry dips lower, letting Louis push his cock through the tangle of Harry's curls right to the crown of his head, and it feels—strange, not like anything else, really. The texture is so different, almost tickly until he increases the pressure and then it's good, so good. He gets the silky-soft curls all damp and matted with his pre-come, and just that, just dirtying them like that feels so good he immediately knows this isn't going to last long.

Harry ducks his head even lower and Louis starts when he feels Harry gently lapping at his balls. Harry's tilted his head sideways so that his curls still play against Louis's cock with every movement he makes, and Louis presses the flat of his palm to his shaft, stroking, feeling Harry everywhere, his soft tongue and the slight roughness of his hair and he's so close, his hips thrusting, and Harry can tell.

"Go on," Harry implores, voice low.

The feel of his breath makes Louis tingle and the encouragement pushes him over the edge; his hips buck once more and he draws them back sharply so that when he comes, he spills into Harry's hair, splashing stark white into the dark curls. Harry moans even louder than Louis, nudging up against his cock as Louis works the rest of it out with a tight fist, the last drops spattering hot into Harry's fringe.

"Fuck," Louis says shakily. It takes him a good few moments to catch his breath, and then he loses it again when Harry straightens up and grins. He looks so cheeky and fucked-out, with Louis's come in his hair, and that's when Louis realises that Harry came too, brought himself off while Louis was—defiling him like that. His tummy and hand are shining wet. "God," says Louis in a small voice, "I didn't even know I wanted that."

"I did," says Harry happily, and he reaches up to touch, patting gently at the wetness in his curls, and god, he seems so fucking thrilled about something that should really just be degrading, and Louis can't cope.

"We shouldn't let it dry," he says, trying to get a handle on this, "want me to wash it out for you?"

And there's no way Harry's going to turn up an offer like that, so they get up, wobbly-legged, and head into the bathroom. Harry clambers into the tub and sits sideways in it, and Louis kneels on the bathmat holding the showerhead over him. He gently cleans Harry's hair, setting the shower down so he can work the shampoo into Harry's wet curls with both hands, fingers rubbing at his scalp and making Harry moan happily and go boneless.

He washes it more thoroughly than he perhaps needs to, actually, soaping it up three times with the shampoo and then gently smoothing the conditioner right through to the ends, but Harry is hardly complaining, sleepy and satisfied under the hot water and Louis's dexterous fingers. And this is definitely what Louis likes best, he's sure of it now—it's all about making a mess of Harry, and then fixing him up again.

End.

could make your whole world sweet. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-06-03T21:30:35Z

Title: could make your whole world sweet
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s dynamic
Summary: This is what he likes best, just making Louis happy, attending to his needs. (~1,800 words)
A/N: For this prompt in which Louis is preoccupied watching a football match on TV while Harry sucks him off. Title from 'Mercy' by IAMX.

"Do you need anything?" Harry asks, not joining Louis yet, just kind of hovering nearby. "Something to drink? A beer?"

"That'd be great, babe, thanks," says Louis, without taking his eyes off the TV even though it's just adverts still, the game hasn't started.

Harry smiles and heads into the kitchen, retrieving a beer from the fridge and popping the cap off before carrying the bottle through to Louis, presenting it to him. Louis takes it, flashing him a grin in thanks, and Harry waits for another moment, wondering if there's anything else he can do.

"Do you want a snack? We've got some crisps left, or I could make you something..."

"Nah, I'm alright," Louis says warmly, patting the space next to him on the sofa. "Just sit and watch the game with me."

Harry beams, sitting down beside him obediently, tucking his legs under him and leaning in close, resting his head against Louis's shoulder. He likes watching the football, but not as much as Louis does. Mostly he just likes how into it Louis gets, and it makes him feel weirdly special to sit and watch it with him sometimes, to be able to be a part of something that Louis loves. He likes seeing Louis so happy and excited when his team is doing well, likes seeing his eyes light up when they score a goal, and he likes how focused he gets when things are a little more tense. He likes being there for Louis to celebrate with if they win, and to comfort him if they lose.

So he just sits there, head lolling against Louis as he half-follows the game but mostly tries to keep aware of whether Louis is enjoying himself or not. By half-time, Man U still haven't scored, and Louis is on edge. He's finished his beer already and he's kind of fidgety without it.

"You want another?" Harry asks, lifting his head off Louis's shoulder. "I can get you one if you want."

Louis nods, quick and sharp, agitated as he keeps his eyes on the match, and Harry gets to his feet, padding back to the kitchen quickly so he can replace the empty bottle with a fresh one. When he comes back Louis is frowning at the TV and doesn't even smile at Harry this time, just reaches out blindly for the beer.

"Lou," says Harry quietly, not wanting to distract him too much, "do you need anything else? I could—do you want me to suck you off?"

Louis's eyes flicker a little in surprise; he opens his mouth to speak but then there's a sudden uproar from the TV and he gets distracted and just nods instead. Harry drops to his knees instantly, shuffling between Louis's legs. Louis hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pyjama trousers to take them off but he can't seem to multitask, going still again as there's a loud outburst from a commentator. The game seems to be getting more exciting and Harry wonders what's happening but—this is more important.

"Here, let me—" he says, so all Louis has to do is hitch his hips up a little and let Harry tug the trousers down. He's not wearing any underwear underneath, so Harry can get straight to work, spreading Louis's legs a little wider as he fits himself closer between them and leans in, nuzzling against Louis's cock, licking gently at him to start getting him excited.

Louis makes a small noise which at first Harry thinks is approval, but then realises is frustration at the fact that Harry's head is in the way of the TV. Louis pushes him down suddenly and Harry's face gets pressed right against Louis's cock; he gasps and then breathes hotly against it, feeling it starting to stiffen against his mouth. Louis holds him there, fingers threading through his hair, to make sure he understands, and Harry stays down. He starts to run his tongue over Louis's shaft, getting him harder until he can take him between his lips easily. Louis inhales sharply as Harry's warm mouth envelops him but he's still focused on the match. He brings his beer to his mouth hesitantly and takes a swig, and his other hand falls from Harry's head, seeming to relax, then, sinking back into the sofa. Harry's heart swells with pride at being able to do this for him, relieve the tension somewhat.

He works at Louis enthusiastically, wanting to make it good—not good enough to distract him of course, but enough to make him happy, to soften the blow in case the match isn't going the way he wants or just to add to his enjoyment if it is. He can't bob his head too much in case he gets in the way so he doesn't come off very far, keeping Louis's cock deep. His body protests a little; he's breathing hard through his nose and making small noises that he can't help, and suddenly he sees Louis reach out beside him for the remote, hold down a button. The volume of the TV increases, and Harry feels guilty, staring up at Louis's face and trying to work out if he seems mad. He doesn't look it though, just fixated on the game, and it's hard to tell if he thinks Harry is doing a good job or not. Harry wants to know, so he can make it better if he needs to.

He pulls off and Louis doesn't seem to notice, so he has to lift his head more to catch his attention. "Am I doing good, babe?" he asks, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of all the cheering and the commentary, and feeling bad for it.

Louis says, "Yeah, uh huh," without looking at him, pointing at the TV in explanation and then pushing Harry's head back down to make sure he gets the message, and Harry barely pays any attention to the forcefulness of the gesture, too busy thrilling at the reassurance Louis gave him. He takes Louis's cock back in and suckles, loving the way that he fills his mouth up.

His hands rest on Louis's hips, fingers splayed out. He's not trying to hold Louis down or anything, keeping the touch gentle to let Louis know he can start fucking his mouth if he wants. Louis is concentrating too hard on the TV though and doesn't want to have to work for this, letting Harry be the one to make the effort. Harry pulls off to mouth at Louis's balls, feel them against the flat of his tongue, and Louis squirms a little. Harry thinks he might hear his breath catch too but it's hard to tell. He laps softly and gazes up at him, contented—this, this is what he likes best, just making Louis happy, attending to his needs. He moves back up, wanting to be thorough, swirling his tongue around the head of Louis's cock and tasting the pre-come gathering there. He feels his stomach twist a little with pleasure at how hard Louis is now, at knowing he did that for him, got his cock all flushed and firm, slick and pulsing against Harry's tongue.

Harry's starting to hurt a little from his crumpled position on the floor, his muscles straining, but it's a distant awareness in the back of his mind; all that really matters to him is bringing Louis off. He takes Louis deep again, keeps his lips sliding over him, and it's messy—it's always like this, sloppy because he's so eager, he's never really been able to work out any sort of technique but it's the enthusiasm that Louis loves, the way that Harry is always so desperate to please. And Harry knows that right now Louis is preoccupied, but he doesn't mind. He's willing to keep going for as long as it takes, even if his jaw starts to seize up.

He can feel that Louis is getting closer though, his hips beginning to move in subtle, almost automatic movements so that he's rocking up gently against Harry's mouth. Harry notices Louis's fingers have gone slack around his beer, too—he obviously can't focus on watching something, holding something, and having Harry blow him all at the same time. Harry reaches out without removing his mouth from Louis's cock, taking the bottle and putting it behind him on the coffee table so it doesn't spill.

He takes Louis in really deep now, letting his eyes water a little as he struggles, pushing himself until he feels his nose brush Louis's stomach and the head of his cock at the back of his throat. He's about to ease back off, the reflexive panic kicking in at how constricted he feels, but then Louis suddenly grasps his head, fingers tangling in Harry's hair as he holds him there and keeps himself deep. He lets out a whine and his thighs go taut as he comes in a hot pulse down Harry's throat, and Harry tries not to choke, waiting trustingly for Louis to let him up even as his throat is burning. Louis does, then, and Harry tries not to splutter too loud as he swallows repeatedly. He glances up to check on Louis and sees that he's wiping the sweat from his forehead and still staring at the TV, sitting forward so he can see properly and looking a little dazed. Harry notices that Louis's palm is on his cheek, that it slid there when Harry straightened up, and the touch feels soothing on his hot skin.

"You okay?" Harry asks, eyes remaining on Louis as he fumbles around behind him until his hand comes into contact with the box of tissues on the coffee table.

"Uh huh," Louis says distractedly, and Harry nods to himself, satisfied, pulling a couple of tissues out and wiping Louis down first, then his own mouth and hands. Then he eases Louis back into his pyjama bottoms, guiding each foot into a leg hole and getting him to lift his hips up again so he can pull them up properly.

He sits back beside Louis on the sofa, legs aching, and reaches out to return Louis's beer to him. Louis takes it and grins, reaching out to put his other arm around Harry, pulling him close and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Amazing as always, babe," he murmurs. "Love the way you take care of me."

Harry glows, snuggling into him. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Yeah, 'course," Louis replies, and nudges Harry down a little, gesturing for him to settle his head in his lap. Harry smiles, nestling there on the firm warmth of Louis's thighs and feeling fingers starting to play with his hair. He can taste Louis in his mouth still, feel the lingering ache in his throat, and he sighs happily, closing his eyes as he realises he doesn't care about the game at all anymore.

End.

celebration?? OR SOMETHING

2012-06-01T17:20:13Z

OKAY SO LIKE

THIS POST IS GOING TO SEEM KIND OF DUMB PROBABLY

BUT HEAR ME OUT BECAUSE SOME THINGS HAVE HAPPENED

1) Somehow I seem to have 1000 followers on Tumblr now?

2) as loud as lions has 300 comments on the final part. (I'm aware that about half of those are my own responses but STILL.)

3) This community has, like, a shitload of members.

4) It turns out state of flux is the 150th fic I've written ever. (Excluding a few things I only posted in the comments of kink memes.) A HUNDRED AND FIFTY FICS YOU GUYS!! That definitely calls for celebration of some kind?

And I have been getting so frustrated lately because I feel like I'm not SHOWING MY LOVE properly or something?? And so, partly due to lack of sleep but mostly due to EXCESS OF SQUEE, I decided to make you all a video of myself saying thank you??? It is ridiculous and probably about 80% of it is just me talking about the fact that it's ridiculous, but like – because of my social anxiety, this is pretty much the biggest gesture of love that I could give you guys.

I reeeeally hope none of this comes across as bragging in ANY way because it's so not meant to – I'm just completely overwhelmed by the response I've received in this fandom and this is really a post about how AWESOME YOU GUYS ALL ARE and how these past two months I have been in a much better place in my life than I used to be and just, ack. I appreciate all of it so much. ♥

(Also I am seriously terrified about showing this to however the hell many of you there are now, so if I freak out I might take this down after a week or something.)

Idk how I expect anybody to react to this, can we just have a dance party in the comments or something?? *clings to you all*

Edit: As of 12th June the video has been taken down because I was getting nervous, haha. Thanks so much for the lovely comments, guys. ♥

state of flux (1/2). ot5/ofc, nc-17.

2012-05-31T21:15:59Z

Title: state of flux
Author: likecharity
Pairing: One Direction/OFC, with strong OT5 undertones (particular focus on Harry/Louis and Zayn/Liam)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Group sex and a bit of open voyeurism/exhibitionism
Summary: This girl has brought to light something none of them has ever really questioned before, something about their claustrophobic closeness that has always made people curious for reasons they never understood. Maybe they just assumed it was normal, in their own private, confusing little five-person world, but—maybe it's not. (~17,700 words I wish I were kidding)
A/N: Wtf, I don't know. Essentially this is just the whole band having sex with the same girl, for this prompt, but obviously I couldn't avoid slipping in some (read: a lot of) homoeroticism. Also this is set next year not that that particularly matters to anybody, and the title is from 'Flux' by Bloc Party. Endless thanks to astreindre and blackwayfarers.

People probably wouldn't believe it, but sometimes it's actually a lot of effort for them, finding a girl to hook up with. Everyone assumes it's easy, assumes the band has got girls throwing themselves at them all the time, and all right, they do, but there's a big difference between flailing adoration and actually getting it to go somewhere. Because they can't just pick girls at random, sleep with whoever. They've got a reputation to uphold and probably a lot of people already figure they do indulge in the groupies but it's not something they want leaked to the press. They need to find girls they can actually trust and it's just become harder and harder over the years. They're pretty good now at knowing which girls to avoid, the ones who scream a little too loud and faint and get hysterical—and it's not like they have anything against those girls, just get worried for their safety mostly, but they're not right for this. They're the kind who will Tweet about it the next morning, or, god forbid, while it's actually happening. They have to choose the girls who are more chill, usually the ones who are a little older and have learnt how to contain themselves.

And it's difficult. It really is. Sometimes it feels like they can't trust strangers anymore at all, can no longer tell who's being genuine with them. So for the most part they don't even really attempt it, satisfied just hanging out together after shows, and dealing with the sexual frustration by wanking later, alone in their beds or showers and—it kinda of sucks, sure, but it's a small price to pay for how awesome their lives are now in practically every other respect. It's only occasionally that one of them will get fed up and find somebody, make sure the others think she seems reliable and then give into the urge.

But nothing about the situation is satisfactory, really. Most guys their age would think it was great, probably, and it's always talked about as this brilliant thing like they can just pick any girl they want and not have to think about the consequences. But it's just not like that, and to be honest they're not sure they'd even like it if it were. It can feel meaningless, sometimes, gross and empty the next morning, waking up to this girl who's essentially a stranger. They can feel close in the moment, but the mornings are often different. They feel miles apart, then, like they're from different worlds, and sometimes the physical satisfaction and relief can't override that

It seems to get harder with every week that passes, as they rise to even headier heights of fame and get recognised everywhere they go and they're under so much scrutiny that they have to be so, so careful, and it's—it's frustrating. They're so busy and it can get so stressful and they all need sex—to varying degrees, but they all do. When they go without for too long they start bickering more over the most insignificant things, making mountains out of molehills and that's the worst part, beginning to fall out with each other, because that relationship needs to go smoothly for any of this to work but it seems like it's the first thing to suffer when they're going through a dry spell. It's probably because they're around each other very nearly constantly; it's just natural to take out their frustration on one another even if they absolutely don't want or mean to.

It's a fortnight into the Australasian leg of the tour when it happens, and that's probably not even that long but it is for them, when everything is intensified, when they get so much done in a day that every day feels like a week of its own. Danielle's wrapped up with work and hasn't been able to visit at all—Liam hasn't seen her for about a month now, and he's fully intending to wait it out but a part of him worries he won't be able to, thinks his willpower is going to crack if things keep going at the rate they're going. They've talked about this countless times and she understands, gets that she can't always be there and that he's in a high-stress environment and sometimes just needs someone to help him unwind and it's not ever, ever going to replace her. But he doesn't like doing it, it still feels like cheating, and right now he's so far away from her and he hates it.

There's a show practically every night and barely a moment of free time during the day, and he loves it while it's all happening but back in his hotel room, pacing around and buzzing with energy, that's the worst. It's worse for him than the others, because they all like to go down to the hotel bar or out to a club to keep the night going and party, use up the leftover excitement from the gigs. But Liam doesn't like that, doesn't like the noise and the crowds and being the only sober person there, but he doesn't like hanging around alone in his room and bouncing off the walls, either, and it's getting to him. They're in Adelaide tonight and it's way too hot; Liam is lying on his bed in just his boxers, channel-flicking at ridiculous speed trying to find something on TV that he can actually pay attention to. The show tonight was a particularly good one and that just makes this harder; he feels so antsy, wishing it hadn't ended, because being up onstage is such a rush and it's never fun coming down from it.

The others are all down the street at a nearby club, having some drinks and trying to shake off the excitement with celebration. They're in a private area of the place but they're not being too strict with it, too hyped up to be that bothered by the occasional fan popping through to get a photo or an autograph or say hi. And they can order drinks through, but it's Harry's turn to buy them tonight and he keeps forgetting about that fact and wandering off to the bar in the main area instead, leaving their bodyguard to chase after him and try to hold off the inevitable swarm of fans that follow.

The third time this happens, he's not alone when he returns. There's a girl trailing after him and at first Louis thinks she must just be a stray fan pushing her luck but then he sees the way Harry's glancing back at her, checking to see that she's still with him, that she's not getting lost in the crowd. And he can see—even from their booth several feet away—that look in Harry's eyes, knows what it means. Harry doesn't pick girls up anywhere near as much as everybody thinks, but when he does he's never terribly careful about it so Louis is instantly concerned. Harry thinks he's so good at reading people but really he's just so naive, he wants to see the good in everybody and he'll fall for a girl instantly if she just bats her eyelashes at him. He claims he can tell, that there's just something about her that means she's trustworthy, but more than once the others have had to intervene when they've seen the girl in question sneaking photos of him on her phone or texting just a little too much to seem innocent. This girl is intriguing, though, because she actually seems pretty calm about the fact that she's following Harry into a private area of the club and she hasn't got a camera dangling from her hand or a photo for them to sign or anything.

Louis nudges Zayn, who's gazing off in the other direction. "Who's that?" Zayn says a little sharply when he spots the girl, approaching them beside Harry now, smiling a little sheepishly and giving them a goofy wave.

Louis returns the wave and laughs. "I don't know," he says. "Someone Hazza's taken a shine to, apparently."

"Well, I can see why."

"What?"

"She's fit, look," Zayn says, and Harry and the girl are way too close by now for them to be having this conversation and remaining subtle, but Louis looks again anyway and he can see what Zayn means—she's got red hair (possibly dyed, he can't tell under the club's lights) and she's curvy (Harry always goes for the curvy ones) and her face is soft, sweet, pretty. Louis can tell that, it just—it sometimes takes him a second look to notice it.

"Hello, gentlemen," says Harry, reaching the table. He's got three drinks in his hands, clutched together, and he puts them down carefully, sliding one each across to Louis, Zayn, and Niall. The girl is holding one in each hand and she hands one to Harry, flashing him a smile. "This is Max; mind if she joins us?" Harry asks casually, taking his drink and sipping from it.

"No problem," says Zayn a little eagerly, shifting aside to make space for her—he and Niall are sitting on one side of the booth and Louis on the other.

But Harry gestures instead next to Louis, and Max smiles at Louis before slipping in next to him. Harry squeezes in on her other side, pushing her closer to Louis and—she's warm and soft against him and he's a little hazy with drink and, it feels really good. Better than it should, maybe, for a simple press of body to body. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and doesn't say anything and for a moment it's awkward and Louis feels his heart sink—he doesn't like the shy fans, it's actually so much easier when they're loud and enthusiastic because then he doesn't have to make all the effort.

But then Max elbows him gently and says, "Cosy, huh?" with a sort of dazzling smile, and Louis warms to her instantly.

He elbows her right back, says, "Don't be cheeky, we've only just met," and she laughs and shrugs, taking a swig of her drink, and all right, Louis is charmed.

He usually likes the girls Harry does, anyway—not usually in that way, but he just gets on with them, finds they often have a lot in common. So if Harry is going to get off with Max tonight he doesn't really mind that it'll mean he has to give up his room and share with one of the others for the night so Harry has some privacy. Sometimes that feels a little weird, almost like the girl is taking his place, but if he's spent the night chatting to her it's not so bad.

The night goes on and the five of them chat, sort of getting to know each other but mostly talking about mindless crap—it's always awkward at first, the talking part, because these girls usually know at least the main facts of the boys' lives even if they're not the kind of fans that know everything, and it can start to feel like an interrogation if they're the only ones asking the questions. They pick up on a few things though, like the fact that she's twenty-two and studying for a sociology degree at a local university, and she has several brothers and also several cats. (This last prompts a conversation between her and Harry about Funny Things That Cats Do, which lasts—Louis times it—a whole seven minutes and forty seconds.)

After a while, Niall begins to recognise a strange vibe in the air that's unfamiliar. Usually, by this point, Harry would be making his excuses and whisking the girl away while they all either nodded and said polite goodbyes or cheekily slurred at them not to do anything they wouldn't do (depending on the night's alcohol intake) but it sort of seems like...like Harry doesn't have any plans to go anywhere. Which is fine; they're all getting on really well and Niall's enjoying the chance to chat to someone new because that's always fun, but—he's sure he didn't misread this situation, Harry's still giving this girl the eye like he's really into her and Niall doesn't really get why he's not taking her up to his room yet, why he seems happy hanging around down here with them instead. And that's about when Niall realises that they're all giving Max the eye, they're all into her—Zayn keeps talking over Harry and trying to impress her and she and Louis are engaging in casual mockery like they've known each other for months, and Niall quickly becomes aware that he's got his head resting in his hands and he's been gazing at Max's face for at least the past ten minutes without even saying anything, just admiring the shape of her lips and her pretty brown eyes.

So. This is new. And he's not entirely sure how they're going to play it.

Harry has dibs. Zayn knows that. But man, it's not fair, because it's really rare for Zayn to connect with a fan like this in person so fast. He's the most careful of all of them, even though he's probably the one who hooks up the most. He doesn't like to pick the girls out from the crowds, prefers to chat with them through direct messages on Twitter to get a better feel for their personalities and be sure that he really can trust them. And it's weird, because he'll usually have to chat to girls for a while before he feels comfortable with them, but with Max he does already, and—he just really, really likes her. She's really sweet but she's got this edge to her and he likes that; she's not afraid to tell Louis he's acting like a fool and even though she obviously really likes all of them, she's not soppy with it, gazing at them over her drink like this is the best thing that's ever happened to her or anything like that. She's just kind of going with the flow, and she hasn't taken out her phone once since she sat down, and—this is just rare.

And fuck, it's been ages since Zayn's had sex, and most of the time he can get kind of zen about it, put himself into a mindset where he doesn't really care, but right now, talking to Max, he—he really wants it. And there's no way he's going to find another Max in this club tonight, or anyone even close to her if he's being realistic, so this just kind of really sucks and he can't help but glower at Harry when he sees the way the two of them are flirting casually with each other, him offering her a sip of his drink and her ruffling his hair when she points out how little alcohol is in it, teasingly calling him a lightweight. Zayn kinda feels like a whiny kid not getting what he wants but this girl seems special and why does Harry have to be the one who gets her? He feels bad for thinking of her like that, like she's some kind of prize or something, because actually it's not even just about the sex, he just likes her and wants to keep chatting to her all night. But he feels like that's gone on too long already, that any second now they're gonna be getting up and slipping off to Harry's room.

There's a lull in the conversation and Harry drains his glass, checks around the club and sees that it's starting to empty out. He told their bodyguard for the night to get their room more closed-off and not let anymore fans in, and then said he could go home if he liked, that they could handle it from here. He glances sidelong at Max and then leans in, taking a deep breath.

"Um. You're into me, right?" he murmurs.

She laughs, and finishes off her own drink, stirring the ice with her straw so that it clinks against the glass. "Somebody's presumptuous," she says, a little too loudly.

"Somebody swallowed a dictionary," Louis drawls from her other side, raising a wicked eyebrow.

She gives him a look and says, "Somebody had their cornflakes pissed in this morning," and then turns right back to Harry, and Harry is momentarily distracted from what she whispers to him by the thrill that she actually managed to outwit Louis like that—he can't even think of a comeback, just makes a face at her and leans across to Zayn and Niall to start chatting to them like he's pretending he's not bothered.

"Sorry," Harry says, dragging his eyes away from Louis, "what did you say?"

"I said yeah, I am," she says, "but can I tell you something?" She's biting her lip and it's all soft and pink and Harry really, really wants to kiss her.

"Anything," he says, smiling brightly at her, gone already.

"I kinda like your friends, too."

She's saying it like a confession, but there's a little bit of mischief in there too, or at least Harry thinks there is, doesn't think he's just hearing what he wants to hear, but he can't be sure. Maybe she's just apologetic that he's not the only one she's paying attention to, but it's not like Harry didn't notice that, not like that thought wasn't already sitting in the back of his brain and slowly growing into something.

"Thought so," Harry tells her. "Greedy."

She laughs and her eyes are bright. "Suppose I can make do with just you, though," she says, sighing in mock-disappointment. "If I have to. Might be a hardship but someone's gotta do it, right? Can't have all five."

The retort is on the tip of his tongue, agreement and the offer to take her up to his room now, but—instead he lapses into silence for a little too long and then their eyes meet and oh, shit.

"Sorry, what's happening here?" says Louis after a long moment and that's when Harry realises that they've all gone silent, not just him and Max, the others have picked up on the sudden tension too. "I feel like something monumental just happened, care to share with the rest of the class?"

Harry snorts, trying to call his bluff. "I wouldn't say monumental," he replies. "Though that depends on your view of a girl being with more than one guy at the same time."

Niall is casually drumming his fingers on the table and not actually listening properly but at this he freezes. Louis frowns, not happy with the way Harry has flipped this, made it seem like he's being so cool about this when Louis knows he's not, not completely anyway. He's pretty sure he saw the exact moment when this idea came into Harry's head and ever since then Harry's been fidgety with nerves as he tried to figure out how to approach it. Louis can read him like a book.

"Personally," Harry goes on, and Louis can hear the way his voice wavers a little even if no one else can, "I think it's a little unconventional but there's nothing strictly wrong with it. Society's always putting limits on this kind of thing but there's no real reason for it in my opinion."

There's another pause and then Max is cracking up, elbowing Harry. "I can't believe you, oh my god," she laughs, her eyes sparkling.

"Nah, why not, though?" Louis speaks up, trying to gain the control of this situation. "We're all adults here. If we're all willing, I say let's go for it. You only live once."

Max grins at him. "Well, that is my motto," she says.

Louis's instinct is to go mine too! and grin at her the way Harry has been all night, but instead he simply says, "Copycat," and then nudges her gently with his hip. "You up for it then, love?"

She hesitates, but only for about a second. "Yeah," she says then, decisively. "All right, yeah. Wow."

Niall and Zayn's opinions on the matter come in the form of them immediately standing up, and it's like a cue—Louis, Max, and Harry all follow, and they slide out of the booth. The club is almost empty now and the people that are left stay back, watching from the corners as the boys file out with Max in the middle. Louis wonders what they're thinking. He knows they can't possibly know what's being planned here, but even so, feeling all the eyes on him makes him feel a little flushed and kind of dirty.

There are more fans on the street and a few paparazzi too, waiting outside, but Louis doesn't feel too nervous about that. They can put out a story that Max is just an old friend who met up with them for a drink after the show, if these pictures end up in the press. It really doesn't seem that big of a deal, but then he glances to his right and sees that Max has gone a little pale, wide-eyed.

"Hey," he mutters to her. "You all right, babe?"

"Yeah, just—didn't expect that," she says, and the boys close in around her, Harry and Louis walking in front and Zayn and Niall behind so that she's guarded, mostly hidden from the cameras. The fans outside are a little more hysterical than the ones inside, and Louis thinks they must have been kept out deliberately—they immediately start whispering to one another and then calling things out and Louis strides confidently ahead, Harry in step with him and the others following behind quickly, trying to ignore the shouts and camera flashes.

There are basically clusters of people all the way down the road until they reach the hotel, but luckily it's not far and as soon as they're inside they all breathe a sigh of relief, heading towards the lift. Once they're inside it seems really quiet and bright and real, and Niall is impressed that Max isn't freaking out—not like he expects girls to have that reaction to being in a lift with them, but the fact that they're all heading up to a hotel room makes the situation a little bit different. He's glad she's so chill though, because Niall can get them all into trouble sometimes by not really caring quite as much if a girl gossips to a couple of her mates the next day. No one blames him, really, because it's hard to tell if that's where it'll stop or if those mates are gonna gossip to their mates and it'll spread. But it seems like they don't have to worry about that with Max, anyway.

"You nervous?" Zayn asks her, flashing her a grin.

"Are you?" she shoots back, and the boys laugh, and—okay, Niall can see why they all like her. She's so laidback about this it's kind of awesome, and he loves that. She's witty and can hold a good conversation just like Harry likes, and she's got just the right amount of mischief for Louis to be captivated—he doesn't seem like he's that sexually interested if Niall's honest, but it seems like he secretly kinda wants Max to be his partner in crime or something. And there's a bit of mystery to her too and he thinks Zayn must like that—the way she's unpredictable, not dealing with this in the way one might expect. Not for the first time tonight, Niall thinks of Liam all alone upstairs and wonders if Liam would like her too, and it's not like he thinks they should barge in there and ask his opinion but it does feel odd that he's not here for this.

They reach their floor and file out and it's deserted, thankfully. Harry leads them all down the corridor and Zayn figures they're probably heading to his and Louis's room which is right at the end—but then Harry stops suddenly, several doors away, and they all come to a sudden halt behind him. They're outside Liam's room.

"Uh, Haz," says Zayn uncertainly. "Forgot which one is yours?"

"No, just," says Harry with a shrug, leaning up against the wall just beside Liam's door. "Doesn't feel right to do this without him, does it?"

Zayn sees Max's eyes widen for a second and then she slumps against the wall too, running her fingers back through her hair and laughing shakily like she can't quite believe this is happening—and it's nice to see that come through, because honestly it would be kind of crazy if she were completely blasé about this.

"Are you all right with that?" Niall asks her.

She grins at him but she looks a little dazed. "Sure, it's fine. Liam's actually my favourite, I've got no interest in you four losers," she quips.

"Our poor delicate egos," laments Louis, and then, deciding they've reached a conclusion here, steps forward and raps jauntily on the door. For a long moment there's nothing, and Louis knocks again. "Probably having a wank, the poor sod. Give him a minute."

But then they hear shuffling from inside and the door opens, and Liam is standing there in his boxers with his hair all ruffled.

"Hello," he says, and then spots Max. "Oh, hello," he says again, and then, "wait, what?"

The first thing he thinks is that they're actually asking his approval of a girl one of them wants to hook up with, which is ridiculous, because—all right, they do do that, but they usually try to be subtle about it. They've never actually marched a girl up to one of the others before and outright asked for his opinion of whether she seems trustworthy or not, and—how is he supposed to judge that just from looking at her? She does look quite nice, though. She's not really Liam's type, but he likes the shape of her body, the swell of her hips in that tight turquoise dress and—god, it's really been too long, he never usually thinks this way about a girl he's literally just met. He blushes.

"Hi, I'm Max," says the girl, reaching out to shake his hand, and Liam is kind of charmed by that. No one really does the whole handshake thing anymore and hers is firm and sure, though she looks a little flustered, her cheeks pink.

"Liam Payne," he says with a smile. "Um—not that it's not lovely to meet you, but," he looks to the others now, "what's going on here? It's two in the morning, isn't it?"

"Apparently your friends are bringing you a gift," Max says, throwing up her hands in a sort of what can you do? way.

"Hey," says Harry, "don't say it like that. Sounds like we're objectifying you."

"Maybe some girls don't mind being objectified in the right circumstances," Max replies, nudging Harry with her hip.

"Hang on," Liam squeaks. "What, sorry?"

"Can we not have this conversation in the hallway?" Louis says, and then barges past Liam into the room, and the others all shuffle after him.

Liam stands there for a moment staring out into the corridor and then sighs and shuts the door. "Can we just—I mean, what's happening here? Is it what I think is happening? I just want to check."

"What do you think is happening?" Louis shoots back, quick, with a smirk, and Liam flounders for a moment.

"Um, all of you, and me," Max cuts in helpfully, dropping her purse on the floor like it's decided, she's staying. "And sex. I'm pretty sure sex is a part of the deal. If I've been brought up here under false pretences and we're just going to play Wii Tennis or something I'm not going to be pleased."

Liam can't help but laugh at that, and it comes out a little high-pitched because he's slightly caught off-guard by her bluntness. Not put off by it, exactly, but. Surprised. Then again, she's talking pretty fast like maybe she's just nervous.

"Only if you're all right with it," Zayn adds, looking at Liam. "I mean we can leave you to get back to your—" he glances at the TV and does a doubletake. "Are you watching Arthur?"

"No," says Liam quickly, snatching the remote from the bed and switching off the cartoon.

Louis barks with laughter but Max is smiling at Liam in a way that makes his stomach feel like it's flipping over. He's really—he's not going to say no to this, how can he? It's one thing to resist going out to bars or whatever but if the others are literally going to bring a girl up to his room—and a gorgeous, charming, funny girl at that—he's not sure what he's supposed to do. He thinks of Danielle, and oddly enough instead of the instant guilt he expects to feel, he finds himself wishing Danielle was here to meet Max because he has the feeling they'd get on quite well.

How ridiculous.

He clears his throat, and everybody looks at him expectantly. "Are you sure that this is—that this is an okay thing for us to do?" he asks. "I mean I know we've never been good with the whole boundaries thing but this is—big, even for us, right?"

"Yeah, but," says Harry, shrugging it off. "It's us, so I'm sure we'll manage. I don't think we're gonna be scarred for life or anything."

"Thanks, Harry. I hope not," chuckles Max.

Her accent is really cute, Liam decides, and gets distracted thinking about that for a moment and then realises they're all still looking at him, like they're waiting for his permission here or something. "Well, okay," he says in a small voice.

"Wow, chill out with the enthusiasm there, Liam," Louis snarks, and Liam blushes again, glancing at Max.

"I didn't mean—"

"It's all right," she says, and she gives him that smile again that's starting to make him feel sort of melty inside.

"So that's a yes, right?" Niall says, and Liam nods at him, still feeling very slightly hysterical but trying to remain calm for everybody else's sake. "Thank god, I really hoped we weren't gonna do this without you, mate."

"Niall, you sap," says Louis, but he pulls Liam close and then—suddenly there's a group hug happening and it's perhaps a bit too much of a passionate one considering they're not alone. Over the top of Harry's head Louis can see Max watching them with a mixture of bemusement and fondness on her face.

"All right," she says, and Louis can tell she feels like someone is going to kick this whole thing off and he admires that, even if he kind of wanted to be the one to do it. "So is somebody going to kiss me, or are you all just gonna kiss each other? I mean, not that I'd complain about that, but—" she cuts herself off, suddenly looking very embarrassed, blushing, and that's actually quite fetching on her even though it probably ought to just clash with her hair. "Jesus, sorry," she mutters, "have a filter, Max."

"Are you drunk?" Liam asks suddenly, as the hug begins to break apart.

Max laughs. "Oh, great! Do I sound like I'm off my face?"

"No, sorry," Liam says, and now the two of them are as flustered as each other and Louis is finding it hilarious. "I just—wanted to check, you know—"

"We're fine, Liam, we only had a few drinks," Zayn assures him.

And then what happens next happens very quickly. "Max, c'mere," Harry says softly. Max goes to him, kind of throws herself at him like she doesn't want to dance around this thing anymore and the force of it knocks Harry back into Louis, but—he doesn't step back, just watches as the two of them kiss, Harry's hand coming up to cup her cheek as their lips press together and then open. Louis is in a slightly awkward position here because he's about an inch away from just hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder, and it's all sort of—well, he knew this was going to be weird, but he likes weird things, kind of thrives in awkward situations if he's honest. This, though...this is something else.

Mostly because he's flustered, he hears himself suddenly saying, "All right, feeling a little left out here," and then Harry's chuckling low in his throat and turning around to look at him, eyebrows raised. Max laughs softly and takes Louis by the hips, kissing him, and, it's actually kind of nice. Even though she's pretty brash she lets him take the lead. She doesn't taste like lipgloss or smell too strongly of perfume, which he likes—actually, she tastes and smells strangely familiar and it takes Louis a second to realise, to make the connection that fuck, it's Harry. And he doesn't know what it means that he recognises that, and so quickly, and he shudders, pulling away because it's too much somehow, but she makes a little noise and pulls him back in for more and he can't resist, tongue sweeping into her mouth for more of that familiarity. It's scary and reassuring, both at once.

Niall is kind of hovering beside Louis, very aware of how close together they all are and feeling a bit stupid for it because, well, they're going to get even closer than this. But it's just really strange to watch Louis kissing someone, especially a girl and especially so close-up, and yet it's also kind of arousing because Max looks like a really good kisser and he wants to be next. Zayn is, though, unfortunately, and Niall hopes she's not like, going in order of favourites or something. What if he's last? He watches her and Zayn kissing, and then to his relief she's pulling him in next, and, okay, she is really good, but for some reason Niall just keeps thinking about the fact that her lips have literally just been on three of his best friends' and like, maybe their saliva is still in her mouth or something and the problem with this is that it's really not weirding him out and he thinks it should be, but—what the hell, they share everything else.

When Max goes to kiss Liam, she hesitates, and Zayn watches them intently, curious. "You...you have a girlfriend, right?" she asks him quietly, serious. "I just don't wanna interfere with that."

"It's okay," Liam tells her, "we've got—you know, like. An arrangement."

"Hmm," she says uncertainly, like maybe she's been told that before and it didn't turn out too well.

"No, they really do," Zayn speaks up, because like—Liam really needs this. He knows how badly Liam needs this. Liam hooks up the least of all of them. Barely at all, actually, because he loves Danielle with all of his heart and feels so rotten about being with anyone besides her, even though it's not cheating because he always tells her and she understands. But even though she's so awesome about it, reassuring him afterwards and occasionally telling him she spent the night with somebody too, he still feels awful and only does it when he gets really desperate, climbing the walls because of all the tension, irritable and getting stupidly angry at the smallest things like stubbing his toe. And he's been like that for days now, not just getting on their nerves with it but making them sad for him, too.

"Honestly, don't worry about it," Zayn goes on to Max, and before he has a chance to stop himself he's adding, "just kiss him, please," and okay, well, that sounded weird.

It's all the encouragement Max needs, though. Liam shoots Zayn a surprised little look but then Max is throwing her arms over his shoulders, and their kiss is somehow more heated than any of the others and Zayn wonders why, wonders if she wasn't kidding about Liam being her favourite or if he's just imagining things. He doesn't really have much of a chance to dwell on it though because then he sees Max's hand snaking between Liam's legs, cupping his crotch through his thin, baggy boxers and he can see the way Liam goes tense, knows he must be aware of them all watching.

"I don't wanna show favouritism here," Max says, glancing over at the others, and her voice has gone quieter, breathy, "this is kinda difficult."

"If you're gonna show favouritism you could at least show it towards me," Harry pouts. He's kidding, but he leans in close to Liam, getting in their space.

"Easier access. Liam's more naked than you are," Max says softly.

"That's the first time that has ever happened, I promise you," Harry tells her, and god, he's so smitten, she's so lovely. "Liam, are you hard?" he asks, because he can't see with Max pressed so close to him like that.

Liam almost chokes on a breath. "Harry, shit."

Harry's not entirely sure how they're going to manage this if Liam gets that embarrassed by that question, but hopefully they can ease him into things. "Just asking," he says, resting his head on Liam's shoulder, and his skin is really, really warm, like fever-hot. Liam sort of squirms away from the touch at first but then Harry looks down and sees how Max is stroking at him, and Liam ends up moving in closer to both of them.

"Yeah," Liam breathes out shakily. "Yeah, um. Really."

Harry hums curiously, watching. This is starting to feel a bit like a threesome, so he says, "Lou, c'mere."

Louis comes over immediately, circling round so he's on Liam's other side, and Liam sort of groans then like he knows already that this isn't going to go well for him. Zayn and Niall hang back, just watching, but Louis rests his arm on Liam's shoulder in an inappropriately casual way.

"Huh, you weren't kidding about the 'really' part," he says, "could poke someone's eye out with that thing, Liam."

Which really isn't fair at all, because Louis can't even see properly, Max's hand is in the way and Louis is clearly just trying to embarrass Liam here—but Liam is too distracted to retaliate, because god, Max stroking him like that feels really, really good. Feels like so long since anyone's touched him there and it's such a relief and there's heat curling in the pit of his belly and he doesn't even care that Harry and Louis are crowding round him and Niall and Zayn are blatantly watching too.

"Getting hot," says Niall and at first Liam isn't sure how he's supposed to take that and his heart kind of leaps into his throat but then he realises Niall is undressing and—no, actually, he can't quite deal with that either.

They've all seen each other naked before, countless times, but when Louis looks up and sees Niall pulling off his shirt, sees Harry take a step back to do the same right away—it feels different. It's charged with something, because this isn't just casual nakedness, this is stripping off for a reason, and that's. That's really fucking different. But Niall and Harry don't seem bothered, shucking their clothes so quickly that Louis doesn't really have a chance to think about it too much, he just knows he has to do the same because he's not going to look like the prude here. He steps back from Liam to pull his top over his head, and he kicks off his shoes and shimmies out of his trousers and he's planning to maybe leave his boxers on for a bit but then he sees that Harry is whipping his off and fuck, okay, fine.

Zayn is chuckling to himself like he can't quite believe they're doing this, as he gets his kit off too, and Max is tugging gently at the waistband of Liam's pants and when he nods shakily at her she drags them down all the way and Louis tries really hard not to watch but he's fixated. Max pulls the elastic carefully down over Liam's erection, revealing it slowly and oh, okay, apparently Liam is a hell of a lot bigger when he's hard, which isn't information that Louis ever thought he would know. It feels a lot different standing so close to Liam now, he feels sort of vulnerable, even though they're both naked, and Liam's the one who's got a stiffy. He just kind of stands there awkwardly like they all are—except for Harry who's gone back to resting on Liam's shoulder like it's no big deal—and watches as Max takes Liam into her hand. Her hand looks really small around him, her nails painted with sparkly purple polish that's a little chipped and her fingers pretty deft and quick, making Liam's abs tense up as she works him over, leaning back in to kiss him, soft.

Louis desperately tries to think of something to say, something jokey and dumb because he's really aware of how quiet everything is, but it's all just—narrowed down to nothing but Liam getting a handjob in front of them and he feels dazed by it. He's hard too, before he even realises it, but a quick glance tells him the others are getting there as well and that makes him feel better. He just keeps staring at Liam, staring at Max's fingers curled around him, unable to stop himself, until suddenly Max chuckles, her voice shaky as she says "I'm leaving everyone else out, sorry, this is—I don't know how this is supposed to work—"

And then fuck, suddenly her hand is around Louis, and Louis actually jolts a little with surprise, at being changed so abruptly from a spectator into a participant. Then he jolts again, because he looks across and sees that she's taken Harry in her other hand, and something about that knocks him off his feet a little. Max is pretty casual about it, stroking them both in an easy rhythm and gently leaning in against Liam's chest, pressing her lips to his skin while he holds her in close at the small of her back, rocking his hips gently so his cock moves against her stomach, rucking up her dress. But Louis—Louis can't concentrate on anything but the fact that he and Harry are getting jerked off at the same time right now. He doesn't want to watch because that feels stranger than watching Liam, even though he has actually seen Harry's cock hard before—Harry walks around naked so much that it was bound to happen, he's seen many a morning erection and he walked in on him wanking a couple of times back when they first started living together but this, this. It's actually too much and he feels pathetic for being the first one to freak out but he can't help it.

"Maybe one at a time, babe," he hears himself saying and his voice sounds way more tight and tense than he means for it to.

"Well, sorry for not being ambidextrous," Max teases, but it's gentle and she does let go of him.

"Speak for yourself, mate, can we get in on this?" comes Zayn's voice, and Max laughs, pushing her hair back from her eyes and letting go of Harry, too, patting him gently when he makes a little regretful sound at the loss of friction.

She turns away from them and Niall watches as she takes the couple of steps necessary to reach him and Zayn, leans in and kisses them both a second time before taking each one into her hands. Niall sighs with relief, bucking his hips gently to push through her curled fist and knocks gently against Zayn, the two of them swaying a little into each other. For a second Niall sees the other three hesitating, standing there awkwardly watching—which is fine, because that's what he and Zayn were having to do a moment ago, one girl amongst five is bound to lead to that sort of thing—but then Liam steps forward, presses himself against Max and makes her gasp a little against Zayn's chest. Liam is pulling up her dress, Niall thinks, which is pretty bold of him.

"Max, um, can I—" Liam murmurs then and Niall doesn't think he's ever heard his voice sound like that before, thick somehow, heavy. But then he remembers that one time he dropped by Liam's hotel room unexpectedly and he heard voices coming from inside and he thought maybe Liam was doing a twitcam, and then when Liam let him in he was flustered and pink-cheeked and his laptop was shut and his voice sounded a lot like it does now. At the time Niall assumed that it had something to do with Danielle and Skype and probably masturbating and he's pleased to discover that he was right, because this is clearly Liam's Sex Voice.

"Yeah, please," Max breathes, pushing back against him and opening her legs a little, letting Liam slip his hand into her knickers from behind and cup her pussy.

Zayn tries not to think about this, tries not to watch Liam leaning in and dipping his head to kiss Max's neck while he strokes at her, makes her breathing go stuttery and the rhythm of her hand around Zayn's cock change just a bit. He looks across to Harry and Louis instead, grinning when he sees them just standing there like idiots. Harry meets his eyes and makes a face, and Zayn tries to laugh but it comes out sort of choked. They're all so fucking close to each other, he can feel Liam's hot breath, smell him, and Niall is still bumping into his side, apparently unable to keep steady on his feet while he's being wanked off.

Harry steps forward decisively, joining the strange huddle the four of them seem to have created, nudging Liam gently aside and—it's hard to tell at first but Zayn is pretty sure he's getting his hand into Max's knickers as well.

"Haz," Liam hisses, and Zayn tries really hard not to think about Harry's hand over Liam's, fingers pushing past Liam's so he can touch Max's skin, feel how wet she is. Max moans, but then Liam is making a slightly cross little face and withdrawing his hand, bringing it up to cup at Max's breasts through her dress instead, finding her nipples and gently rubbing at them with his fingertips.

It's very distracting, all of it, but Zayn's still aware that Louis is just standing there—he's leaning back against the wall now with his arms crossed like he's trying to look nonchalant about it, smirking, and he doesn't look like he particularly minds watching but it definitely looks like he doesn't feel the urge to join in at all. Liam turns, sensing his absence too.

"Hey, Lou," he says quietly, "if you go into the bathroom, in the red bag next to the blue one I've got—"

"Condoms," Louis finishes for him, nodding.

Liam narrows his eyes at him. "How do you know that?"

"Go through your stuff all the time," Louis shrugs, straightening up and heading into the bathroom, clearly glad to have something to do.

"Emergency condoms, aren't they, Li?" Harry says, voice breathy and mocking. "For all those emergencies when you just have to fuck someone."

"For all those emergencies when one of you lot just have to fuck someone and you've forgotten to bring your own," Liam corrects him.

Max is laughing, muttering something about how actually that's pretty damn adorable and they shouldn't tease so much, and Zayn appreciates that but he can't find the words to say anything, not with her fingers still steadily gliding over the length of his cock like that and Niall and Harry and Liam so close and so naked and so hard. They can hear Louis clattering about in the bathroom for a moment and then he reappears, a tattered old box in his hand.

"There's only four," he announces, shaking the box, and he says it sort of overly casually. "Not a problem though, I don't mind sitting this out." He tilts his chin at Max. "No offence, darling. I'm sure your pussy's a fucking wonderland."

He winks at her—god, Louis—and Max blushes, grins, shakes her head, and then lets go of Zayn's cock in order to flip Louis off, all in quick succession. But there's something in her eyes for a split second that Zayn thinks he catches, something like understanding or sympathy and—surely she can't possibly get this, not so soon? She can't possibly know, how hard this whole thing is for Louis, so much harder than it is for the rest of them. The truth is, he's not even really that keen on girls. He's got Eleanor, but that was a management decision because they felt the speculation about his sexuality was getting out of control and he wasn't able to shrug it off without having a steady girlfriend to get photographed with sometimes. It's not that he doesn't like girls at all, he's had a couple of real girlfriends and he's got crushes on female celebrities like the rest of them, can definitely appreciate an attractive fan, but—he's much, much more into guys. And that's a problem, because there's not a lot he can do about it. They barely have any male fans in the first place, and even though they all know that the ones they do have are probably interested for the same reason the girls are—attraction—they're much shyer about it, and Louis can't exactly just waltz up to one and proposition him. He's terrified of the truth coming out, of course, so it's about a million times riskier—the scandal of the others' hook-ups being discovered would pale in comparison to something like that.

He got lucky once—just once, in all the time they've been famous—with a guy a little older than them standing in the front row and singing along to all the songs, making eye contact with Louis regularly, and Louis got a little drunk after the show and bumped into him at the bar and when the guy hit on him he just threw caution to the wind and went with it. And he was lucky, 'cause nothing came of it—Louis was acting like the cat who got the cream for the whole next day, and then was quietly anxious for the whole next week dreading that there'd be gossip, but there wasn't. Since then, though, he's stuck to girls because—well, because it's easier. And the others feel bad for him, but he won't ever admit that he's not happy with it, says just because girls aren't his favourite doesn't mean he can't appreciate them and "hey, a mouth is a mouth," even though they can tell that he's unhappy with the arrangement, never quite as satisfied as the others are after the one-night stands, like he's still missing something, something he's just not allowed.

"I can suck you off if you want," Max offers, her voice suddenly very gentle.

"That would be brilliant, love," Louis says graciously, and Zayn tries not to think about what Louis probably really wants because it always just makes his heart ache. "So which of these strapping young lads gets to go first?"

Max is still jerking Niall off; Zayn glances down and sees her give him a little squeeze. He's all flushed right down to his chest, and sweaty, eyes half-closed and struggling to stand properly—Zayn reaches out to put his arm around him, hold him steady, just as Max says Niall's name.

Niall's eyes fly open. "What, really? Sick."

He pulls away to sit down on the end of the bed, holding out an expectant hand towards Louis and waving it about for a condom. Louis plucks one out of the box and is about to place it into Niall's palm but then at the last second, just as Niall is about to grab it, Louis snatches it away again, laughing.

Max giggles, shaking her head in despair. "God, you guys are idiots."

"We're distinguished young gentlemen, I'll have you know," Louis informs her, darting his hand about and grinning as Niall struggles to catch it.

"Distinguished young gentlemen who are going to fuck you," Harry says, his voice low as he leans in close to her from behind, kissing her neck. He's got two fingers inside of her and she's so wet for him—for them, hot and pulsing and getting Harry's hand slick. He keeps them stroking in and out of her, thinks about how he's opening her up for Niall.

"Idiots that are going to fuck me," Max corrects him, but her voice is a little broken now, her breathing coming more heavy and erratic. Harry doesn't know if it's from the movement of his fingers or the acknowledgement of what they're gonna do. Maybe both.

"Might wanna get undressed first, though," says Louis, and Harry is simultaneously disappointed and pleased—he has to stop fingering her but, they're going to get to see her naked and there's no way that could be a bad thing.

He slides his hand out of her panties and waits for her to turn around, makes sure she's watching him as he slips his two fingers between his lips, sucks off the taste of her. She says nothing, just gives him a bit of a dirty grin, and then they're all closing in around her to help get her clothes off, a group effort to get her as naked and exposed as they all are. Louis pulls her dress up over her head and the two of them giggle as it gets momentarily caught around her head and she's blinded for a few seconds, and Liam unclasps her bra with one hand and is very proud of himself for it. She has really nice breasts, Harry thinks—a medium size and one just a tiny bit bigger than the other, upturned, with dark pointed nipples. He leans in to lick at one of them pretty much as soon as her bra has come off and she laughs, sighs softly, and holds his head there for the time it takes for her to slip her shoes off and kick them across the room. Niall and Zayn tug at the waistband of her knickers and she stumbles a bit, letting them fall down to her ankles before she steps out of them and then she's flush against Harry, wrapping her arms around him, hiding her face in his shoulder for a second, overcome.

Louis strokes at her back encouragingly, soothingly, and she lifts her head, blushing. "Bit more embarrassing than I expected, sorry," she says, "stripping off in front of five guys, you know."

"You don't need to be embarrassed," Harry says right away, his hands stroking at the soft skin of her hips. "You're beautiful."

The others make noises of agreement and Max blushes even harder, shushing them. "Are you trying to say I don't know it?" she teases. "That everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but me?" She pauses, frowning to herself. "Is that how it goes?"

"Let's not dwell on that, love," Louis tells her, as Niall goes into fits of giggles.

"Good idea," Max agrees. "C'mon then," she adds, turning around away from Harry and tugging Niall onto the bed with her. "Let's get to it."

2/2.

state of flux (2/2). ot5/ofc, nc-17.

2012-05-31T21:15:42Z

See header post for more details.

Niall goes very serious very quickly, as Max lies down on her back, pulling him in close, and Louis finally tosses Niall the condom. He mutters something to himself that sounds like, "Jesus, okay, this is happening," and then fumbles with it, tearing the packet and sliding the condom on while the others stand there and watch. He strokes between her legs—Harry can just see the movement of his arm, can tell that's what he's doing. "Did—did Harry get you ready?" he asks quietly.

"Mmm," nods Max, shifting to wrap her legs around him. "He's good at that."

"I know," says Niall, and then immediately flushes pink and turns his head to look at Harry, who stares back at him.

"Who told you that?!" he demands.

"Nobody," Niall mumbles. "Never mind."

"You guys know way too much about each other," says Max, but it doesn't seem like she minds. Her friendly teasing is cut off by a gasp as Niall pushes inside of her, sliding in deep, and the boys can see the way his thighs tense from behind. For a few moments they adjust, Niall thrusting in slowly and Max settling into it, her legs tight around his hips, her toes curling behind his back. And then Max is patting the bed beside her, saying, "It's a little lonely over here, do you want to—?"

Liam goes first, climbing onto the bed and lying down beside her, settling his head on the pillows, and she smiles, leans in to kiss him. Zayn follows, but instead of lying on her other side he goes next to Liam instead, budging him up a bit so he can lie alongside him.

"How about that blowjob, hm?" Max says to Louis, patting the space on her other side again, and Louis gives her a grin and goes over, getting onto the bed a little awkwardly next to her head, on his knees, while Niall continues to fuck her, his thrusts quick and shallow.

Harry hangs back, stepping aside to get a better view as Niall slows down so that Max can reach out and take a hold of Louis's cock, and—he feels like he needs to look away but he can't, his eyes fix on them as Max leans in, laps teasingly at the head of Louis's erection, grinning up at him. Louis smiles down at her but there's something shaky and uncertain in it, and Harry really hopes they can make this good for him, because he really wants them all to enjoy this, doesn't want anyone left out. Max takes Louis into her mouth, stretching her lips around him—Louis's not that thick but he's quite long and she can only take him about half the way in, wrapping her hand around the base to make up for it, stroking him and gradually building up a rhythm. Harry watches as Louis's face goes tight, his forehead crinkling as he tips his head back a little, mouth opening into a gasp of "Fuck." His hand hovers out like he wants to put it on the back of her head but he hesitates and pulls back again, pressing it awkwardly to the pillow instead, his other one lightly resting on her torso just below her breasts, fingertips against her skin but palm raised.

Harry reaches down to take his own cock in his hand, squeezing tightly at the base of it to try cool this ache—he doesn't want to wank to this, uncomfortable at the way the scene before him is making heat swirl somewhere in his gut. He's not stupid, he knows there's always been something with him and Louis, something undefined and different and stronger than basically anything else, but it's not something anyone's ever been able to put a name to, and he's given up trying because, well, it's been years now, they've settled into whatever they are, and Harry has accepted that whatever it is it's not going to change. And it's not even that he wants it to, really, because it's how they are and he loves how they are, but—as he watches Louis's cock sliding between Max's lips, slick now, shining with her saliva, he feels something prickling in him like if anything could shift their relationship into some new category, it has to be this. He watches, tries to swallow down this feeling, and then he suddenly becomes aware that someone's watching him, too.

"Hazza," says Zayn, "c'mere."

Harry swallows, dragging his eyes away from Louis and Max. The only available space on the bed is right next to Louis, really, and he can't—he just can't.

"Uh," he says croakily, and then makes a beeline for the armchair beside the bed on Louis's side. He sits down in it gingerly, eyes immediately drawn to the plane of Louis's bare back, the curve of his arse, the way he can see the muscles clenching under the skin as Max sucks him. His throat feels really dry, suddenly, and he tries to watch Max instead. He can only see her lower half, the gentle swell of her tummy, the way Niall is clutching at her thighs to hold them up as he fucks into her, and it's a pretty nice view, though he'd like to see her face as well, see how she's reacting to it—and then he remembers the way her face looked a moment ago, her mouth stretched wide by Louis's cock, her eyes closing as she worked him over and—Harry shifts on the armchair, hand going to his own erection once again.

Liam lies close to Max, feeling the warmth of her pressed against him. He's kind of impressed right now, by the way she's managing to take Niall's cock and please Louis at the same time, and for a while he just watches, appreciating it and sort of—keeping watch, almost, like he needs to make sure this is going smoothly. Not that he thinks Niall or Louis is going to hurt her, but this has to be kind of overwhelming and he wants to make sure she's managing. She really seems to be, though, and Liam reaches out to touch her, fingers spreading out over her soft stomach and creeping lower, through the pale downy hair between her legs. Niall sort of jumps at that, as Liam's hand inadvertantly brushes his lower stomach, but then he realises what Liam's doing and says, "Yeah, give her a bit."

Liam's fingers find her clit and he brushes over it lightly, trying to feel out how sensitive she is, not wanting to hurt her. She makes a noise in her throat, muffled by Louis's cock in her mouth, and she's tilting her hips up gratefully into the touch so Liam strokes a little harder at the slick nub, keeping his eyes on her so he can check her reactions. She seems just fine, cheeks going pink, sweat gathering in the dip of her throat. She's still managing to suck Louis off but Liam notices then that Louis isn't as hard as he was at first. He's not gone soft, but it just seems like he's struggling somehow, his face looks tense and he's holding his body awkwardly, uncomfortably, and Liam really hopes he can get into this.

"All right, Lou?" comes Zayn's voice from beside Liam; they're clearly on the same wavelength.

"Yeah," Louis says, his breath hitching, and he gives them a little smile. He glances down at Max, "Yeah, multi-talented, this one."

Max pulls off him, licking her lips and laughing, but she's clearly noticed that he's struggling a bit too, and she takes a break, stroking him instead, wrapping her hand around him and letting him buck gently into it. Louis closes his eyes and tips his head back, fucking her fist shallowly, his breathing heavy but steady, and Liam watches with something like relief as his cock grows harder again. Liam works circles on Max's clit and he meets Harry's eyes—Harry's sitting back in the armchair, fingers dancing lightly over his cock like he doesn't quite want to flat-out wank to this but he needs some stimulation. He flashes Louis a grin but he looks oddly overwhelmed too and Liam thinks it's strange, seeing as the two of them seemed the most laidback about this, the ones most likely to be throwing themselves into it. Maybe Louis wouldn't do it sexually, perhaps, but Liam's surprised not to hear more rude comments from him, surprised he's not trying to rile them all up, and he thought Harry would want to be much more involved in the action, not happy to just sit back and observe.

Then again, nothing about this situation is predictable.

Suddenly Niall is groaning, his hands falling from Max's thighs and pressing out into the mattress, fingers outstretched, as he buries deep inside her, coming deep and trembling. Liam's hand gets trapped between their stomachs as Niall leans forward like that, the weight of him crushed against Liam's knuckles and he can feel Niall's pubic hair a little scratchy against the back of his hand. He lets out a little surprised sound, but Niall is groaning so loud it drowns him out.

"Can I go next, babe?" Zayn speaks up pretty much as soon as Niall has recovered, as soon as he's weakly pulling himself back up and slipping out of her.

"Sure," Max says, and Niall squirms out from between her legs, his own like jelly as he gets to his feet and fumbles with the condom.

Zayn shifts around, moving from beside Liam, clambering over him to replace Niall, his knees fitting right into the indents in the mattress that Niall's left. Zayn leans over to grab the condom box from where Louis left it on the bed, and Liam is momentarily kind of transfixed. Everything has gone quiet, everybody thinking about the fact that this is really happening, Zayn is going to fuck Max right after Niall has—and then Zayn is closing in, guiding his cock into her, slow and sure. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside and he bumps against Liam's hand that Liam even realises he left it there, gently resting against Max, his fingers gone still. He pulls it back like he's been burned, not even knowing why, and Max makes a little sound, part pleasure from the way Zayn is filling her up and part disappointment at the loss of Liam's fingers.

She nudges him gently with her elbow. "Oi," she says, giving him a dazed grin, and Liam feels like he's hyperventilating.

"Sorry," he says, "sorry, sorry, uhm—"

He slides his hand back over her, forgetting completely about Harry and Louis and barely noticing when Niall slumps down beside him where Zayn was a moment ago. She's even wetter now, perhaps turned on by having Zayn right after Niall, and Liam's fingers glide right over her clit instantly, slipping down and suddenly touching Zayn's cock just as he's easing out of her to push back in—Liam's fingers dart back up and he feels his face go hot; he tries to focus on her, rubbing in tiny circles again but Zayn is going really fast, pounding into her hard and there's so much movement, slickness between her legs making everything slippery and Liam keeps feeling it, brief sudden touches, fingertips going from the softness of Max to the incredible firmness of Zayn, so stiff and hard. He's vaguely aware that Max isn't really managing to wank Louis off terribly well anymore, distracted by Zayn's hard thrusts, her fingers loose and rhythmless around him. Liam wonders if this is how Zayn always fucks, ruthless, and he thinks of the times they've roomed next to each other in hotels with thin walls and he's heard this sound, the sound he can hear now, a headboard being knocked rhythmically against a wall. He flushes. He didn't even realise what that was until now.

"God, that's good," Max moans, and it sounds like her accent is coming out stronger now as she's starting to lose control a little. "I'm really—I'm close, Liam, Liam, please," she pants, turning her head to him, her hand falling from Louis's cock. He nuzzles into her, determined now, rubbing at her clit and feeling the way it pulses against his fingers with her heartbeat. Her stomach muscles are tensing and she's grinding down against Zayn and up into Liam's touch, until finally she's choking on a gasp and seizing up, clawing at Liam as she comes and then shuddering, breathing fast.

Liam withdraws his hand slowly and finds that it's shaking like mad, even worse than Max is, and he looks up at Zayn and sees that Zayn's grinning at him, like he's proud and, god, they did this together, brought this girl to orgasm with a joint effort and Liam doesn't know why but that's blowing his entire mind right now. He only realises he's smiling back at Zayn when he feels his cheeks aching.

"Nice job, lads," says Niall in a sleepy voice, resting his chin on Liam's chest and grinning round at everybody.

Louis tries to grin back at him but he's clenching his fists and his heart is pounding stupidly; he can't fucking stay hard and it's so stupid because this entire situation is amazing, the kind of dirty fantasy people always have but never actually expect to happen in real life and now it is and he can't even enjoy it properly because he's so stressed out. It's not like Max isn't doing a good job because she is, she's amazing, her mouth felt so good especially considering she was managing to suck him and get fucked at the very same time. But he just can't, he can't get into this somehow. It's not like it's the first time, it usually takes him a little while but this is so much worse, it feels so off. And it must have something to do with the other lads being here, but he can't work out what. It's not nerves, not stage fright or something like that, he's so comfortable with them that it couldn't be. If anything, he thinks, their presence should make this easier, but they're his friends and he doesn't want to just flat-out leer at them all. They all seem reasonably comfortable with this situation so far and he doesn't want to risk changing that.

Max glances up at him, looking sympathetic, and Louis hates that, he doesn't want her pity. But she seems to realise that, trying to be casual about it, not make a big deal of the fact that he's gone soft even in such an insanely arousing situation. "Want my mouth again?" she asks.

"Yeah, babe, thanks," he tells her, and he wants to apologise but he doesn't want to draw any more attention to how embarrassing this is.

She starts mouthing at him again and he does get harder, grows firm against her lips until she can pull him back into the slick heat of her mouth and it's good, but it's—it doesn't feel like he's going to actually be able to come, he doesn't feel like he's working towards that, it just feels nice and that's it. He tries to watch Zayn fucking her, see if that helps, and it does a little—Zayn looks hot, his torso covered in a slight sheen of sweat and his hips working, and Liam's licking at one of Max's nipples, his pink tongue rolling over it and teasing it, and Niall is resting against Liam looking totally fucked-out and it's a good look on him somehow. He still feels like it's not okay, though, to be watching them like this when that's not what this is supposed to be about, and he feels—just—wrong for needing to perv over his best mates in order to make the arousal throb a little stronger in his bloodstream, when they've got this fucking fantastic girl right here and she should really be enough for him.

He's so busy berating himself that he doesn't notice Harry's gotten up until he feels him, feels the mattress dip and then Harry closing in behind him suddenly, a strong arm wrapping around his middle and a chin hooking over his shoulder. He sucks in a lungful of air so quick he almost chokes on it.

"Hey," Harry says softly, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice but mostly what he can hear is just the blood rushing frantically in his own ears. His heart rate speeds up almost dangerously; he can feel Harry's soft curls tickling his cheek and—fuckfuckfuck Harry tilts his hips forward and Louis can feel his cock, stiff and full against the small of his back, a hot ache pressing into his skin.

"Haz, fuck, what are you doing," he hisses and it comes out sharp and fast and almost angry.

Harry nuzzles against him and Louis digs his fingernails so hard into his own palms that it hurts like hell. Harry says, "Saying hi. Got lonely," and his voice is all rough and so fucking close to Louis's ear, and Louis is instantly rock hard in Max's mouth and suddenly that soft velvet heat of her mouth is blissful. Harry has fixed this in mere seconds, sending that off feeling tailspinning into something fucking starry-eyed and perfect and it's too much; Louis can't feel all of this at once.

He actually feels light-headed with it; he's vaguely aware he's making these weak little sounds but besides Harry, and besides Max's mouth, he can hardly focus on anything else. The rest of the room—shit, the rest of the world melts away, all that matters is the firmness of Harry's body curved against him, his familiar smell, and that hard line of his cock pushing into Louis's back, hot and insistent. He feels Harry's fingers stroking at his stomach then, slow and sure and encouraging, and Louis comes so suddenly and so hard he thinks he's going to lose consciousness—his hips jerk forwards and his nails cut into his palms, and everything whites out completely for a few seconds. Then he's trembling and Harry is holding him still and murmuring, "Got you, Lou," into his neck, and Louis's own breathing sounds completely hysterical and ridiculous.

"Holy shit," says Max thickly, swallowing hard and then wiping her lips with the back of her hand—or just covering her mouth in shock, Louis can't tell, everything is still kind of blurry and his body is aftershocking like crazy.

"Yeah," says Harry to Max, and he gives Louis a tight squeeze and god, the continued proximity is really not helping here.

"You okay, Tommo?" comes Liam's voice all friendly concern, and jesus, Louis almost forgot he was even there but now he sees him, propped up on his elbow and looking at him with worry in his eyes.

Louis tries to make words but he's still struggling just with the whole breathing thing, so it takes a while. "Yeah, fuck," he manages eventually, and he reaches up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his movement making Harry shift back a little—and Louis wanted him to do that, feeling completely hypersensitive, but now that there's that little bit of distance between them he finds he doesn't like it. His voice sounds all shaky and he tries to regain control over his own body, chuckles, "Yeah, wow, you lads are missing out on some pretty sick blowjob skills, let me just say."

Liam's face gives nothing away, but Niall—who's still resting on Liam, using him as a sort of human pillow—is grinning and looking extremely doubtful, like he knows it's not just Max's mouth that brought on such an intense orgasm. Louis prays he's not going to say anything, and thank god, he doesn't.

"Why, thank you," grins Max, though she's looking up at him a little knowingly, and Louis's just glad she's not saying anything else, god, so fucking glad—he's hit by the reminder that this is a stranger here, that she could easily make things really complicated with just one wrong word. They're putting so much trust in her tonight, so much.

"Zayn," Harry says, with sudden urgency in his voice. Louis can feel him moving behind him like he's agitated, jittery. "Zayn, can you—are you almost there, 'cause—can I go next? Li, is that all right?"

"Yeah, absolutely," says Liam, with ridiculous graciousness. "I don't mind."

"I need to sit down," says Louis in a small voice. He honestly feels faint, and completely stupid for it, but it's true. He extracts himself from the group and throws himself down into the armchair, and then sort of curls in on himself, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. One of them is stinging like crazy and he looks down to see that his nails did actually break the skin; there are two little angry-red crescents there at the base of his palm. What the fuck.

He's barely aware of it when Zayn comes, kinda staring into space, but he hears the long low moan and Max murmuring something sweet and dirty, and snaps out of his daze as soon as he sees Harry's moving, rolling on a condom and taking Zayn's place between Max's thighs. Harry's leaning down over her, covering her with his body, pressing together skin against skin and he's so much more intimate with her than the others were but Louis finds that it doesn't make him—it doesn't make him jealous or anything, he likes it somehow, likes how attentive he is to her.

Harry kisses her, licking into her mouth, hot and messy and Louis's in such a haze he doesn't even think of it until Harry says, "You taste sweet," his voice soft but loud enough for Louis to hear.

Max snickers a little, squirming against him. Their eyes are locked on each other. "Funny, considering what I just swallowed."

Harry's eyes dart up to Louis, then, so sudden, and Louis's heart jumps. "Not that funny, really," he says, slow and deliberate, and keeps his gaze fixed on Louis for so long that Louis itches to look away just to escape the intensity of it.

He wants to make a joke, say more like salty, actually or something dumb like that but he's literally speechless and it takes him so long to come up with any words that too much time has passed by then. God, Harry could taste him in her mouth and he liked it, and what—what's that supposed to mean? He watches in a daze as Harry spreads Max's legs wider and nudges his cock into her—Louis catches a glimpse of it before it pushes in, flushed red and shining at the tip and so big. Louis knew it was, but it's never looked larger than it does right now, sinking deep into Max's cunt, opening her up. There's an ache in him, watching Max bite her lip as she takes it.

Niall regards them with curiosity, eyes flicking back and forth between Harry and Louis as Harry starts to fuck Max and Louis watches intently. He's not entirely sure what's just happened here but it feels huge, like something is going to change after this, and—he didn't really think about that until now, didn't think about how this might affect the five of them, how their friendship might actually change as a result of it. It's not gonna be bad, he knows that; they're just going to be brought even closer together, probably, but it's strange to think that's even possible.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks Max quietly, reaching up to stroke her hair back from her face and caress her cheek gently. She nods. "All right if I go a bit faster?"

"Yeah, you're good, it's good, you—" Max says and then cuts herself off, her voice changing a little when she continues, "you feel really good inside me."

Niall frowns. She didn't say that to him or Zayn, and all right, Harry's bigger than them but—it seems like she's saying it for another reason. Then he sees her eyes flick to Louis, and, all right. Maybe that's the reason. Maybe it's for Louis's benefit. Niall's stomach is doing something strange and fluttery and for the first time tonight he feels like something is going on here that he shouldn't watch, but he can't quite stop, resting on Liam and trying to shut his eyes 'cause he is sleepy, kinda just wants to doze—but he keeps flicking his eyes open again just to check how things are progressing. And every time, Louis is still staring, all curled up in a ball on the armchair, his knees tucked in to his chest, his eyes dark with something like want. Want that he doesn't know how to handle.

Max starts stroking Liam's cock, slow, like maybe she's sorry he's having to wait so long, wanting to give him something in the meantime, and Liam is making these little whimpery noises that are oddly cute and Niall realises after a while that he recognises them, that he's heard them coming from Liam's bunk on the tourbus before. He smiles at the thought, at the fact that they're all so stupidly close that they're not even really learning too many new things about each other in this situation. It's kinda nice. Zayn's sitting up by Max's head, and he's actually in a sort of weird position, Niall realises now, almost like he's keeping his legs tucked out of the way on purpose so that Louis can get a better view of Harry with Max. He catches Zayn's eye and tilts his chin, indicating Zayn's legs, and Zayn just smirks, eyes flicking to his right towards Louis for a split-second.

Zayn is actually starting to get cramp like this, but he can tell Louis wants to watch, is staring like he never did with the rest of them. He's not gonna say anything about it, not gonna make a big deal of it—he just leans back against the headboard and lets his eyes fall closed, tired, letting Harry do his thing. It's kind of interesting with his eyes shut actually, he can just hear everything, Max's soft whimpers and Harry's moans and the repetitive slap of skin on skin as he fucks her, and those little helpless sounds Liam's making like he does when he's jerking off in his bunk at night.

And then suddenly he hears Max's voice, too. "He's watching," is all she says, simple and not much more than a whisper, but Zayn's pretty sure the tension dial gets flipped to about a hundred in an instant.

"Mm," Harry hums, not giving anything away.

Zayn opens his eyes just a tiny bit, sees that Harry's right down over her, her legs hooked right around his waist, his face barely an inch from hers as he stares into her eyes. His hands are flat on the bed either side of her, biceps bulging as his hips thrust. Zayn wants to look at Louis, too, see how he's reacted, but somehow he knows he shouldn't, doesn't want to do anything to interfere with this.

"You like it," Max breathes now, and Zayn snaps his eyes shut again, his chest feeling tight. She's really taking a risk here, pushing things, and it reminds him of something. There's a long pause; Harry says nothing, but Zayn thinks he can hear Harry speeding up, fucking her with a little more urgency. "You like that he's watching you," Max whispers, and Zayn realises in a flash what's familiar—she's acting like Louis. He realised they were similar right from the start, all sparkly-eyed mischief and boldness, but right now it's more obvious than ever because this is exactly the kind of thing Louis does, pushing something even when he knows he probably shouldn't, just because he's curious and he wants to see what'll happen. And Zayn can't help but smile to himself because of course that's why Harry likes her so much, why he fell for her so instantly.

"Yeah, feeling his eyes on you?" Max murmurs, so quiet Zayn wonders if Louis can even hear.

Harry goes tense at her words. God, she's right, she's so right. He can feel Louis's stare burning into him and it's making him want to be better, making him want to fuck her so good, show Louis what he can do. He can't say it though, can't admit to it. He dips his head enough to catch her mouth with his, nips gently at her bottom lip, playful and giving her a little smile after, just a slight curl of his lips like he's telling her yes without having to voice the word. She smiles back, wide, and he shoves into her hard, making her grin turn into a gasp. She feels so fucking good around him, hot and wet and perfect and she's so gorgeous, looks even prettier like this, her hair messy and spots of colour on her round cheeks. He likes that she's keeping her composure though, that she's taking all of this in her stride even though it's so intense, that she can still tease even in such a tense situation and it's almost like she's playing with them, in charge of this. It's hot.

He snakes a hand down between them, holding himself up with the strength of one arm now so he can get at her clit, wanting to make her come again because she really, really deserves it. Deserves an orgasm for each one of them, really. He knows he's doing this for Louis too, though, wanting Louis to see how he can make a girl come—and it doesn't take long, Max is oversensitised already and in mere moments she's clenching around him, her hips bucking up and her whole body going taut. Harry lets out a groan that sort of wavers, she's so much tighter around him now, pulsing and fluttering around his cock and he feels like he's toppling on the edge, and out of the corner of his eye he can still see the intensity of Louis's gaze. He's struck by the sudden urge to return it, but he doesn't want to make Max feel like he's ignoring her, just using her as a prop while he explores—whatever this is, with Louis.

But then Max says, "Look at him," breathless, her voice hitching high. "It's okay."

And that's what Harry needs—he turns his head to the side, eyes locking with Louis's instantly, and that's all it takes; he buries himself deep and loses it, a broken moan torn from his throat, and he tries to keep his eyes on Louis but they close instinctively and when he opens them again Louis's are squeezed shut. He tries to gather himself together, kisses Max again and tells her she's amazing, and she gives his arm a squeeze and throws the compliment right back at him.

"Liiiam," Niall chirps then, "'s your turn finally."

Niall looks really sleepy and Harry chuckles as he lifts up onto his knees, reaching across to ruffle Niall's hair before he peels off his condom carefully. He's not sure what to do after that; everybody's shifting positions and he kind of feels like he's in the way and before he knows what he's doing his legs are leading him towards Louis, shifting him aside so they can both sit in the chair together. Louis's skin is warm and damp against his and the closeness feels comforting, despite everything that just happened. Or maybe because of it.

Liam has been aching for this for longer than he's willing to admit but somehow now that his turn is here he's too overwhelmed to actually do anything. He's not sure what it is, just—something about watching Harry and Louis, the way they have this invisible sort of thread attaching them all the time, apparently even when Harry is having sex with somebody, and the way Max quietly encouraged it, kickstarted something that all five of them have been tiptoeing around for years. He just feels suddenly like he loves Max or something. He doesn't think they've really connected, she's a little brazen and loud for him, makes him feel kind of nervous, but—suddenly he's so thankful for her courage, because she's done all of this with such ease, bringing them all so much closer together when Liam thought they were already as close as they could ever be.

He finds himself with his face between her legs instead of his cock, sudden, like this is his instinctive way of showing his gratitude. "Can I?" he asks, breath ghosting over her slick flushed skin.

"Wow, fuck, yes," is her response, and she reaches down to comb her fingers through his hair in encouragement.

He starts to lick at her, long strokes of his tongue over her folds and it's different somehow, and his mind is such a mess that it takes him a little while to work out that what he's tasting is them, Harry and Zayn and Niall, something sharp and masculine in the soft sweetness of her. He pulls back instinctively with the shock of the realisation. The full force of all of this just hits him suddenly, that they're never going to come back from this and he doesn't want to ever come back from it, and they're watching him now and he can taste all of them on his mouth—

"Poor Danielle," says Harry then, interrupting Liam's internal freak-out.

"Yeah, I'm not sure it actually counts as eating someone out if your mouth is on them for ten seconds and then you just stop abruptly for no apparent reason," Louis adds, and Niall and Zayn crack up laughing.

Liam should be pissed, probably, but the friendly mocking tone of their voices is a comfort, it calms him down and brings him back to earth and reminds him that the five of them can get through anything as long as they're together. He just pulls a face at them and goes back to work, finds himself chasing that taste inside of her, liking it, and thinking about how Harry's cock was just right here where his tongue is, how he can feel that she's stretched from it and maybe aching a little from his size. He can hear Harry and Louis muttering to each other and he's pleased that it sounds light-hearted, even though he knows Harry's probably telling Louis that Liam's doing this all wrong or something—he was so worried it was going to be tense between them but they're slipping back into their usual dynamic, worlds revolving around one another, going right back into that casual orbit like Max hasn't disrupted a thing. He knows in his heart that she probably has, but as long as it hasn't knocked them out of sync then it can only be positive.

He feels that rush of love towards Max again, and he wants to get her off, show her how much all of this means to them.

"Don't you want to fuck me now, darling?" Max asks, though, her breathing laboured as she ruffles his hair a little. "You've been waiting ages."

"I want you to come again," Liam confesses, flicking his tongue against her clit and watching as her hips jerk.

"You can make me come with your cock inside me," she says assuredly.

Liam blushes, and Louis says, "I wouldn't count on it," and Zayn chucks a cushion at him.

Liam sits up and reaches for the condoms, and she pulls herself up too, leaning into his shoulder as he gets the last one from his box—and he shakes his head, smiling to himself as he realises the significance of the fact that they're managed to use up all of his remaining emergency condoms in this one night. And then once he's got it on, Max is taking him by the shoulders, nudging gently at his chest.

"She wants to be on top, Liam," Zayn tells him, and Liam thinks oh, and lies down right away, his head on the pillows right next to where Zayn's sitting.

"Doesn't have much faith in your spindly little ruts," Louis comments, and Max just sticks her tongue out at him as she straddles Liam, reaching down between her legs to guide him inside of her. He sinks in easy and it's good, so good; he feels all this tension flowing out of him that he didn't even realise was still there, knows he's going to feel wonderful for at least a week now, on top of things again. He hears himself moan embarrassingly loud, and when he looks up Zayn is grinning down at him.

"Been a while, right, Liam?" he teases, and Liam can only nod and grin like an idiot—Max is this hot, tight press all around his cock and she's riding him, hands on his chest as she rocks against him, keeping him deep but giving him just enough friction. And it makes it so much better somehow that they're all here with him, even if they're making fun of him, he doesn't care—Zayn is grinning down at him and Harry and Louis are curled together in the small armchair, Harry resting his head on Louis's shoulder, and Niall is nuzzling into Liam's side again, already starting to doze off.

Louis grins at the look on Liam's face, the way he looks like this is the best thing he's ever felt in his entire life, and it's funny and oddly sweet really, and god, Louis loves them all so much, his boys.

Zayn says, "Does it feel good?" and his voice is strangely low, meaningful, and Louis knows he doesn't mean, does she feel good? but does it feel good to finally give into this? It's a loaded question, somehow, maybe because they all know how wound up Liam gets and it's good to see him let go.

"Yeah," Liam says, voice high-pitched, and Max is smiling fondly down at them, keeping quiet now, letting them all have this, these moments amongst themselves as she rolls her hips and grinds down against him, brings herself closer.

Louis leans into Harry, and tilts his head up to look at him and smile. "Doesn't have much of a technique, does he?" Louis whispers, grinning wickedly.

"Oi, you wouldn't be saying that if he was inside you," Max snaps, and—well, all right, she wins again, because that shuts Louis up sharpish.

Harry giggles, yawns, wriggling about and getting more comfortable in the little chair.

"I'm not going to be able to last," Liam says, his voice sounding worried and apologetic.

Max strokes at his chest, running her fingers over his skin soothingly. "It's all right," she says, "I'm—" her breath catches and she moves a little quicker now, with more purpose, her tits bouncing, "I'm nearly there."

Liam begins to buck up into her, spurred on, his hips lifting up from the bed, and then her nails are digging into his chest a little and she's still, then shuddering, then heaving forwards and panting. Louis cheers, pumping the air with his fist, and Harry joins in, laughing, and Niall offers a sleepy "Wooooo!" without opening his eyes.

"Are you close, Liam?" is all Zayn says, his voice with that strange tone again, pressing.

"Mm," Liam forces out, weakly, and he seems flustered, and Louis leans forward a little to see that Zayn is keeping eye contact with him, looking down at him, watchful and almost—adoring?

Max seems exhausted now but she keeps churning her hips for Liam, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and Zayn with curiosity. Liam is holding onto her, his hands clutching at her as he drives into her from below, and they see his fingers clench tighter and then he's gasping out, "Yeah, I'm going to—" and he comes with a whine, hips snapping up and then dropping down again heavily.

Louis cheers again and everybody joins in, ridiculous and exaggerated until Liam is laughing weakly and the colour of a tomato. Louis feels a surge of love for him in that moment, that Liam did this at all, probably agreed to it as much for their sake as his own. Louis pats Harry gently to get him to move aside, gets a sleepy smile in response, and then pulls himself out of the armchair to climb onto the bed and snuggle into Liam. On an impulse, he leans in and presses a wet kiss to Liam's cheek, and Liam squeaks and somehow manages to go a shade darker. All right, it was maybe a bit close to his mouth, but they all kiss each other like this all the time.

Louis supposes context might matter sometimes, though.

"Ughhh," he groans, seeing Liam's shocked expression. "Can we just go to sleep now and freak out about all of this later? Like maybe in ten years?"

Niall is barely aware of things now, their voices drifting in and out all echoey, but at this he manages a "Yeah, I vote for that."

He forces his eyes open and sees that Max is clambering off Liam and starting to remove his condom for him, but he bats her hand away. "No no, I'll do that, you can rest."

Max laughs at him. "You're sweet," she says, and then flings herself down next to Niall, leaning in to kiss his back warmly and make his tummy go all squirmy.

Liam gets up and starts pottering about, gathering up all the used condoms and disappearing into the bathroom with them. He comes back after a moment with an actual damp flannel, going round and mopping at them all. He goes to Max first, who laughs loud and open, offering her cheeks and her chest for him to wipe down. Then it's Zayn, who just grins at Liam sort of adoringly and sits back, lets himself be looked after. When Liam comes round to Niall, Niall is about to summon the energy to make fun of him for it, but then the cool cloth touches his forehead and he just moans instead. Louis bats him off, and Harry insists on taking the flannel from Liam because "I can manage that myself, I think," and the last thing Niall is aware of before he falls asleep is Louis allowing Harry to dab Louis's forehead with it.

"Are we actually going to all be able to sleep in here?" Zayn asks. The bed is pretty huge, but it still seems kind of doubtful, and he just hopes no one is going to have to go back to their own rooms because he really, really needs to be with them all right now. It would just feel wrong to leave after something like this. He remembers Louis saying I feel like something monumental just happened back at the club and he smiles to himself because yeah, actually, it did in the end.

"Yep," is Harry's only response.

"Will we fit?" Max asks.

"We'll make ourselves fit," Louis tells her and she giggles.

"We should brush our teeth," Liam says, prodding at Harry. Zayn knows Liam fusses over them like this anyway, but it's like it's been increased by the hugeness of what happened to them tonight—taking care of them calms him down. It's a fair point, though, and they do all keep toothbrushes in each other's rooms anyway because spontaneous sleepovers always happen a lot on tour.

"I don't usually carry a toothbrush in my purse," Max points out, yawning.

"I have a spare," Liam offers, and Zayn chuckles. Of course he does. "What? I brought it in case my electric one dies unexpectedly."

"Loser," says Harry fondly, and then heaves himself to his feet. "All right, we're going."

"Gotta keep our dental hygienist here happy," adds Louis, getting up too and poking Liam in the ribs.

The two of them file into the bathroom and Max follows, and Liam folds his arms, giving Zayn a Look.

"Fine," Zayn sighs, grinning at him and pulling himself off the bed. They both glance at Niall, but exchange looks and silently agree that neither of them can bear to wake him up. He looks so peaceful. Zayn just decides not to sleep next to him in order to avoid the morning breath.

He and Liam head into the bathroom and Liam elbows him gently, just a slight touch, getting him to look at him.

"Are we okay?" he asks quietly, just before they reach the doorway—Harry, Louis, and Max are all chatting in there already, Louis sitting on the countertop and swinging his legs, talking around the toothbrush in his mouth as Max gets Liam's spare one out of its wrapping and Harry pours himself some water.

"Yeah, 'course," Zayn tells him, grinning, and Liam grins back with something like relief, and Zayn pushes down some rising feeling in his chest, makes it sink again.

It's hard enough fitting the five of them into the ensuite, so Harry's not sure how they're going to cope with six of them in Liam's bed, but—when they get back in there it's surprisingly easy. Zayn rolls Niall over to the edge so that he and Liam can be beside each other, and Max next to them, and then it's Harry between her and Louis. They all have to be squeezed in very close—Liam says something about sardines as he reaches over Niall to switch off the light—but it's nice, Harry likes it. He needs to be close to them right now, after everything that's happened, and he sighs happily in the dark, facing Max and feeling Louis roll over behind him, curl in like that, spooning him.

He stares at Max in the dark, eyes adjusting until he can make out the features of her face, and he thinks about the fact that just hours ago she was a total stranger and now she feels like one of the most important things that has ever happened to him. He wonders what's next. Usually, after one night stands, they want the girls to go back to their own lives, to never meet them again, because it feels safer and easier that way, but—the thought of never seeing Max again just seems wrong. He wonders if they could meet up again before the tour is over, not to have sex—he doesn't feel like that's necessary after tonight—just to take her out for a meal or something, so they can thank her for this. He hopes she knows how much they appreciate it, how much tonight means.

And he's thinking about all of them, because this girl has brought to light something none of them has ever really questioned before, something about their claustrophobic closeness that has always made people curious for reasons they never understood. Maybe they just assumed it was normal, in their own private, confusing little five-person world, but—maybe it's not. Harry doesn't even know what it is exactly, he just knows it feels better now that it's beginning to be addressed.

The thought keeps nagging at him and it's making it hard for him to relax and fall asleep. He thinks the others already are, he's slept with them enough times to know the signs—Niall was out like a light already, of course, and Zayn's totally dead to the world now too, and Liam's making those annoying little breathy sounds that mean he's drifted off. Louis's breathing is steady, his heartbeat slow against Harry's back.

"Max?" Harry whispers.

"Yeah?" she murmurs sleepily, and he sees her open her eyes, roll over onto her side to look at him properly. "Can't sleep? Me neither. My body's exhausted but my brain is like—" she makes some kind of hand gesture that Harry supposes is meant to mean she's got a lot of thoughts whirling around in her brain. It's pretty cute.

"Me too," he tells her, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the others. "Listen, I just wanted to, you know...thank you. This is a really big deal for us, I think, and...I just wanted you to know. It means a lot."

She regards him carefully for a long moment, or at least he thinks that's what she's doing—it's hard to tell in the dark and he can't quite follow her eyes. Then she says, quiet and sure, "You should tell him, you know."

Harry's heart does something odd in his chest at the words. He feels suddenly much more aware of Louis curled around him, Louis's arm thrown over his bare hip under the thin sheet Liam pulled up over them all. "I know," he says.

"Are you going to?" Max asks gently. Harry suddenly realises what's odd about her gaze; it's like she keeps glancing behind him, and Harry's heart leaps into his throat now with the realisation that Louis might not be asleep after all, that she might be looking at him. He tries to keep calm, but the blood is racing through his veins now.

"He's," says Harry, picking his words carefully, knowing that Louis might be listening. "He's very important to me."

Max nods and says nothing, like she's waiting for more, and somehow it makes Harry feel hot and flustered, all of this, everything they've just done and everything they are and what might come from it, the future stretching out wide and scary and exciting ahead of him.

He smiles shakily, and his voice is shaky too when he says, "I don't know. Yeah. Maybe I will."

End.
(editing to say that this is the ACTUAL END, no sequels from me for this one, sorry guys!)

all wound up and short on time. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-05-28T14:54:12Z

I'm going to be away for a couple of days so I'm sorry if it takes me a while to respond to comments on this one! ♥

Title: all wound up and short on time
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Public humiliation.
Summary: He can never get enough of the effect he has on Harry, it's addictive, and this is just taking it to a whole new level. Maybe it's partly the idea that all these people are watching, seeing just how skilfully Louis can work Harry into a total frenzy with the tiniest things. (~2,600 words)
A/N: For a certain few people, who know who they are. Inspired by the fact that Harry apparently had a boner during the matinee in NYC a couple of days ago (fan account) and then after their outfit change Louis had a stain on his trousers (photo). This fandom is becoming a problem for me because I do not even have to make things up anymore. :| Lyrics from 'All Wound Up' by She Wants Revenge.

Louis can't help it. At this point, teasing Harry comes as naturally to him as breathing. He barely even notices he's doing it sometimes, if he's honest, and tonight he really doesn't think he's even been that bad with it, which is why he's surprised when he notices how flustered Harry is during 'What Makes You Beautiful.' He looks like he's having to try really hard to focus on singing, and he's kind of moving his arms about awkwardly. That's when Louis realises that Harry's trousers are bulging just a tad more than usual, that there's a noticeable swelling in the crotch. And it's not actually new; they've both accidentally had physical reactions to one another in public before, but it's never really been anything obvious enough for people to pick up on it and Harry's making this pretty blatant, all flushed and anxious.

Louis goes up to him at the end of the song, and Harry hisses at him, "You got me hard, you tosser," in a frantic sort of voice.

"Wow, Hazza," Louis replies, grinning, "get a hold of yourself."

He risks a glance down at Harry's crotch—Zayn's talking to the crowd now so hopefully people are focused on him—and he catches a quick glimpse of the bulge there, even bigger now, before Harry's suddenly whirling away, hand pressed to himself, his face bright red. Louis is stunned; it's never been this bad before, and something about the way Harry can't even get a grip in front of this massive fucking audience is making Louis excited, knowing that he did that to him without even really trying. Harry is completely freaking out, and does the only thing he can think of to escape the situation, fleeing partially out of sight offstage. Louis can still see him, he's just behind a barrier, his head still visible, and he's clearly trying to sort himself out, fiddling with his trousers in an attempt to make his erection less obvious.

Louis just loses it, cracking up, high on this. He can't believe he's got Harry so worked up that he doesn't even seem to care how weird it looks that he just ran away when they were about to start the next song. Niall and Zayn are laughing too, and Liam looks confused at first and then sort of stern when he catches on, like he's silently telling Louis off for riling Harry up like that. Harry reappears then, still looking anxious but not quite as obviously hard, and they go quickly into 'Save You Tonight', trying to move past it. Harry is sweating and he keeps tugging his shirt down though, trying to cover himself, and when it gets to the point where they're all supposed to jump he doesn't, and Louis shakes his head at him disapprovingly as he passes him.

It's clearly difficult for Harry to get through the song and it's not easy for Louis either, actually, because the fact that he's provoked Harry like that is making him giddy. Louis's always kind of enjoyed making Harry feel a little embarrassed in interviews and stuff and the onstage teasing is just an extension of that, but it's never been like this, making Harry get an actual stiffy in front of nearly three thousand people. Louis feels bad for him, he really does, but it's also kind of shamefully exciting somehow—he keeps sneaking glances at Harry to check for any signs of distress, to see if he's still all red and fidgety. He can never get enough of the effect he has on Harry, it's addictive, and this is just taking it to a whole new level. Maybe it's partly the idea that all these people are watching, seeing just how skilfully Louis can work Harry into a total frenzy with the tiniest things.

Luckily for Harry this is the last song before the encore, and as soon as it ends he's racing off the stage towards the dressing room, leaving the others to follow, still laughing and shaking their heads.

"I hate you," Harry says to Louis as they head inside to change.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Louis shoots back, grinning as he peels off his t-shirt and tosses it over his shoulder. "Not my fault you can't control yourself around me."

Harry just narrows his eyes and turns away from him, presumably so he doesn't have to keep watching Louis strip in case that makes matters worse. Louis actually admires Harry's restraint, which isn't something he's ever had cause to do before in all the time he's known him. Harry seems very focused, like he's steadfastly ignoring his hard-on, willing it to go down as he undresses and then starts pulling on his suit. Louis is pretty turned on too by now—seeing Harry just lose control of his own body like that, knowing he did that to him, that gets Louis hot. He tries to focus on changing his own clothes but he can't help thinking about how they've only got one more song to go. He smirks to himself a little, toying with the idea of teasing him some more when they go back out there, wonders what else he could do and how desperate he can make Harry by the time they get back to the hotel, if by then he'll be all needy and pleading, his voice cracking as he begs for Louis to touch him, or blow him, or maybe even fuck him without any preamble.

Louis takes a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts to the back of his mind as he checks his reflection, straightening out his braces. Then over his shoulder in the mirror he sees Harry, dressed now too and looking at him with a strangely intense expression that makes him suddenly realise that he's been putting entirely too much faith in Harry here. He only has time to think fuck before Harry's striding purposefully towards him, predatory, taking him by the hip and steering him towards the bathroom that adjoins their dressing room. Louis stumbles, arms flailing out, but Harry just pushes him into the room and backs Louis into a corner, eyes fixed on him, dark with lust.

Liam just has time to say a despairing, "Oh no," and then yank the door shut behind them before Harry is unzipping his own trousers, shoving his boxers down out of the way and pushing his cock out towards Louis without a word.

Louis bites his lip, looking down at it, seeing how full and thick it is, feeling the sticky-hot press of it. God, Harry's so tall now—when they used to do this they'd align with each other easily but now Harry's dick presses against Louis's stomach instead of his crotch, and Louis's shirt is thin; he can feel how achingly firm Harry is through the fabric. Louis honestly didn't realise it was this serious, thought Harry just got a semi and was overreacting, and it seemed like he'd calmed down by the end of the last song anyway. Apparently having to immediately go into a more private room and undress with Louis got him all hot under the collar again.

Harry tilts his hips insistently, his hands behind his back as he makes his cock drag against Louis's tummy, rumpling his shirt a little. He's so stiff it's almost painful, like if he shoved forward he'd bruise Louis almost.

"Fuck, you're hard," Louis breathes, not even caring that he's stating the obvious when they don't have time for that—or any of this—right now.

"Your fault," Harry says, his voice low and rough. "Now fix it."

Louis knows he should tell him no, but he also knows there's no way in hell he's going to. They really don't have a lot of time and an erection like this isn't going to go down in a minute without one of them doing something about it. There's literally no way Harry's going to be able to hide a bulge that big, and Louis might get a bit mean sometimes but sending him out there in front of thousands of people when he's this wound up would just be downright cruel.

He sighs, lifts his hand up to his mouth and spits into his palm. "C'mere then, let me take care of you." Harry moans gratefully as Louis's fingers curl tight around him and start to stroke, and Louis looks at him fondly, thinking about what a fool he is for getting himself into such a state that this is what they have to resort to, a handjob in the dressing room during a costume change. It's so reckless. "Idiot," he whispers, grinning.

"Your fault," Harry grits out again, bucking into Louis's fist.

"We have to be quick," Louis reminds him, speeding up the rhythm of his palm, slick with spit, gliding over Harry's shaft.

"Not gonna be a problem," Harry says heavily, and he's moving in even closer, trapping his cock and Louis's hand between their bodies and forcing Louis harder up against the wall. Louis breathes out steadily, trying not get hard too because wow, they really don't have time for this as it is, one of them needs to be able to fucking control themselves.

And clearly that's not Harry, because he's rocking his hips desperately, trying to fuck Louis's fist as Louis attempts to stay in charge and pumps his cock hard and fast. Harry makes a sort of whining sound and then muffles himself by ducking his head and bumping his lips up against Louis's, his mouth hot as it opens and lets Louis's tongue in. He's clutching at Louis's hip with one hand and his shoulder with the other, fingers clenching tight, thrusting against him until he can't focus on kissing anymore and he's just panting against Louis's mouth, staring fixedly into his eyes. He's basically just rutting into him at this point, rubbing off against him, sliding his cock through Louis's hand over and over and moaning way too loud considering the others are still just next door.

For a second Louis wonders if they are, or if they've gone out onstage now to stall. He hopes they haven't, because that would make the fans pretty suspicious if they aren't already. They usually drag things out a bit before the encore but not for this long, and he thinks about the audience standing out there and getting impatient and his stomach twists with something. He can even hear the low rumble of their cheering and applause if he strains his ears.

"C'mon, Haz," Louis murmurs, smirking, "you're keeping people waiting."

Harry goes pink and his expression seems to go tighter, his jaw clenching like he's simultaneously turned on by what Louis just said and also mad at him for it. His lips slide from Louis's mouth to his ear and suddenly he's whispering, "Gonna come on you," in a voice that makes Louis shudder, partly because the way Harry sounds when he's seconds from orgasm is really fucking hot, and partly because—

"No," he gasps, alarmed as the words register in his brain. He drags his hand down to squeeze tightly at the base of Harry's cock to try stave off the orgasm but it's too late, he can't win this one. Harry nips at Louis's earlobe with his teeth, which always makes Louis lose composure in about a nanosecond, and Louis's fingers go slack around him right away. Harry takes his chance to dart back a little, taking his cock in his own hand now, giving it a few last tugs and deliberately angling it so that when he shoots his load, it splatters Louis's trousers, just to the left of his zipper, a hot spurt quickly soaking into the black fabric.

"You little bastard," Louis hisses out, frantically dabbing at the splash of come immediately, trying to—he doesn't even know, rub it in, wipe it off, something. Without thinking he brings his fingers up to his mouth to get them wet with spit in case that'll help, and then he tastes Harry on them and whimpers pathetically, flustered, simultaneously so aroused and so annoyed. He wonders if this is how he makes Harry feel all the time.

Harry's just laughing, satisfied, as he tucks his dick back into his pants and zips his trousers back up. "Once again, your fault," he says. "Now we're even."

"We are so not, oh my god," Louis says, panicky, rubbing his wet fingers against the mark.

God, it's going to dry so white and obvious and Harry fucking knew exactly what he was doing, Louis realises that now—he deliberately made himself wait 'til Louis had changed and they were just about to go back onstage so that Louis would have no other option but to head out there like this. And the worst part is they've done this before, a few months ago when they misjudged how much time they had before a signing and had to go to it with stains just like this on their trousers, both of them. Harry just seemed to take it in his stride, practically wearing it like a badge of honour, but Louis was so anxious and twitchy about it, totally freaked out by the thought that people might see and connect the dots, and there aren't many things that get him self-conscious and embarrassed like that so Harry fucking knows—

"Better go back out there now," Harry drawls smugly, "like you said, we're keeping people waiting."

He's quickly washing his hands off in the sink, and Louis steps forward to look at himself in the mirror, trying to judge how obvious the mark is. It suddenly occurs to him that this might have something to do with Eleanor—Harry's been a bit moody ever since she got here, especially because she's attending some of the concerts, and god, what's he trying to do, mark his territory?

There's a sudden knock at the door and Zayn's voice says, "Please tell me you two animals are done in there."

Harry grins brightly at Louis now, flinging the door open as he shakes his hands dry. "Yep," he says happily.

Zayn looks between them, noting the panic in Louis's eyes and the wet patch on his trousers. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles. "Are you serious?"

"I hate him," Louis announces, voice full of self-pity as he stomps out of the bathroom.

"Only got yourself to blame, Lou," Harry calls after him. Liam is standing there waiting for them with his arms folded and his angry face on, but Harry just shrugs at him and says, "What? He deserved it."

Niall is in hysterics until Louis elbows him in the ribs. He thinks about how he's going to have to go out there and act like nothing's just happened, and for a moment he feels bad about enjoying Harry's earlier humiliation.

...But mostly he just feels pissed.

"You're gonna pay for this, I hope you know that," he tells Harry as they head back towards the stage, speed-walking because this has definitely been a suspiciously long interval.

"We're even," Harry insists, but where the two of them are concerned, that only really ever lasts until the next concert. And the next concert is tonight, Louis remembers, with a little thrill.

That thought makes him feel better, makes him feel like he might be able to cope with this. They reach the stage and he's already planning how he's going to get Harry back for this, even as he's taking a deep breath and having to run out and face the screaming crowds again with Harry's come still drying on his trousers.

End.

horizontal like a quarter to three. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-05-25T15:39:38Z

Title: horizontal like a quarter to three
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Oh, god. Rough sex that is slightly D/s-y, unprotected sex, facefucking, breathplay, comeplay (including a facial), rimming, some pretty serious overstimulation, and a very brief mention of spanking. (Also Harry is seventeen.)
Summary: The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up. (~8,700 words wtf)
A/N: Okay wow what. This started out as just a thing about Louis being completely overwhelmed by sex with Harry and just wanting EVERYTHING and being apologetic about it, and Harry being super accepting and responsive? And then it quickly turned into overstimulation. (Which I was actually meaning to write anyway soooo, FINE, brain, if that's what you want.) It's pretty fucking kinky so please heed the warnings. Title from 'Woozy' by Faithless.

Louis has never felt like this before in his entire life. It's coming up to eight months since he first met Harry, and he feels like he should be settling into it by now, getting used to the way Harry makes him feel, but it's like every day it gets more intense and he doesn't know how to handle it. He wonders if it's because he was never really attracted to anyone before Harry, not properly, and so it's like he's catching up on everything he missed, something like seven years of sexual frustration that he wasn't even aware of until Harry came into his life.

Because there were only girls before Harry, and they weren't—that wasn't—well, it wasn't this. He liked them a lot, thought he loved them at the time, but it always felt like something was missing and now it all makes sense. Now he understands why it was so awkward when he and Hannah had sex (the three whole times that they did) and why it never really got him hot, even though he was doing all the things he thought he was supposed to do and she definitely wasn't doing anything wrong. It was because he didn't want that, he wanted this, Harry, a boy, all flat chest and broad shoulders and deep voice and cock.

And it's so completely overwhelming, how much he wants it. He was never consciously denying himself anything, but that's what it feels like, like he was missing out on this for so long and now that he has it he just wants it all the time, and the thing is—he can have it. And it makes him light-headed, that, all the possibilities. Especially now that they're out of the X Factor house—the only thing they ever managed there was clumsy, fumbling handjobs in bathrooms. And it's not like that wasn't fantastic because god, it really was—Louis always got weak when Harry touched him, even got pins and needles in his extremities from it, ridiculously. And he wanted to wank Harry off all the time, addicted to it, dragging him off at inappropriate moments because he just needed to get his hands on him, and constantly apologising for how desperate he was even though Harry mostly just found it amusing.)

But now they're on the X Factor tour, and that means hotel rooms and privacy and freedom, and Louis just wants everything, doesn't know where to start. It actually scares him a little, though he won't admit it, because he just—he can't fight back this desire he has to make Harry just as overwhelmed as he is. To get him to the point where he's just a shaking wreck, breathless and feeling like he might faint. Because that's pretty much how Louis felt the first time Harry got him off, deft fingers working him over in the corner of the bathroom in the middle of the night, the two of them trying to keep quiet and Louis coming after probably just mere seconds. Harry had laughed, said it was okay, and—it's not like none of this fazes him but he doesn't quite get it. He's more experienced than Louis, has had more sex with more girls and messed around with the odd boy as well. And so even though he's fallen head over heels for Louis, the sex part isn't new to him. It's always exciting, it's not like he's ever bored by it, but it's not taking him over completely and making him feel like he's losing his mind.

The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up. He's so ashamed of it, tries to push the thoughts out of his mind, but he can't. Every time he's getting off, even if it's with Harry's palm wrapped tight around his cock, that's all he can think about—slapping Harry around a bit, getting violent, and it always makes him come so hard he sees stars.

When the tour starts, Louis holds back. He feels like he can't throw himself into this—like he threw himself into loving Harry, head first without looking back—because it's scary, overwhelming, and he doesn't know if he could get it under control if he let go. Harry teaches him how to suck him off, and that's good, that feels safe, but when Harry wants to return the favour, he just—he can't, and he tells Harry he's not ready even though that's not quite true, because he doesn't know how to explain the real reason. It's just, it's going to be too much, and he knows it. Every time he thinks about it, his brain just goes into overdrive and he imagines filling Harry's mouth right up and coming down his throat and it's not—it's not something he can handle in real life when the mere thought makes him feel woozy.

But after the first week Harry's starting to get kind of withdrawn, sensing that there's a problem, and one night in London he lets Louis know how he feels. Louis's sitting at the foot of the bed; Harry's already undressed him and now he's pulling off his own clothes, and Louis's waiting, thinking Harry's going to press in close so Louis can blow him like this—but then Harry drops to the floor instead. He prises Louis's knees apart and fits himself between them, looking up at him, and Louis's erection twitches and he turns away, can't look into Harry's pleading eyes.

"Please let me," Harry murmurs, nuzzling up to Louis's leg, "let me suck you off. I'll go really slow and I can stop if it's too much, I just—" he pauses, kissing Louis's inner thigh, and Louis feels his cock get even harder. "Just wanna feel you in my mouth so bad. Wanna taste you."

Louis holds back a groan at that, hands clenching, and he can't say no. His willpower has been weakening over the past few nights anyway, and maybe it won't be such a problem—it's not like he's unable to control himself, he's not an animal. But—Harry goes so slow, and it's like torture because it's so good, his mouth feels so good and yet all Louis wants is to shove in hard and make him choke and drool and—it's been hard enough fighting those thoughts anyway but now, with Harry kneeling between his legs and licking at his cock, it's impossible.

Harry stops after only a couple of minutes and looks up at him with concerned eyes. "What's wrong?" he asks, palms smoothing over Louis's quivering thighs.

"No, nothing, it's fine, it's—it's really good, carry on," Louis assures him, but he can't quite look at him as he says it because Harry's lips are bright and swollen, his mouth slack, and all Louis wants to do is shove his cock back in and fill Harry's throat up. He tenses, fingers pressing into the edge of the mattress.

"No, what is it?" Harry persists.

His voice is gentle and it sounds more hoarse than normal, and god, that's just from a few minutes of having Louis's dick in his mouth—Louis wants to know how he'd sound if he had his face fucked, if Louis could make him lose his voice entirely. He can't, of course, they've got a show tomorrow, but the thought sends a strange thrill through him as he imagines Harry showing up to soundcheck unable to speak, and only the two of them knowing why.

"Lou," Harry says, giving his thigh a slight squeeze, bringing Louis out of his reverie. "You can tell me. Am I not doing it the way you like?"

Louis squirms at the words; the way Harry's so eager to please him. "You're doing—you're doing it so good," he insists, because Harry is, and it feels unfair to want more, but he just can't fight this urge. "It's just..."

"Yeah?" Harry encourages. "Tell me."

"I just wanna make you choke on it," Louis mumbles, and it comes out all in a rush and he can't look Harry in the eye, and he squirms under Harry's hands, ashamed.

For a few seconds that feel like minutes, nothing happens, and then Louis dares a glance at Harry's face. Harry is smirking.

"Okay," he says simply, "you can do that."

"But—I—" Louis protests, still feeling like he needs to explain himself. "I don't, I don't wanna hurt you—" except he does, a little bit, only if Harry wants it and it's just a niggling thought at the very back of his mind but he does, "—it's just, it's all I can think about."

"That's okay," Harry assures him. "You can do it. I'll let you."

Louis groans involuntarily, hips jerking up like an instinct, and Harry responds to the movement, dropping his head low again and opening his mouth wide to let Louis push in. That soft slick heat envelops him again and he can feel arousal twisting frantically at the base of his spine with the knowledge that he can go further. Harry's just gone still, angling his throat just right and waiting, and Louis puts a tentative hand on the back of Harry's head and pushes him down a bit more. He feels Harry's throat muscles working, relaxing, letting Louis fit in deep, and it's so tight and hot but even better than that is the little sound of struggle Harry makes and the way his hands clutch out at Louis's hips.

God, Louis wants—he wants to hold Harry there 'til he feels suffocated and desperate for air, he wants to really fuck his mouth until he's gagging and gasping, he wants to force Harry down on his cock so hard that he cries from it. And it makes him feel so fucking guilty, because those urges just come out of nowhere and they're so strong they make his brain short-circuit but he loves Harry more than anything, he doesn't know why he wants to ruin him so much. It's been like this since the start—those first tentative fantasies while he wanked in the shower at the X Factor house, rapidly devolving into the kind of filth he didn't even know he had in him, a barrage of images that left him weak at the knees and shaking against the cold tiles. He found an outlet the only way he could, wrestling with Harry and hitting him in the balls sometimes under the pretence of boyish roughhousing, but—fuck, he wants so much more than that.

He lets Harry ease off, and Harry grins at him, his lips shining wet. "You can be rougher, if you want," he says, wrapping his hand around Louis's cock and stroking it at a slow, steady pace as he talks, which just gets Louis even more fired up. "I don't mind. Do you want to fuck my mouth?"

"Fuck," Louis whimpers, shutting his eyes because it's way too much to see Harry's face when he's offering himself like that.

Harry goes down again, taking Louis in and then staying still, leaving it up to Louis to take control. Louis whines, twisting his fingers through Harry's curls and taking a shaky breath as he shoves him down, harder this time, feeling Harry's throat constrict around him and then hitching his hips off the bed to press in all the way, until he can feel Harry's nose against his stomach. Louis keeps his eyes squeezed shut and pulls Harry up again, all the way off, lets him catch his breath for just a couple of seconds before pushing his cock back in. He holds Harry still and jerks his hips erratically, thrusting clumsily into Harry's mouth and feeling the head of his cock nudging the back of Harry's throat, and as soon as Harry starts making sounds he loses it, his body spasming as he comes deep and hears Harry spluttering, trying to swallow.

As soon as he manages to gather himself together again he looks down between his legs, and Harry is slumped there, pink-cheeked, his eyes teary and his lips looking obscenely plump and red. Louis can't cope with how fucking hot it is and how awful it makes him feel at the same time. Harry is coughing slightly, wiping his mouth, and he looks really young all of a sudden.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Louis says instantly, reaching out to pet at him, caressing his cheek and feeling how hot the skin is.

"It's okay," Harry rasps instantly. "You can do that, let's do that some more. I mean, not now, just—sometime. Whenever." He coughs again, and then croaks out, "Maybe always?"

Louis laughs and it sort of bubbles up out of him, relief and joy and amusement all at once. He heaves Harry up onto the bed beside him, noticing how hard he is, his cock all fat and red and so wet at the tip it's dripping. God, he's getting off on this too.

"Thank you," he says, and then again, muttering it like a mantra before he takes Harry's erection between his lips. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you."

***
They quickly learn that it can be even better, that if Harry lies on the bed and Louis straddles his chest he can have even more control and get a good look at Harry's face at the same time. He'll press in close, his knees nudging up into Harry's armpits, and it feels so fucking good just to loom over him like that, to stare down at Harry's watchful, eager face gazing back up at him. Louis likes to drag it out, rubbing his cock over Harry's face, skimming it over his lips and not giving him a proper chance to taste it, just getting his cheeks shining with pre-come and teasing him. He likes how Harry tries to get it into his mouth, parting his lips wide, impatient as Louis just nudges the head against Harry's cheekbone or swipes it over his jawline.

"Lou," Harry groans sometimes when he really can't wait any longer, "please, just, give it to me—"

Louis likes to cut off his begging by shoving his dick between Harry's lips mid-sentence, sliding in deep and filling his mouth right up, watching closely as Harry gets used to it, his cheeks hollowing as he swallows around him and breathes out carefully through his nose. Louis doesn't ever really give him much time; he can tease for a while but as soon as he feels Harry's mouth around him, so hot and tight, he can't really resist any longer and his hips start to pump back and forth as he thrusts his cock in and out of Harry's mouth, just letting go.

The first time they did it like this, Harry kept touching him, reaching up to hold onto him at his hips and his waist, and Louis knew he wasn't really trying to control his thrusts but it felt like he was, and immediately he felt the urge to shove Harry's hands away. He tugged them off his hips a little pathetically, just holding onto them, trying to resist, and Harry pulled off his cock.

"You want to hold me down?" he asked, and Louis nodded, breathless and unable to speak, and pinned Harry's wrists to the bed, nudging his cock back into his waiting mouth.

Harry hasn't tried to touch him since then but Louis still holds him down sometimes anyway, just because it makes it so much better to know that Harry can't move, just has to lie there and take whatever Louis gives him. Even when his chin is smeared with saliva and his eyes are streaming tears and his throat is aching, he takes it, loves it, and it kills Louis because it just makes him want more. Every time Harry allows him something it's like it just opens up more options, instead of satiating the need like Louis thinks it should.

Once, after a particularly good show in Ireland, they're both a little reckless, still high on adrenaline, and Louis has been waiting for this all night, waiting for the moment their hotel room door shut behind them so he could get Harry spread out on the bed for him and mess him up. And it doesn't feel like enough somehow, even though it's better than anything Louis's ever felt it's just—he wants more, all the time. Harry makes him crazy.

"I want—can I—fuck," Louis babbles now, easing his cock out of Harry's mouth and squirming when Harry flicks his tongue out to tease at it, wanting it back inside. "Haz, this is gonna sound weird—"

"That's okay," says Harry, "you know me, I like weird." His voice is in that lazy stage, before it gets properly wrecked, when it just sounds a little bit rougher than usual and he sort of slurs and drawls because he's so turned on, dazed with it.

Louis stammers, still unable to get the words out. He can't say it how it sounds in his mind, I want it so you can't breathe, I want you gasping and panicking 'til I let you. "Can I, like, hold your nose? While I—just for a few seconds, not for, not for too long."

He feels Harry squirm beneath him. "Just for a few seconds, yeah?" he repeats, biting his lip.

"Yeah, I won't go too far, I promise, I just—" Louis's voice cracks, he feels hysterical and giddy with lust and so fucking bewildered by it all. "Harry," he says desperately, and it sounds almost scared, "fuck, I really want it, I don't know why."

"It's okay," says Harry immediately, soothing, and his voice calms Louis a little. His eyes look so dark, almost all pupil, and Louis can't help but start wondering if he can make them go entirely black if he cuts off Harry's air completely. "I trust you," Harry tells him. "I'll—I'll pinch your leg if I freak out, okay? Like this." He reaches up and nips the skin of Louis's thigh between his thumb and forefinger, and Louis jumps at the pain, laughing, a little dizzy with everything.

"Yeah, okay, good," Louis nods, "do that right away, if it's too much, okay?"

Harry nods back at him, slow and deliberate, and then opens his mouth wide again, waiting, and Louis whimpers, trying to gather himself together and not just come all over Harry's face, and—oh god, he wants that, too, wants to splatter Harry with it and get him all messy. He wonders if Harry would let him.

"Lou, c'mon," Harry urges, and Louis snaps back, feeding his cock back into Harry's mouth and letting it glide steadily deeper and deeper. He tenses up, trying so hard not to come yet. He threads his fingers through Harry's hair, stroking at his scalp, and with his other hand reaches out and pinches Harry's nose, not too tightly but enough to shut off his air supply. He counts the seconds, staring fixedly down at Harry's face—one, two, threefourfive—and lets go, pulling his cock back out again to let Harry speak.

"Okay?" he asks breathily.

"Yeah," Harry says and his voice sounds raw, "longer."

"Okay. Fuck. Okay." Louis does it again, fills up Harry's mouth and then pinches his nose shut again, watching as Harry's face goes redder and his eyes go wider—he forces himself to count but he feels dizzy, Harry's throat an insistent hot press surrounding his cock and the power of controlling him like this making him weak. He gets to the point where he's sure Harry is going to grab at him and panic, and then lets go and pulls out in an instant, and Harry is wheezing and panting, choking as he tries to draw air in too quickly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry manages, looking wild, "yeah, it's—I like it, do it again."

"God," Louis moans. "Are you sure?"

"I'll pinch you if it's too much, I promise, just do it, please."

Louis is sweating, trembling; his hands shake as he takes a hold of his erection again and guides it between Harry's lips. He can't cope with this, but he wants it so fucking bad and god, so does Harry, and it's not like he's ever been able to deny him anything. He takes Harry's nose again, holds it more tightly this time, and counts. He approaches fifteen seconds, and Harry's eyes are beginning to water and he's kicking at the mattress like he's trying to resist pinching Louis and see how far he can push himself. Louis can't stand it, he lets go and withdraws and Harry is gasping and sputtering and his eyes are dark and he looks so fucking hot like that.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Harry's answer is barely audible and Louis realises how stupid they're being, how irresponsible—they've got a show tomorrow and Harry might have his voice back by then but it's definitely not going to sound as good as normal, and usually Harry would be really stressed about something like that but it's like he just doesn't seem to care right now.

"You look so good, Haz, I'm gonna come," Louis forces out, fingers skimming over the length of his cock, so wet with Harry's saliva. He's so close it's tingling in all of his nerves; he's right on the edge. "Fuck, sorry, please say no if—but—I want to come on your face, can I?" The words come out in a jumbled rush and his orgasm is so near he doesn't even care how embarrassing it is to say them out loud.

Harry is too weak to speak but his nod is eager, vehement, and it only takes that and two quick tugs before Louis is toppling over the edge, orgasm flooding through him, his come splashing out over Harry's face and onto his tongue. The sight of it is almost too much, Harry's pink cheeks dripping with it and that satisfied look in his eyes—and then Harry swipes a finger over his skin and dips it into his mouth, and that's definitely too much.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Louis mumbles, collapsing on the bed beside him and burying his face in Harry's shoulder. Harry's skin actually feels cool against his and he realises he must be blushing, hard, his cheeks burning up with it. He gulps. "You're going to kill me."

Harry just chuckles hoarsely, and pulls him close.

***
Harry brought some lube on tour, ostensibly just for handjobs but Louis always kind of wondered if he was expecting it to be used for something else one day, if they were ever going to go that far. And as things escalate he can't get the thought out of his mind. It always used to be something he only thought about vaguely, partly because it freaked him out a little and partly because it excited him too much. But Harry's breaking down all his walls and now he can't stop thinking about it. When he brings Harry off now sometimes he'll drag his fingers down behind his balls, brush them briefly over his hole, curious and wanting to touch but trying to make it seem accidental.

And then, eventually, Harry drags it out of him. It's one of their nights off and they've just been lazing around the hotel all evening—Louis's lying in bed reading a magazine, only wearing a pair of pyjama trousers and his glasses, and Harry's just padded out of the bathroom, naked.

"So what do you want to do tonight?" he asks, towelling off his hair and then flinging the towel over the back of a chair. "I mean, sex-wise," he clarifies, goofily.

Louis puts down his magazine, laughing, but actually it makes him a little nervous that Harry's asking. They don't do that anymore, they've just kind of fallen into this routine of messy, violent blowjobs, but now it seems like Harry wants something more, or wants Louis to admit that he wants something more.

Louis gives him a little bemused shrug, but Harry just looks at him. It feels like he knows Louis too well, and it makes Louis uncomfortable so he tries to joke and act casual. "Oh, I dunno, how about me shoving my dick in your mouth 'til you can't breathe?" He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shrugging again offhandedly. "You know, the usual."

Harry does laugh at that, a ridiculous little bark like he was caught off guard by the dirty talk. But he calms down quickly, clambering onto the bed and tugging Louis in close so he's tucked in against Harry's side. He reaches out to interlace their fingers and leave their linked hands resting on his bare stomach. "You don't want anything else?"

It feels like he's giving Louis a chance to admit something and Louis tries not to blush at all the ideas going through his head. "I dunno," he says in a small voice.

Harry shifts, pulling his knees up and spreading his legs a little, and then lifts their hands and brings them lower, brushing past his cock. Louis's fingers skim over the tight ring of muscle and he does blush, then, realising he hasn't been as subtle as he was hoping. He laughs, embarrassed, and Harry does too but it's gentle, he's not laughing at him.

"Say it, it's okay," he says, turning to press a kiss to the side of Louis's head.

"I want," Louis says, and then inhales sharply and tries again. "I want to...put my fingers in you." Just saying it is like some kind of rush, making the desire stronger. "Like, god. I really really want to put my fingers in you."

Harry smiles at him. "I've done it before," he says quietly, "to myself, I mean. So—you can, if you want. It feels good."

Louis bites his lip and then spits out, "Fuck."

Harry produces the lube and Louis doesn't hesitate, slicking up his fingers right away, the urgency overriding his nerves. He's clumsy, spilling the liquid over his whole hand, and when he reaches down between Harry's legs again, past his half-hard cock, and feels that quiver of muscle against the tip of his finger—he really can't hold back.

"Go slow, okay?" Harry murmurs, and Louis nods and is glad for the reminder, because as soon as he pushes inside and feels how impossibly tight Harry is around him, hot and smooth, he just wants more. He tries to ease his finger in slow and thrust with it gently but he's so eager. It's so strange but so exciting to feel Harry like this, from inside, to crook his finger a little and watch the way Harry's legs quiver and his hole clenches around him.

He thinks he should ask Harry if he's doing this right, but all he wants is to add another finger, stretch Harry out some more. "Can I—?"

"Yeah," says Harry breathily, and he's shifting on the bed, bringing his hips down to meet the movements of Louis's finger. Usually Louis would want to hold him still, maybe, but it's so hot that he likes this, wants it. Louis wonders if Harry would be that eager for his cock, if he'd bring himself down to it, fuck himself on it, and he feels himself getting harder and has to push the thought out of his mind so he can concentrate.

He eases his finger out and then tucks two of them back in, twisting them, marvelling at the way it feels. He wants to see, so he slips out and settles himself between Harry's legs. Usually he's embarrassed to wear his glasses during sex but right now he's glad to have them on because it means he can get a nice, clear look. Harry is fully hard, erection straining against his stomach, flushed and thick, and Louis bites his lip, seeing how much he must really like this. He dips his fingers back in and it feels easier now, like he's already opening Harry up, and watching the way they disappear inside him is so fucking hot he can't deal with it. He makes a weak little sound in the back of his throat—even when things are this good, he still wants more, it's like he'll never be satisfied and it doesn't make sense because Harry gives him so much, so fucking much.

"You can—another one, if you want," Harry says and god, it's like he's reading Louis's mind. Louis fits a third finger in, all of them up to the knuckle and pressed in close beside each other, overlapping in the impossible tightness. He stretches them out and has to reach down into his trousers and take his own cock in his hand, squeezing it, suddenly overcome with the desire to fuck Harry. And it's not just about how amazing that tightness would feel around his cock, it's about stretching Harry wide for him, making him moan for it, pounding into him so hard he's sore tomorrow.

"Fuck," he hisses. It still doesn't feel like they're ready for it, but he wants it so bad right now it's making his head spin. He keeps at it with his fingers, fucking Harry with them, but already it's not enough anymore. "Haz, I need to," he says, and his voice sounds so shaky; he almost doesn't even sound like himself, "can I—shit, I want to fuck you."

He hoped they'd do that eventually but it was always such a distant thought. He didn't think they'd fall into it so soon, figured they'd build up to it gradually. But then, nothing has ever been gradual between them.

"God, I'm glad you said that," Harry groans. "Yes. Please, yes."

There's no time to really think about it, to get properly anxious; it's like they're just going on instinct now, giving their bodies what they need. Louis pulls his fingers out and Harry makes a little sound like he's empty and it makes something in Louis burn and ache, and he wants so desperately to fill Harry back up, split him open. He yanks off his pyjama trousers and reaches for the lube again, getting his cock wet with it, his hands shaky. It's clumsy, the whole thing is; their limbs knock against each other as Louis fits himself between Harry's legs.

Louis's fingers are slippery around himself as he tries to press the head of his cock to Harry's hole and when he pushes forwards it's too fast; he slides in halfway and Harry gasps sharply. Louis pulls back instantly, stammering apologies, trying to get a grip.

"It's okay," Harry says, and he's breathing hard, "just—slower, this time."

Louis presses in again, opens him back up so slow, inching in 'til he's deep and they're flush against each other, Harry's arse cradled against his hips, and it's—god, it's like nothing else. It's better than he could have imagined if he'd ever let himself, and he's reeling from it, nestled deep inside Harry, feeling the hot pulse of him all around.

"Um," croaks Harry. "Wow."

Louis can't even speak; he can only nod. He kisses Harry, trying to slow things down, get used to the feeling of this, but Harry is hungry and persistent, licking into his mouth and canting his hips, starting to rock against Louis like he's encouraging him to move. And once Louis starts it's like he can't stop—the friction is overwhelming and Harry's reactions are even better. He's knocked back with the force of each thrust until the bedsprings are actually creaking, and Louis's hips are slamming up against him and Harry's eyes are fluttering closed and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip in a useless attempt to stop himself from moaning. His legs are wrapped around Louis, and Louis thinks he can feel his toes curling against his back. It's so good, so good, Louis can't believe anything could ever be this good, and he comes before he has a chance to really savour any of it, so dazed he doesn't think to pull out first.

Harry takes himself in hand right away, pulling desperately on his cock until he's coming too, within seconds, and they're hot and wet and sticking to each other, breathing like they've been winded. Louis's glasses have actually steamed up and he takes them off so he can see Harry's face better. He blinks, his eyes adjusting, and Harry looks at him.

"Fuck," he says weakly, and Louis rarely hears him swear like that so this must be serious.

Louis still hasn't found his voice, just nods again, settling back on his knees and looking down at Harry, at that tiny tight hole that's now flushed and shining, and he can't help but reach out and touch it again, feel the way it tenses up against his finger.

Harry squirms, moans out, "God, Lou. You're filthy."

Louis draws back instantly, ashamed. He didn't realise that was something people maybe don't do, but he can see the way Harry's clenching, and god, Louis's come is inside him and he can't—he can't just pretend that didn't happen, can he?

"Sorry," he mumbles, flopping down on the bed beside Harry, his cheeks going pink.

"No, it's—I didn't mean it like that," Harry says, reaching out to pull him closer. His voice is gruff, low. "I like it. I love you."

Louis's resulting smile is so sudden and wide that it makes his cheeks ache. "I love you too," he says, and snuggles into him, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, but right now it doesn't feel like it ever will.

***
Louis can't really say he's surprised that things only get more intense from then on. They just can't stop doing it now that they know how fucking good it is, and Louis finds it hard to keep his urges locked up now that they've gone this far. And the thing is, if Harry didn't want this, Louis's sure he'd have been able to get it under control, but Harry likes it just as much as he does. Half the time he even seems to like it more. And it's like he's encouraging Louis, egging him on, pushing him to go further when he hesitates.

So Louis is rough, almost always, fucking Harry so hard that he aches for a while afterwards, has to sit down gingerly. They try different positions and they both find they like doggystyle best, because that way Louis can tangle his fingers in Harry's hair and pull, or he can slap at his arse until it's angry-red and hot, or he can hold both of Harry's arms behind his back, one hand wrapped around his wrists and Harry vulnerable, his face against the mattress and his arse in the air. Sometimes Louis will press his face down hard, so he struggles to breathe, and sometimes he'll reach around to wrap his fingers round Harry's throat, squeezing just a little until Harry's gasping. He likes to lean right over him and bite, nipping at the skin of his shoulders, leaving marks in careful places that will be covered by his shirts.

Some of the hotels have mirrors in just the right place for them to watch themselves, and there's something about that that really gets Louis off. He's not a vain person at all, but it's hot to watch himself throwing Harry around like that, and he likes the way they look together, because—because he's so scrawny, really, and it's not like Harry's that much bigger or taller than him but, there's something about watching himself fucking another boy that makes heat curl in his belly. He's so slight and sometimes he thinks he looks almost girly, with the soft swish of his hair and his petite body, and it gets him hot to see the way he can hold Harry down and make him do what he wants.

The whole thing is pretty much mindblowing, basically, and Louis wonders how he's even managing to go about the rest of his life when this is happening every night, how he can hold conversations and do interviews and stand there in front of giant crowds when sometimes it feels like everybody must know. Sometimes they can't help but smirk at each other and Louis thinks the others must see it and know why. They probably hear them through the walls at night anyway and he's just glad it's not the kind of thing anyone would ever bring up, because he thinks he'd probably die of shame. Harry is making him feel a lot less awful about it all, but even so, it's embarrassing to want and need this so badly, to feel like he's just barely keeping a lid on it throughout the day.

The strange part is that there's still a part of him that feels like it's not enough. He doesn't understand how that can be, at first, because surely he can't need anything more when Harry's practically giving him everything. But then he realises maybe it's just that he wants more of what they have, wants it all the time, wants it never to end. The realisation comes at an unfortunate time—just before they're about to quit hotels for a while and sleep in the tourbus for the next week of shows. The tourbus is basically the exact opposite of private, even worse than the X Factor house, and Louis doesn't know how they're going to survive. Their last hotel night, it hits him—he and Harry fuck and then clean up and as Louis's lying there beside him trying to get to sleep he realises he wants to go again. And maybe again after that. And they've never done that, maybe because once a night has been overwhelming enough so far, but now Louis thinks this is what he needs, to go over and over until they physically can't anymore. Maybe then he'll finally feel settled instead of like he's going to crawl out of his skin all the time.

But Harry is already asleep, always exhausted after sex while Louis's still buzzing with energy, and then for seven whole nights there's nothing. They manage to sneak off to the occasional room with a lock on the door for a quick handjob or blowjob but it feels so risky now, they've grown used to the safety of hotels. It feels like the old days again, only so much worse because now they know exactly what they're missing. Harry gets kind of distant with everyone else, and Louis gets irritable, and everybody's a little confused and uneasy about the sudden tension because there never used to be any real problem with the close proximity before.

Louis keeps himself going with the reminder that once they reach Brighton things can go back to how they used to be for a while, and—god, he's itching for it, sometimes the urge to fuck Harry is so strong he actually has to get away from him for a while 'til he calms down. It's still so strange to him, so new to feel that urge at all, to want someone this desperately. Everything has just happened so fast and he doesn't understand how anyone could have had feelings like this throughout all of their teenage years without just spontaneously combusting from it all—though maybe the reason it's so intense for Louis is because it built up to bursting point over the years like lava in a volcano.

When they finally get to that hotel in Brighton Louis doesn't want to waste any time, but Harry insists that they shower first, wash all the sweat of the show off them. Louis can't keep his hands off him and Harry has to keep telling him to wait 'til they're in bed and Louis is baffled by his willpower, wondering how he can want to drag this out when they've been waiting for what feels like so long already.

It does make it feel better, though, when they're finally in bed and Louis is finally inside of him. He thought they'd be frantic, tearing at each other, but they're oddly calm about it—face to face because they need to look at each other. Harry comes too fast and Louis can't even bring himself to be too disappointed because it feels like it's been so long since he's been able to appreciate the way Harry looks when he orgasms from having Louis inside him. He'll never get enough of it. Harry writhes and jerks beneath him, and his face screws up, eyebrows drawn tightly together, forehead crinkling and lips opening in a gasp. The pleasure is always so obvious on his face that it's like Louis can feel the orgasm too.

"Fuck," Louis murmurs, watching Harry closely and seeing his muscles slowly relaxing and that blissed-out smile spreading across his face. "You look so gorgeous. I just wanna make you come forever."

Harry doesn't say anything, still coming down, and Louis slips out, deciding that actually, he's really not ready for this to be over. It's been a week and they have a lot to catch up on, and they've got all night. He pulls away, sitting back on the balls of his feet and stroking two fingers gently over Harry's hole to see his reaction. Harry just smiles, out of it, and Louis's fingers nudge inside, sliding deep, slick and easy. Harry makes a small noise then, almost like a whine, and Louis wonders how it feels, if he's oversensitive from just being fucked.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

Harry tries to shake his head but it's like he doesn't have the energy. "N-no..."

Louis gently begins to work his fingers in and out, and strokes at him incessantly, finding that he can scissor his fingers a little inside Harry, his hole still stretched from Louis's cock. Harry moans, his hips rolling in tiny circles like he can't figure out if he wants to squirm away from the touch or towards it.

"Is it okay?" Louis checks, finding his reactions difficult to read.

"Mmm," Harry moans weakly, "but—intense."

Louis slides a third finger in, experimentally, watching Harry's face and seeing how he tips his head back and points his chin up to the ceiling, making a long drawn-out almost painful sound in his throat. He keeps squirming and Louis slams a hand down on his left hip to keep him still, holding him steady as he keeps his fingers plunging in and out. Harry tries to twist and buck helplessly against him, and Louis's eyes follow his body, his cock still hard against his belly like it wasn't even given a chance to go down, the heaving of his chest, the inverted V of his jaw, his head thrown back and his hair rubbing itself into tangles against the pillows.

He wants to add a fourth finger, but he's not sure he dares, and he's fighting the urge to duck his head and lick around where his fingers are, where they disappear inside Harry, tuck his tongue inside too. It makes him feel so perverted, but god, Harry just does this to him, makes him want things that never would have crossed his mind in a million years otherwise. He's slowing, hesitating, thinking about it, and Harry notices, looking down at him.

He smiles as he meets Louis's eyes. "You look like you want to eat me," he says softly.

"Can I?" Louis blurts.

"What?"

"I mean—fuck," Louis swears, wishing he hadn't said it, what if this is where Harry draws the line? "Like—my tongue, inside? I just thought—"

"Oh, wow," Harry interrupts, looking stunned. "You want to?"

"Only if you want me to," says Louis, trying not to blush at the fact that they're actually discussing this, considering it.

"I really want you to," Harry says, firm and sure, and Louis can't cope with how willing Harry always is. It's so much better that he's not just doing things because Louis wants to, that he's just as hungry for it as Louis is even if he can hide it better and he's less ashamed.

Louis turns Harry over onto his front, hitching him up so he's on his hands and knees, because he's not sure he can actually have Harry watching him while he does this. He leans in, licks over Harry's hole, tongue flat and soft, and Harry's elbows immediately give out and he slips down onto his forearms, groaning. The reaction is about twelve times better than Louis was expecting and it urges him on; he points his tongue and pokes at Harry with it, licking him open, and Harry whines pathetically, nudging back against Louis's face for more. Louis reaches around and feels Harry's cock, rock hard and achingly hot against Louis's palm, and it's the slightest touch but Harry jerks like it's an electric shock, crying out when Louis grasps it tightly and works at him with his tongue at the same time. It feels so good to make him react like that, feels right, and Louis curls his tongue hot and firm and insistent, pumping Harry's cock relentlessly, stroking his thumb hard over the tip even though he knows it'll probably hurt a little.

Harry comes again suddenly, with a yelp and a spasm, his body going so taut and tense as he spills a single hot splash over Louis's fist. Louis draws back, swearing, and—god, he needs to be back inside Harry right now, heat swirling in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he just made Harry come twice, that he's rapidly reducing him to a total whimpering mess. He wants to get there, get to the point where Harry couldn't form a sentence if his life depended on it, where all that matters to him is Louis's cock and fingers and tongue.

"Gonna fuck you again," he manages to force out, closing in behind Harry and rubbing the head of his cock over his hole. He's so wet that it pushes in easy, and Harry shudders all over, whining weakly and there's an edge to it that gives Louis pause. "Too much?"

"Yeah—" Harry pants out, but then quickly he adds, "no—" breathing heavy, throat raw, "no, I don't know, just—"

Louis stays still, just the tip of his cock tucked inside, and Harry makes a frustrated sort of growling sound and pushes back against him, sudden and forceful and getting Louis in all the way. He needs it, wants it, even if he's not sure he can handle it, and that thought is almost too much for Louis. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and starts to fuck Harry again, sinking into the slick heat and trying to keep in control, but his hips snap and buck and Harry is a crumpled heap in front of him, back arched, cheek pressed into the sheets and eyes shut, his body being rocked by each thrust and he's just taking it.

Louis reaches out to touch where their bodies meet, and before he even really knows what he's doing, he's pushing a finger inside, along the length of his cock, slowing his thrusts to fit it in, impossibly tight. Harry grabs at fistfuls of the bedding, pulling the undersheet free from the mattress with the force of his sudden yank, a shudder wracking his body.

"Fuck," he spits, and he's nodding helplessly like that's all he can do to tell Louis this is okay.

Louis stretches at him, wants to make this last but can't, not with the sight of his finger knuckle-deep inside Harry, the feel of it against his cock, the way Harry's allowing it—wanting it—even though he just came twice. Louis leans down over him and bites at his shoulder, teeth sinking in as he comes, and Harry makes a noise that's barely even a sound at all, so weak. Louis loses himself in it for a moment, and when he regains his senses enough to withdraw, pull out, Harry slumps onto the bed and rolls over and—god, he fucking spreads his legs and looks down at Louis with dazed expectance, like he thinks Louis is going to do more. Like he wants him to.

Louis is still high from his orgasm and he can barely think, feeling oversensitised just looking down at Harry lying there all sprawled out for him; he can't imagine how Harry feels. He slides a tentative finger inside him, more out of curiosity than anything, feels how wet he is inside and moans. Harry's hips jolt weakly, almost involuntarily. He's red-faced and glassy-eyed and it's just so fucking easy for Louis to let a second and third finger glide in. Harry is saying his name over and over even as his voice begins to give out, "Lou, Lou, fuck, Lou," and Louis has to do it, has to ease that fourth finger in. Harry writhes against the bed, twisting helplessly and grinding down against Louis's hand, and this time when he comes—thrashing frantically—it's almost dry, the tiniest drip dribbling from his cock. He starts to scream but the sound gets cut out, sudden, like someone snipping through a wire.

It's like it drags the very last bit of life right out of him, he goes utterly limp then. Once Louis's drawn his fingers back out and wiped them against the sheets he lies down next to him, pulls him into a hug even though they're both overheating and the prolonged physical contact is almost unbearable. There are tear tracks on Harry's cheeks and he still hasn't caught his breath yet, panting, rasping and ragged, and Louis panics a little at the sight of him. He wanted to ruin him like this but it's a little scary actually seeing it.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Louis says gently, leaning in and kissing away the tear marks. He laughs nervously. "I got—kinda carried away, was that—?"

"The best thing in the world?" Harry interrupts, practically having to choke the words out.

Louis grins. Relief floods through him. "Well, that wasn't what I was gonna say, but—"

"But it's what you were thinking," Harry cuts him off again. His tone is light and teasing even though his voice is grating, gravelly. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is why you've been like...climbing the walls all this time. You just wanted to reduce me to a quivering heap."

"Maybe," says Louis slyly, because yeah, that's about right, and he actually feels so much calmer already. Usually after they fuck he's still raring to go, buzzing from it, hyper, and he has to go find something to do while Harry sleeps it off, but right now he feels—sleepy and satisfied and relaxed, like he should.

"I don't know if I've mentioned this, but you're kind of a freak, you know," Harry says. It's gentle, Louis knows he isn't judging him. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds, coughing a little.

"You really—you liked all that?" Louis has to check.

Harry grins at him. "Well, I mean, I did feel like I might actually die a few times, but yeah," he admits.

And Louis just laughs, because that seems pretty fair to him. That's basically how he's felt all this time, for the whole time he's known Harry, so—yeah, he's all right with that. Maybe now, finally, they're even, and Louis has got this out of his system.

Harry licks his dry lips and runs his fingers back through the hair that's plastered to his forehead, and Louis watches him quietly, taking in the way his pink tongue rolls over his bottom lip and his long squared fingers tangle in his curls. He got it out of his system, Louis tells himself again, he won't need this all the time now, won't be so crazy for it. But then Harry notices him watching, looks at him with a lazy smirk and a twinkle in his eye like maybe he'd be ready to go again if they rest for a little while first, and—Louis feels another stab of arousal right away.

...Fuck.

End.

as loud as lions (1/3). harry/louis, pg-13.

2012-05-19T16:47:11Z

Title: as loud as lions
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: References to homophobia and gay slurs
Summary: Every few seconds there's a blinding camera flash, and it's overwhelming even for Harry so he can't imagine how Louis feels. All he can do is hold his hand, tight, like they've never been allowed to in public before, and let all these middle-aged men with their zoom lenses get a good long look. (~26,000 words)
A/N: Coming out!fic. I still don't know how I managed to write this without throwing myself off a cliff, tbh. Dedicated to astreindre, who gave me at least half the ideas, and wouldn't let me give up. ♥ She also made an awesome fanmix to go along with the fic which you can check out here, but only once you've finished reading because there are spoilery fic excerpts!! Title from 'Read All About It (Pt. III)' by Emeli Sandé, because OBVIOUSLY.

(2/3) (3/3)

The call comes at 4am. It wakes Harry with a start and he can only answer in monosyllables, confused and drowsy and not really processing any of it until after he's hung up and has been sitting there for a few minutes staring into space with his brow furrowed.

"Lou," he mumbles then, turning to gently nudge the still-sleeping body beside him.

"Mmm."

"Lou." Harry nudges him again. The worry is just beginning to gnaw at him, that nagging feeling of something not being right. He can't remember this ever happening before—not like this, with this sense of urgency.

"What?" Louis sounds grumpy, his voice sleep-rough, as his eyes flutter open to look at Harry.

"Emergency band meeting," Harry says. "We have to get up."

Louis frowns at him, uncomprehending, for a long time. Then he says, "It's the middle of the night."

"I know. They're sending a car. We have to get up."

Louis looks frightened, and it makes the anxiety churn more violently in Harry's stomach, as if Louis knows something he doesn't. "What happened?" Louis asks faintly.

"They wouldn't tell me."

"Is it—everyone? Not just us?"

"Yeah." Harry, satisfied that Louis is properly awake now, slips out of bed and starts getting dressed, pulling on the clothes he wore yesterday. Louis lies there for another long moment, and Harry prompts him with, "We have to go," and then it's like he snaps out of his daze, getting unsteadily to his feet and pulling on some pyjama trousers over his boxers.

The car is startlingly quick; the boys have only just finished getting dressed by the time they hear it pull up outside. They must have sent it before even making the call, which for some reason makes Harry feel even more nervous. Whatever this is, it's important, and it's pretty clear that it's not good news.

Liam is already waiting in the car by the time they get outside, offers them a cheery "Morning!" and Niall appears just a couple of minutes later, padding across the courtyard in his slippers and eating a chocolate chip muffin.

"What's this about?" Louis asks the driver, twice, but he doesn't get a response. "Did they tell you anything?" he asks Liam and Niall, who know no more than anyone else.

Finally Zayn turns up, and now that all five of them are here the atmosphere feels a little less tense. They tease him about the fact that he's got his shirt on inside out and still looks like he's half-asleep, and he settles down beside Harry and Louis and says flatly, "What've you done this time, got caught shagging in a park?"

He gets a nipple twist from Harry for that, but Harry can't help but feel like this must have something to do with him and Louis. All their other "emergency band meetings" have been in that vein, discussing damage control after they got a little too affectionate in public or Louis kept forgetting about Eleanor's existence or some website posted an anonymous article about gay boyband members. But they've been so careful lately, and all the 'Larry Stylinson' gossip seems to have calmed down, and Harry just can't think what the problem could be. What could be so bad that they have to get up at four in the morning to discuss it?

They file into the office and slump into seats in front of Jonathan's desk. There's never enough space; Harry and Louis always end up sitting in each other's laps which only serves to get them more judgemental looks from their superiors. But when they're telling them off for exactly that sort of thing anyway, it just makes Harry want to shove it in their faces, so he pulls Louis down onto his knees and wraps his arms around him, reaching up to rest his chin on Louis's shoulder.

"I'm not sure how to say this," says Jonathan, gravely, and Harry is really starting to feel unsettled by how serious this whole thing is. "I think it's best if I just show you."

He has a laptop in front of him, and slowly he turns it around to face them, and it takes Harry a long time to process what he's seeing. Because that picture on the screen, it's on a gossip site, and it's not a paparazzi shot or even some embarrassing old scanned-in photo from their childhoods, it's—it's him and Louis, kissing, snuggled close together on Liam's couch, Louis's fingers in Harry's hair and Harry grinning like a goofy kid against Louis's lips. It's private. Liam took that photo. Liam took that photo because he thought they were being cute, and he promised that they didn't have to worry about it getting out.

And now here it is, plastered on the internet for everyone to see, along with a sensationalist, exclamation point-heavy title that makes Harry feel sick to his stomach.

Louis has gone absolutely tense, muscles seized up; his weight feels strange on Harry's lap. Nobody is saying anything. Harry wants to look at the others, or to demand to know what's going on, but he can't speak. All he can do is look at that photo that shouldn't be there, shouldn't be on someone's laptop, should've stayed on Liam's phone or never been taken in the fucking first place.

Jonathan seems to decide they've got it, and turns his laptop back around, sighing gently. "It seems Liam's phone has been hacked into," he says, as if they were all too dense to figure that out. "Now, we've spent the better part of an hour here looking into the coverage of the story—" and Harry feels his stomach turn at the thought that the picture has been out there for an hour, probably longer; that people were looking at it and discussing it while he and Louis slept soundly back at home, "—and things might not be as hopeless as they seem."

Harry wonders what that's supposed to mean, and the only thing he can think of is that the response must be positive—management are always banging on about how they'd lose fans if this got out, how people would turn against them, but maybe they were wrong? Maybe, he thinks wildly, maybe the gossip blogs are full of support, comments from people saying "aw, how cute" and then going on with their lives.

"There's so much speculation surrounding you two—" Jonathan addresses Harry and Louis specifically now, "—that no one seems quite sure what to think. A significant number of commenters are putting forward the argument that this is just a couple of mates messing around, a joke that happened to be captured by a camera, nothing more."

Harry almost wants to laugh at that. It's ridiculous, the things they've managed to get away with over the years, the way people will excuse his and Louis's behaviour as platonic even when Harry feels they're being so obvious that they may as well be shouting it from the rooftops. It's equal parts a relief and a source of frustration for him. When they made it through that incident at the bar in Wellington back in April, Niall found it hilarious, said that even if a crystal clear shot of the two of them snogging found its way into the world, people would still find ways to explain it that wouldn't make them a couple.

And now it seems that they have.

"What do we do?" Louis says in a small voice, then, and he sounds so scared, and Harry can't stand it—he dips his head and presses a kiss to Louis's shoulder through his t-shirt, but Louis doesn't react, still stiff and tense in his arms.

"Well, I think you're very lucky here, boys," Jonathan says, in a way that tells them they better be thankful, "because it seems people will be quite happy to accept a denial. It's lucky that you've got that BBC Breakfast appearance on Friday too, it'll be a good chance to brush the whole thing off."

Louis clutches tightly at the side of Harry's thigh, and Harry clears his throat. "Uh," he says. "Does it not—I mean, does it not make more sense at this point just to tell the truth?"

He doesn't like the fact that the picture's out there any more than anyone else, but there's nothing they can do about it now except try and make it work in their favour. There's a long pause and then Louis starts shaking his head, repeatedly back and forth like he's silently begging Jonathan to shoot down the idea, even though it's pretty fucking obvious that Jonathan is going to do just that. "We've had this conversation, Harry," he says sternly. "It's not the right time to break news like this, you know that. The second album hasn't even been released. You have no idea of the longevity of the band. You—"

"I know," Harry interrupts, because he's heard this speech many times before, "but how many times can we laugh it off before it just gets stupid? Isn't this a good chance to just—"

"Liam, as it's your phone, you'll have to explain why you took the picture," Jonathan interrupts, breezing ahead as if Harry hasn't spoken. "Probably best to just say you found the moment funny, maybe you even wanted to use the photo to embarrass them later on, though of course you didn't realise it'd be happening on this scale..."

"Okay," says Liam, his voice wavering a little, and Harry suddenly feels a surge of anger at him for just mindlessly agreeing, going along with it.

"Can we at least discuss the alternative, here?" Harry snaps, a little louder than he means to. "I know we've managed to cover up a lot in the past but don't you think maybe this is a sign that it's time to stop all that and just come clean?" He gives Louis a little squeeze, adds, "Don't you think?" in a softer voice, directed at him.

But Jonathan says, "The Madison Square Garden concert is coming up," before Louis has a chance to respond. "The last thing we need right now is a scandal. You'll do the interview, you'll laugh the whole thing off; Louis, it's probably a good idea for you to Tweet Eleanor at some point today—"

Harry zones out, ignoring whatever else Jonathan has to say. Louis is quiet, just nodding in response to everything, and Harry can see that he's pale and shell-shocked, happy to have someone to tell him exactly what to do.

As soon as they get out of there, Liam is falling all over himself with apologies.

"I'm—I'm so sorry," he bursts out, looking wretched, his face white and his hair beginning to curl a little with sweat at his temples. "I—I shouldn't have kept it but—"

"Liam, it's fine," Harry interrupts him, a little sharply. "It's not your fault."

"I took the picture!" Liam cries. "Who else's fault would it be?"

"The dickhead who hacked your phone," Harry says quietly. "Really, Liam, that's the only person we can blame. Don't beat yourself up."

He doesn't want Liam stressing out about this but he also just kind of wants him to shut up, because god, this whole thing would be pretty great actually and he'd be thanking Liam right now if management would just realise once and for all that they can't deny everything forever. Of course he'd rather this wasn't happening because of a mistake, and he doesn't like the idea of thousands of people witnessing that private moment without his permission, but in a strange way it's like he's been waiting for this. Expecting something like this to happen at some point. The initial shock of it is fading fast and now it just seems like an opportunity, and no one else seems to get that, and Liam's always the first one to do what he's told without asking any questions and it pisses Harry off.

They've got a couple of days before the interview and management wants them to stay in and lie low, but it's difficult at home; things with Louis are strained. He's being weird about this whole thing, alternating between acting like it's no big deal at all—"Seems like we got away with it, so," he says once, and that keeps nagging at Harry because of the word choice, the way he makes it sound like they did something bad or wrong—and going all quiet, stuck in his own head, obviously worrying about the interview. A couple of times he asks Harry what he thinks they should say, if they should work on their denial so they sound more sure of themselves, but Harry refuses. He doesn't want to do this at all, he's certainly not going to plan it.

It's always been a difficult topic for the two of them, the idea of coming out, because it's one of the few things they seriously disagree on. Over time they've learned simply not to talk about it because they're never going to convince each other to change stance. But now, it's harder to ignore, and Harry feels like they're so close to it and a part of him always thought that if something like this ever happened, Louis might finally see where he was coming from, understand that it's possible to just reach a point where it's the more logical option. Louis doesn't even consider it though, and Harry knows he should be offering him more comfort at a time like this but he's so frustrated and he finds himself not wanting to even be around him so much anymore.

He turns to Niall instead, because he doesn't want to hear Liam's sensible explanation of why this is supposedly the best thing for them in the long run or whatever his reasons are, and Zayn is wise and everything but he doesn't have that pure emotional sympathy that Niall does. It's not that Niall doesn't see where Louis's coming from too, but he finds it harder to engage with, because he loves their relationship so much that he finds it hard to imagine why the whole world wouldn't, why they shouldn't be allowed to see it—and Harry likes that.

He doesn't really want to talk about the interview specifically, because he hates the entire idea and just doesn't even want to think about it, figures he'll deal with it when the time comes. He probably won't say anything at all, he thinks, a little bitterly—he'll let Liam and Louis do all the talking if they're so eager to cover things up, and he doesn't even care if it'll look suspicious. He's always said, right from the start, that he'd never make an outright denial. He won't lie like that. It's not fair and it's not even necessary and he won't do it. If someone asks him outright if he and Louis are dating, he's going to answer them honestly, because he's an honest person and he doesn't have anything to hide.

"It would be so great," says Niall, taking a sip of his beer and changing the TV channel. It's the night before the interview and Harry's over at his place, not wanting to be around Louis and his jitters, and he feels like a dick for it but—he just can't stand it when he and Louis aren't on the same page.

"What would?" he asks.

"If you could just—you know. Announce it and have done with it." Niall's voice is wistful. The two of them get like this sometimes, just kind of fantasising about how it could be.

"Yeah, I know," Harry says with a sigh, swigging from his own beer. It feels almost painful to imagine it right now, because they're so close and yet still so far, but he can't help it. It's always been a tempting place to go in his own brain, imagining a perfect world where management would let them come out and people would accept it.

"Not even just for the relief of finally saying it," Niall goes on, "but so you could be, y'know, a normal couple."

Harry nods. He thinks about it. He thinks about being able to hold Louis's hand in public, going on proper dates, kissing him onstage like he so often wants to when Louis's doing really good during a gig. "Yeah," he says, a little sadly, "and it's not about like, flaunting it, it's just wanting to be—"

"Be yourselves, yeah," Niall finishes his sentence for him immediately; they're always on the same wavelength when they talk about this. It's a conversation they've had so many times that they don't really need to keep having it, but Harry likes to indulge in the fantasy sometimes and Niall is happy to let him. "I mean, even I'm starting to get really sick of this, so I can't imagine how you feel."

He puts a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's heart aches. "I don't wanna talk about that part," he says. "Can we—can we just keep daydreaming?"

Maybe it's not healthy, to keep dwelling on how things could be instead of learning to live with the way that they are, but—he needs this. Tomorrow morning they're going to have to go on TV and break down everything Harry thought they might have been slowly working towards, and tonight—tonight he just needs to escape for a bit, even if the only place he can do it is in his own mind.

"Yeah," says Niall softly, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah, sure."

***
They've done BBC Breakfast once before, about a year ago now, and it feels strange to be sitting here again in such different circumstances. Management has told them to approach it like any other interview, to be relaxed and calm so as not to give the impression that they're covering anything up, but Louis doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to relax in a situation like this.

Harry isn't being terribly reassuring about the whole thing, either; he's made it abundantly clear that he disagrees with management's plan of action and though he at least seems willing to go along with it, he's obviously not happy. He's barely been around since that initial meeting, and Louis has been left to desperately try and convince himself that it's all going to be fine, or try and get Zayn to do that job for him when he starts to feel the nerves spilling over. This morning, Harry is moody and quiet, and it seems to have been left to Liam to try calm Louis down, probably because he still feels so guilty about the picture, feels like it's the least he can do.

"I think they're right, you know," Liam's saying now, rubbing Louis's back between his shoulder blades in that way that always makes Louis feel a little more settled, evens out his breathing. "I think as long as we just act really chilled about the whole thing no one'll make too big a deal of it. Just act like it's crazy that people are reading so much into this one photo. Remember that time in Dallas when you had to say it was mental that anyone would think you two were together? You were so good then. Really convincing."

"That was different," says Louis weakly. There's so much more at stake here; people actually have evidence.

"And remember that time Zayn told a magazine that he'd kissed me?" Liam goes on, obviously desperately searching through his memory for reassuring past experiences. "People accepted that that was a joke. Maybe we can convince everyone that we all make out all the time and it's just us being weirdos."

Louis doesn't bother responding to this; his mind is working too fast for him to organise his thoughts into proper sentences. Liam just pulls him into a tight hug instead of saying anything else, and then someone yells at them that they've got a minute 'til the interview starts.

"You're gonna be great," Liam murmurs, and the five of them trail out into the studio and sit down beside each other on the sofa. Louis ends up next to Harry and he isn't really sure whether that's a good idea—would it be better for them to sit apart, or would that look even more suspicious at this point? They don't have a chance to switch around anyway, because then there's a camera man counting down and the spotlights are in full flood and Louis's heart feels like it's in his throat, a huge throbbing lump that makes him feel sick. He's not sure he can remember ever being this nervous before.

He barely listens to their introduction, so fixated, waiting for that one question—and thankfully nobody tries to pretend like they've got more important things to talk about, Louise jumping straight in.

"Now, you've been the subject of a bit of gossip in the past few days, haven't you?" she asks, smiling with gleaming teeth at them all. "There was a—well, why don't you explain? I'm never very good at keeping up with all the celebrity rumours going around."

"There was a phone hacking, is that right?" Bill adds, looking around at each of them. "Now, which one of you was it—"

"Me," says Liam, actually putting his hand up like he's at school. He laughs a little and doesn't sound nervous at all, and Louis is equal parts jealous and relieved. "Yeah, it was a bit strange really, you don't really expect that kind of thing to happen to you—I was telling the lads it's something you always associate with people like Rihanna and Britney, you know—" he laughs again, and the hosts are obviously charmed by his self-deprecation.

"Well, I'd say you're almost on their level, wouldn't you?" Bill chuckles. "Biggest boyband in the world now, that's what I've heard."

"Apparently phone hacking is a rite of passage, then," jokes Liam. "Anyway, it—it's quite silly, really, there are a lot of blogs and things making a big deal out of it—we were all just messing around one night, and a certain two of us had maybe had a little bit too much to drink—" he nudges Louis in the ribs at this, and Louis tries to adopt a sheepish expression, "and, well, I took a photo that some people seem to think is incriminating for some reason."

Niall and Zayn chuckle a little at this, and Louis joins in, relaxing a bit, glad that Liam has taken the lead.

"Now, what's—this was you and Harry, Louis?" Louise asks, looking Louis right in the eye. "And what was—you were kissing, is that right?"

"Yeah, yeah," says Louis quickly, trying not to be fazed by her eye contact and the directness of the question. He's so good at hiding his feelings, at lying, at acting, but this—he's never had to do it on this level before. "Yeah, it was just a bit of drunken messing around, like, we're all very close mates, and Liam here—" he claps a hand on Liam's back, "—found the moment so hilarious that he had to capture it with his camera phone. Which turns out to have caused a bit of a scandal."

"Yeah, which we're all a bit baffled by, to be honest," Liam continues seamlessly. "The five of us have always been like this and I think the fans know that, but I guess if something's taken out of context it can look a bit odd to the general public."

"People sometimes read too much into things, you know," Zayn speaks up with a shrug.

"Yes, especially when you're in the public eye as much as you lads are," Bill agrees, and Louis is endlessly thankful that they're not grilling them about this.

"Well, I applaud you," says Louise, grinning. "It's nice to see young men so comfortable with each other, I think. What's a drunken snog between friends, after all?"

"Not sure if I'm close enough to any of my friends for that," Bill says with a wink, "but I don't think it's something that ought to be judged, seems you've got the right kind of attitude—"

"It's not quite like that," Harry says suddenly, his voice low and almost threatening.

The others all turn to look at him, startled.

"What's that?" Louise asks, smiling, bemused and oblivious.

"A drunken snog between friends," Harry repeats, and he sounds scathing, and then for a long moment he doesn't say anything more and it's awkward, it's so awkward, and Louis is terrified of where he's going with this, because now is really not the time to get offended at someone belittling their relationship—

Liam is just about to speak, gets a syllable out, but then Harry is talking over him. "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore," he says, and it comes out in an angry rush. He takes a deep breath, slides his hand onto Louis's knee. "We're together. We've been together for a long time." There's a moment's stunned silence, all round, and Louis wants to laugh, wants to make it seem like he's joking, but somehow he knows it's too late now, there's no turning back, this is going out live and none of them can take back those words. "I'm—I'm sorry, I can't—I'm sick of this, I can't—" Harry stammers for a moment, as if he caught himself off-guard, and then gathers himself together with a shaky breath. "I'm not just gonna sit here and act like it's the most stupid thing in the world. I don't think we have anything to be ashamed of."

Another long pause, and Louis feels like the world is coming down around him; he's staring blankly at Harry's face in profile, hardly able to believe that this is happening, that he really said those words.

"Well," says Louise, her voice a little higher-pitched than normal, "well, that's—that's quite true, nothing to be ashamed of, is there, Bill?"

Bill says nothing for a second, obviously stunned. "Sorry, boys, I'm a little—that was a little unexpected, you'll have to forgive us—not every day that we get an impromptu coming-out-of-the-closet on the show—"

Harry gives them a tight smile and finally, finally Louis gathers the courage to look away from him, and immediately the panic flows over him like a wave—there are so many people surrounding them, stunned faces, their publicist Sara white-faced and muttering to a cameraman, and Louis feels like he's going to be sick and he hates Harry in that moment, furious with him.

"Now, er," says Bill hurriedly, obviously listening to something being said into his earpiece, "you're—you're performing at Madison Square Garden soon, is that right?"

And Louis thinks no, thinks that they can't possibly be, not now, not after this, not now the world is ending. But Liam barrels on, brightly, "Yeah, yeah, December 3rd, it's amazing, really, we haven't quite taken it in yet—"

"And have you started work on your next album yet?" Louise asks, interrupting him, obviously flustered.

"Um, yeah, we've—we've done a bit of—" Niall stammers, and Louis can't even take anything in, barely hearing him, his heart pounding in his ears as he looks around at everybody in the studio, everybody staring back at him, judging him.

Sara is arguing openly with somebody on the other side of the cameras now, and then that person is muttering to someone else, and then suddenly Bill and Louise are wrapping things up, moving clumsily onto a different story while the boys are ushered out of the studio. Louis is in shock, can't find any words to say—to Harry or to anybody, his throat seized up in utter panic. Harry reaches around his waist, squeezing his side, and even though Louis is furious with him he can't shake him off, dazed.

"I'm sorry, Lou," Harry mutters in his ear, leaning right in, lips brushing Louis's skin. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

They're hurried out through a back entrance, and just the thought of all the fans waiting outside the front of the studio makes Louis want to throw up—what are they all thinking? All the people sitting at home, watching the interview as they eat their breakfast—how could Harry do this? The boys are herded into a car and driven straight to management's headquarters, and Louis can't take anything in, his mind and his heart racing, and Harry keeps nuzzling his neck and whispering apologies like a mantra, taking his clammy hand and squeezing, squeezing, offering reassurance that Louis knows will never take.

***
Management seem to think that if there's no way to go back on this, they're going to take it to the extreme, make the absolute best of the situation that they can. In a way, Harry's surprised he's not in more trouble, but he supposes there's not much they can do—they're not going to fire him, so they just have to try and twist this situation favourably somehow.

The boys are given a story to tell, told that Harry and Louis have only been together for three months—"That means the relationship began in August; remember that, please," says Jonathan with a pointed look at Louis, who's always struggled to remember his and Eleanor's supposed anniversary. Eleanor, they're told, will continue to be presented as Louis's girlfriend, or ex now. Louis had to tweet something soppy to her just a couple of days ago so they can't pretend like they broke up a while ago without telling anyone, he'll have to say he's been cheating on her. Apparently it's better for the fans to believe that Louis was lying to her than to them—management is horrified at the idea of the fans knowing the whole truth, knowing just how long Harry and Louis have been faking for.

"It'll be a little easier to take, if it's just a few months," Sara explains.

"I already said we'd been together a long time," Harry says flatly. Of course he feels bad for the fans, but shouldn't they understand that this isn't his or Louis's fault? If it could all be explained, wouldn't they listen? It's almost like management is more worried for themselves than anything else, more willing to make Louis look bad and it's ridiculous, because isn't the band the most important thing? He wonders if this is a plan they've had in place for a while, in case of emergencies, but it seems a hell of a lot more like something cobbled together in a hurry as far as Harry's concerned.

"Well, we'll just have to hope that people think you consider three months a long time, won't we?" says Sara, a little snappily. "Shouldn't be too much of a stretch, seeing as they've never known you to have a relationship last as long as that."

Harry seethes quietly, thinking about how none of those relationships were even real, that their timeframes were decided—by and large—by Sara herself. But Louis is taking it all in, obviously making little mental notes of all the details, making sure he keeps the story straight. It drives Harry crazy—how can he not want to just tell the truth, finally, now that they have the chance? He knows Louis is scared and he understands that, and he's still sick with guilt over outing them without giving Louis a choice in the matter, but now—now it's done, and he still wants to hide.

None of the others fight back against the blatant lies, either, just listen quietly so that they know the "official story." Jonathan tells them to call their families and close friends so that they know it too, so that they don't give anything away in case nosy journalists come knocking. They're sent home then, and Louis takes his phone out immediately once they're in the car, but Liam snatches it out of his hand.

"I need to call my Mum," Louis says in a weak voice, and Harry knows that telling her the official story isn't the main thing on his mind, knows he wants to speak to her for comfort, out of panic.

"Well, I'm not letting you check Twitter," says Liam, switching the phone off and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

Zayn catches his drift, stuffing his hand into the pocket of Harry's jeans to pull out his phone too. When they reach home, after a journey spent in tense silence, the others march right up to Harry and Louis's flat with them, heading in and gathering up their laptops. Harry can understand it; he knows the temptation to go online would be too strong otherwise. It didn't matter so much when the photo leaked, it was just the usual speculation and arguing that they could brush off, but this—he knows this is going to be different.

"We'll give you them back later," murmurs Liam, pulling Harry close. "Just—leave it for a bit, okay? We don't know what kind of things people will be saying."

Zayn and Niall join in the hug, and Louis is standing leaning against the wall by the door, picking at his lips, staring into space.

"C'mon, Lou," Harry says softly, reaching out, and Louis lets himself be tugged into the huddle, buries his face in Zayn's shoulder.

Liam holds them all tight. "I'm so sorry. We'll get through this," he promises.

It seems so quiet when they leave, empty, and Harry almost wants them to come right back because he doesn't know how to deal with this, doesn't know how to get Louis to understand how sorry he is. Louis won't understand how something like that could have slipped out, because he keeps it locked up tight so deep inside him, covered thickly with lies.

"I'm gonna call Mum," Louis says, breaking the silence. Harry gives him his space, but he can hear his voice coming from his bedroom, growing increasingly hysterical and then going very quiet, and Harry is afraid that he's crying and he wants to go in there, hold him tight and kiss his tears away and promise to make it better—but he doesn't know how.

Eventually the silence lasts so long that Harry assumes the call must have ended, so he slips into Louis's bedroom and finds him just sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Lou," Harry says quietly, his heart aching. He doesn't know what else to say.

"It doesn't matter, it's too late now," Louis says, a little sharply.

Harry goes over, hesitantly, perches next to him and puts his arm over his shoulder. Louis doesn't shrug him off, but it's—it's never been like this, he's never felt like he has to treat Louis delicately, because Louis never shows his vulnerability quite like this, even with Harry. Even when he's cried in front of the others, they've been able to tell that he's holding back, that he was choosing to show his emotions at that moment rather than letting them get the better of him. It's only a handful of times in their entire relationship that he's really shown that he's upset, and it's not enough for Harry to know how to deal with it. Louis is a loose cannon when he's emotional, no one ever knows what to expect—he could cry or scream or get violent, or retreat into himself, making bitchy comments for weeks before admitting that anything is wrong. But he never does this, this defeated pure misery, like he's so distressed he can't even gather the energy to pretend otherwise.

"We can be great," Harry murmurs into Louis's neck. "We can—we can make a difference. We can show all the kids out there that this is okay, that this is—"

"Harry..." Louis says in a small voice, and Harry knows that this is too much for him to think about right now, too big.

The day is spent calling people, and it's awful to have to do it but Harry knows that it's going to be so much worse if they don't. He tells the story over and over, listens to Louis doing the same, hearing his voice crack as he explains. Harry cooks a fry-up for them for lunch, and Louis says he isn't hungry but eats it anyway, in silence, foot tapping against the leg of the table the whole time. They curl up on the sofa together, try and watch some TV, but it's obvious that Louis can't concentrate—he won't stop fidgeting. Harry pulls him close and tries to hold him still, pleads, "Talk to me," but Louis won't, can't.

In the evening Harry cooks again, and then Louis takes a shower while Harry lies in bed, waiting for him to be done so he can hold him again, tell him again how it's going to be just fine. He rolls over, feels something hard against his stomach and fishes out Louis's iPod Touch from under the covers, the headphones still in from last night. They all forgot about it, and he can't resist, has to check Twitter—the main worry on his mind all day has been, what are people thinking? What are people saying? And he knows he shouldn't, but he needs to know; they can't hide from the public reaction forever.

There are five trending topics relating to the issue. His and Louis's names, first of all, and then larry is real, and he doesn't quite know what to make of that, doesn't know if it's positive or negative. The others, the hashtags, are clearer—#worstdayever and his stomach flips when he sees that, and #getbackinthecloset just beneath it. Before he knows what he's doing, he's clicking, scrolling through page after page of reactions, and he can't help but focus on the negative ones, the angry ones, the betrayal and the hurt and the outright viciousness of broken-hearted, bitter teenage girls. In between, there are occasional cries of triumph, people claiming that they knew all along, and it doesn't make Harry feel any better. It almost feels like mockery.

"What are you doing?" comes Louis's voice suddenly, and Harry's head jerks up to see Louis standing in the doorway. "Let me see," he demands, coming over and clambering onto the bed beside him.

Harry presses the iPod screen-down against his chest. "No," he says.

"Harry, let me see," Louis says more firmly, reaching for it.

"Lou, let's just go to bed," Harry pleads, but he's flustered and upset and Louis manages to grab the iPod off him. Harry stares, helpless, as Louis's eyes scan the page and quickly begin to well up.

Harry snuggles close to him, curves his body alongside Louis's as close as he can get, kissing his shoulder. "They're idiots," he promises fiercely, reminding himself just as much as Louis, "they don't know, Lou, they just—"

Suddenly Louis's arm flies out and he throws the iPod across the room, lets it hit the wall. Harry's body jolts and for a second he's frightened, afraid that Louis is going to yell at him, take out all his anger on him for making this happen—but then Louis is curling into him instead, suffocatingly close, hiding his face in Harry's chest and sobbing, open and honest like Harry's never seen before, and he can feel his tears soaking through his t-shirt, and he feels useless and rotten and all he can do is cradle the back of Louis's head and let him cry, murmuring desperate helpless things, shushing him and telling him it's going to be okay—but he's not sure he even believes himself anymore.

***
The next morning Louis checks Twitter again because he can't help it; he wants to know if anything's changed since last night, hoping against hope that there'll be more optimism this time. There isn't, as far as he can see, but he quickly gathers from his feed that the band's official website has been updated, and he clicks on over there to see a post from management. It's only brief, just affirming what Harry said yesterday, asking for support in these "difficult times," and reminding the fans to treat the boys' families and Eleanor with respect. It also adds that there will be an article about the matter in next week's issue of Hello! magazine, and Louis hates how it sounds like they're urging people to read all the sordid details.

The interview is set up for this very morning, because management are fucking quick with this, wanting to do as much damage control as they can, and because the media is hungry for it, all desperate to get their greedy paws on the story. Louis doesn't think he can handle it; the thought of actually discussing this, with some clueless reporter just eager for the gossip—it makes him feel sick with anxiety, twisting in his belly. He barely slept last night and can't eat this morning—Harry tries to force him to have some cereal at least but just the thought of eating makes him want to throw up.

"I'll do all the talking if you want," Harry promises, cuddling him close in the car.

But they both hesitate when they're asked how long they've been a couple, just because it's so fucking strange to have a reporter refer, in very clear terms, to the one topic that's been completely off-limits for longer than Louis can even remember now. And it makes Louis uncomfortable, so uncomfortable, to have this strange man suddenly asking about what was—until very recently—Louis's biggest secret. And Harry's dithering and it's making Louis agitated, because Harry's supposed to be doing the talking, and before Louis even knows what he's doing, he's speaking.

"Go on, Harry," he says, nudging Harry with his elbow. "You outed us on live telly, I think you can handle a simple question."

It kind of sounds like harmless teasing, but—not really, because it's bitter, and Louis didn't even mean to say it, it just slipped out; he doesn't know how to handle this situation because the whole thing makes him feel so vulnerable and when he feels vulnerable he does everything in his power to hide it, even if that means lashing out. He uses his quick wit as a shield, but the more he feels like he needs it the nastier it gets.

"Don't put that in," says Sara sharply. She's supervising the interview because it's like they can't be trusted now, everybody's scared that they'll screw this up and give too much away. The journalist looks bemused but nods, scribbling something down on his notepad.

"So, er," he says awkwardly, trying to get back on track, "how long—?"

"Uh, about three months now."

Harry speaks over him, and it sounds clumsy and not genuine at all. Louis is the better liar of the two of them, by far. Harry is better, though, at everything else, at discussing their concerns about the fan reaction, and how wonderfully supportive their families and the other lads have been, and even answering the personal questions about how their relationship began while Louis's hands clench into fists.

Louis stays mostly quiet. Every time he tries to open his mouth, what he says comes out harsh and odd and sometimes spiteful. He keeps making jokes about things that he knows they shouldn't joke about, things that aren't even funny, and whenever he tries to direct a comment to Harry it comes out barbed and almost vicious and he's not doing it on purpose, it just happens. The interviewer is clearly uncomfortable, fidgeting with the dictaphone, and Sara has to tell him three times not to print something Louis's said.

The interviewer does not mention Louis's quietness, perhaps sensitive to it, but of course the subject of Eleanor has to come up sooner or later. Louis feels that twist of nerves in his gut again as he tries to look into the journalist's curious eyes, and focus on what management told him, and not make any more fucking jokes because this, this is serious. He's pretending he's been lying to his girlfriend, cheating on her, and he doesn't want to make any of it sound flippant. They need the fans to forgive him.

"I—I'm not proud," he says, and his voice sounds uncharacteristically shaky. "It's—it's awful, really, and I feel awful about it, she's—she's a lovely girl and she didn't deserve—" He makes shit up all the time, why is this so hard? He just keeps thinking about Eleanor, about how she's known right from the start, about how her entire job revolves around knowing, and keeping secrets, and how he has nothing to feel guilty about when it comes to her.

"We would never, ever encourage infidelity," Harry jumps in, seeing Louis falter. "There's no excuse for it, so we're not going to try and make one. We want the fans to know that."

And Louis is grateful and jealous at the same time—he's so glad that at least one of them knows what to say but he just wishes it were him. He's not used to feeling so out of his depth like this, having nothing to hide behind.

***
As soon as they've wound up the interview, security come in and tell them that the building's surrounded by people, that someone must have seen them going in and the word has spread. Louis swears, kicking the leg of the table, and Harry steels himself, standing up and holding out his hand. Louis takes it, reluctantly, but as they get closer to the door his grip gets weaker and he lets go before they head outside.

"Lou," Harry says softly, reaching for it again, and Louis snatches it away. Harry grabs and holds on tight, because he knows Louis needs this, knows he's just scared—and this time Louis doesn't fight it.

There are actually fewer people than Harry was expecting, but it's still far too many. At first all he can see is paparazzi, their cameras clicking and snapping, and they're surrounded by the sound of yelling and screaming. None of it's new but suddenly it feels it, with Louis's hand sweating in his and everything they've just said to the press still going around in Harry's head. Everyone's eyes are on their interlocked fingers, and security is trying to hold people back and let the boys through, and Louis has his head hung low like he can't even bear to look at what they're facing.

As they move through the crowd Harry suddenly hears a shout, a clear female voice amongst the barrage of questions that all blur together, and his blood runs red-hot. He turns wildly, spots two teenage girls amongst the paparazzi and drags Louis over, shouldering off security's attempts to hold him back.

"What did you say?" Harry snaps.

"Nothing," says the blonde girl, giggling and looking a little taken-aback by his outburst.

"What did you say?" Harry repeats, anger and impatience quickly welling up inside him. He wants to hear them admit it.

"She said 'hi, faggots,'" says the redhead quietly, and the blonde one elbows her sharply in the ribs, hissing her name, but Harry barely even hears.

He steps a little closer to the two of them, squeezing Louis's hand more tightly. "Don't say that," he says, keeping his voice as low and calm as he can manage. "Ever. To anyone. All right?" The blonde one giggles again, more nervously this time, and Harry adds in an undertone, "I'm not kidding."

"S-sorry," blurts the redhead, and, linking her arm through her friend's, she drags her away, off up the street.

The paparazzi are still yelling, bombarding them with questions about their families and Eleanor, things they've just been asked in the interview but so much worse because they're being shouted at deafening volume and every few seconds there's a blinding camera flash, and it's overwhelming even for Harry so he can't imagine how Louis feels. All he can do is hold his hand, tight, like they've never been allowed to in public before, and let all these middle-aged men with their zoom lenses get a good long look.

Security push ahead and Harry and Louis follow, and beyond all the paparazzi they can see more fans—teenage girls staring fixedly at the boys' linked hands, snapping photos on their phones and talking a mile a minute and Harry can't even tell if it's positive or negative or somewhere in between, if maybe they just needed to see it for themselves. Near the back of the crowd, getting jostled by the girls, Harry spots a young boy, maybe fifteen or so—he always zeros in on the guys right away because it's rare for them to see male fans—and he notices that he's clutching a copy of their CD in shaky hands like maybe wants them to sign it. But security guide them right on past, and Harry can tell that Louis doesn't even see the boy standing quietly at the back, thanking them with his eyes, lost in the shuffle.

When they finally get home, Louis crawls straight back into bed. Harry knows how much this is bothering him—not just the violent, intrusive chaos of it all but the way he's reacting to it, the extent to which it's getting to him. He's taking it out on Harry, and that hurts, but Harry can understand it—knows that on some level he deserves it for causing all of this in the first place (though he doesn't regret it, at least not so far). It's how Louis deals, when he's upset. He tries so fucking hard to hide it, covering it with jokes and teasing. And when it's serious it'll be more pointed and unpleasant, he'll focus in on somebody in particular and get cruel. All the boys have figured it out by now and they try not to let it get to them, because it's just a defence mechanism and he doesn't truly mean it, but—this is different. Harry knows that this time, a certain part of him does.

But that just means Louis needs Harry's support and reassurance more than ever right now. Needs to know that Harry isn't against him in this, that he's here and he's sorry and he's going to be right by his side through all of it. He's not the enemy.

"You were great," Harry murmurs, slipping into bed beside Louis now. He's tired himself, emotionally exhausted as well as physically, and it feels good to slide under the covers and curl up close alongside Louis's warm body. "You were so great." He kisses Louis's shoulder. Louis is facing away from him.

"You were so much better," says Louis quickly, voice cracking.

2/3

as loud as lions (2/3). harry/louis, pg-13.

2012-05-19T16:47:00Z

See header post for more details.

(1/3) (3/3)

Louis stays in for the most part after that. Every time he leaves the house he gets swarmed by paparazzi and fans and people he doesn't even want to call fans anymore because the things they say are so cruel that they leave him speechless. He only ever goes out with Harry, feeling safer that way, but it's a double-edged sword and he can't help wondering if he'd attract less attention if he went alone. The worst part is that he doesn't think he's forgiven Harry yet. Sometimes he thinks he has, and then there's another shouted slur or a shove from a stranger in the supermarket, and he can't help but think that if Harry had kept his mouth shut they wouldn't be here. They wouldn't have to deal with this.

But he needs him. He clings to him, because Harry is handling it so well. He knows when to ignore the comments, when it's obviously just delusional young girls who thought they were going to marry one of the boys one day, and when it's something more harmful and dangerous, something Harry need to speak up against. And it's confusing, because Louis is so grateful and so in awe of him, and yet at the same time there's this bitter resentment simmering under the surface that he can't ignore. Harry will hold his hand even if there are cameras surrounding them, and Louis hates it and loves it at the same time—it makes him feel so exposed, but safer too.

Things get a little better with the magazine's release because at least now people have some answers to their questions, but it seems to make people think they're entitled to even more information now, like everything concerning the boys' relationship is up for grabs. And then there are the fans who can tell it's mostly bullshit, the fans who pick holes in the story and demand to know the real truth. Louis stays inside more and more and Harry braves the public on his own, going out and doing their shopping and errands and handling it all so well. It rattles him, of course, and he looks worn-out when he gets back home and often goes quiet, sloping off to be alone—but he can cope with it, and that's the important thing. That's what Louis can't do.

Of course it's not all bad, but even the good stuff is stressful sometimes. There's so much pressure, suddenly, from the LGBT side of things; they want Harry and Louis to be representatives and now it seems like everywhere they go they're being asked for their opinions on political matters. Harry embraces it, wearing his 'Love is Equal' t-shirt far more often now, showing his pride. Officially, they've both come out as bisexual—the true details of Harry's sexuality were deemed "too complicated" by management, and of course Louis can't be gay when they need the public to believe that his relationship with Eleanor was real. And in a way that's okay, because Louis doesn't think he's ready to come out fully yet, doesn't know if he could handle the fan reaction—it seems bad enough already. But he doesn't feel comfortable in the LGBT community if he's still technically lying, still feeding into society's homophobia, and so he has to distance himself from it, and that makes people angry. It seems like no matter what they do, they're upsetting someone.

As time passes, they receive more positive comments. It still doesn't come close to reaching the same volume as the outrage, but it seems like the supportive people are quieter, understanding, and maybe a little bit scared themselves. They approach Harry, mostly—they seem unsure of Louis still, because he's been so tight-lipped about the issue—and every now and then Harry will come home from somewhere a little emotional, and he'll tell Louis about a gay teen who stopped him in the street and thanked him. They still check Twitter, too, and though the majority of their messages are still truly horrible they're getting better at ignoring those, and there will be some gems of support, the occasional trending topic reminding them to stay strong. Larry Fans Have Your Back trends for several hours the day their Hello! issue comes out, and Harry actually cries as the two of them scroll through the related Tweets.

But then, #cheatersarecowards trends too. Louis tries to ignore it—it doesn't even apply to him in reality—but knowing that so many people are judging them for something they haven't even done is so frustrating. Management says it's necessary, that they just can't risk exposing how much fakery goes on in this industry, but it seems unfair that it has to be at Louis's expense, and Harry's—people attack him too, for starting something with Louis in full knowledge that he was still with Eleanor. Harry says it just shows how dumb management is, if they really thought it was a good idea to add even more reason for the fans to turn against the boys. He tries to keep them both strong by telling Louis that one day, even if it's in ten years when they're no longer relevant, they'll get to tell the whole truth. (And Louis wonders how he can say ten years with such certainty, when Louis feels like everything they've worked so hard for is about to fall apart in a single month.)

It's just that none of this is predictable, it's so overwhelming and it's like a rollercoaster—every time Louis is feeling a little better, something comes along to tear him down again, and it can be the slightest thing, just one nasty comment he stumbles across on a Sugarscape article, or something bigger, like hearing that one of his sisters is getting bullied at school now because everyone knows her brother's dating a boy. That's what hurts the most, he thinks, the way that all of this extends so much further than it ever has, that their families and friends and even vague acquaintances are having to deal with the cruelty and viciousness of the public. Reporters keep trying to get exclusive interviews from their parents, and fans hover around outside their homes, shouting, taking out their anger and disappointment on the boys' families.

Eleanor is facing troubles too, always being stopped in the street and asked if she ever suspected Louis was cheating on her, getting barrages of Tweets telling her she should have known and that she was an idiot not to see it. The fans aren't so cruel to her but they're mocking and it seems just as bad, and she's so frustrated by it, calling Louis a few times to rant to him about how much it sucks that they can't just tell the truth.

"Just, whatever you do, don't do one of them shitty tell-all interviews in a gossip rag," jokes Louis, trying to cheer her up. "I Didn't Know My Boyfriend Was Gay, or something like that."

"Oh please," says Eleanor. She laughs, but she sounds stressed and tired, and Louis hates how much this is affecting everyone; it makes him feel so guilty even though he knows deep down they haven't done anything wrong. (He knows it, but he has to keep saying it to himself anyway, repeating it over and over in his head.)

***
Management want the two of them to make more public appearances, don't want to give the impression that they're hiding away or that the band is going to be less active now. It's convenient, perhaps, that all of this has happened during a quiet period, a bit of downtime—but Harry wonders if it might've been nice to have the distraction of touring at the same time, and a more immediate way of judging the fan reaction. The MSG concert isn't for a while, still, and they've got a signing set up a few days before it but it all seems so far away to Harry.

They attend a movie premiere together, their first official outing as a couple, and it feels strange to go without the others. It's almost like the band has been split in two, now, it's "the couple" and "the other three" and Harry doesn't like it; the five of them are a unit, always have been and always should be, even if the media's focus wants to separate them neatly. The others are pretty much getting sidelined by management, actually, not allowed to mention the boys' relationship at all. None of them really understand it—they get hassled in the street and online just as much as anyone else who has the slightest connection to Harry and Louis, and it seems like it might be better if they were allowed to speak up about it but they're not.

At the premiere, Harry and Louis do a couple of red carpet interviews and Louis is sarcastic and self-deprecating to an almost uncomfortable degree. They pose for photos, and Louis is tense, shrugging away from Harry's arm around him—and it's not even any different from how they've been photographed before, and paparazzi have amassed several pictures of them holding hands by now, but there's something about the statement of it, the reality, the knowledge that now every slightest touch means something. Now everyone sees it what it truly is, when before they could hide behind the guise of intense friendship and simple tactility. Harry accidentally comes across some of the photos online later, and people have noticed how awkward they look together, already speculating that perhaps they're going to break up.

A couple of days later there's a phone interview with Nick Grimshaw and that goes a lot better—it's so lovely to have Nick speaking out in support of them on Radio One, telling them how brave they are and how he's really rooting for them. Nick has known about their relationship for a long time, and even though he's not allowed to admit that on air, Louis is much more relaxed speaking to an old friend, someone he doesn't fear is judging him.

But Louis still can't cope with it all, not really. He's wildly unpredictable lately—even more so than usual—and Harry has to walk on eggshells because he doesn't know how to judge Louis's moods. It's never been easy anyway, because Louis is an enigma even at the best of times, but this has sent him into some sort of breakdown and he will veer wildly from one emotion to the next. In the public eye he still feels so exposed and Harry can't stand it, the way he'll freeze up in front of the paparazzi and sometimes the reporters too. He's never like that, usually. He's always been able to mock people for their stupid or nosy questions, barely giving it a second thought, putting up his defences in an instinctive split-second. But this—this is different. Every time it's mentioned by a stranger it's like they're stripping Louis bare, leaving him with nothing to hide behind. Of course Harry wants him to open up, but not like this, not when he's being forced to, not when strangers are doing it for him, peeling back his layers and prying.

And sometimes Louis will spend hours on end just moping, wandering listlessly around the flat, barely eating and unable to really concentrate on anything. He'll cling to Harry, needy, telling him not to go out. He'll just want comfort at those times, want to curl up together in bed or on the sofa, have Harry pet and stroke at him soothingly and hold him close and not talk unless it's to tell him everything's going to be okay. But it can all turn around in mere minutes and he'll snap, push Harry away, shout at him about how it's all his fucking fault in the first place. Then he'll storm out, go to Zayn's for a bit until he calms down (and he'll invariably not mention any of it again when he comes back, sidling back in all false smiles like everything's fine). Sometimes he'll just needle Harry, making little hurtful remarks all day long until Harry's the one who loses it, demanding to know what his problem is.

"What do you fucking think?" Louis will scream back, raw emotion bursting out of him, and Harry can't stand it, can't stand knowing that he's caused this, that no matter which way he tries to look at it, Louis's hurt is because of him. He tells himself sometimes that this would have happened sooner or later but he knows, knows it's worse that he did it the way he did, without Louis's permission. He knows it feels like a betrayal and he knows that Louis's trying to forgive him but that a part of him can't let go, because none of this is over, because every time someone calls them fags or Tweets at them about how let down they feel, it's like opening the wound up all over again. It can't heal, not like this.

It's getting to them. Harry knew it would. He's tried so hard to be the strong one, to take all of this in his stride, and for the most part he manages it, because he's been ready for this for a long time and there's no nagging fear or worry in the back of his mind that they might have done something wrong after all. No, he loves Louis and sometimes he's so proud of it that a part of him wants to talk about it all day long, wants to answer all those intrusive questions that get shouted at him on the street. Because sometimes it doesn't even matter to him that no one has the right to know—Harry's had to keep his mouth shut for so fucking long that he just wants to say it, say everything finally, tell that stranger about the first time Louis kissed him, tell that interviewer about the first time they had sex, tell that paparazzo about the way Louis still can't stop his face from lighting up whenever Harry says I love you.

And it's so hard to put up with it, to carry all of this on his back—to have to shut up and lie when they've finally been given a taste of what it could be like if they were truly honest instead, and to keep fighting against the idiots that act like he's the worst person on earth for loving who he does, and to try and be so strong for everybody. He has to try to sense out Louis's moods and it seems to be getting harder and harder; there's no pattern where there used to be. He no longer knows when he's supposed to give Louis space, if he should respond to the yelling with silence or with kisses, or whether Louis will welcome Harry's hand down the front of his sweatpants or slap it away.

He tries so hard to do the absolute best that he can, to give Louis whatever he seems to need, but it's just getting so difficult to tell these days and Louis won't talk to him about it. Whenever Harry tries to get him to, he clams up even more like Harry is one of those prying strangers, and it's like a physical ache in Harry's chest because he feels like they're being torn apart by this and that's the one thing he thought would never happen, could never happen.

His Mum suggests he come back home for a little while, and at first Harry is completely against the idea because how could it help to leave Louis, now? To willingly separate themselves when they're already being pulled further and further from each other as it is? But his Mum says it's probably what they need, that the stress of it all is getting to them and they're taking it out on each other and maybe they need a few days to cool off. Harry relents eventually. Part of him wants it, anyway, a guilty part—Louis is driving him mad and just because he deserves it doesn't mean it's pleasant. And he's worried for his family anyway, knows they're still getting hassled and maybe that won't exactly ease off if he goes up to Holmes Chapel and joins them but at least he can help them fight back.

Louis utterly freaks out when Harry tells him the plan. Harry has been supporting the two of them for days now, Louis barely leaving the house anymore. Harry always does all the housework anyway but now he's doing all the errands as well and he does worry that things will completely fall apart without him. At first Louis is angry but it quickly slips into pure panic, and he nestles his face in Harry's shoulder and mutters "Don't leave me," in a voice so desperate that it makes Harry feels sick with guilt.

"Just for a few days," he promises, voice rough as he strokes Louis gently, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I think we need it. Your Mum can come stay, right, 'til I come back? Call her and see if she will? Or you could have the others round every night or go round to theirs so you're not alone."

The suggestions seem to calm Louis down a little, though Harry knows that what Louis really needs is him and it won't be quite the same, won't be good enough. Harry's the only one Louis really believes when he says that things are going to get better, the only one who can soothe him with sex when he's panicking, the only one who can hold him close under the covers until everything stops spinning.

But it's a struggle even for Harry these days.

Jay can only get away from work for a couple of days and Harry is planning to be gone for five, but Louis has quickly turned around on his initial alarm at the idea of being left alone and now assures Harry he'll be fine, and—god, Harry can't stand it, can't stand not knowing what's going on in Louis's head. He's always had at least some idea and lately he just feels like he's floundering, like he can't even begin to predict Louis's reaction to anything. He accepts this, though, glad to think that Louis is at least willing to try and cope—or pretending to himself that he is, which is still something.

But on the day that Harry's planning to leave Louis's mood swings once again and he won't leave Harry alone while he's packing, making stupid snide comments and riling Harry up until he can't fucking take it anymore. He tries so hard just to keep his mouth shut when Louis does this, not to rise to it because he really doesn't want them to fight, but sometimes he can't help it. He doesn't have a proper outlet for his emotions because he's supposed to be the strong one, everyone's fussing over Louis and Harry's not allowed to break down as well because one of them needs to cope. He's had late-night Skype chats with Gemma and calls to his Mum and stepdad that have lasted hours and he's cried at least twice on Zayn and Niall by now, but it's not fair that Louis is allowed to be a mess around him and Harry has to stay stoic and calm.

"You could at least just say how you actually feel," he snaps at Louis as he tugs his suitcase down the stairs, following him into the living room, "if you're mad at me just fucking say why."

Because Louis always seems to do that, starts in at Harry about something completely insignificant just because it's easier for him to pretend that's what's bothering him, so he doesn't have to admit the real reason.

"You know why!" Louis shouts back at him, throwing himself onto the sofa and crossing his arms like a petulant child. And yeah, that's the thing, Harry does know, and Louis's let up his guard a few times now and said what he really thinks, which is why it's so fucking stupid that he still seems to think he's clinging onto some kind of cover. Like Harry doesn't know how upset he really is. It's delusional and it makes Harry feel like Louis doesn't trust him.

"So stop hiding behind excuses!" Harry cries, and he can feel the anger boiling up in his blood just looking at Louis sitting there acting like he's done nothing wrong, like he's some victim of Harry's deliberate cruelty. He keeps going before he can stop himself. "Just stop hiding full stop—hiding how you feel, hiding from the world, hiding in the fucking closet—"

He knows he's gone too far as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Louis's head jerks up and his mouth opens, like he can't believe Harry would even say that, and for a moment Harry sees it, sees how much he's hurt him; the pain is all over his face like he's been slapped and Harry feels awful, but in a split-second Louis gathers himself, builds his walls back up.

"That's rich coming from the person who dragged me out," he snaps. "Not everyone wants to go around flaunting it, do they? Maybe I want to keep it private instead of shoving it in people's faces all the time with t-shirts and fucking bumper stickers. You're not some kind of saint, Harry, just because you've given a few little lesbians a cuddle and told some reporters you support gay marriage. Jesus."

Harry clenches his fists. He knows that's not how Louis really feels and it's so frustrating, the way he keeps dodging the real issue. "You can pretend it's not jealousy if you want, but I know you wish you could go out there and face everyone the way I do every day."

Louis sneers at him. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Shut up, alright?" Harry bursts out, the fury really rising in him now. "Don't act like it's so easy, you don't even do it! I'm the one who's having to put up with it all the time, for both of us, and you get to stay here and avoid it all just because you're scared. Do you think I'm not scared, Lou?" His voice cracks, softens. "I'm scared as shit but I know it's not going to get any better if I just hide under my duvet all day."

Louis's face goes hard; it looks like a conscious effort to avoid letting Harry see that he's upset. "It's funny how you think you've got the right to criticise how I'm dealing with this when I wouldn't have to deal with it at all if you hadn't outed us in the first place." He says it almost airily, like he's trying to sound offhand.

"There we go," Harry sighs. He's glad they've finally got there; now maybe they can talk this out instead of just carrying on with the avoidance. Louis's admitted it before, of course, but it's always been in a sudden explosion of emotion and then he's panicked at the idea of actually going into it, and stormed out before Harry could get any further. Harry goes over to the sofa, slides in to perch on the coffee table, and speaks softly. "I've said I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do. I can't take it back."

"I know that," Louis scoffs. "That's why it's pointless trying to talk about it. It's not gonna change anything."

Harry had gone calm, but at Louis's words he feels the anger trickling back in. "Then you've got to stop punishing me for it," he says tightly. "That's not gonna change anything either."

"No, but you fucking deserve it," Louis mutters, kicking at the coffee table, his arms still tightly folded. He's not looking at Harry at all.

"I made a mistake!" Harry shouts. "I'm not saying you have to forgive me completely but I can't live with you like this, you're making me crazy." He doesn't even mean it to come out so harsh, but it does.

"It's not easy for me either," Louis bites out. "Having to be around you all the time when you're the one who's caused all this."

"It's a good thing I'm going, then, isn't it?" He'd almost forgotten, but it all comes back to him now, that he's going to be leaving, gone for five whole days. He has to get going pretty much now actually, but he can't just walk out on Louis when they're still fighting. He leans forward, putting a tentative hand on Louis's knee, but Louis jerks, shaking him off. "Lou," he says gently, "I'm not trying to attack you, I just—I can't do this. I don't know what you want from me."

"If me being a bit difficult is your biggest problem, you're lucky," Louis says bitterly. "Try and imagine how I feel for once."

Harry is speechless for a moment, so stunned by how little they're understanding each other, and it provokes his temper again, he can't help it. Louis just doesn't fucking see how much Harry's doing for him.

"That's all I do these days," he almost snarls. "You don't even get how hard I'm trying."

Louis sets his jaw, looks up at Harry defiantly. "You wanted this to happen, so fucking deal with it."

They go round in circles, each of them getting more and more aggravated as the fight goes on. It's probably one of the worst they've ever had, because they're not holding back, because Harry physically can't anymore. Everything he's been trying to keep locked inside, all the rage, just explodes up out of him and it comes out brutal. Louis is even worse and neither of them can rein it in, not until they're both hoarse and exhausted and their faces are wet with tears. And that's when Harry realises how late he is, that his Mum is going to worry if he doesn't set off right now.

"I don't want to leave it like this," he says brokenly, trying to pull Louis towards him even though a part of him is still seething, wanting to shove him away instead.

Louis shrugs him off, turns his back on him, heading upstairs without looking back. "No, whatever," he says, and it hurts how well he can do that, make his voice sound like he doesn't give a shit, so easily when Harry feels like his feelings are written all over him, obvious in everything, in the way he talks and moves and the look on his face. "Just go, I don't care."

"I know you do," Harry says weakly, but he feels like he's assuring himself more than anything, and he doesn't follow Louis up, just stands there and watches until Louis is out of view.

And then he wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, gets his suitcase and his keys, and leaves.

***
It's awful without Harry. His Mum makes it a little better, helping out around the flat and looking after him, but it's just not the same. Harry's absence is like a constant ache and Louis keeps thinking about all the things he said, and the worst thing is that he knows he meant all of them. When they were screaming at each other he really wanted Harry to leave, but now that he's gone Louis can't stand it.

His Mum keeps telling him he just needs to stick it out, that when Harry comes back they'll kiss and make up and everything will be fine. They just need a bit of time apart, she assures him. She tries to get him to go out for dinner with her on her last night there but he won't; he can just imagine them getting hounded in the restaurant and it's bad enough that he and Harry have to put up with that, he won't inflict it on her too.

After she leaves, the flat seems even more empty, and he knows he should probably pop round to one of the others' for some company but he just wants to mope instead, sit around and wallow in his own gloom. There are leftovers in the fridge, meals Harry made for them before he went away, but looking at them just reminds Louis of him and so he decides to live off Pot Noodles and cereal instead.

On his last night alone, Liam shows up at the door.

"You need to go out, Lou," he says.

"Not really," Louis shrugs. "Harry always shops like he's preparing for the apocalypse; we've got tons of food. I could probably survive for a good few months like this."

He tries a grin, but Liam just looks at him with sad, sympathetic eyes.

It's complicated with Liam. He's the one Louis's stayed in touch with the least, the one whose calls he's ignored the most. It's not fair and he knows it, because Liam isn't really to blame. Liam didn't go out and sell the photo to the papers, he just took it because his best friends were in love and seeing them kiss made him happy. And the thing is, Louis's the one who persuaded him to keep it in the first place. Liam's had his email account hacked before so he was wary, but Louis really couldn't bear the thought of the photo being deleted and lost forever. It's so rare for him and Harry to have any real mementos of their relationship. Their Mums have some photos taken with a film camera, the two of them snuggling at various family gatherings, but it's always seemed so risky to have anything more, anything digital. And Liam's the sensible one, and so Louis thought it would be okay and made him keep it. He used to sneak Liam's phone out of his pocket sometimes when he wasn't paying attention, just to look at the picture, to see the way he and Harry look in private, so happy with each other, not having to hold anything back. It was the worst feeling in the world to see that picture on Jonathan's computer and to realise it was being viewed on millions of screens around the world. It was so intimate, so fucking special to him, and now it's tainted.

And maybe that's the worst part, the fact that he knows he ought to be blaming himself just as much as he blames Liam. He knows, if he's really honest with himself, that Liam probably would have deleted it in a moment if Louis hadn't encouraged him not to. But it's easier to blame someone else, someone who's not just a nameless faceless hacker, and there's something that just keeps nagging at him with Liam, like it does with Harry, that feeling of you caused this that he can't shake. And when Liam looks at him with that worried, guilty face it makes him almost angry, because a part of him is glad that Liam's suffering but another part (a much bigger part) can't stand it, can't stand that they all have to be hurting and mad at each other because of something that somebody else started.

"I'm going to take you clubbing," says Liam, kind of decisively, though there's a slight note of questioning in his voice like he's not sure if it's okay to take charge like this. Louis knows that's his way of dealing with things, though; it's like taking their phones and laptops away, taking control of the situation in any way he can that will make him feel better.

"You hate clubbing," is Louis's response.

"Yeah, but you like it, so we're going," Liam says. "Get your jacket on. Oh, and I guess some proper trousers would be a good idea."

"What you trying to say?" Louis retorts, still trying to go for the jovial approach. "Height of fashion, these."

Louis is wearing pyjama bottoms and has been for about three days now. He was sitting in front of the TV watching reruns of Mock The Week when Liam showed up, and though a part of him wants to go right back to the warm comfort of the sofa, he is starting to go a little stir crazy and he misses going out, misses the fun of it, the loud music and the noise and the lights.

"Come on, let's get going," Liam says encouragingly, coming inside and guiding Louis towards the bedroom to change.

Louis stops. "There are gonna be people, Li," he says in a small voice, because he can't pretend—he can't just forget about it and act like he's not scared, as much as he wants to.

Liam rubs his back. "I know," he says, "but we can go someplace weird where people won't expect to see you."

Louis laughs at that, but he is starting to come around to the idea. Maybe it won't be so bad if he's with Liam because people will be expecting him to be with Harry and might be less likely to notice them. He feels a stab in his gut at the thought of going out without Harry, though, not having him by his side to stand up to all the jeers and taunts. But he feels Liam's strong hand between his shoulder blades, soothing and sure, and he thinks about how sick he is of hiding away, and—he knows he can't hide forever.

They go to some bar Louis's never heard of, and it takes an impressively long time for anyone to catch on that they're there. It's a slightly older crowd, mostly people who don't recognise them or don't even know who they are, and Louis relaxes into the scene after a few drinks and persuades a still-sober Liam to come dance with him. He actually starts having fun; it feels kind of like old times, back before they got so popular and they could go for a night out sometimes without being noticed. And it feels especially good after everything that's happened in the past few weeks—it's a relief to just relax, to be in a crowd of people who aren't yelling at him and insulting him and telling him he's broken their hearts. He thinks of Harry and he thinks he'll be proud of him, pleased he's been brave and gotten out of the house, and he decides to phone him when they get home. He'll apologise, explain why he's been so off with him lately, and they can properly talk it all through and make up, and maybe those feelings of resentment will fade.

A song Louis loves comes on and he takes Liam by the hands, trying to get him to dance a little more enthusiastically, and Liam splutters with laughter. He looks so thrilled that Louis is having a good time, and Louis thinks of the calls he ignored and feels awful, because he knows Liam has just been trying to help all this time, trying to do whatever he can to make Louis feel better. And Louis does feel better.

And then someone bumps into him, violently, on the dance floor, elbow jabbing into Louis's stomach. It's not an accident, not really.

"You're one of them gay ones out of that boyband, aren't you?" says the guy. He's obviously drunk, and he looks big and strong and Louis is actually a little scared. He can't help it, he instantly imagines newspaper headlines about homophobic attacks and photos of himself lying beat-up in an alleyway, and he freezes.

But then Liam shouts "What?!" at the guy, cracking up and acting bewildered. "Who?"

The guy's too drunk to persist, luckily, and he just shrugs and then gets dragged away into the crowd again. Louis flashes Liam a grateful smile but—the spell is broken now. Reality has come crashing back down over him. Everybody fucking knows, even middle-aged men who can't remember the name of the band, they still know, and it makes Louis feel sick with nerves again and he feels like he'll never get used to that, the fact that it's not a secret anymore.

"Hey," says Liam, hand on Louis's waist as he leans in, and Louis both loves and hates that he's still willing to touch him like this even in public, even after that—it warms his heart but he can't help but feel like it's a bad idea; it's not exactly going to help anything. "Hey, do you wanna go somewhere else?"

"Home," says Louis, before he even really thinks it through. He just wants to go home again, where it's safe, and he wants Harry to be there waiting for him so he can read out positive Tweets to him or tell him again about the teenage gay couple that stopped him in Tesco the other day to say what a difference they've made. He wants Harry to curl around him and protect him and kiss him and tell him it's going to be okay, over and over and over until he finally believes it.

Liam doesn't argue, can tell from the look in Louis's eyes that there isn't any point. "I'll call a car," he says, already fishing out his phone.

As they make their way towards the door, Louis can feel eyes on him and he can't even tell anymore if he's just being paranoid but he swears people are staring at them now, whispering—he sees one woman hold up her mobile, snap a photo. They hurry out the door and instantly Louis is almost blinded by camera flashes—paparazzi are lined up, waiting. Someone must have spotted them and not approached them, just Tweeted about it and let the news spread. Louis's heart leaps into his throat. He feels sick, so sick of this, he just wants to be left alone. But it's not rage, it's more like defeated acceptance now, and so he just drops his head and tries to force his way through the cluster of photographers with Liam in tow.

"Hey, where's your boyfriend?" calls a voice, a little louder than the others and familiar—Louis looks up and spots the speaker, a paparazzo he's seen before, at least three times now and always more obnoxious than the rest. He looks back down, ignoring him, but the guy persists. "Had a bit of a tiff, eh? Whatsa matter? Not pleasing him in the bedroom?" Louis rolls his eyes and forces his way through; they're almost up to him now. "Hey, which one of you is the bottom and which is the top, anyway? Something tells me you seem like the kinda bloke to just lie back and take it—"

"Hey," says Liam, "leave him alone."

His voice is too gentle to really have any effect and Louis turns to see that he's actually smiling a little, attempting friendliness even when this arsehole's done nothing at all to deserve it. For a second Louis finds himself wishing he was with Harry instead of Liam; Harry, who'd get right up in this prick's face and tell him in no uncertain terms not to speak to Louis that way. He's never really mean about it, just about eight billion times more sure of himself than Liam sounds right now.

"Li," Louis mutters, reaching for Liam's arm to tug him along past this idiot. Liam reaches up to take his hand instead and another series of flashes go off.

"Oh-ho," calls the paparazzo, grinning, "making your way through the rest of the band now, eh? Boyfriend won't be happy to see these, find out you're cheating on him. Once a cheater, always a cheater, though, that's what they say—"

It happens in a flash—Louis feels Liam let go and then suddenly there's commotion; he doesn't see it happen, by the time he turns around the paparazzo is already doubled over, camera swinging loose around his neck and his hands cradling his face. Liam is hissing, rubbing at his fist, and—

"Did you just deck him?" Louis blurts, incredulous, looking from Liam to the crumpled paparazzo and back again.

"Uh—yeah," says Liam sheepishly. The other photographers are snapping away, making sure they've got decent coverage of this development, but at least they've shut up now, stunned into silence. Louis quickly takes Liam's non-punching hand and pulls him along, off down the street and around the corner while the paparazzi are still distracted.

"We probably should've brought security," says Liam in a small voice, still nursing his fist, as they come to rest against a wall and wait for the car to pick them up.

Louis shakes his head in amazement. "Who needs security when you've got Liam Payne?" he says, and faux-swoons. "My hero!"

"Shut up," says Liam gruffly, but he's grinning and Louis sees that he's blushing a little too. "I've never punched anyone before, have you? I didn't realise it would hurt so much."

"You wimp."

"Hey, I just defended your honour back there! I think I even made the guy's nose bleed." Liam goes rapidly from bragging to regret, then, biting his lip and adding, "I hope he's okay."

Louis cracks up, shaking his head. "He was a wanker, Liam. Don't feel bad about it."

Liam still looks a little conflicted, but Louis pulls him into a grateful hug, nuzzling into his chest, and he feels Liam relax against him, strong arms enveloping Louis's body.

"Thanks," he says into Liam's shirt.

"Mmhm," is Liam's meek response.

They cuddle for a bit, and then joke around, Louis winding Liam up by suggesting that the paparazzo might be gravely injured and have to go to hospital. But then Liam starts wondering aloud about how this'll be presented in the press, says maybe they should call one of their publicists and see if they can stop the story getting out. Louis informs him that he could probably punch an old lady and get away with it, and Liam snorts with laughter and then goes sombre, says perhaps it'll be good for people to see just how much the boys are being affected by everyone's negativity, show them that it's not okay and they won't stand for it. And then Louis goes quiet too, and on the journey home he starts to come down from the high of it, the exhilaration of seeing Liam do something so bizarre and wonderful. It was wonderful, and already Louis can feel that resentment slipping away and forgiveness creeping in, the whole incident with the photo fading into the past, but—

There's something about it that makes him feel somehow useless, pathetic, and it's only once he and Liam have hugged goodbye and gone into their separate flats that he really reflects on it and realises why it's bothering him. He should've been the one to punch that wanker in the face. He should have done it for himself, because he was the one being taunted and insulted, not Liam. It's not Liam's job to fight Louis's battles for him, and, he realises now, it's not Harry's either. Louis should be standing up for himself, especially in a situation like this, where it feels like he's had no say in anything that's happened so far. Forced out of the closet by circumstances beyond their control (and Harry, a bitter little part of his brain reminds him) and shoehorned into a story by management, and now he can't even fight back against one guy saying some dickish things; someone else even does that for him.

He can't control any of this, it feels like. It's out of his hands and that's terrifying.

He thinks about Harry, but the idea of calling him seems silly now—Harry probably doesn't want to hear from him. He hasn't tried to get in touch with Louis either, after all. He's probably sick of having to deal with all of this, having to look after Louis as well as himself throughout all this mess, and getting a panicked phone call from Louis at nearly 2am is probably the last thing he wants.

Louis puts his pyjama bottoms back on and goes to bed.

He's woken up by his phone ringing only a few hours later and he startles, sitting bolt upright, brought out of an alcohol-induced heavy sleep. There's something about early morning calls that causes him anxiety now. It's like every time he's woken up by the phone he expects another catastrophe, and as he reaches out for his mobile he tells himself, it's okay, it's okay, it can't exactly get worse.

He's got a few missed calls, he realises then, all from management, and he realises he must not've heard his phone ringing while he was out. His mouth goes dry and his heart starts in on that nervous hammering and he wonders what it could be, what's gone wrong now—and then he remembers Liam punching the paparazzo last night and he relaxes a little. Maybe it's just that.

"Hello?"

"Louis, Jesus Christ, answer your phone," snaps a clipped voice back at him. It's Clive from public relations. Louis doesn't like Clive. He suspects that Clive is homophobic. He always regards Harry and Louis with a faint air of disgust, and never even bothers to try and sound sympathetic when he's barking orders about how they really need to stop sitting beside each other in interviews if they can't keep their hands to themselves.

"He was standing up for me," Louis says groggily.

"What?"

"Liam," Louis clarifies, "when he punched the guy."

There's a pause, and then Clive just completely bypasses the topic. "Have you been in touch with Eleanor? Checked Twitter?"

"No?" says Louis, puzzled, and his stomach twists with the realisation that if this isn't about Liam then he has no idea what it is about.

"She's announced that she was a beard," Clive tells him. "Tweeted it last night. Must've lost her patience, s'pose the girl's been under a lot of scrutiny, but even so, terribly irresponsible. She deleted the Tweets at our request but of course they still got out there."

It's 5am and Louis is still bleary with last night's drinking and lack of sleep, but the words feel like a stab in the gut. "She—what?" he sputters.

"Do you understand what this means?" Clive says condescendingly.

"No, please enlighten me," Louis snaps, losing his patience.

"The fans aren't idiots, as much as they may seem like it sometimes," Clive says. "They've figured out that this means you and Harry must have been an item for at least as long as Eleanor's been on the scene. And they're not particularly happy to find out they've been lied to."

Louis feels sick.

"Anyway," Clive goes on with a sort of long-suffering sigh, like all of this is just such an inconvenience to him, "there's not a lot we can do at this point, can't exactly backtrack on it, so we're working on a statement now to give the press, the gossip blogs, that sort of thing. We're hoping to make it quick and quiet—a brief little apology and we might be able to prevent all this from blowing up."

"But—just a statement? We're not going to do another interview?" Louis doesn't even know which would be better; at least if it's in management's hands entirely then he doesn't have to figure out how to deal with it, but if they're going to tell the whole truth finally he'd kind of like to do it on his own terms.

"We can't afford to wait around, Louis," says Clive sternly. "We need to try and recover from this as quickly as possible before it spreads further. You don't need to worry, we're going to make ourselves look like the bad guys, paint you in a really good light—innocent party in the whole thing, forced into lying to your devoted adoring fans, yada yada yada. You'll win them all back in five minutes."

"But—" says Louis.

"I don't have time to argue," Clive cuts him off sharply. "It's a busy morning."

Then he hangs up.

And—Louis doesn't even think about it, not for more than a couple of seconds at least. He climbs out of bed. He throws on some clothes. He gets a backpack out of the closet and stuffs some more clothes in it. He storms through to the bathroom to get his toothbrush, and then he leaves the flat, and just gets on a train.

3/3

as loud as lions (3/3). harry/louis, pg-13.

2012-05-19T16:46:58Z

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(1/3) (2/3)

Harry heads back to London that evening, but he's not particularly looking forward to it. He doesn't know which Louis will be there to greet him. It's the longest they've been apart in—ages, Harry can't even remember, and they've probably never even gone more than a day without being in contact with each other since they first met. But Harry didn't want to call, because whenever he and Louis fall out about something it's always Louis who offers the olive branch, regardless of who was in the wrong. It's always up to Louis when they make up. If Harry apologises first, even if Louis's already forgiven him he'll stubbornly leave it for a while before apologising back, and he'll always swing it to make it seem like it was his idea in the first place. Harry doesn't mind exactly, because he understands why Louis does it. It's just a matter of being in control, a way for him to feel like no one has any power over his emotions but himself.

So Harry hasn't called. He's talked to Zayn and Niall a bit, and asked for the news from them—heard that Louis's been in touch sparingly and mostly stayed in, and Harry isn't surprised, but he dreads the thought that, even after five days apart, maybe nothing will have changed after all. Maybe being away from each other won't have made any difference. He doesn't want to go back and find everything the same, but he'd rather that than stay away, of course—he fucking misses Louis more than anything, it feels wrong to have gone without him for so long. He's just so used to hearing the sound of his voice, being able to talk to him and touch him whenever he wants, and the knowledge that the last time they spoke they were shouting at each other weighs heavy on his mind.

He wonders if Louis has forgiven him, wonders if the distance has helped him sort his head out, in the quiet emptiness of their flat, all alone. He wonders if maybe when he gets home, Louis will act like nothing ever happened and it'll all be in the past, or if he'll want to talk it all through. He wishes he could make a guess but it's just so difficult to tell with Louis these days.

He's about halfway home when his mobile rings, and when he glances at it he's so surprised to see that it's Liam that he pulls over immediately. He and Liam haven't really talked for the past few weeks, certainly not one-on-one. It's not anything huge, it just happens that way sometimes; they're close but they're not as close as the others and can cope fine without contact for fairly long periods even if there's no real reason for it. Of course, Harry has to admit there has been a reason lately. And it's silly, because he can't really blame Liam, and yet he always has a little bit. Liam's always seemed like he's on management's side, always used to look disapprovingly at him and Louis when they'd get a little carried away in front of the cameras, and it felt like judgement rather than concern even though Harry knew it wasn't really.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Harry says when he picks up the phone. He doesn't know why he assumes that—Liam could easily be calling for a chat, he often does that if he and Harry have been distant for a while, uncomfortable with letting it go on for too long.

But then Liam says, "Yeah, actually, um—" and Harry's heart leaps into his throat.

"Is it Lou? Is he okay?"

"He's—he's not home," Liam says, uncertainly.

"What do you mean? Where is he?"

"I don't know, Haz," says Liam, and he sounds scared now, and Harry's blood runs cold. "I—I took him out for a few drinks last night and I came by to check on him this morning and he didn't answer the door, and I thought he was just sleeping off a hangover but—you heard about El, right?"

"Yeah," Harry forces out. "Liam, what—"

"Well I was worried, you know, that he might've taken the news badly so I came round again and he still wasn't answering and he wouldn't pick up his phone, and Zayn and Niall didn't know where he was either so I used my emergency key—I'm so sorry, I hope you don't mind, I just thought—"

"No, of course not," Harry says in a rush, because really, like he cares about that right now. The thought of Louis just disappearing like this is making him feel sick to his stomach. What if he's moved out? Just had enough, packed up and left, gone to stay with—with Stan or someone? "Is his stuff missing?" Harry asks urgently.

"S-some of it, yeah," says Liam quietly. "I'm here now and it feels really weird, like he left in a hurry. His—his phone's just lying on his bed and there are clothes missing? But his car is still outside. And I don't, I don't want to panic you, but I rang Jay, and Stan, and Eleanor, and they haven't heard from him either and, I don't know, I thought maybe he'd gone to see you or something, but..." Liam trails off.

Harry is silent for a long time.

"Haz?" Liam asks quietly, the worry evident at the edges of his voice.

"I'm still here," says Harry. "Listen, I'm—I was on my way home but I'm going to turn back, okay? I think he might have gone to the bungalow."

"The bungalow?" Liam echoes, sounding surprised. "Why?"

"I just—I have a feeling." Harry tries to relax, tells himself that's definitely where Louis will be, safe and sound. "I'll let you know, alright? When I get there?"

"Yeah, please," says Liam. "He was okay last night but I think maybe the Eleanor thing really got to him. Still, I didn't think...I wouldn't have thought he'd just...take off."

Harry doesn't really want to dwell on it; he knows he's got another two hours of driving ahead of him for that. "Listen, Liam, I'm gonna set off now," he says.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, sorry, I won't keep you."

"But—thanks, yeah?" Harry swallows. His throat feels dry. "Thanks for letting me know, and for taking him out. I think he really needed that and, I'm sure he appreciated it. And...I do, too."

"It was the least I could do," Liam says meekly, and then, in an even smaller voice, he adds, "I miss you, Haz."

It hits Harry suddenly, his five-day absence, the way they've all been a little distant with each other over the past few weeks, and in a flash he finds himself longing for the way things were before all of this. Maybe he should be thinking back to last month, but his mind takes him even further and he finds himself thinking of the really early days, the five of them splashing about naked in a pool, sleeping on pushed-together airbeds, huddling around a fire. He knew the bungalow was his first thought for a reason.

"Me too, Li," says Harry a little brokenly. His eyes are welling up; the lights of the motorway around him start to blur. Cars slide past him in the night and he blinks a few times to clear the tears. "We'll all do something when Lou and I get back, okay?" He doesn't really give Liam a chance to answer. "I'm gonna go now. I'll text when I get there."

They exchange shaky goodbyes and then Harry's pulling out, driving on 'til he has a chance to turn around, and then heading straight back the way he came. The journey is almost unbearable, just him alone with his thoughts. He stops a few times more to call the bungalow but no one picks up the phone and he hopes and prays that Louis is actually there, because he doesn't even know what he'll do if he's not. He turns the radio up loud but every song reminds him of Louis, and can't drown out his thoughts at all. He gives in, eventually, lets his mind go, and succumbs to the constant nagging of the worries and wonderings.

Harry knew Louis wouldn't react well to the news about Eleanor. Eleanor ensured, in a simple 140 characters, that Louis would no longer have anything to hide behind. He'll have to come out properly now, there isn't really a way around it, and from what management told Harry it didn't sound like they were giving him much of a choice anyway. Harry hates the statement idea, it seems so impersonal, as if they're quietly admitting defeat and slinking out of the ring. At first he thought Louis might be relieved that the onus wasn't on him to announce anything, but of course it's just another event in a long stream that makes him feel like his self-agency is being stripped away. Harry's heart aches. It takes him an hour and forty minutes to get to the bungalow because he speeds for the last part of the journey; the roads are quiet this time of night in the country and he can't stand knowing he's so close and just not there yet.

The key that's usually hidden under the mat outside the back door is missing, and Harry's heart leaps with hope as he presses the bell. But there's nothing. It feels like a long time but it's hard to tell, Harry is bleary from so much driving and the cold November air feels surreal on his skin after being stuck in the stuffy car and he's impatient, ringing again and pounding on the door with his fists and calling out, "Lou, Louis, open up, please, it's me," until finally he sees a blurry shape through the window, growing closer. Harry falls back and the door opens, and he almost sobs with relief when he sees Louis, looking small and pale with a tattered beanie of Harry's pulled over his head.

For a moment they just look at one another; Harry feels like his heart is bursting just seeing him again but Louis looks apprehensive, like he thinks Harry is going to yell at him. And then all Harry can do is fling himself over the threshold and envelop Louis in his arms, the collision of their bodies so forceful it almost hurts, and Harry buries his face into Louis's neck and inhales, smells something sharp and rich like alcohol.

"I'm sorry," says Louis into Harry's shoulder, his voice weak and a little slurred. "I'm so sorry. I was treating you like shit. I know that now, I just—"

"Shut up," says Harry fiercely, grasping him tighter, "just—don't, I don't even care—I was so fucking worried, you scared me to death—"

"I'm sorry," Louis says again, sounding choked.

"Don't," says Harry, clutching at him, breathing him in.

Louis nuzzles into Harry's shoulder, blurts another "Sorry," automatically and then laughs, fighting the urge to apologise, to apologise for apologising, and then Harry is laughing too and they're stumbling, limbs still locked around each other, swaying clumsily.

They part then, but only for a second before they're moving back in to kiss, and Louis's mouth tastes sour but it's him, it's them, and it's been five days, and Harry doesn't want to leave him for that long ever again. He presses him into the counter, kissing him deeply, probably too eager when there are still so many things left unresolved but it's so hard not to and Louis is melting right into it, relieved.

They notice, after a little while, that the door is still standing wide open and moths are beginning to flit into the kitchen. Harry shuts it and traipses after Louis into the living room, where a nearly-empty bottle of red wine stands on the coffee table next to Louis's iPod, headphones tangled and trailing onto the carpet, obviously torn out quickly. It makes Harry feel a little better to realise that Louis might not have been ignoring the phone or the doorbell after all, might just have been too lost in his head and his music until he heard Harry's voice shouting desperately for him.

They fall onto the sofa, cuddling close, Louis's fingers in Harry's hair, and for a while they don't speak again, just needing to catch up on the comfort of touching one another. Harry texts Liam, and Louis pretends not to know what he's doing, obviously feeling guilty and a little embarrassed to think about how much he must have worried everyone by disappearing like that. Harry puts his phone away again and pulls Louis's head into his lap, lets him lie sideways across the sofa.

And then Louis says, in a broken voice, "It's all over, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—I knew it would be, eventually, I knew it would have to end but I just—I didn't want it to be so soon, it feels like—it feels like we were only just getting started."

"Lou, what are you talking about?" Harry asks. Louis's like this when he's drunk, bad at stringing thoughts together and worse still with sentences, expecting everybody to catch his drift anyway.

"I mean, they're not even letting us do an interview or anything, not letting us explain—it's like that statement is just...the end of things. Like okay, you win."

And now Harry does know what he means; was thinking the exact same thing himself. The way management has handled everything has been such a mess, and Harry knew that all along, but it seems even clearer now that the truth has finally come out. If they'd let them be honest in the first place, it might not have been so bad. Louis wouldn't have been shunned for being a cheater on top of everything, and neither of them would have had to keep on lying. It seems like it'll be so much harder, now, to win back the fans' trust—what reason will they have to believe them now, after all that's happened? They still haven't heard Harry and Louis's story, not really, just official statements and other people's opinions and a tale fed to them by big bosses who think they're doing the right thing and just aren't.

Harry strokes Louis's cheek gently, trailing his fingers over his skin. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to reassure Louis when he has the exact same fears.

"And I just—I know I shouldn't have just vanished like that but I don't think anyone gets it," Louis says then, and it kind of bursts out of him like he's been dying to talk about this for a long time but couldn't find the words until now. "I haven't—I haven't had a say in any of this. It's not like I never wanted it to happen but I wanted it to be on my terms and it's just, it's on everybody else's, and everyone's making all these judgements and decisions and I feel trapped 'cause I can't do anything but go along with it and it's just—it's fucking exhausting, Haz." His voice goes from harsh to soft and helpless, and Harry cradles him closer.

"I know." And that guilt is still there, that reminder that he started all of this off, and he's about to tell Louis again just how sorry he is, but it's like Louis's reading his mind.

"I'm not even mad at you anymore," Louis says, "because I get it now, I get why you did it—you felt like this, like I do now, sick of everybody making your choices for you and taking away that control, and I didn't get it before but it makes sense now and I can't blame you anymore."

"You can," says Harry, smiling a little, "if you want. If it'll make things easier."

"It doesn't, though," Louis says seriously. "Me blaming you was turning everything to shit."

It feels like Louis is being entirely honest with him now, and Harry hope it's not just the alcohol, hopes this is really how Louis feels. It's rare for him to open up like this, to say what he's feeling without hiding behind jokes or lashing out. And when it happens Harry has to be quiet, let it all come from Louis, not push him at all and try and keep it light so that Louis feels he can stop easily when he needs to. He has to leave it up to Louis, how much he's willing to say.

And clearly Louis has reached that point now, because he rolls over, burying his nose in Harry's sweater for a moment, and then says, "Liam punched someone. Did he tell you?"

Harry lets out a surprised bark of laughter at the subject change, and something in it is relief as well, he thinks—it's good for him and Louis to talk this out, but it almost feels better to laugh with him again. "No," he says. "Who did he punch?"

"It's probably going to be in the papers," says Louis, not terribly helpfully. "Did you hear about it?"

"No, Lou," Harry tells him patiently. "Hence the question."

"This paparazzo thought I was cheating on you with him. With Liam. So Liam gave him what for."

"Are you having me on?" Harry asks suspiciously, trying to imagine Liam doing such a thing and really, really struggling.

Louis shakes his head. "Uh-uh. It was pretty impressive actually. I wanna see the pictures." He yawns against Harry's stomach, and Harry gazes down at him, seeing how his eyes are beginning to droop.

"You sleepy?"

"Mm."

"Do you wanna go to bed?"

"No," says Louis, stretching a little and then curling up again. "I wanna sleep here."

And Harry is sitting up, and still in his shoes and coat, and he hasn't eaten anything in hours, and he feels like he's still moving from spending so much time in the car—but then he looks around them, at the bungalow living room in the dim light, the familiar shapes and patterns of it, and he doesn't try and argue. He remembers that the very first time he slept beside Louis it was right here in this room, on pushed-together airbeds, with Zayn's knee digging into his back and Niall sleep-cuddling Louis from his other side while Liam was a little way away from them, trying to keep his limbs to himself, still not yet used to the easy affection of the group. And Harry and Louis had faced each other in the dark, silent and staring and smiling until they'd drifted off, and somehow Harry had known, even back then, that it was the first time of so, so many.

"Okay," says Harry quietly, "let's sleep here," and when he looks down Louis's eyes are already closed, his lips slightly parted, his face looking truly peaceful for the first time in weeks. Harry smiles to himself and leans his head against the back of the sofa, reaching out a hand to rest on Louis's chest and feel the soft thud of his heartbeat against his palm.

***
Louis wakes up with Harry gazing down at him, and he startles. "Oi," he grumbles, "you always watch me when I'm sleeping, it's creepy."

"You're moving too fast the rest of the time," Harry says, grinning. "When you're asleep is one of the rare chances I get."

Louis makes a face at him and then rolls over. His brain feels like it's trying to get out of his skull. He groans. "Fuck, my head hurts."

"You drank a lot," Harry says, but without judgement. "My neck hurts," he adds, bringing a hand up to rub at it as he rolls his head back and forth, grimacing.

"Sorry," says Louis guiltily.

"No, no more apologies."

"None? What, ever? What if I set the bungalow on fire while I'm making you breakfast?"

Harry's lips curl into a smile. "You're gonna make me breakfast?"

"I'm gonna try," says Louis, and then remembers that it's highly unlikely that there are any eggs or bacon in the house. "...Maybe just cereal."

"Not much fire involved there," Harry teases him, and then prods him in the cheek. "Get up, I think my entire lap's gone numb."

They spend the day just relaxing, reconnecting. There isn't much food in the house, just a couple of old ready meals in the freezer and some tins in the pantry, but neither of them want to walk down to the corner shop—it feels so good to finally be alone, away from everything, just the two of them in their own little world without all the chaos. Louis finds that he doesn't even want to check the internet to find out the reaction to management's statement; he just doesn't want to know. A part of him wishes they could just stay here for a few months, living off tomato soup and frozen lasagne and Robin's wine until everything dies down.

They shower together and have a nap in the afternoon, neither of them very well-rested after last night. During the day they keep the conversation light but in the evening Harry asks Louis what he wants the plan to be, when he wants to leave, reminds him gently that they can't stay here forever.

"I was thinking maybe we should insist on doing an interview or something," Harry suggests, and Louis can tell he's being very casual with the idea, not wanting to make Louis feel like he's pushing him into it. "Just like, get the whole story out there, show everybody our perspective. Our version of events."

Louis smiles. He actually likes that idea, a lot. He doesn't know if they'll be allowed, but he definitely wants to try, because it's not fair, the idea of them never being allowed to explain this in their own words. And what's it going to be like at the signing they've got coming up, if they still haven't said anything for themselves? The thought makes the anxiety flare up again, as he imagines streams of fans demanding answers to their questions.

They talk about it, decide that they want the others to be there with them to give their side of the story as well, and that it'd be best to talk to a gay magazine to make sure they're portrayed sympathetically. Louis already feels so much better just discussing it, because it feels like they're finally doing something at last, taking things into their own hands, and it feels like they might be able to salvage this after all.

It's late by the time the conversation winds down and so they go to bed, deciding to call PR in the morning, and tonight they go into the bedroom, remind themselves just how happy they can make each other and how well they know each other's bodies. It's been so long since they've touched like this; ever since everything blew up it's been a desperate thing, for comfort and reassurance or simple distraction, or even a way to work out their anger and the tension between them. It hasn't been like this, slow and content, like they have all the time in the world.

In the morning Harry calls their nicest publicist, Pippa, and explains what they want while Louis sits beside him and listens with his head on his shoulder. Harry is very mature and sensible with it, not letting himself get too emotional in case that means he'll be taken less seriously—but he does tell her quite honestly how much damage he thinks management's approach could do in the long run, and the problems it's already caused. Pippa is sympathetic and says she'll see what she can do, and Harry makes it clear that if the answer is no, they may well go ahead and do it anyway. Louis smiles at him, surprised, when he says that, proud of Harry's courage and determination, and it works. It works. Pippa calls them back to tell them there's an interview set up with Attitude magazine in a few days, and tells them wryly that they'd better come back to London in time for it.

They leave the bungalow then, ready to face the world again, and drive back home singing along to the radio and stopping at a KFC for lunch. The services are mostly empty and Louis feels safe taking Harry's hand as they walk in, and he forces himself to fight the urge to let go when people look at them, tries to stare them down defiantly the way Harry does with such ease. A couple of people ask for photos—one of them doesn't even mention any of the recent drama and the other just says quietly that she's so sorry for what they've been going through lately.

"Guess that statement can't have been too awful," Harry laughs as they head back to the car.

"They're probably all just relieved I'm not really a cheater," Louis chuckles.

Back at the flats, they go over to Zayn's for a movie night with the others, and it feels better than it should, perhaps, for something so simple and familiar. The five of them drink beer (even Liam has a little) and sprawl all over each other and don't talk about anything serious whatsoever, and it just feels so good. Louis has this urge to thank Zayn and Liam and Niall, for standing by him and Harry in constant quiet support and always being there when they're needed, but he doesn't want to say it out loud, doesn't want to turn the situation too serious when it's so relaxed. He thinks that this is enough anyway, this return to their own version of normality. They've been too caught up in the turmoil of everything else to even realise how much they've missed it, but they're eager for it now, melting into each other on Zayn's sofa, their reunion somehow frantic and peaceful at the same time.

***
The interview goes even better than Harry expected. The journalist, Dave, is close to their age, friendly and understanding, and he's followed the story so far so he knows what he's talking about. He doesn't pry, but he doesn't shy away from any of the important questions, and he gives them plenty of time to speak and to steer the conversation when they want to.

"First things first then, lads," he says as they settle on the sofa in front of him, "how long have you been together?"

Harry reaches out and take Louis's hand. "Pretty much since we were on X Factor," he says, interlocking their fingers, and Louis gives him a little grateful squeeze, the physical contact making him relax a bit more. "Like, not officially," Harry adds, "but that's when things kind of started. We always say we've basically been together since we met, in one way or another."

"Love at first sight?" smiles Dave.

Louis groans. "Don't put it like that, it'll sound so soppy."

"It is soppy," interjects Liam. The others are all sitting round a table on the other side of the room, getting on with their own stuff, mostly just here for moral support.

"You were all over each other from day one," Niall chips in.

"Bringing them was a mistake," Louis mutters to Harry, but he's kidding, grinning away.

Dave tries to get things back on track, but he's clearly kind of charmed by them all. "So it was a management decision to have you appear with girlfriends, right?"

Louis nods, shifting uncomfortably. Harry knows before he answers that he's going to be a little evasive here—he hasn't spoken to Eleanor since she announced the truth, and even though it's turning out to have been a good move, Louis still hasn't forgiven her just yet. Harry's not sure if he will. The two of them were good friends, but Harry couldn't really imagine them hanging out under different circumstances.

"Yeah," says Louis. "I mean, we're not going to put all the blame on our management, that wouldn't be fair, 'cause weren't actually forced into anything. We agreed to go along with it because we were told it was best for our career. I wasn't happy about it—I hated having to lie to everybody—but El and I got on well and it just seemed...necessary, I guess." He's gone a little solemn, and there's a slight pause. Then he nudges Harry with his elbow and adds, "Harry put up a bit more of a fight though."

Harry laughs, not minding that Louis wants to take the pressure off himself for a moment. "Yeah, they mostly just had to vaguely link me with women in the tabloids," he says, "I was less willing to actually date them."

"He's a rebel," Zayn jokes.

"But there was one woman," says Dave, "I'm sorry, you must have thought this was all in the past now, but I'm sure everybody's dying to know—what about Caroline Flack?"

Harry smiles. He was expecting her name to come up. "We were just really good friends," he says, and the boys all hoot with laughter hearing him say that sentence for what feels like the hundredth time, but in such a different context now. "People started misinterpreting our relationship, and it was decided that might not actually be a bad thing...for both of us, you know."

"Turned out better for you than her, though," Louis points out mischievously.

"Yeah, the reaction to that really made management nervous," says Harry, serious. "I don't think anyone expected the public to be so like...disrespectful about it, and it made us all think, if that's how they react to this, how would they react to the truth, you know?"

Dave nods, listening intently. They're not actually allowed to say too much about all the lies and cover-ups, because they've already exposed a lot about how the industry works and how dishonest it is, and management isn't exactly pleased about that. But it makes so much more sense to do it this way, at least as far as Harry is concerned, because it doesn't actually matter that much if management comes off badly. The supportive fans have had issues with them from the start anyway, and this way Harry and Louis's relationship is shown for exactly what it is: two people who just love each other, in an industry that won't allow it.

So Harry says, "There really is a lot going on under the surface, hidden from the public. And we don't want the fans to blame us, but we don't want them to turn against management either—like, this hasn't been handled in the best way—" Niall snorts and Harry shoots him a glare, but he can't help but smile; it feels so much better having the guys here to lighten the mood, "—but it's not any one person's fault. It's society's fault. And that's why it's so important to me that we really stand up and talk about this, because hardly anyone does, and nothing's going to change if we all keep quiet."

Dave nods vehemently at that. "Of course, absolutely," he agrees. "Would you say that you've been ready to come out for a long time? It seemed from that initial BBC Breakfast incident that the frustration had been building for a while."

"Yeah," says Harry. "Quite a while, yeah. It was kind of a problem, because it wasn't just that we weren't allowed to. Louis wasn't ready. And I never would've—like, if I'd been thinking, I never would've said anything, because the way I did it was just—"

"Dumb," Zayn cuts in helpfully.

"Thanks, Zayn," says Harry flatly, and the interviewer chuckles. "No, but it was pretty dumb. It was just the pressure of the whole situation, you know. We're under so much scrutiny that we had to make so much effort to hide, and that just..."

"It gets to you after a while," Louis says. "Like, I'm not gonna act like I was fine with it, but I do understand now. I mean, I was frustrated too. We couldn't even go out for dinner together without arriving and leaving separately, and hiding out in private rooms. We both felt really like, trapped. But Harry especially."

Dave nods. "And what's—if you don't mind me asking, how would you define your sexuality, Harry?"

"Uh," says Harry, "I kind of don't, really, but I guess if I had to put a label on it—and society kind of says that we have to—I'd say I'm pansexual."

"Except that no one knows what that means," Liam calls from the other side of the room, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I was told to say I'm bisexual just to make it easier to understand, but like—I think a lot of people do that, and it doesn't make much sense because no one ever will understand if no one talks about it."

"It's just attraction regardless of gender, right?" Dave checks.

Harry nods, and then turns to look at Liam. "See, Li, not that complicated." Liam makes a face at him.

"And...Louis?" says Dave. He says it in a way that suggests he kind of already knows, which Harry supposes makes sense—there's always been a bit of speculation, and rumours in the journalism world, and now that the truth about Eleanor has been revealed it seems like people are just kind of connecting the dots.

Louis nods, squeezing Harry's hand just slightly. "I'm gay, yeah," he says, looking Dave in the eye, and Harry's heart swells with pride at the bravery of it, hearing him say it to this stranger without missing a beat.

There's a brief moment of silence, and Harry expects Louis to make a joke or something but it's actually Dave who cuts the tension, saying "Me too!" and reaching out for a high-five, giving Louis a goofy grin. They all laugh and Harry can feel Louis relax beside him, hand going looser in his.

"Sorry. That was probably unprofessional," says Dave, still laughing, shaking his head. "Right," he checks his notepad, "and when did you both become aware of your sexual preference?"

"I just kind of always knew, really," says Harry with a shrug. "It's hard for me to like, pinpoint it, because I never had a moment of, you know, oh my god, I like boys, or...it was just kind of always there. I never had that big revelation."

"I did," says Louis quietly. "I pretty much had no idea 'til I met Harry. I just never questioned it."

Dave nods sympathetically. "Do you think that could be why you've struggled a little more?" he asks. "Sorry, if that's too much of a sensitive subject—"

"No, it's okay," says Louis, and Harry can't help but be surprised—the interviewer even gave him a way out and he chose not to take it. "I mean, yeah, definitely. I hadn't really had a lot of time to come to terms with it just like, in myself, and suddenly it was something we had to talk about with all our bosses, and I mean—of course there were a lot of sensible reasons behind their decisions but it always felt a bit like the subtext of it all was like, you know..."

"Like, 'your sexuality is a problem,'" Harry cuts in, seeing that Louis's not sure if he should say it. "Which is obviously gonna like, have an effect, if you've only just realised you're gay yourself, you know? I think a lot of people didn't really understand that. Like, people who sort of suspected all along or whatever, they just wanted Lou to come out—they wanted us both to come out. Which, I mean, I think that's fair in some ways, because it's frustrating to think you're being lied to, and in our like...age demographic or whatever, there really isn't enough representation of anyone who's not straight in the media."

"Very true," says Dave. "And, you've brought up something else I was going to ask about, there—a lot of your fans do feel like they knew, don't they? It's interesting, there was a lot of speculation long before anything came of it, and I hate to bring up 'Larry Stylinson' at this point, but—"

Louis laughs. "We knew it was coming."

"I'm predictable," Dave shrugs, grinning. "But did that help, at all, to know that so much of your fanbase supported your relationship? Even before they knew it was a relationship? Or did it all feel like a bit of a joke?"

"Kind of a combination of the two, really," says Harry. "Obviously it was better to have people talking about it positively than negatively, but yeah, we could never really tell how serious it was. We did come across some discussion on the internet between people who were absolutely convinced and that was—"

"Disconcerting," Liam cuts in, and Louis throws a cushion at him.

"But it was a good way to like, try and work out how people might react when we finally told the truth," Harry goes on. "It was so hard to tell, you know, beforehand. I mean, that's why management was so scared—the uncertainty combined with the level of our success, it could have been a total disaster."

"And how do you feel about the actual fan reaction?"

"Well, it hasn't been a total disaster," says Louis. He does seem to be slipping into jokes whenever he feels a little uncomfortable, Harry notices, but there isn't that undercurrent of bitterness or self-deprecation that there was before, it's just Louis being Louis and he's handling this all so brilliantly. Harry kind of just wants to kiss him right now and tell him how well he's doing, and he tries to quash that urge and listen to what Louis's saying instead. "It's been difficult. A lot of our fans are really young and just don't quite understand the whole issue, and..."

"And I suppose a lot of them believed they were going to birth your children one day," chuckles Dave. "But there's been support, right?"

"Yeah, definitely," says Harry. It seems right to take over from Louis here. Louis still hasn't had as much experience of the supportive fans as he has; he's mostly just seen Tweets and fanmail and Harry knows he finds that difficult to connect with. It's seeing someone's face that makes it real, hearing their voice. "Yeah, every time someone tells us what a difference we've made, like, that we've made them feel more comfortable with themselves, that's just—I mean, you can't beat that. That's the point, really, of everything."

"Harry gets emotional about it," Louis says conspiratorially to Dave, but Harry can tell he's just feeling a little uneasy with the topic, knowing how much more he's focused on the backlash than anything else.

"It's hard not to, to be fair," Liam adds, and they look over at him, see that he's turned around in his chair to listen now and talk to the interviewer. "I mean, I get emotional about it too sometimes. Like even just reading through the positive Tweets it's like—I don't know, I guess it's because the three of us have been with them from the start and seen their relationship grow, it's something that's so important to us and to see people accepting them and standing up for them is great." Dave nods, and there's a slight pause in which Liam looks sheepishly at Harry and Louis. "Sorry. I'm just hijacking your interview here."

"No, it's fine," says Dave. "I wanted to get a word from you lot, actually because you have kind of a unique perspective. You've been there from the start like you said, but you're also still outsiders at the same time."

"Yeah," says Niall. "It's been really difficult, because obviously all we've wanted is for them to be happy—"

"Awwwww, Niall," Louis coos, and Niall chucks the cushion Louis threw at Liam right back at him.

"—but there's been, you know, so much drama obviously."

"Yeah, it's just something we've had to be really aware of, like, constantly, you know—making sure it was kept secret, always keeping an eye out for cameras and stuff," Zayn joins in. Then he pauses for a moment, considering things. "Actually, it's gonna be such a relief not to have to do that anymore."

"I was thinking that," laughs Liam.

After the interview the five of them go out for a meal and drinks, to celebrate. They get a private room in the restaurant so that no one will bother them, and stay for hours, and Harry hasn't seen Louis this happy in such a long time. It's like a real weight has been lifted, he is free and relaxed and maybe it's just the alcohol and the high of finally telling the truth, but Harry feels like they can face anything now, like they can take on the world if they have to.

Their issue of Attitude comes out a few days before the signing, and it's so popular that by the time they sidle down to WH Smith to get a copy for themselves, they've all sold out. They bump into a girl on their way back who's just bought it, and she's reading as she walks, winding a jagged path down the pavement. When she spots them she's so startled and overcome that she looks like she might cry, holding back the tears while they sign the magazine for her.

It's just a small taste of what's to come—the signing is absolutely full of such occurrences. Louis says he thinks he's autographing more copies of Attitude than their album or DVD. There are still a lot of people who don't mention it, a few girls who are giggly to the point of seeming a little malicious and the occasional muttered insult, but Harry won't let it go ignored and—to his pride—the others don't either. He hears Zayn giving one girl a quiet talking-to, and even Liam, who usually has a constant beam plastered across his face during signings, staunchly refuses to sign a copy of the magazine that has rude commentary scribbled all over it.

So many people offer their support, though, and it's hard not to get emotional themselves when the boys come up to the table—more boys than they've ever had at any signing before—the shyer ones just giving grateful smiles, the more confident ones letting Harry and Louis know exactly how much they've helped them, made them feel like they're not alone. Harry squeezes Louis's hand, seeing how he's trying to keep his cool about the whole thing and be casual, but afterwards when they're back home he's dazed with it, overwhelmed. Harry is so thrilled that he finally sees, sees how wonderful this is, what a difference they've made. It doesn't mean it's going to be easy from here on out but it's getting better, so much better, and Harry's just glad that Louis knows that now, understands the good in this.

***
They hear through the grapevine that a significant number of people decided to sell on their MSG tickets after the news first broke. It's crushing, but apparently the tickets barely stayed on sale for any time at all, were all snatched up almost instantly until all the seats were filled again. Management has tried to keep it from them, not wanting them to be discouraged by the news, and that seems fair because Louis can't help but let it bother him—knowing how many people didn't even want to come see their concert anymore just because he and Harry are together. But he reminds himself that for every fan they've lost, they've probably gained a new one, and that the fans that have stayed with them are the ones who really matter.

"Don't want homophobes for fans, anyway," as Harry puts it. "I'd rather every single person in that arena is happy that I love you."

As they gear up for the concert, Louis gets more and more nervous. Harry keeps telling him to remember the signing and how well that went, but there's a difference—talking to the fans one-on-one is easier somehow than facing them in an enormous crowd, and he keeps having stupid anxiety dreams where they're greeted with booing instead of the usual cheering and screaming as soon as they step onto the stage.

He's still not completely comfortable with behaving like a couple with Harry in public, too—not because he's ashamed but because it just feels so strange, after so long of consciously hiding it, to be allowed to walk down the street holding hands and to know that they've already dealt with most of the fallout. Sometimes Harry will fumble with Louis's hand for a moment like he used to, when he'd reach for it in front of people and then catch himself, and sometimes Louis will flinch away on instinct, but they laugh about it, knowing it's simply habit. Louis still feels uneasy with the amount of focus that's on their relationship, though, the media talking freely about them as a couple now where only Sugarscape used to, and even then only when they could keep it hidden behind jokes.

And Harry gets carried away sometimes—well, they both do, they always have, but Harry is worse onstage, caught up in the adrenaline. Louis can't help but worry that he'll go further than Louis is comfortable with, and he wants to say something but he doesn't want to hurt Harry, doesn't want to say don't kiss me in front of everyone, okay? because it sounds so awful. He just hopes that they're on the same page instead, and Harry does seem a bit nervous too—they all are—because there's so much pressure anyway, this being the biggest concert they've ever done, on top of everything else.

There's another blow when they arrive at the venue on the night. They're on their way when Paul gets a call telling them to avoid the front of the building if they can, because there's a protest going on outside. Some Christian group, apparently, mostly older women who don't want anyone's teenage daughters (or sons, for that matter) going to see a boyband if two of its members are a couple. Harry just scoffs, staying strong.

"The fans'll be fighting back against those idiots as we speak," he says confidently. "I bet you anything."

Liam is worrying his bottom lip, peering out the window for the rest of the journey even though they're nowhere near yet, like he's on the lookout.

"Don't know what you're gonna do if you spot any stray protesters anyway, Li," says Zayn, nudging him in the ribs. "Spit your gum out at them?"

"And then apologise right away, most likely," Harry adds with a grin.

Louis laughs but it's feeble and he's distracted, thinking about how there's enough people who have a problem with his and Harry's relationship that they can form an entire protest about it, make signs and stand outside the arena for hours, trying to discourage people from going in. And what if it works? What if they scare everybody away?

Harry links fingers with him, and Louis nestles their hands together gratefully, but he can't make himself join in the conversation that Niall's starting in an attempt to take everyone's minds off the issue. When Louis is worried he goes quiet. He can yell or cry or fake enthusiasm if he's stressed or upset, but worry makes him just sink into himself, tune out, and the others all know that by now because it's one of the rare behaviours he has that's actually predictable.

They have to swing round the side of the building to get to the stage door, so they don't pass the entrance directly, but they can still see the crowds outside the front. Louis only catches a glimpse and then suddenly Harry's hand is over his eyes, and a part of him really wants to look but he trusts him, lets his eyelids close under Harry's palm as he takes a deep breath.

"Doesn't look that different to anywhere else we've played at," Harry says.

"Yeah, just looks like people queuing up waiting for the doors to open," Niall adds, trying to sound cheery.

"It's not, though," Louis says in a small voice, and as they turn the corner Harry takes his hand off Louis's face and snuggles into him, kissing his neck in reassurance.

Louis's not sure he's ever felt more on edge. It's even worse than before the interviews, because this feels like it's really make or break now. If they go out there and their audience rejects them, that's it. He's not sure they could ever recover from that. And before, he could tell himself those thoughts were ridiculous, but now, with a protest going on outside, it doesn't actually seem that implausible. It doesn't help that he can sense the others' unease, either. He kind of shuts down, all through soundcheck and while they're getting dressed—he goes through the motions but his brain's not there, knotted up with nerves, and whenever anyone tries to talk to him he just wants them to stop because he can't focus on what they're saying, too preoccupied with his anxiety.

By the time they're about to go on he's already half-convinced himself that they're going to be greeted by an empty stadium, and he's lost sight of whether that's a rational fear or not.

But then they get closer, and they hear that familiar sound, the excited screams of the fans waiting for them and counting down. They grin stupid relieved grins at each other and when Louis holds his breath and runs out onto the stage with the others, the joyful shrieking only gets louder. It makes him feel like his heart is going to burst; he's never been so happy to hear that ear-splitting noise.

There are usually banners about him and Harry but tonight it seems like the crowd is full of them. The silly Larry Stylinson ones mean so much now, and he feels suddenly overwhelmed at the realisation that so many of their fans have supported their relationship right from the start, that not all of them treated it as an amusing exaggeration, that some of these people knew even before they were told, and stood by them every step of the way.

He tries to gather himself together but it's a struggle, especially when they start singing. He can't focus on the lyrics because there's too much going on, out there in the crowd and right here in his head and his heart. He can't take his eyes off Harry, so caught up in this, in the openness of it, something he never imagined himself being able to fully enjoy. He keeps trying to look away from Harry, to sing out to the fans instead, but he can't help it and Harry is grinning like a fool and gazing right back at him. Niall makes a comment into his mic between songs about how everyone's just going to have to put up with the "lovesick puppies" and the crowd goes fucking wild.

They try to keep a bit of distance between them, though, more aware of their interactions than usual. Louis thinks of all the times they've whispered to each other onstage, exchanged subtle touches, that time Harry kissed him on the cheek in Brisbane in April, and he wonders how they could be so obvious when now it feels like these little glances are the most blatant thing in the world. But there's something about it, something about putting his love on display like this, that feels good—not just a relief, but a pleasure, as well. He loves Harry and he's proud of it, why shouldn't these people get to see that?

When they get to More Than This, Harry comes a little closer to him, hovers nearby as Louis's verse approaches. He's so hyperaware of Harry beside him that it's even harder to concentrate on singing and he's sure his voice is wavering. Harry ducks behind him and Louis tries to keep his voice under control, wondering what Harry's doing and why he's trying to distract him, especially during this solo which he always gets kind of insecure about anyway—and then he feels Harry's arms wrapping around him from behind. He does it just as Louis sings "...in his arms, I get weak," and then Louis can barely sing his next line at all, laughing, leaning back against the warm strong feel of Harry's body holding him. Harry's chin is hooked over his shoulder and Louis relaxes into his arms, not even caring if it looks like he's swooning. Zayn is so busy laughing at them that he almost misses the intro of his own verse.

After that, they can't really stop looking at each other, and Louis doesn't even let himself worry about what if every show is going to be like this from now on, what if they get too fixated on each other and the others get sidelined—because it doesn't matter right now, tonight is what matters, the freedom and the joy of it, nothing else.

They do Stole My Heart for the encore, which they're all a little unsure about because they don't usually play it live, but Harry breaks the tension when—to everyone's surprise—he changes the lyrics in his verse, sings "It took a minute, boy, to steal my heart tonight," with a knowing grin on his face. The audience goes crazy, frantically checking with each other, did he really say that? and Louis sees Liam throw up his hands but he can tell the whole despairing thing is an act—Liam's grinning just as wide as the rest of them.

"Been waiting for a boy like you," Harry sings, beaming, and he does it with every one of his verses, again and again, pointing at Louis and unable to wipe the smile off his face. It's almost too much but Louis can't help but love it, the ridiculous romance of it and the statement. He loves him so much it hurts. All the time, really, but especially right now. His heart feels too big for his body, hammering against his ribcage, and it's no longer just because of nerves.

The song comes to an end and the boys all slip into place in a row, arms around one another for their bow—but Louis feels like his heart is going to beat right out of him as soon as Harry's hand settles on his hip and he's dizzy and smitten and before he even really knows what he's doing he's pulling Harry into his arms. He means for it to be a hug, maybe, but somewhere along the way their lips meet and Harry makes a surprised little noise and smiles against his mouth and then that's it, they're kissing, in front of twenty thousand people. The boys are laughing and shaking their heads and the audience is screaming deafeningly and making sure they're getting this on their cameras, and Louis doesn't even care. Let it be all over Youtube by tomorrow morning. Fucking let it.

They break apart, stumbling a little, and Louis tries to recover from it but he can't, all he can do is stare at Harry's face, the way it's lit up like that, gorgeous and stunned and thrilled. Liam clears his throat, says something to the crowd that sounds like "Er, please excuse them," along with an awkward laugh. Louis finally manages to tear himself away from Harry in order to pounce on Liam, tickling him and making him squeak into his mic and then drop it on the floor when the others join them instantly in a clumsy group hug, limbs everywhere.

Over all the noise around them, Louis hears Zayn say, "You idiots."

And maybe he has a point, because okay, they might be out now, but they're not sure how public their displays of affection are actually allowed to be and you can't get much more public than this. Zayn's voice is fond, though, and Niall is ruffling Harry's hair, and Louis hears himself force out, "Couldn't help it," as he pulls Harry closer.

They cling to each other, and their tight huddle seems so small, centre stage in this vast stadium, just five boys feeling like they're being watched by the whole world. They can't ignore the crowd; that constant screaming always demands to be heard. It's a sound that's followed them for more than two years, but Louis doesn't think it's ever symbolised support quite as much as it does right now. He buries his face in Harry's neck, his cheeks flushed hot as he tries to hide his smile.

And then he realises there's no reason to hide it. He can show everybody just how happy he is, without shame, and maybe they've still got hard times ahead of them but—here, in this moment? There's just blissful relief.

End. (Psst, fanmix.)

it's you i want to take apart. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-05-05T22:10:29Z

Title: it's you i want to take apart
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Cross-dressing (make-up and underwear), facial, unprotected sex...mentions of bullying?
Summary: He will readily admit that he likes to make Harry squirm sometimes, but this actually isn't about that—he just wants to help him get past whatever issue he has here. (And, okay, he also really wants to see what Harry would look like with lipstick on, because he bets it would be really pretty.) (~6,000 words)
A/N: Inspired by that one time that Harry mysteriously flipped out because people wanted to put make-up on him. But I kind of disregarded a lot of real life for this because their radio tour got in the way of my narrative. Title from the Drake version of Lykke Li's 'Little Bit'.

In the moment, he doesn't know why he does it. The interview's over, the cameras have been turned off, and he's been fiddling with the lipstick for the past five minutes. He's just turning it over in his hands, wishing they could've persuaded Harry to put on just a little bit, and then everyone gets up to leave and he finds himself slipping the little tube into his pocket without the slightest bit of hesitation.

That night, back at home, Harry's in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and Louis is sitting on the bed with his hand in his pocket, feeling the shape of the tube against his fingertips. He's not even sure what he's planning; he wants to talk to Harry, try and understand why he freaked out the way he did—but he knows he nicked the lipstick for a reason, knows there's more to this than innocent curiosity.

Harry comes back in, smiling at him in a slightly bemused way as he wanders over to the bed. Louis is perched at the end of it, fidgety. It feels like he's been waiting to ask the question for ages now. "Haz," he says, "why did you go all weird about the whole make-up thing?"

Harry sort of blanches, taken aback, and avoids looking at him. "Well, sorry for not wanting stuff put all over my face."

Louis decides not to mention the fact that, in their career, they have to get foundation and concealer put on them all the time and Harry doesn't seem to have a problem with that. "Is it because they were filming it?" he asks. "Would you have done it if it'd just been me and the lads?" Harry shakes his head. "What about just me?" Louis asks then, his voice a little softer.

Harry hesitates. "Why?" he says finally, suspiciously. Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tube. "Oh, god," groans Harry, twisting away from him. "Of course you did."

"It's only me, now," says Louis gently. "You can't get embarrassed in front of me, right?"

"It's not just that it's embarrassing," Harry says, a little sharply. "I just don't want to."

"But why?" Louis persists.

"You don't even like girls," Harry grumbles, dodging the question. "Why're you so into lipstick?"

"Why are you so not into lipstick?" Louis retorts.

He'll admit that it isn't exactly his best comeback, but there's something about this that is making him get strangely fixated and persistent. He will readily admit that he likes to make Harry squirm sometimes, but this actually isn't about that—he just wants to help him get past whatever issue he has here. (And, okay, he also really wants to see what Harry would look like with lipstick on, because he bets it would be really pretty.)

"Look, I'm not going to force you," he says gently. "I just thought, you know, it's just me, like, and—I'm not gonna laugh. Not now I know how much it bothers you. C'mon, Hazza. Just do it for me?"

"Okayyy," sighs Harry, relenting finally. He sits down beside Louis and relaxes a little, lets Louis move in closer. Louis can't help but think of earlier today, when Harry finally let his nails be painted, but only once Louis had encouraged him and taken charge.

Louis pulls the cap off the lipstick with a pop, and winds it up a little to show Harry the colour. The stick he stole is pinkish-red, just a little darker than Harry's natural shade, and he knows it's going to suit him. Harry doesn't say anything though, just tilts his chin up a bit. Louis sees him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and then part his lips.

"Alright, I don't actually know how to do this, so it might be a mess," Louis says, and again Harry doesn't speak. Louis touches the nib of the lipstick to the middle of Harry's lower lip, dabbing gently until the colour shows, and then tries to sweep it across to the corner. He colours in the other side, and smoothes up to his top lip, concentrating hard to fill in the little Cupid's bow. Harry's lips sort of drag and overall it does end up looking a bit untidy, but it's not bad considering Louis's never done it before.

He pulls back, satisfied with his handiwork, and Harry still doesn't move at all. "You can—" Louis says, smacking his lips at him, and Harry copies him hesitantly, spreading out the colour a little.

There's a pause, and then Harry says in a small voice, "Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing, babe," Louis says softly, seeing how Harry's cheeks look a little pinker now too. He doesn't know if it's embarrassment, or the lipstick bringing out the colour. "You look gorgeous."

"Shut up," Harry says, but he sounds more bashful than annoyed.

"Do you wanna see?" Louis asks. Harry shakes his head vehemently, which Louis doesn't really understand, but he'll go with it. "Okay. I promise you, though. You look really good."

Harry's tongue darts out briefly to touch his bottom lip. He makes a face. "It tastes all waxy."

"So don't lick it, you freak."

He's only teasing, but Harry suddenly goes tense, eyebrows drawing together. "Don't call me a freak," he says tightly.

"Harry, I'm not making fun of you, I swear. There is nothing funny about the way you look right now," Louis says quietly, taking Harry's face in his hand and caressing it gently. "You look kind of fucking hot, actually."

Harry lets out a sudden, embarrassed bark of laughter, caught off guard. "Shut up," he says again.

"I'm not even kidding. Your lips like that are making me think all kinds of things. Really good things."

Harry curls into his touch, leaning against his hand. "Does it make you wanna kiss me?"

It's making Louis want to do a lot more than that, but he decides not to overload Harry right now, so he just nods and leans in. The lipstick does taste weird, unfamiliar, but it's kind of good too—he can feel the way it smears against his own lips and already he's thinking about what those smears might look like in other places. He licks into Harry's mouth, hot and eager, pushing closer to him on the bed, and Harry makes a little sound in his throat. Louis gets a little more insistent, and then he feels Harry start to struggle and draw away and he lets him go, confused.

"Can I take it off now?" Harry asks quietly, not quite looking Louis in the eye.

"Yeah, babe, of course." Louis reaches for some tissues from the bedside table, and watches as Harry rubs at his mouth with them.

"You've got it on yours now too," Harry says then, handing the tissues to Louis. Louis isn't actually that bothered, but it seems like Harry wants him to take it off so he does.

They don't talk about it again as they get ready for bed, but when they're lying there Harry keeps tossing and turning like he can't get comfortable. Eventually Louis has to ask him what's wrong, and Harry tells him, perhaps feeling safer now in the dark.

Louis already knew Harry was bullied a bit in his first years of high school. He's mentioned it vaguely before, and Louis has never grilled him about it because it was obviously not something Harry wanted to discuss—not until he was ready, anyway. And tonight he is. Tonight he tells Louis all about the boys in the year above who always used to tease him, tell him he looked like a girl. They used to make fun of him for being pretty, and say he should wear make-up like the "other girls" in his class. And then one day they held him down and put make-up on him, laughing and jeering and taunting until Harry was left to run away to the toilets, humiliated and scrubbing desperately at his face until his skin was red and raw.

As Harry tells the story, Louis's heart absolutely sinks. He feels so awful, like such a fucking dick for teasing Harry about it during the interview and saying the lipstick would look funny, and then persuading him afterwards—it doesn't matter that he didn't know, he should've realised how much it bothered him, should've known when to just shut up and leave it alone.

He never fucking knows when to shut up and leave it alone.

Harry tells him that he's tried to get over it, that he knows there's nothing wrong with being a girl and so he shouldn't be ashamed to look like one, but that the memory is still so strong. Strong enough that sitting there in that radio studio with everyone nagging to make him over just brought it all back.

Louis apologises about fifty times, and Harry brushes him off repeatedly, says it's okay because he didn't know and because it's him, Louis, who he knows would never do anything to hurt him intentionally. Still, Louis feels rotten, and promises not to mention the whole thing ever again. Harry just snuggles in close to him under the covers and says he's glad he can tell him anything, and Louis kisses his forehead and tries to ignore the guilt roiling away in the pit of his stomach.

***
Louis can't stop thinking about it. He keeps remembering the way Harry clammed up when he jokingly called him a freak, and the way he asked if he could take the lipstick off so soon. He thinks of thirteen year old Harry being held down and laughed at and he feels sick and angry and disgusted with himself.

The worst part is that he can't fight away the desire to see Harry in the lipstick again. The image of him wearing it just keeps coming into Louis's head and it happens during sex, and Louis comes harder when he imagines Harry with his mouth painted red and remembers the taste of it when they kissed. It feels so wrong to get off on it now he knows the whole story, but he can't help it. He stuffs the lipstick away in the back of the bathroom cabinet and tries as hard as he can to forget.

And then one day he's just flicking through the TV channels in the living room when Harry wanders in, in a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants and holding the little lipstick tube.

"Oh, sorry," Louis says, feeling the guilt flood through him again. "We can throw it away if you want."

Harry says nothing for a long moment, snapping off the cap and winding the lipstick up a little, looking at it. "Actually," he says, "I just thought—if you wanted to, you could put it on me again."

"No," says Louis quickly, even though a fairly large part of him is saying yes, god, please. "No, it's okay Haz, really. We can just forget about it, I don't mind."

"No, I meant—" Harry frowns to himself, and then slips onto the sofa beside Louis, holding out the tube. "I meant, like. I want you to."

Louis looks at him, puzzled. "Really?"

"Yeah." Harry bites his lip, and that doesn't really help Louis's urges.

"But like—not just because I want to, right? I don't want you to feel like you have to do it just to make me happy."

Harry smiles at him. "I like making you happy," he says, and Louis tries to ignore the way that sends heat curling through his body as he takes the lipstick from Harry's fingers.

"All right," he says. "But you can take it off as soon as you want, okay? And I'll stop if you tell me to. I promise."

Harry only lifts his chin and opens his mouth a little, going all relaxed and pliant as he lets Louis paint his lips for the second time. And this time, he's willing to keep it on for a little longer, the two of them just sitting there watching TV, Harry with lipstick on like it's totally normal. Louis keeps sneaking glances at him; he can't get enough of how lush and ripe his lips look with the colour on them, and eventually he can't stand it any longer and has to kiss him.

Harry seems to get kind of giddy off it, thrilled by how much Louis wants him. "Is it really the lipstick?" he asks, bemused.

"Yes, fucking hell, Hazza, you've got no idea how good you look." Louis's hard already, just looking at the smeared colour around Harry's mouth, and he takes Harry's hand and brings it between his legs so he can feel. "Would you—would you suck me?"

Harry grins, cheeky. "With the lipstick on? Wow, Lou."

Louis can't even bring himself to be embarrassed, he just wants it so badly. "Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Only if you want to," Louis adds hurriedly, but Harry is already slipping off the sofa and sinking to his knees.

"I want to," he says simply, smirking a little.

The blowjob is messy, lipstick smudging around Harry's mouth in a vivid reddish-pink smear, his own spit and Louis's pre-come making it shine. And Louis starts thinking maybe he should get a hold of some lip-gloss, something really slick and sticky, something that will make this even messier. He clutches at Harry's head and can't stop staring, watching as the lipstick leaves bright rings around his own cock, and it's that that makes him come—embarrassingly quick—not getting a chance to warn Harry before the orgasm wracks his body. And then Harry's looking up at him, amused, lips stained with come and make-up and Louis can't stand it, it's so fucking hot, he just gapes at him and can't remember how to speak and all he knows is that they need to do this more, and more, and more.

"Huh," says Harry, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving yet another smear, "okay. Yeah. I—I think I get it."

***
Harry starts asking Louis to put the lipstick on him more often, leaving it on longer each time and getting more comfortable with it. Louis catches him checking his reflection in the mirror, using the tip of his finger to neaten up the lines, and it sends a flash of heat right to his groin. He's already thinking about other shades, what Harry would look like in a bright scarlet or a coppery brown, or even a bruise-like purple. The perfect shape of his lips, that slight sneer, just looks so good filled in with colour.

One morning he comes down for breakfast and finds Harry cooking bacon and eggs in his boxers, and he's got the lipstick on, and fuck, it's the most ridiculous thing Louis has ever found hot but he can't argue with it. The fact that Harry's done it himself this time—and obviously tried really hard to get it perfect, from the looks of things—makes Louis want to have him right then and there.

He does, on the kitchen table, and breakfast gets burnt, but neither of them care.

Louis can't stop planning, wanting more of this, and one day he comes home with a surprise for Harry, a whole little bag full of make-up products. He has lip-gloss, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara, and even some little remover wipes because a couple of nights ago Zayn dropped by unexpectedly and Harry couldn't quite get all the lipstick off with just his sleeve. (They had to pretend like he'd had some kind of spectacular nosebleed, and Louis really doesn't want to have to go through something like that again.)

"Woah," says Harry, picking through it all. He sounds uncertain. "Where did you even get this?"

"You know, they actually sell it in shops," Louis deadpans. "I was shocked too."

Harry elbows him in the ribs. "You just went into a shop and bought all this?" It's like he's mortified just thinking about it.

"Yeah," Louis shrugs. "Cashier gave me a funny look and I said I was doing errands for my girlfriend. You should know by now that I have no shame, Harold."

Harry grins at him, shaking his head as he picks through the cosmetics. "I don't have to put it all on at once?" he asks.

Louis pulls him close and ruffles his hair. "You don't have to do anything, love. Just do what you're comfortable with. We can go really slow."

And they do. Harry lets him try the lip-gloss first, and it's just as good as Louis imagined, all slippery and sweet-tasting, and it tingles on the sensitive skin of his cock. It's bubblegum pink and slightly shimmery, which somehow makes it look even more obscene when it's spread over Harry's lips. Then they try the eyeliner, and Louis has to watch about eight video tutorials on YouTube before he can get it right, and Harry insists Louis tries it on himself first just to make sure he's really not going to poke Harry's eye out. Louis is perfectly willing to do this, and gets pretty good at it—it's harder to do it on someone else but it still comes out quite neatly.

The combination of the eyeliner and mascara is best. Louis can't really get the eye shadow right and it doesn't seem necessary anyway—the stark black of the eyeliner and mascara is enough; it really makes the green of Harry's eyes pop somehow and he just looks so pretty.

The first time Harry sucks him off like that, Louis literally can't stop staring at him, at his long dark lashes fanning out. Harry gazes up at him through the rings of make-up, his eyes so bright, and Louis has to pull out abruptly because he's going to come and it's too soon, he wants to make this last. But then Harry tilts his chin just a little and closes his eyes, lets the head of Louis's cock bump his cheekbone, and Louis loses it—he only has time to gasp out "C-can I?" before his body spasms and he's spilling all over Harry's face, come catching in Harry's painted eyelashes and sliding down his cheek to the corner of his reddened lips.

"Fuck," Louis hisses out, pressing a thumb to Harry's skin and smearing it through his own mess, letting the make-up run and smudge. Harry has his eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks are flushed pink under the splash of white and Louis has to kiss him, doesn't care about the lipstick and the come all over his mouth. "Sorry. Fuck, sorry," he pants out when he lets Harry go, helping to wipe his eyelashes clear with the tip of his finger.

"It's—it's okay," says Harry, and his voice is half-caught in his throat, and when he looks up at Louis his eyes are wide and bloodshot and beginning to water but he looks wild with something, hungry. "Want—" he spits out, and then cuts himself off and pulls Louis into another kiss, desperate. "Want you to fuck me," he breathes against Louis's lips.

Louis's breath hitches. "Might—might have to give me a minute."

Harry lets out a frustrated sort of groan, heaving himself up onto the bed on top of Louis, curling in close against him, his erection hot and hard at Louis's hip.

"You don't—you don't wanna wash your face?" Louis murmurs as Harry starts in kissing his neck, nipping gently at his collarbone.

"No," is Harry's only response, his voice low, and—well, that's that.

They fuck a lot while Harry's got the make-up on and he looks so good, eyes glazed and glassy beneath the liner and mascara which always ends up a total mess by the end of the night. He really seems to be enjoying it now, spurred on by the way that Louis likes it so much. He always likes to be the centre of Louis's attention, and there's nothing that gets Louis looking at him quicker than when he wanders into the room all done up. When he asks Louis to do it for him, it's even better, because Louis is completely fixated on him, concentrating on getting the make-up right. Harry just seems to go into a totally different headspace during those moments, when Louis is holding him still and closely focusing on his features. He'll go quiet, still and patient, breath coming a little quicker and pupils going wide, and he'll let Louis move him any way he needs, responding instantly to the slightest nudge of Louis's fingers.

***
It's easy, really. Fans are throwing their underwear at the boys all the time, Louis's almost surprised he hasn't thought of it before. But it's the make-up that's opened them both up to all of this, and so tonight onstage when a silky black pair of knickers comes flying right at him, it's just so easy to catch them in his fist and wink suggestively at the girls in the audience before stuffing them into his pocket. He tries not to look at Harry but he can't help it; sees him laugh and then raise his eyebrows a little, more subtly, like he knows what Louis's planning, and—he definitely doesn't look like he's opposed to the idea.

The knickers feel itchy shoved into his pocket against his thigh. He's so hyperaware of them that it's hard to concentrate on the rest of the show, and he's lucky they're nearing the end already.

"Why've you got those?" Liam asks on the way back to the hotel, noticing the knickers still sticking out of Louis's pocket.

"Can't just keep ignoring them all the time, can we? Don't wanna look ungrateful," Louis shrugs, again trying hard not to look at Harry and completely failing. Harry turns away, sniggering.

"Don't even want to know," mutters Zayn, like he already knows, staring fixedly in the other direction.

The second the door of their hotel room shuts behind them, Louis is kissing Harry, pressing him up against the wall. His tongue slips between Harry's lips and Harry makes a little sound, hands clutching at Louis's waist and then one of them slipping into Louis's pocket and retrieving the knickers. Louis nips at Harry's bottom lip a little, and Harry's eyes flick up to meet his, dark and wicked.

"You want to?" Louis breathes, kissing him again, quick and hard.

"Mmm," is Harry's response, more of a whimper than anything else.

"It's not—it's not a thing, like the make-up?"

Harry just fixes his eyes on him and shakes his head, exaggerated and sure, running his tongue over his lips. He winds the silk of the knickers around his hand and kisses Louis again.

"I'm gonna shower," he says then, grinning against Louis's lips like he knows exactly how frustrating that sentence is.

Louis groans. "Do you have to?"

"Uh huh. Gonna make you wait for it." Harry kisses him again like he can't help himself, his mouth hot.

Louis remembers the little pouch with the make-up in it, hidden inside Harry's wash bag. "You gonna make yourself up for me?" he murmurs, eyes flickering over Harry's face, already picturing it. "Make yourself all pretty? Yeah?"

"Maybe," says Harry coyly, starting to pull away. He bites his bottom lip, making it redder. "If you say please."

Louis shakes his head a little, but it's in frustrated disbelief rather than refusal. In fact, he's more than willing to beg. "Please?" he whispers softly.

"You really want me to?" Harry asks, like he doesn't know full well.

"Please," Louis stresses, and Harry finally relents, slipping off into the bathroom.

It's pretty much torture waiting for him, sitting there on the bed just picturing him getting himself ready. Louis imagines him leaning over the bathroom counter putting his make-up on, and pulling the silky knickers up his strong legs. He gets the lube out of his suitcase and tosses it on the bed, and then strips off, too hot, sweating and hard. It's such a struggle not to touch himself just from the thoughts going round in his head but he knows that what he's about to experience is going to be much, much better.

After what seems like a fucking age, the bathroom door opens again and Harry steps out, and he's blushing, and Louis knows that's the cause of the pink flush on his cheeks because they don't own any make-up that does that. He looks—he looks so fucking good, Louis's left speechless for a long moment. His face is perfectly made-up, his eyes smokey with kohl, lashes long with mascara, lips neatly painted red. He's naked apart for the knickers, and Louis's eyes scan his long slender torso, his lean calves and the strong curve of his thighs, and that tight black silk, struggling to hold in his already half-hard cock. God, the contrast, the little girly knickers on his muscular body—it's so hot and Louis doesn't even know why.

Harry dips one ankle and he looks so coy, taking in Louis's reaction from under his fringe, the slightly damp curls hanging in his eyes. "Shit," says Louis, finding his voice. "Turn around." Harry hesitates. "Wanna see your arse in those. Please, Hazza," Louis's voice cracks a little on the last syllable.

Harry turns, and Louis swallows at the way the knickers don't fully cover him at the back, exposing more than half of each pale rounded cheek. He has to get up, has to touch. The black silk is somehow even softer against Harry's skin, and Louis presses in close, lets his erection rub up against the smoothness of it.

Harry sucks in a breath, holding onto the doorframe for support. "You like it?"

Louis chokes out a "Fuck, yes," sliding his palm beneath the slightly ruffled waistband of the knickers and feeling the heat of Harry's skin underneath. He slips his finger down to Harry's hole, presses light and blunt against it with the pad of his fingertip and feels it flutter gently.

"Y-yeah," Harry pants out, jutting his hips so his arse presses back against Louis's hand.

Louis walks them both to the bed, hand still down the back of Harry's knickers (and god, that's good, thinking of them as his) and then bends him over. Harry goes up on his tiptoes, splaying out on his chest on the mattress with his arse sticking shamelessly up in the air, and Louis reaches for the lube without taking his eyes off him. He gets the silky fabric of the knickers a little damp as he tucks his fingers back inside, slicked up now and sliding smoothly over Harry's hole. He pushes one in slow and deep, his whole hand curved to Harry's body with the elastic of the knickers trapping his wrist, and Harry moans, all raw and drawn-out.

He doesn't need much prep, already whimpering for more and then rocking his hips back so he's fucking himself on Louis's fingers, clutching at the duvet. Louis is impatient too, unable to help himself from bucking up against Harry like he's fucking him already, his erection nudging against Harry's arse and turning the fabric of the knickers even darker with pre-come.

He hitches up Harry's legs, hauling him onto the bed fully, and Harry settles out on his hands and knees, letting Louis fit behind him. Louis strokes his fingers down Harry's crack through the black silk and then just tucks two fingers beneath to drag the fabric to one side, and Harry moans with the realisation of what he's doing.

"Yeah," he says, quick and low, "yeah, leave them on," and his thighs are trembling a little in anticipation as Louis closes in. Louis uses his hand to align the head of his dick with Harry's hole and pushes, through that first impossibly tight squeeze and then deeper, and Harry moans again, loud. He is a hot pulse around Louis's cock, almost too intense but so fucking good, and Louis takes a moment to catch his breath, pleasure tingling down his spine.

He lets go of himself and slides his palm up to the small of Harry's back to steady him, still holding the knickers aside with his other hand as he fills Harry up all the way. "Oh, god," Harry groans, shuddering and clenching around him, and when Louis eases out and strokes back in again Harry slips right onto his forearms, back arched high and face pressed into the sheets.

Louis lets go of the knickers, spreading his hands flat over Harry's back instead, holding him down firmly by the shoulder blades as he begins to fuck into him, hips working fast right away and driving in. Harry manages to turn his head to the side, hair in his face, knuckles turning white as he pulls at handfuls of the bedding. The knickers are rubbing against Louis's cock with each thrust, a rough drag of fabric adding a different sensation, and Louis lets out a desperate little noise, fingers kneading at the skin of Harry's back as he pounds into him. Harry has his legs slightly bent in on themselves, hooked over Louis's, keeping him close so he won't pull out too far.

Louis strokes a hand up through Harry's hair, combing through the soft strands, and Harry twists, trying to look up at Louis behind him—and oh, god, Louis can see a red smear of lipstick on the white sheets and the black shadow has gone all smudgey because Harry's eyes are wet, and then there's the knickers all stretched to one side, wet with pre-come and lube. Louis is making such a mess of him.

"Look so good, babe," he forces out, touching Harry all over, hands skimming across his hot skin.

"Yeah?" Harry breathes, and it's like he's glowing from that one sentence, thrilled by how much Louis loves this.

"Yeah. Fuck." Louis can't stop staring at his face now, but Harry has to crane his neck to look into his eyes and it doesn't look comfortable. Louis forces himself to stop thrusting and Harry makes a disappointed noise. "Wanna see you," Louis explains. "Your face."

"Okay," says Harry, and Louis can tell he's pleased by that, happy to have even more of Louis's attention on him. He eases himself off Louis's dick and rolls over, settling on his back on the bed. Louis's eyes are instantly drawn to Harry's cock, so hard now and trapped in the knickers, straining against the flimsy silk, the shiny head poking out and held down tight against his belly by the waistband. It's—it's fucking obscene. Louis's mouth goes wet and he swallows, transfixed.

Harry wriggles, impatient and oblivious, wrapping his legs around Louis and trying to pull him down on top of him. "Come on," he says a little crossly.

"Fuck. Harry, look, look at yourself," Louis says weakly, reaching out and running a finger lightly over the slit of Harry's cock, gathering the wetness there and feeling Harry shiver.

Harry looks down, and Louis sees his cheeks go redder as his gaze focuses on his own erection in the knickers, stretching them out like he's going to split the fabric. "Oh, god," he moans, shutting his eyes and shoving down against Louis desperately. "Lou, keep fucking me, please, I can't—"

Louis doesn't need to be told twice, too eager right now to even think of teasing Harry; he tugs the knickers aside once again and slides back in with one smooth roll of his hips, Harry letting out a spluttering gasp and locking his legs around Louis tightly.

As Louis starts to work in and out of him again, the silky fabric of the knickers rubs over Harry's cock and Harry squirms, breathing heavy, eyes squeezed shut, black make-up a smear over his lids. His mouth is slack and red and Louis just wants to touch all of him all at once. He reaches up to his face, two fingers pushing between his lips, and Harry takes them instantly, suckling and leaving lipstick stains on Louis's skin. With his other hand, Louis touches Harry's cock, palming it through his knickers, feeling out the slight curve of it and stroking, and Harry bites down on Louis's fingers, letting out a muffled moan around them.

He's so hard and so wet, pre-come dampening the silky fabric and making it slick, making Louis's hand move more easily, gliding over him and losing rhythm. And he's so tight around Louis, too, smooth and hot and pulling him in, and Louis stares at Harry's beautiful face and feels the suction of Harry's red lips around his fingers and he can't hold it any longer—he gives in to the sudden sharp burst of release and comes, body seizing up as he shoots deep inside and sees stars.

He winds down slowly, still reeling from it, but Harry is grinding against him desperately, not wanting to lose the friction. Louis's fingers have slipped out of his mouth, dragging out a smudge of lipstick and saliva over his skin, and he's writhing determinedly, slapping his own hand over Louis's on his erection and pawing frantically to try and get Louis to keep stroking at him. Louis's head is spinning and all he can do is stare, trying to gather himself together as Harry uses both of their hands to try and bring himself off. He starts moving his hand too after a dazed moment, pressing and rubbing hard, and Harry is needy for it, nodding and breathless.

"Yeah," Louis forces out, and his voice sounds weak. "Yeah, Harry, make—make a mess in your knickers, come on, get them all wet—"

Louis's words push Harry over the edge; his body jerks suddenly and he comes hard and with a cry, spurting up over the tensing plane of his stomach and then soaking through the silk, trembling violently and grabbing at Louis's forearm, his wet fingers tightening hard around it.

Louis strokes at the ruined fabric, decides he wants Harry to leave the knickers on until they're properly soaked through and sticking to him. He leans down and kisses Harry's stomach, licking up a little of the come that splashed onto his skin there, and Harry makes a pathetic noise and pulls Louis down beside him, kissing him hard, the taste of the lipstick chemical-sharp on his mouth.

"Think we're gonna have to throw these out," he says then, his voice hoarse as he reaches down between his legs to feel just how much they've wrecked the knickers.

Louis doesn't care; he wants new pairs anyway, wants to know what Harry would look like in red lace or something pink and frilly. "Good thing we've got an endless supply of teenage girls chucking them at us, then," he chuckles.

Harry groans. "God. Does that not make you feel like a perv?" He nuzzles into Louis's neck, probably getting make-up all over him but Louis can't bring himself to care.

"Yeah," says Louis, "but in a really, really good way. Honestly, I just think it's a shame they don't give us their dresses and skirts too. Or their heels..."

Harry squirms against him, his face hot as he sucks in a breath. "We...could probably work something out," he says, and—yeah, Louis thinks they probably could.

End.

move like cagey tigers. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-05-01T17:21:31Z

Title: move like cagey tigers
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Kitty ears (but not like, full-on animal play), unprotected sex
Summary: The thing is, Louis does look really cute with the ears on. It probably has something to do with his whole outfit, the polka-dot braces and rolled-up shirt sleeves. Even so, Harry doesn't think it should be quite as attractive as it is. (~4,500 words)
A/N: BECAUSE OF REASONS. Also this just sort of turned into an excuse to write bottom!Louis, if I'm honest. There is very little plot here, if any. The title is from 'The Love Cats' by The Cure. *sigh*

He doesn't even realise he's still holding onto the kitty ears until they're all in the taxi after the concert, when Niall nudges him and says, "What've you got those for?"

"Oh," says Harry, feeling oddly sheepish. "I dunno. Fan threw them."

"Fans throw their knickers at us too, Hazza," Louis speaks up, giving Harry a look. "You don't nick off with those, do you?"

"No," says Harry, perhaps a little too defensively. "I just thought they were cute."

Louis flutters his eyelashes ridiculously. "On me?" he asks.

"Just in general."

"But you put them on me," persists Louis.

Liam sighs, sensing the tension. "Leave it, Louis. If Harry likes cat ears, let him be."

"I don't like cat ears," argues Harry. "Except on cats, where they belong."

Louis reaches across and snatches the ears out of Harry's lap, slipping them on. "Meow," he says, somewhat obnoxiously, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry. "How about now?"

Harry glares at him. The thing is, Louis does look really cute with the ears on. It probably has something to do with his whole outfit, the polka-dot braces and rolled-up shirt sleeves. Even so, Harry doesn't think it should be quite as attractive as it is.

"You look ridiculous, Lou," he says, shaking his head, but he can't help smiling.

"You love it," says Louis self-assuredly, keeping the ears on and adding another meow. Harry just rolls his eyes, but he can't really look away until they get back to the hotel.

Or, even when they get back to the hotel, actually, because Louis refuses to take them off. Usually he can't wait to get into some sweatpants after shows, but tonight all he does is kick off his shoes and then spread himself out on the bed, still fully-clothed and with the stupid ears on. Harry undresses, studiously ignoring him. In the mirror, though, he can see that Louis's watching him intently, and when Harry undoes his bow tie Louis shuffles over and snatches it up.

"Put it on me?"

"Why?" asks Harry, frowning.

"C'mon. You can't resist the puppy-dog eyes," Louis insists.

"Thought you were s'posed to be a cat," Harry grumbles.

"Just do it," Louis says, clearly losing patience, and Harry shrugs and does, fingers brushing over Louis's Adam's apple as he secures the tie. It's really hard to concentrate with Louis so close and still wearing those ears; he really does look stupidly cute and it's distracting. The bow tie, as it turns out, doesn't help at all.

"You look like a cartoon kitten," says Harry in a small voice, because it's kind of true.

Louis bursts out laughing. "What?"

He looks at himself in the mirror, inspecting his reflection. "Huh. I see what you mean. Like from a Disney movie or something." He glances back at Harry again. "You like it?"

Harry actually feels himself blush, which is just ridiculous. "What? I dunno."

"You like it," Louis decides, poking him in the ribs. "Want me to be your kitten, Hazza? Wanna pet me?"

"You're being—" Harry snaps, but then cuts himself off abruptly because Louis's words register and he realises that yeah, actually, he really kind of would like to pet him.

Louis's perched at the end of the bed while Harry's still standing up, and Louis leans out a little, nudging his head up against Harry's chest. It's such an affectionate gesture—Harry focuses on that instead of the cat-like nature of it—and he can't help but reach out and stroke Louis's head, fingers brushing over the band that holds the ears. Louis makes a pleased little purring sound and nuzzles against him.

"You're being an idiot," Harry says, but it comes out kind of fond and husky this time. It's different, having Louis act like this, all sweet and cuddly and calm. Harry's usually the one who likes having his hair played with, but right now Louis's loving it, nuzzling up against him and wriggling a little when Harry scratches gently behind the fake ears with the pads of his fingertips. It's really nice, actually, to have him going all relaxed like this; not buzzing madly with energy for once. And the little soft noises he's making are pretty nice too, in a way they probably shouldn't be considering the context.

Because, like. He's kind of getting hard. It's not the ears, he tells himself, it's so not the ears, it's just the way Louis is kind of squirming against him and his hair is so soft and he's making the kinds of noises he makes when Harry jerks him off first thing in the morning, when he's all sleepy and quiet and cute.

Louis reaches up to steady himself with one hand on Harry's hip, and Harry jerks away in an instant, paranoid. Louis draws back, eyebrow hitching curiously, but says nothing for a moment and then snuggles back in against Harry again. For a second Harry thinks he's gotten away with it but then Louis's hand darts out again at lightning-speed, palming him through his trousers and feeling the slight bulge there.

"Weirdo," says Louis softly, and a little triumphantly, into Harry's half-unbuttoned shirt. "You like this."

"I don't think I'm the only one," Harry says, because as soon as his fingers snake into Louis's hair again, he goes all pliant under Harry's hand.

"Ears?" says Louis hopefully, and Harry laughs.

"You can't even feel it," he says, stroking his fingers over the fuzzy ears and feeling like an idiot for it, but—well, it's kind of nice; they're all velvety-soft against his fingers and Louis twists his head a little like it feels good. Harry's getting harder, filling up fast from it. From this.

"I can feel something else," says Louis cheekily, his fingers smoothing over Harry's crotch.

And, well, fine. So maybe this is okay. Louis isn't just winding him up anymore, trying to embarrass him, because he's embarrassing himself now in the process and he's not usually willing to do that unless he's getting something out of it. And the thing is, Louis is ridiculously accepting of this sort of thing. Harry sometimes wonders if there's anything he wouldn't do. He assumes Louis must have some sort of line, but so far, they haven't found it. Sometimes he wants to suggest something seriously filthy or bizarre just to see if Louis would go along with it. Harry's never quite sure if Louis's just indulging him, or he really gets off on pretty much anything.

"'m not being mean," says Louis, pouting a little into Harry's chest. "I don't care if you like them in that way. We could even do something about it if you want."

"Like what?" Harry says, still stroking him absent-mindedly while Louis's fingers are working with more purpose now, feeling out the shape of his cock in his trousers and rubbing steadily over it.

Louis draws back then, and unbuttons Harry's shirt the rest of the way, sliding it off his shoulders. "I could suck you off like this," he suggests, voice gone all low. "Or...you could fuck me."

Harry swallows, overcome with the mental images. "Both," he says tightly. "Both is good."

Louis grins, a little triumphantly Harry thinks, and makes quick work of getting Harry's trousers and pants down around his ankles. Harry's cock springs out, fully hard now from Louis's promises, and Louis is eager, pushing Harry back so he can drop to his knees onto the floor in front of him. He's thirsty for it, mouth already so wet as he sinks down over Harry's length, takes him in deep with little hesitation. Harry grabs at nothing for a moment, brain going blank as he feels Louis's lips tight around him and the gorgeous slippery warmth and friction. And then Louis makes a little pleased sound in the back of his throat and Harry grabs for his head helplessly, fingers finding the kitty ears right away.

He's struck by a sudden urge to pull on them, to tuck his fingers into the soft fur and just yank, but he knows the headband would come right off, so instead he clamps his hand down over Louis's head, feeling the press of the band against his palm and letting his thumb crumple one of the ears a little. It still feels pretty good, but not as good as Louis's fucking mouth, all stretched wide around his cock and taking him in, wet warmth that Harry pushes into over and over, knowing Louis can handle it. Sometimes when they do this, Louis will even clasp his hands behind his back and just let Harry use him, not making any attempts at keeping control—but whenever he does that Harry always comes ridiculously fast, not able to hold back when he looks down at Louis and sees him just taking it, letting the spit run down his chin, his whole body wracked with Harry's thrusts.

Right now Louis is clutching at his hips, sort of kneading at them with his fingertips, thumbs pressing against bone. If Harry starts to get a little wild, he'll feel a sudden sharp press of fingernail into his skin, a warning to hold off, that he can't come now because Louis wants this energy from him when they're fucking, wants Harry to pound his arse like this, not just his mouth. The thought makes Harry nearly lose it and his hand slips off Louis's head reluctantly, going down to one of the bands of Louis's braces on his shoulder instead and toying with it, and then under his chin to the bow tie. He doesn't want Louis to take that off, he decides, wants him to keep it and the shirt on as well as the cat ears. He'd like him to keep the braces on too, but that never works, and it's a constant annoyance because Harry has all sorts of fantasies about using the braces as leverage when he's fucking him that just aren't practical at all.

Louis is touching himself now, one hand dropping from Harry's hip to go between his legs and fumble with his fly so he can get his hand inside and stroke at his cock. And usually that's really fucking hot, the way he can't quite control himself sometimes, so turned on by the feel of Harry in his mouth that he has to give himself some relief. But right now, it pisses Harry off; he wants this to be about him. He jerks back, pulling wetly out of Louis's mouth and angles his hips away.

"Harryyy," Louis whines. "I was enjoying that."

He leans back in towards him, lips gleaming and reddened, and it's all Harry can do not to just shove right back in. "Gonna fuck you," he decides, heart rate quickening a little just from the words, the anticipation.

"Fuck. Yes. Please." Louis's head darts forward, teeth nipping at the skin of Harry's stomach, gentle but sudden, and Harry jolts. "That didn't hurt," says Louis, grinning wickedly. "Got tiny kitten teeth, me."

Harry shakes his head and smoothes a hand over Louis's hair, feeling where it's starting to go damp at the roots with sweat. He flicks one of the furry ears with his finger and Louis makes a little noise and gets up, back onto the bed, sprawling out like—well, a lot like a cat, actually, but Harry tries not to think about that.

"Might need to take your trousers off, Lou," Harry reminds him, and Louis moans frustratedly, laughing as he heaves himself back up and slips his braces down off his shoulders, struggling out of his trousers and boxers. Harry doesn't even need to tell him to keep the shirt and tie on because he clearly can't be bothered removing anything besides what's absolutely necessary.

"You're so impatient," Harry teases in a drawling voice, smirking as he finishes undressing himself.

"Yeah, well, you're turned on by cat ears, so," Louis quips, finally tugging the tangle of clothes from his feet and then shuffling over to Harry on his knees to pull him down onto the bed. Harry stumbles, falls clumsily on top of Louis who wraps his legs around him instantly, shameless.

"Could've got lube while you were up," Harry points out, and Louis groans again.

"You get it," he says, already starting to rock his hips up a little against Harry so that their erections press and rub together.

"I'm kind of trapped," Harry chuckles, gesturing to the way Louis's legs are clamped right around him.

"Ughhhh," is Louis's response to that, and he flings an arm out, reaching blindly for the bedside table and, impressively, managing to get the drawer open without having to move too much. He fumbles around some more and Harry just watches, amused.

It's like this a lot—Louis will tease him mercilessly, sometimes cruelly, purely because he thinks there's a chance it might end in sex. And probably about half the time he's actually wrong, because he'll hit a nerve or cross a line and it'll end in a little spat instead. But he'll always keep trying because sometimes he's right; sometimes the thing he chooses to wind Harry up about is just the right thing and it'll lead to this. Harry's never really understood why Louis has to make a game of it, play at having all the power until the second Harry gives in, because then it's just like this, Louis sprawled out on the bed beneath him and searching frantically for lube because he wants Harry inside him so badly.

The way he's stretching is making the cat ears catch on the pillows and come off, and Harry reaches out to neaten them up again. As soon as he touches them Louis squirms beneath him a little more, his cock a hot hard line sticking against Harry's stomach. Harry wonders if all the teasing was just an elaborate attempt at distracting him from the fact that Louis's the one who was into the ears in the first place, but it's always so hard to tell who really started it. Louis will swear down that it's Harry, every time, even though he's always the one who pushes it, says you like this, don't you? if Harry's holding back.

"Got it," says Louis suddenly, his hand snapping back out of the drawer and not bothering to close it as he settles back down against the pillows again happily. "How've we got so much crap in there? We've only been here a few days."

Harry shrugs, not really listening as he watches Louis uncap the little bottle and slick up his fingers. "Oh, I see," he says, a little put-out. "Just gonna do everything yourself tonight?"

Louis freezes, looking guilty. "You always go so slow."

"All right," Harry says, frowning at him, "so show me how you like it."

Because, okay, he really does want to be in control here, but the thought of Louis lying underneath him and fingering himself is—not exactly something he's going to object to. Louis bites his lip and wriggles about a bit, legs falling from Harry's hips but staying bent and open, and Harry shifts so that there's a little more space between them, so Louis can get at himself. At first he just watches Louis's face, because he's usually too busy focusing a little south of that when he's the one doing this, and it's good to watch the way Louis's teeth sink harder into his lip and his breathing goes all purposeful and slow like he's trying to relax. His eyes are half-shut at first but then his gaze slides up to Harry and he smiles, lazy, and there's some kind of relief on his face like this is what he needed; he just needed something inside him and now he can relax, doesn't have to nag and tease anymore.

Harry looks down between them and sees the way Louis's hand is shaped, the heel of it pressed to his balls as his fingers disappear down beneath, and then, yeah, okay, just looking at Louis's face isn't really good enough anymore. Harry pulls off, sitting up and settling between Louis's legs and watching as Louis's finger starts to work in and out of himself. He's really not going slow at all.

Harry reaches out, fingers brushing over Louis's and slipping lower, and Louis starts to draw his out, assuming Harry wants to take over, but—"No," says Harry, a little sharply, "keep—yeah—"

He pushes his own finger alongside Louis's, feeling how tight he is, red-hot around him. His mouth is dry and he swallows. "Yeah," says Louis, voice breathy, "yeah, come on."

Harry tries to match Louis's pace but it's clumsy, their fingers sliding alongside each other. Louis adds another of his own like Harry isn't doing enough, and Harry makes a sound in his throat, angry at that, using his other hand to pull Louis's away, and Louis makes a little hurt noise at the loss until Harry shoves in four fingers together, all curled against each other in the tight heat, and this time Louis's arms flail out and he grabs fistfuls of the duvet, head rolling back. Harry smirks at him, thrusting his fingers fast and deep, and it's probably not slick enough, a little too rough, but Louis is writhing against the sheets in bliss, his cock flushed dark and almost bouncing against the crisp white of his shirt with each hard push of Harry's fingers.

He keeps chanting, "Yeah, yeah," like Harry needs encouragement, and Harry has to take his own cock back in his hand, squeezing it but not able to do much else as he concentrates on fucking Louis with his fingers.

"I'm—I'm ready," Louis pants out before long, lifting his head up a little to look down at Harry with needy eyes. "I'm ready, right? Come on—"

Harry had almost forgotten about the kitty ears entirely, but looking at Louis now he realises they're missing, fallen off with all his writhing. "Cat ears came off," he says disapprovingly, too far into this now to pretend like he isn't.

Louis sighs in frustration but reaches up behind his head blindly to fumble for the headband, and shoves it back on over his mussed-up hair, and—god, Harry still has no clue why, but he looks so good like that. Even better now that he's all dishevelled, his starch white shirt beginning to go transparent with sweat and the bow tie crooked, and of course his legs spread wide open and four of Harry's fingers inside him to the knuckles, twisting and pressing and making him squirm desperately.

"Weirdo," murmurs Louis as he straightens the ears out, but Harry leans over him and cranes his neck in order to brush his lips against the soft fur of the ears and Louis's breath hitches, and Harry's not so sure it's just due to the change of angle of his fingers.

"Whore," Harry retorts, but it's said gently, fondly, against Louis's cheekbone now as he withdraws his fingers and reaches for the lube.

"Yesss," Louis sighs, and Harry can't honestly tell if that's in response to what he just said, or because Louis's realised that he's going to get fucked now. Maybe that doesn't exactly matter.

Harry straightens back up up to reach down and stroke the lube along the length of his cock and smooth a little more over Louis's hole, and Louis is sort of twitching impatiently underneath him, apparently unable to keep still.

"Give me a second," Harry almost laughs, "don't want me to go in dry, do you?"

Louis just makes another frustrated sound which quickly turns into a sort of whine when Harry's still taking his time. "I swear to god, if you meow right now—" Harry says, but Louis is too het-up to tease at this point, his eyes gone glassy. Harry chuckles. "And you act like I'm the one who couldn't wait to jump you."

"You couldn't," says Louis, but it's weak. This is pretty much the only time when Louis's unable to think up decent comebacks, and Harry likes that, likes having that power over him because it's so rare in the rest of their lives.

Satisfied, he tosses the bottle aside and Louis moans gratefully even though Harry's not even in yet. Harry steadies himself, one hand spreading out over Louis's stomach and feeling his skin hot through his shirt, and the other grasping his cock with sticky fingers as he guides it into Louis, slowly breaching his hole and making Louis scrabble at the sheets.

"Good?" Harry breathes, a little smugly, but Louis can't answer, and when Harry looks up he's left speechless too, taking in Louis's crumpled rucked-up shirt and the bow tie coming loose, and the flushed, dazed look of his face, and the stupid cat ears, fuzzy and black and deceptively innocent perched on the top of his head.

His legs are spread carelessly apart, loosely hooked around Harry's thighs and giving Harry plenty of control. Harry sinks in deeper, and Louis is nodding in a sort of urgent way, hair getting rapidly more spiked-up at the back of his head as he does so. As soon as Harry's fully-sheathed, Louis lets out a long sharp breath through his teeth, a real hiss, and Harry gives himself a second to adjust to the feeling of Louis all around him.

"So good, Lou," he mumbles out, stroking at Louis's hip now, pushing up the shirt some more to get to his skin and churning his hips a little, pressing into the slick close heat.

Louis sort of whimpers, "Move," at him, pleading and commanding and just hungry all at the same time. He's clenching around Harry, making himself even tighter, and Harry groans as he pulls out and pushes back in, quicker than he might usually, not really easing Louis into it. But Louis just moans, and Harry hooks his hands under Louis's knees to have something to hold onto as he begins to fuck him, gliding in and out in smooth easy strokes now, picking up speed until Louis can barely stop moaning, dissolving into a constant stream of sound that almost seems involuntary. Harry's thumbs press into the soft skin of Louis's thighs and his hips piston and Louis is beginning to rock against him, pink-cheeked and reaching for his cock now where it's bumping up against his stomach, leaking wet through his shirt.

Harry takes it for himself instead, batting Louis's hand away and wrapping his own around Louis's shaft, tight, fingers still tacky with lube as he strokes up and down, feeling the gentle throb of him in his fist. Louis can barely cope with this, still drawing up handfuls of the sheets and pulling at them, the bedsprings beginning to creak with the force of Harry's thrusts and the way Louis is hitching his hips up to meet every one even as it seems like an incredible effort for him to do anything right now besides just lay back and take it.

Harry shifts slightly, his knees beginning to ache a little, and the smallest change of angle makes Louis cry out suddenly, his whole body going drawn and tight and his back arching high, as though he's being pulled up from the middle—he splutters wordlessly and comes hard, violent, clenching almost painfully tight around Harry's cock in pulses as he shoots stripes of come up to his chest and then dribbles the rest over Harry's fist.

"F—uck," Harry manages, staring down at him. There's a splatter of come all the way up on the shiny black fabric of the bow tie and the shirt is ruined with it, and the kitty ears are crooked, and Louis is trying to catch his breath in sort of wheezing sobs like he was caught off guard. Harry has gone still, gazing at him, hand loosely curled around Louis's softening cock, and Louis starts shaking his head, hands gesturing weakly.

"Keep—keep—don't stop," he forces out, and Harry doesn't need to be told twice, picks right back up, driving back in deep and then pounding right into him and it's still the same angle that made Louis lose it—Louis turns his face into the pillow and screws his eyes shut, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, and he looks wrecked. Harry almost wonders if he could make him come again, if he kept going like this long enough, but he can't manage it, not with the slick heat and friction surrounding him and the sight of Louis like that, totally destroyed, all because of him.

He holds onto Louis's waist now with sticky hands, Louis's legs gone slack around his hips, and rides himself closer, hips bucking and snapping until he's bursting with it, fingers scrunching into Louis's shirt as he goes tense and comes deep, pleasure barrelling down on his body and draining him.

It takes him a long moment to ease off, room spinning gently around him and his vision gone starry, but then he feels Louis stroking at him, arm stretched out so his fingers can pet at Harry's chest. Harry comes back to earth, slipping down beside him on the bed and tangling their legs together.

He toys with the ears again, fingers lazy, and Louis chuckles at him, purring again. "Ugh," groans Harry, and Louis laughs, snuggling into him all blissed-out and satisfied.

"Can't wear them to sleep, Lou," Harry says, regretfully plucking the headband off Louis's head and tossing it across to the bedside table.

"I'll wear them down to breakfast," Louis replies, through a yawn.

Harry can't tell if he's bluffing, but it doesn't actually seem likely. Louis is willing to do pretty much anything. He wonders absently if he'd let him draw whiskers on him. "Really?" he says, grinning and trying not to let his voice sound too hopeful.

"Sure," says Louis with a one-shouldered shrug. "If you fuck me like that again after."

Harry laughs, pressing closer, lips to Louis's ear as he murmurs, "Slut."

"Cat-fancier," Louis shoots back with a smile.

End.

intro post & masterlist

2012-04-30T09:43:41Z

This is a community for likecharity's One Direction fic. All of the fic is now public, but if you'd like to get the updates on your friends page feel free to join the community. Membership is open. :)

all full up with your love. / AO3 LINK
Liam/everyone, Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: gangbang, overstimulation, unprotected sex.
Basically, Liam is sad after he and Danielle break up and Louis decides to fix it with sex. "Is no one going to say it? I feel like someone should say it," says Harry thoughtfully, and then adds, "we're gonna gangbang you, Liam." (~18,000 words)

all wound up and short on time. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: public humiliation.
He can never get enough of the effect he has on Harry, it's addictive, and this is just taking it to a whole new level. Maybe it's partly the idea that all these people are watching, seeing just how skilfully Louis can work Harry into a total frenzy with the tiniest things. (~2,600 words)

as loud as lions. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, PG-13. Warnings: references to homophobia and gay slurs.
Coming out!fic. Every few seconds there's a blinding camera flash, and it's overwhelming even for Harry so he can't imagine how Louis feels. All he can do is hold his hand, tight, like they've never been allowed to in public before, and let all these middle-aged men with their zoom lenses get a good long look. (~26,300 words)

could make your whole world sweet. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: D/s dynamic.
This is what he likes best, just making Louis happy, attending to his needs. (~1,800 words)

give it to me like i want it. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17.
Harry is overwhelmed by Louis's size and after being fucked by him, he just can't stop wanting to have him inside of him at every opportunity. (~1,400 words)

horizontal like a quarter to three. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: rough sex, unprotected sex, facefucking, breathplay, comeplay (including a facial), rimming, some pretty serious overstimulation, and a very brief mention of spanking. (Also Harry is seventeen.)
The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up. (~8,700 words)

it's you i want to take apart. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: cross-dressing (make-up and underwear), facial, unprotected sex, mentions of bullying.
He will readily admit that he likes to make Harry squirm sometimes, but this actually isn't about that—he just wants to help him get past whatever issue he has here. (And, okay, he also really wants to see what Harry would look like with lipstick on, because he bets it would be really pretty.) (~6,000 words)

leave you drowning until you reach for my hand. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: D/s, rough sex, overstimulation, spanking, facials, facefucking, unprotected sex, bondage, face-slapping, and humiliation. Under-negotiated BDSM which leads to the discovery of limits. (But everything is all right in the end!)
If Louis told him to do something that he really didn't want to do, it would be different, but Louis's never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn't handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement. (~16,500 words)

might like you better if we slept together. / AO3 LINK
Liam/Harry, NC-17. Warnings: slightly rough sex and a little bit of comeplay.
Liam is one of those people who seem to be able to handle everything, so Harry likes finding the cracks in his armour and poking at them. It's satisfying somehow, making him vulnerable. (~7,000 words)

move like cagey tigers. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: kitty ears (though not full-on animal play) and unprotected sex.
The thing is, Louis does look really cute with the ears on. It probably has something to do with his whole outfit, the polka-dot braces and rolled-up shirt sleeves. Even so, Harry doesn't think it should be quite as attractive as it is. (~4,400 words)

rock hard like a cinder block. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: suspenders/braces!kink, struggle for dominance, fairly tame bondage and a little bit of pain!kink.
Whenever Louis wears them onstage, it's like a physical struggle for Harry not to just stare at him and drool the whole concert, and it's mean, really, because that's a challenge at the best of times. (~4,000 words)

slippage and settlement. / AO3 LINK and AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis with OT5 undertones, NC-17 and R. Warnings: exhibitionism/open voyeurism.
Harry and Louis have sex in front of the others. It shouldn't be like this. They shouldn't be so comfortable with each other that something like this is allowed to happen without anyone completely freaking out. That has to be a sign that they've all gotten too close, that they need some time apart. (~8,200 and ~4,700 words)

so soft it twirls. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: hair!kink and D/s.
Maybe it has something to do with how pretty Harry's hair is, how it's basically his trademark, the way people distinguish between Harry and the others if they don't know the band that well. And it's something Louis has always loved in such an innocent way, and there's something about making it sexual that feels dirty and wrong in a way that really gets him off. (~3,400 words)

someone who knows how to ride. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: D/s, unprotected sex, hair-pulling, really mild breathplay and comeplay.
"You could just fuck me," says Louis almost conversationally. He's moving at a leisurely sort of pace, just gently rocking back and forth now, tiny movements that drive Harry mad. "Could just grab hold of me, make me bounce on your dick like you want. But you're not gonna do that, are you?" (~3,000 words)

state of flux. / AO3 LINK
One Direction/OFC with OT5 undertones (particular focus on Harry/Louis and Zayn/Liam), NC-17. Warnings: group sex and a bit of exhibitionism/open voyeurism.
This girl has brought to light something none of them has ever really questioned before, something about their claustrophobic closeness that has always made people curious for reasons they never understood. Maybe they just assumed it was normal, in their own private, confusing little five-person world, but—maybe it's not. (~17,700 words)

the hunger in my heart. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: sexual activity in the same room as sleeping people.
Harry and Louis fall for each other during The X Factor and have difficulty doing anything about it. It feels like it's written on Harry's forehead, if he's honest, and sometimes it's hard to care—sometimes, when Louis's lips travel from his mouth to his cheek to his ear, Harry's knees go weak, and he wants to tell the whole fucking world how that feels, how amazing and scary and fantastic it is for someone to have that hold over you. It doesn't feel like the kind of thing that should have to be kept secret. (~9,000 words)

that boy's got my heart in a silver cage. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, (very) hard R. Warnings: D/s and slight humiliation!kink.
The whole thing is addictive somehow, and not just because of the way that it makes Louis feel, like Harry is his and he'll do anything he says—but because of the way Harry reacts to it, even in public, twisting in his seat and tripping over his words and once even briefly hiding his face in Louis's shoulder because he's so flustered, causing the girls in the audience to squeal and shout. (~4,000 words)

'til there's no one left to hound you. / AO3 LINK
Harry/Louis, PG.
Harry and Louis's relationship from Liam's point of view, as management cracks down on them and hiding gets harder. Liam doesn't know what it is that makes them so special, and he's scared sometimes, so scared, that it will glow too hot one day and simply burn out. (~6,700 words)

to the extent that it's absurd. / AO3 LINK
gen, G.
Everybody already looks at them like they're animals in a zoo anyway, Louis says—might as well give them something to stare at. (~1,600 words)

with the hope that you would tame me. / A03 LINK
Liam/Louis, NC-17. Warnings: pain!kink, D/s, and a little bit of blood. Pain used as a coping mechanism. Liam is seventeen.
Once, on a dull night off, Liam tries asking Google on a whim. He stares at the blinking cursor in the search bar for a while, trying to figure out how to phrase it, because something tells him "why does my mate like it when I hit him" won't bring up a lot of helpful results. (~14,300 words)

to the extent that it's absurd. gen, g.

2012-04-30T09:29:11Z

Title: to the extent that it's absurd
Author: likecharity
Pairing: none, it's gen (what in the WORLD)
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Everybody already looks at them like they're animals in a zoo anyway, Louis says—might as well give them something to stare at. (~1,600 words.)
A/N: This is about some of the band's slightly weird behaviour during the Australasian leg of the tour. I don't really know what it is, man, it came out of nowhere. Title from 'Clark Gable' by The Postal Service.

It all starts with Harry's 'What Makes You Beautiful' solo. They actually have good, pure intentions with that—at least in the beginning—because Harry always gets so anxious about it and they just want him to relax. And, all right, maybe pinching his bum isn't the best way to go about that, but it really seems to work. With his back to them, he doesn't know when they're going to strike, and he gets so distracted waiting for the attack that he completely forgets to be nervous about the singing.

Perhaps they start taking it a little too far, Louis sometimes grabbing tightly at Harry's arse with both hands, while Liam ruffles his hair at the same time and makes Harry flail hilariously in a sudden loss of composure. It's not terribly professional, but it's fun, and sometimes that seems more important. Because once they stop enjoying themselves, they're in trouble; they need fun for this thing to survive. The concerts are always a good time anyway—they've never exactly taken them seriously—but it's nice to reduce the pressure just that little bit more, now that they're in a new country with new fans and everything's slightly more nervewracking.

By the time they've been in Australia for a week, though, they're all starting to go a bit mental. The days are packed full with interviews, and they all start to blur together, the questions always the same—how about all those screaming fans? Who's your celebrity crush? What do you look for in a girl? They've already been making bets on which are going to come up—each one of them has picked a particular question and every time it gets asked the others have to pay him a dollar. Zayn's winning by far with who'd play you in a movie? despite the fact that he still can't get Luke Pasqualino's name right.

But it's just getting so predictable that even cash rewards aren't really helping anymore. For some of the interviews they're separated, which is probably for the best in the grand scheme of things—journalists are starting to get visibly uncomfortable with the amount of inside jokes the five of them have, the number of times they'll exchange knowing looks or apparently inexplicable fits of giggles or secret hand signals lost on the rest of the world. But it's hard, being apart—they're so used to being together and it makes them fidgety and distracted when they don't have the others to turn to.

Harry can't focus at all when Louis is being interviewed without him, keeps lurking behind the interviewer's back and trying to get Louis's attention. He makes funny faces until Louis loses his train of thought, and Louis gets him back for it later—peering around the door during an interview of Harry and Niall's, making odd bird-like sounds and then hiding again. It really shouldn't be so hilarious but it is, even to Liam, who keeps losing it every time Louis ducks out of sight with a goofy grin on his face. Eventually Niall cracks up and explains to the clueless journalist, who's obviously pretty peeved, and they all know they should feel bad but can't quite bring themselves to. "Serves 'im right for asking the same questions everybody else does," says Louis afterwards, unapologetic and shrugging.

Louis is the most fed-up of all of them and predictably ups the ante, making strange noises in the middle of a group interview next time. To everyone's surprise, Liam is the one who joins in, until the two of them are barking like dogs at random moments and trying desperately not to laugh, covering their mouths and avoiding looking at each other, keeping their innocent expressions fixed. "You two are gonna get murdered by management," says Zayn when the interview is over, but he's laughing so hard he can barely get the words out, and Louis pats Liam on the back and says, "We're corrupting you, aren't we, Li?" in a sort of proud way that makes Liam's heart swell.

They know they must all be spending way too much time together, because they don't even really communicate in normal ways anymore—they're always saying the same thing at the same time, or knowing what each other are thinking without anyone having to voice it. They can tell from the slightest little bit of body language that Zayn's in a mood, and they can work out how homesick Niall is feeling from what he chooses to eat that particular day. Liam will lose his grip if he's stressed and start to forget that he's supposed to be the sensible one, and the more hectic things get the more Harry and Louis cling to each other, needing to touch at all times.

They're all like that, really. It's a comfort thing; impromptu cuddles whenever they get the chance, and smaller things in more public or professional settings, thighs pressed together on a small sofa or arms thrown over shoulders. In private they sprawl, limbs thrown casually over limbs, heads resting on stomachs or laps—comfortable, calm, and safe. They should probably be sick of each other at the end of the day, really, but it's strange to be all alone and they find themselves always sneaking into each other's hotel rooms at night just to avoid the odd feeling of isolation, so temporary yet so unsettling.

Louis's the ringleader of this, of course, and wants to take their silly little games further, the press sending him out of his mind with boredom even though he won't admit it. He starts giving them random words to work into the interviews, sometimes clumsily long ones, and then whenever they manage to slip them into a sentence Louis has the nerve to point out the odd choice of adjective or tease them about swallowing dictionaries.

Maybe it's all a way of regaining some control over their lives. Since the moment they arrived in Australasia, they've been surrounded by cameras almost non-stop, even in their downtime, and things are so busy and so rigidly organised when it comes to publicity that they're all starting to get a little sick of it, acting out just to have some say in something. And it's not that bad, not really—they're still so grateful for all of it and overwhelmingly flattered, but they're starting to go a little loopy from lack of sleep and lack of privacy, and maybe this is just a way to try and stay sane.

There's something else, as well, about the way that it's only the five of them who know how this feels. They've spent so long in each other's company doing the exact same thing that they're starting to develop some kind of weird mind-meld, everybody always on the same wavelength these days, to an almost ridiculous degree. On the way out of their hotel in Auckland one morning Louis trips exaggeratedly and falls, and the others go down right along with him without giving it a second thought, collapsing onto the carpet and then clambering back to their feet, continuing on their way like nothing happened and leaving their security guys completely bewildered. In an interview later that day, Harry rolls up the sleeves of his t-shirt, and Louis and Niall immediately copy him, Zayn and Liam following and barely even noticing the bemused looks their interviewer gives them. There's an odd thrill in it, this thing that the five of them have that no one else can touch. Everybody already looks at them like they're animals in a zoo anyway, Louis says—might as well give them something to stare at.

Wellington the next night is a little ridiculous, really, because it's their last show and they want to make it as much fun as they can, and so they're doing a full-on jazz square behind Harry during his solo, making him nearly lose it completely and then join in. They swap clothes with each other just for the hell of it, sick of stylists. They start playing around with the lyrics 'cause they're tired of just singing them as they are, acting out some of the lines instead and changing certain words altogether. Actually, Harry's been singing take off your clothes instead of but they stay closed for a while now—some dare from Louis that the others never really questioned—but tonight they take it further than ever, singing ridiculously about drugs and Travis and wrong-sized shoes.

It's all so stupid because it's not as if no one will notice and they know that, but in the moment, onstage, it doesn't matter. It's just the five of them, acting like idiots because they rarely get the chance these days. They get giddy, all caught up in each other, focusing more on their own weird games than on the audience, and they don't want it to end, but it has to.

The next day they're on a plane, headed home, and it's a relief because they need it, badly, the quiet calm privacy and the comfort of their families. But at the same time it's going to be a shock to their systems, a sudden change—they're grown used to the insanity of this, embraced it, and they might need a little time apart but they don't want it. They sleep on each other during the flight, pour little piles of sugar onto Louis when he's the only one left snoozing, and they giggle and touch and don't talk much because it's not necessary, hasn't been for a while.

"A month," murmurs Liam. He doesn't need to elaborate.

"A month," the others echo back, and it's bittersweet, a reminder of the blissful time off and at the same time a reassurance that it won't last long. A month is all they've got until this starts up again. Though, if they're truthful, it never really stops.

End.

rock hard like a cinder block. harry/louis, nc-17.

2012-04-30T09:28:13Z

Title: rock hard like a cinder block
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Suspenders/braces!kink, struggle for dominance, fairly tame bondage and a little bit of pain!kink
Summary: Whenever Louis wears them onstage, it's like a physical struggle for Harry not to just stare at him and drool the whole concert, and it's mean, really, because that's a challenge at the best of times. (~4,000 words.)
A/N: Kind of a combination of this prompt and this one. For anyone who doesn't know, what Americans call suspenders Brits call braces. And uh, the title of this is from Kylie Minogue's 'Speakerphone'.

Harry is beginning to suspect that Louis is doing this on purpose. Louis likes braces, that's perfectly clear, but he's pretty sure he likes what they do to Harry even more. Whenever Louis wears them onstage, it's like a physical struggle for Harry not to just stare at him and drool the whole concert, and it's mean, really, because that's a challenge at the best of times. Harry gets antsy and impatient, desperate to be alone with him, and when they're all changing in the dressing room after the show, Louis always smirks at him as he unclips the braces and pulls them over his head.

Lately Louis's been wearing the braces even when their stylist has planned an outfit that doesn't involve them; he'll just put them on last minute anyway with a quick glance at Harry that tells him he knows exactly what he's doing. Tonight Louis's driving him especially crazy—he looks so good, so put together and smart and he keeps hooking his thumbs behind the braces and letting his hips jut out a little and it's distracting. At one point Harry can't contain himself, finds himself going over and touching one of the thick black bands, wanting to—he doesn't know what, snap it or just caress it or something, and he catches himself at the last second, pretending he's just straightening it out. Louis smirks at him. He definitely knows.

Harry's on him the moment they're off stage, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him hard, ignoring Niall's hoot of laughter and Liam's long-suffering groan.

"Can't that wait?" Zayn grins, and Harry only stops kissing Louis long enough to say, "Nope," and by that time the others are already heading off to the dressing room anyway.

Harry wraps his fingers around each of the braces, holding tight, using them to pull Louis closer, and Louis makes half-hearted protests about how they're still technically in public, which Harry doesn't particularly care about until a sound technician wanders by and he realises that actually yeah, maybe this is a little risky.

They head to the dressing room instead and Harry is relieved to find that it's empty now, the others already changed and presumably headed back to the hotel, and he wastes no time in locking the door and getting Louis up against another wall.

He can't bear to unclip the braces, doesn't want to ruin the effect, because fuck, Louis always looks so good in them, he can't wait to see how he looks all flushed and horny and messy. He tucks two fingers beneath the left band of elastic, tugging it out just slightly away from Louis's body. Louis is just watching him. Harry's got his eyes fixed on Louis's chest, but he can feel the intensity of Louis's stare as clearly as he can feel Louis's hands tight on his hips. He lets the band snap back, making sure it lines up exactly against Louis's nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Louis cries out, startled. Harry grins wickedly at him.

He does it again because he can't help it, he wants to hear that little hurt yelp of Louis's again, wants to get revenge on Louis for winding him up like this, wearing the braces all the time just to get a rise out of him. This time he pulls the elastic further out, 'til the waistband of Louis's trousers is gapping just a little. He looks into Louis's eyes, wanting to see the reaction in his face, and Louis is watching him right back, breathing out shakily and steadying himself, a little disbelieving smile on his lips that says I'll get you back later. Harry lets the elastic crack again, and Louis's body jolts suddenly, his hands clenching on Harry's hips, and Harry slides his fingers smoothly up to Louis's nipple, rubbing hard through his shirt, intensifying the stinging pain. Louis gasps and squirms, but resists the urge to push Harry's hand away, just tightening his grip on Harry's hips desperately and breathing through it.

Harry smiles at him, impressed, dips in to kiss him, nipping gently at his bottom lip. He reaches down between Louis's legs, palming him through his trousers, feeling the hot hard swell under his hand.

"Fuck, Lou," he hisses, "from that?"

"Shut up," Louis says, but his voice sounds breathy and he's flustered, tilting his hips out for more friction.

Harry pushes him gently back again with the heel of his hand against the stiff shape of Louis's cock, feeling it out, grinning when Louis tries again to push into the touch. He can't bear to pull Louis's trousers down, because that means undoing the braces, and sure, they'd still be on, but it's not as hot to see them just hanging there; there's something about the way they get pulled taut along Louis's torso, held tight at his hips by those sharp metal clasps. They draw Harry's eye every time, to the firm flatness of Louis's chest, the gentle swell of his tummy, the shirt tucked in nice and tight and neatly buttoned.

He doesn't even want to undo the button of Louis's fly, knows it'll make the braces looser, and so he just pulls down the zip, slow, parting the teeth of it one by one, not breaking eye contact. It doesn't give him much leeway; he snakes his hand inside, heart jumping as his palm comes into contact with that firm heat again, the shape of Louis's dick beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. He fumbles, finding the waistband of Louis's underwear under the tails of his shirt, and forces it down. It's clumsy, but he manages it, feeling the hot skin cling against his hand. He eases Louis's trousers up a little, careful not to unhook the braces, and pulls Louis's cock out through his open zipper, and the sight of him is so hot—fully-dressed and yet so totally exposed, his erection standing straight up and flushed pink against the black of his trousers and the stark white of his shirt, the fucking braces practically framing it.

Louis swallows and his cock bobs; Harry has let go in order to admire him. "So dirty, Lou," he murmurs hoarsely, and he doesn't even know if Louis gets it but he thinks he does, knows he must be feeling the cool air of the room on his hard-on while he's covered up everywhere else. Louis shivers, and Harry knows this image is what he'll see in his mind's eye whenever Louis wears this outfit in the future, and he knows Louis knows it too, judging by the slight smirk on his lips.

Harry takes Louis back into his palm, feeling the soft heat of his skin, the pulse beneath the surface. With his other hand, he sneaks his fingers beneath one of the bands of Louis's braces again, holding his dick in his loosely curled fist as he stretches the elastic even further than before. Louis's breath catches in his throat and he shakes his head, just a little, a quiver of uncertain movement.

Harry stills. "No?" he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush the shell of Louis's ear. He hears Louis's gulp, senses his hesitation.

"Yeah," he hears then, Louis's voice a harsh whisper, "yeah, go on."

"Hold onto me," Harry tells him, even though Louis already is, and Louis's grasp tightens. Harry slips his fingers from the elastic and it ricochets back in an instant, and he hears the snap of air, and feels Louis's dick jump in his hand and his fingernails dig into his hips.

Louis whimpers this time, and he sounds so pathetic that Harry can't bring himself to torture him anymore; he lets go only to spit messily into his hand and then takes Louis back into his fist, letting his hand glide along Louis's length, feeling it throb against his palm.

He starts to pump Louis's cock gently, too slow really, languid, but he wants to savour this, the sight of Louis's erection peeking out from his open fly, flushed dark and slick, his shirt still fully-buttoned, the rest of his outfit pristine, just as it looked onstage. Fuck. Louis's cheeks are pink and his eyes are glassy, his chin lifted, tilted just a little, the angle of it sharp and inviting. Harry ducks in, lips attaching to Louis's jawline and sucking harder than he should, and he rubs at Louis's cock a little harder now too, insistent, and Louis moans and trembles a little against him, hands still clinging weakly onto Harry's hips.

"You want more?" Harry asks, scraping his teeth along Louis's jaw.

Louis twists his fingers in Harry's belt loops. "Yeah," he pants sharply.

"You want me to suck you?" Harry breathes, twisting his wrist a little and making Louis gasp.

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says breathlessly, "yeah, fuck, Harry, please—your mouth—"

Harry smiles against Louis's cheekbone now, letting his hand go still. He likes this, making Louis ask for it, though it never lasts long. "Say please again."

"Please, Harry," Louis says, feeble and frustrated, his hips bucking desperately forward like he's trying to fuck Harry's fist, missing the friction. "Fuck, Harry, do it," Louis goes on, and it always ends up like this, half begging and half commands. "Do it, do it."

Harry tries to make him wait, tries to drag it out, but he's never been good at it—he and Louis almost always end up just as eager and impatient as each other, and feeling the thick weight of him in his hand just makes Harry want to feel it in his mouth. He starts to sink down onto his knees and Louis lets go of him as Harry settles on the floor, Louis's cock resting against his lips. He exhales slowly, lets his hot breath play over him, and Louis's fingers tense.

Harry looks up at him. "Hook your thumbs behind the braces," he says, wanting to see if Louis will manage to keep them there, under control. He always gets a little handsy when Harry blows him, can't stop running his fingers through Harry's hair, tugging on his curls or gripping tightly at his skull. But for now, Louis does what he says, slips his thumbs just behind the metal clasps where the braces meet his trousers.

"Please, Harry," he says again, canting his hips so that his cock bumps Harry's mouth. And Harry wants to punish him for the cheek of that, he really does, but fuck—Louis's skin clings to his lips for a second and he can taste him, and he just can't wait any longer.

He lets Louis's cock split his mouth wide and push deep, his tongue stroking against hot swollen flesh, and Louis sort of hisses, his thumbs pulling at the elastic of the braces with his efforts to keep his hands still. Harry looks up at him, wanting to smirk but not being able to with his mouth so full and stretched. He can't take Louis right into his throat, so he keeps one hand curled tight around the base of Louis's cock, stroking what he can't fit in. He eases back, flicks his tongue over the head before pressing it flat against the sensitive skin and licking roughly, and Louis lets out a little unsteady sound, his hips twisting like he's trying to squirm away and press harder against the heat of Harry's tongue at the same time. His right hand starts to slip and Harry reaches up for it, holding it in place as he takes Louis back between his lips.

"Fuck," Louis mutters weakly, as Harry sucks, mouth sliding wet and hot and fingers twisting stickily around him. His head bobs back and forth, and he lets go of Louis's hand, satisfied now that it will stay put, so that he can reach down beneath and stroke at Louis's balls, feel them heavy in his palm.

The moment his fingers brush against them, though, Louis's hand is reaching forward, fingers suddenly running through Harry's hair, and Harry looks up at him, trying to glare but unable to hold back the fondly exasperated look in his eyes.

Louis half-laughs, a breathy noise. "Can't help it—sorry—" he says brokenly, and it's not like Harry really minds, it's not like Louis is ever really forceful, pushing his head down or anything like that, it's just funny that he can't seem to resist, petting at Harry's hair and holding onto him like he's scared he might stop.

He allows it. He kind of likes it, anyway, feeling Louis's fingers stroking gently at his scalp, it's soothing and it feels sort of like encouragement, like Louis is saying he's doing a good job. He relaxes a little, manages to take Louis a little deeper and Louis mewls his approval, and Harry thinks he'll never get enough of that, making Louis make noises. He reaches around behind Louis, hand snaking beneath the single band of the braces that runs down Louis's spine. He feels the elastic brushing against the back of his hand, and the cold metal of the clasp, and he pulls Louis in by the small of his back as he continues to work at him with his mouth.

"Yeah," Louis pants, "c'mon, yeah—gonna come—"

He's pulling a little bit at Harry's hair now, fingers twisting in the curls, and Harry picks up his speed. He can feel how close Louis is and he ignores the feeling of his knees rubbing against the hard floor and the slight pain in his scalp and just focuses on Louis, on making Louis come.

Louis gasps and whines, yanking sharply at Harry's hair and almost making his mouth slip right off—he spurts in sudden pulses over Harry's tongue and dripping down his chin as Harry struggles to keep Louis's cock between his lips. Harry holds him steady at the small of the back, feels him shudder and shudder again and then go still.

"Fuck, Harry," he says in a weak, hushed voice, as Harry eases off and swallows thickly, wiping at his chin and mouth with the back of his hand. "Kiss me."

Harry gets to his knees, feeling the way that they ache, and he stumbles when Louis pulls him close suddenly and kisses him with a rough wet slide of his lips. His breathing is still heavy and Harry's mouth feels raw, and they clutch at each other, unsteady on their feet. Harry's hands are back on Louis's braces, his fingers wrapping around them and holding them tight, and Louis chuckles against his lips.

"Still with the braces thing?" he says, sounding breathless, and Harry just nods, twisting the elastic in his fingers.

Louis steps back a little, batting Harry's hands away, and tucks himself back into his pants before unhooking the clasps at the front of the braces. Harry pouts at him, reaching out for them, but Louis slaps his hand and then undoes the clip at the back, torso twisting gently as he reaches for it. He pulls the braces off fully, lets them dangle from his hand as he untucks his shirt with the other, and Harry—well, Harry loves the braces, but it's not so bad watching Louis remove them. Louis is relaxed, languid, a little cocky after he's come; he always still has energy but it's a calmer type, focused and sure rather than wild and frenetic. He undoes a couple of his top buttons, and then takes Harry by the hips and turns him around, and Harry looks back at him over his shoulder, puzzled.

"Hands behind your back," says Louis, and Harry obeys hesitantly, still not really getting it until he feels the slightly rough elastic of the braces against his wrists.

He chokes out a little surprised laugh. "You're the one with the wandering hands, Lou."

Louis stops. "Are you complaining?" he asks.

"Fuck, no," Harry says quickly, "tie me up," because the feel of it, the slightly scratchy fabric of the braces against the delicate skin of his wrists, it's doing something to him—he's been half-hard since Louis's cock first slid into his mouth but now he's full and aching, straining in his trousers as Louis pulls the braces tighter, wrapping them around and tying slightly haphazard knots.

He shifts from foot to foot, and Louis finishes off, leaning in and kissing him just below his ear before murmuring, "Okay, babe," and turning him around again so that Harry has his back facing the wall. He twists his hands experimentally, and the braces give a little—they are elasticated, after all—and the clasps dangle and clink gently against each other. He could probably break free if he really made the effort, but it's not like he wants to.

Louis gets down onto his knees, wasting no time in getting Harry's fly undone and easing his erection out, and Harry can't help but moan just at that, the cool air on his hot skin, and then Louis's palm wrapping around him and stroking, slow, just a few times.

"Lou," Harry pleads, because Louis always likes to tease him, and Harry has the feeling it's going to be even worse now that he's tied up and vulnerable. "Lou..." he says again, and this time it comes out more like a warning than a plea.

"What, babe?" Louis asks innocently, letting go. Harry's hips twitch like he's trying to get his cock back into Louis's hand, and Louis just grins up at him. "I feel like you want something."

Harry groans in frustration. "I want you to suck me."

Under normal circumstances, he'd probably be impatiently guiding his cock between Louis's lips right now, but he can't, all he can do is tilt his hips forwards in a vain attempt to get closer to Louis's mouth, and Louis just leans back a little more, smirking. He wonders if this is revenge for trying to get Louis to keep his hands still, but it doesn't exactly seem like a fair trade. Then again, Louis always takes things a little further than strictly necessary.

Harry pushes his hips out a little more, hands twisting in their restraints, and Louis's tongue darts out, just flicking over the tip of his erection. It's the tiniest fluttering touch but the warm wetness of it makes Harry moan for more, and he feels a wave of cross frustration come over him.

"Louis," he almost snaps, "fucking—"

He doesn't have a chance to say anything more because suddenly he's being enveloped by blissful heat, Louis's mouth tight around him and suckling, and he cuts himself off with a cry. Louis's throat relaxes around him and pulls him in, and Harry almost sobs with the relief of it, the pressure and the friction. Louis's hands are spread out flat against Harry's hips like he's trying to keep him still for a moment. Harry feels a swallow, and then the back of Louis's throat nudge against the head of his cock and the tip of Louis's nose press against his skin, and he groans hoarsely. It's almost too much to look down at Louis, to see the way he looks so dishevelled suddenly, braces off, shirt untucked and wrinkled and fly still open, his mouth stuffed full and his blue eyes just beginning to water.

Louis eases back off slow, halfway and then down again, his throat constricting and his lips going slippery-wet, and Harry can only gaze at him, slack-mouthed, hips straining forward almost of their own accord to push into the tight wet heat. Louis is so good at this, so good at this, and he loves it too—loves anything to do with sex, really, but this in particular, Harry thinks, getting to reduce Harry to a whimpering mess and destroying himself in the process, ending up raspy-voiced and sore for hours, eyes bloodshot and face flushed and tear-stained. Masochist, thinks Harry fondly, watching as Louis takes him in again, slick and gulping, nuzzling at Harry's coarse pubic hair.

Usually, he's content to let Louis do his thing, to lean against the wall or sprawl on the bed or whatever without needing to interfere, but something about having his hands restrained makes it different; he feels completely powerless all of a sudden and it's strange, he's so aware of it. He finds himself bucking forward with his hips; Louis pulls back a little and Harry feels his cock sliding along Louis's tongue and he wants to push right back in and he does, catching Louis off guard and making him splutter a little.

"Okay?" he murmurs, and Louis gives a tight little nod—can't manage more with Harry's cock down his throat—and Harry begins to churn his hips a little, gently at first, growing more insistent until he's fucking Louis's mouth and Louis is taking it. He could put his hands up on Harry's hips, regain a little bit of the power here, but he's not touching Harry at all, hands clasped in front of him instead, and there's something about that that makes Harry go light-headed and a little bit frantic, thrusting quick and hard, his hands straining in the bands that hold them together and his head falling back against the wall as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge.

He comes without warning and the moment he begins to spill between Louis's lips, Louis reaches up and holds him still, suddenly taking back the control, his lips closing tight over him and drawing Harry's orgasm out, swallowing neatly. He laps at the head of Harry's cock, tonguing at the slit, and Harry squirms, oversensitive, his wrists rubbed raw against elastic.

Louis draws back, grinning, and he looks a little smug. "Want your hands back?"

"Might be nice, yeah."

Louis gets to his feet, clumsily, and swivels Harry around again to untie the braces. It takes a long time, and Harry is still kind of dazed from his orgasm, going limp and letting Louis fiddle around behind his back. He sighs, smiling to himself at the struggle. "You had no clue what you were doing, did you?"

"I don't tie people up all the time, no," Louis replies, humming to himself as he loosens the knots and finally gets Harry free. "Think I'm gonna need a shower. Wanna get changed?"

Harry turns back around, looking at the braces all crumpled and coiled up in Louis's hands. "No," he says quietly.

Louis looks puzzled for about a split-second, and then his mouth breaks into a smile. "You want me to put these back on, don't you," he says, and it's not a question, so Harry doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches forward, tucking Louis's shirt back into his trousers, zipping up his fly, smoothing his wrinkled shirt out over his chest. Then he takes the braces, and lifts them over Louis's head, stretching them down his torso and fumbling with the clasp and the waistband of Louis's trousers.

"Here," says Louis, chuckling as Harry's fingers slip on the metal and he can't attach it, and Harry brushes him off, determined. After a couple more tries he manages to connect all three clasps, and okay, the braces don't look as good as they usually do, but he thinks it's a little unnecessary for Louis to burst out laughing when they turn towards the mirror.

"Oh yeah, totally presentable," Louis says sarcastically. He looks a bit ruffled, his hair sweaty and his lips and cheeks reddened, but—

"You don't look that bad."

"I was talking about you, babe," Louis says, reaching over to pinch him on the bum. "You've still got your cock out."

End.

settlement. harry/louis, r.

2012-04-30T09:27:02Z

Title: settlement
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Harry/Louis, with OT5 undertones
Rating: R
Warnings: Exhibitionism or open voyeurism or something, sort-of phone sex
Summary: Sequel to slippage. It might be weird, might be a little bit fucked-up, but it's not like they have to tell anybody about it. It's theirs. It could always be theirs. (~4,500 words)
A/N: It's a sequel, but there's still no orgy—just lots of adorably dysfunctional OT5 co-dependency. I blame annon_of_rhi.

They sleep like this, all piled on top of each other on the three-seater sofa, Liam extracting himself briefly to go fetch a blanket so that they don't get cold. It really shouldn't be comfortable, and actually it isn't, as far as Niall is concerned anyway—but it doesn't matter. It feels like they need to stay together, right now, and just being in the same room isn't good enough, they need to share body heat and be able to feel each other's skin.

Niall wakes up to shifting bodies all around him and Liam shaking his shoulder, and he can't help but laugh, the situation dawning on him in the clear light of day now. It's seven and they've got an interview soon, and they're all sprawled on top of each other, sticky and gross, two of them utterly naked and the other three in the same clothes as last night. He's got an awful crick in his neck and a weird ache in his lower back where he thinks someone must have had their knee all night, and he doesn't feel well-rested at all, but somehow he feels okay about it all. They're all here with him, so he can get through this. They can get through this together.

There's a rush of getting ready, then, everyone disentangling themselves and getting unsteadily to their feet. Zayn wanders off to his own room in a daze, and then decides he actually wants a shower before they go out. But it quickly becomes clear that everyone feels this way, and they really don't have time to take turns. And maybe there's a part of them that's not quite ready to separate just yet, because they all find themselves squeezed in there together, and luckily it's a huge wet room rather than a little cubicle but they're still bumping into each other, fighting to get under the shower's spray.

The whole day, they don't really leave each other's sides. It feels like they need to touch more than usual, like last night has changed something and they need to reassure each other it's okay. They find themselves hanging off each other much more, so affectionate that one of the interviewers even comments on it. It's a busy day and there isn't really any time to reflect. All Zayn knows is that when one of them leaves for a moment—even if it's just to go buy a bottle of Coke or nip to the loo—something feels off, and isn't on again until they're reunited. It's always been like that, to a certain extent, but this feels bigger, like something has really changed, and he hopes it's just the aftermath of last night and not something more serious.

Liam can't help but be concerned by the way they're all clinging to each other all day. It feels like there's an odd pang in his chest if he's not close enough to the others, and he can't stop remembering last night, replaying parts of it in his head, going red when he remembers he's in public.

That night they stay up way too late, all curled up in front of the TV again. The same movie from last night is playing and this time they attempt to pay attention to it. A part of him feels like it might all repeat itself, the circumstances so similar, but it seems like they're all on the same wavelength, a little overwhelmed by the events of last night and just needing to wind down for now, be in each other's company the way they used to.

The movie ends and then there's channel-flicking, watching silly countdowns on music channels, and Liam starts to feel like no one wants to be the first one to get up and go to bed. And they can't sleep here, not again—for one thing he's still kind of stiff and bruised from last night, and for another it just can't be healthy—and so he's the first to move, to start herding the others into their own rooms. It hurts to do it, but it has to be done.

Harry follows Louis into their room—the five rooms are really just a courtesy these days and no one bothers to pretend they don't share every night anyway—and he just wants to get straight into bed, he's so tired. But there's a part of him that's still antsy, anxious, like something is wrong and he doesn't quite know what, and it nags at him. The two of them get ready for bed mostly in silence, and then curl up under the sheets, holding each other close.

Ten minutes pass and Harry still can't relax properly, and then it's twenty, and then half an hour, and he presses a kiss to Louis's cheek, trying to wake him gently in case he's already dozed off. "Hmm?" Louis murmurs.

Harry entwines his legs with Louis's. "Can't sleep."

"Me neither."

This has happened before; sometimes after a really busy day they have difficulty winding down. It helps to keep close, cuddle and calm down, but they've been doing that with the others all night and it hasn't helped. Usually, then, the last resort is sex, if they've still got enough energy. Louis reaches down under the covers and between Harry's legs, and Harry stirs against his hand.

"Do you want to?" Louis asks.

"Mm," Harry nods, reaching out for him too. But he gropes at Louis's hip for a moment under the covers, clumsy, causing Louis to chuckle at him—and then something seems wrong, neither of them can get fully hard and their rhythm seems off. The position is so familiar to them, everything about this is—but for some reason they're uncoordinated tonight, and it's awkward, and it doesn't take long for them to give up.

They lie there in silence, just staring at each other, confused. "You don't think," says Harry hesitantly. "I mean, what you said last night—"

"I was kidding," Louis says quickly. "Just wanted to make Liam blush."

"Yeah, but—" Harry insists, frowning, "I mean—we're never, we're never off like this, are we?"

Louis thinks about it, and realises Harry's right—in all the time they've been together, they've never really had a night like this. They've been a bit clumsy with each other before, in the early stages when they were still learning how each other's bodies worked, but everything clicked into place before long and they didn't look back.

"Maybe we're just really tired," says Harry in a small voice.

"Then why can't we sleep?" Louis replies. He knows what they have to do, and shuffles out of bed right away, pulling Harry up by the hand and then pulling off the duvet to wrap around the both of them, the hotel chilly in the early hours of the morning.

Louis huddles close to him and sets off next door, into Niall's room. "Are you kidding?" Harry asks, chuckling softly in disbelief but stepping in time with Louis so as not to trip over the duvet that trails along with them. "This is—I don't even know what this is, but—shit."

"I know, but—just to see, all right? We're not gonna know otherwise. And I don't want to never be able to get off again."

Harry giggles, and they push the door to Niall's room open quietly, trying not to fall over each other as they pad inside. They don't even have to say anything; Niall is sitting up almost instantly, flicking on his bedside lamp and blinking at them blearily.

"What the?"

"We can't sleep," says Louis, deciding to start off a little vague. "Can you come to our room?"

Niall looks at them for a long moment, like he's thinking.

The truth is, he can't sleep either, and it was starting to really get on his nerves. He kept feeling like the others were really far away, even though they obviously aren't, and then he started thinking about Harry and Louis curled up in bed together and something in his heart started to ache. He wanted to be there with them. He imagined their bodies all tangled together, the two of them sleeping soundly—and actually, it's kind of a relief that they're struggling too.

"Alright," he says, slipping out of bed. "Are we gonna get the others?"

Zayn is lying awake too, and he grins when he sees Harry, Louis, and Niall standing there in the doorway, looking at him expectantly.

"Can't sleep," Louis says simply. "Up you get."

"Can't shag, more likely," says Zayn, because he can tell by the frustration written on their faces. He knows maybe he should be a little more concerned about this happening again, but he can't bring himself to be; he's just glad that it's not over.

He gets out of bed and grabs an armful of pillows and blankets, and joins the three of them as they shuffle towards Liam's room.

Liam is lying on his back, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of whispers and shuffling coming from the next room. He's really not all that surprised when the door slides open and he's faced with a huddle of boys and blankets. They've all got dark circles under their eyes and they look anxious, and so even though he knows this can't be a good idea, he finds himself getting up right away, gathering up his own bedding and just following them all back through to Harry and Louis's room without asking any questions.

It's almost like a part of him knew this would happen, was waiting for it.

They all pile onto the floor at the foot of the bed, because it seems like it'll give them a bit more flexibility—although the truth is it's not like they need a lot of space, all immediately cuddling up close to one another in the heap of bedding and pillows they've brought through. Harry and Louis are leaning against the footboard, already looking a little brighter and happier.

Niall looks the sleepiest, and he settles down with his head on Louis's legs like they're a cushion, pulling one of the blankets up to his neck and smiling dopily up at him. Zayn is leaning back against the wall, his hand resting on Niall's hip, and Liam is pressed right up close to him, so drowsy all of a sudden that he feels his head could just drop onto Zayn's shoulder and he could nod off right then and there.

But then Zayn says, yawning, "Alright, we're here. Have at it," and Harry and Louis shift a little closer to each other under all the sheets and blankets, and Liam watches the movement, their hands slipping beneath.

This time, when Harry feels the brush of Louis's hand, he swells almost instantly, hot and sensitive and aching for further touch. Relief floods through him and he takes Louis in hand too, and Louis makes a little pleased sound, kissing him gently. It feels so good now, right, and Harry can't understand it—the only difference is that the others are here, and it shouldn't matter so much but it does. His eyelids flicker and in the dim light of the room he can see them all watching with fond, sleepy smiles.

He holds Louis a little tighter, and they're so in sync now, sliding soft and easy. Harry clenches his fist around the blankets and then Liam reaches out and takes his hand, like he did last night, and Harry laughs, letting their fingers intertwine and enjoying the way Liam looks so bashful. Under all the covers, he feels Zayn stretching his foot out until it bumps against his own, and he smiles happily to himself, burying his face in Louis's neck and breathing shallow against his skin, stroking.

It's slow; there's no rush now. Louis just wants to enjoy this feeling, the five of them together, doing this again.

"You're moving too much," complains Niall, his head being rocked from side to side on Louis's knees.

"Too bad, babe," says Louis, pressing his lips to Harry's forehead and slowly bringing him to the edge. They come within a couple of minutes of each other, and Niall cheers for them groggily and then promptly falls asleep.

"Thanks, you lot," says Harry, his voice a tired, satisfied rumble, and he snuggles closer to Louis, both of them wiping their hands on all the sheets because there's no way they're going to move, now, not from this cosy cuddle, so warm and comforting.

It happens again, and again, and again. They keep their pile of bedding at the foot of Louis's bed, and give up entirely on the pretence of going off into separate rooms when the night comes. Sometimes Harry and Louis won't have sex, too tired or not in the mood, but the others will always be there, and it's almost scary how quickly Niall grows used to it, the strange feeling of sleeping next to four other bodies, the wriggling and shifting throughout the night. It just—it feels completely normal, before long, and he keeps forgetting that there's anything strange about it, forgets that it's something they can't talk about.

He has a bruise on his forearm where Zayn accidentally kicked him, hard, in his sleep, and an interviewer points it out, and without thinking he tells the truth about its origin, causing Liam to give him a stern look and the interview to crack up laughing.

"You share a bed?" she giggles. "So sweet! Is there something more we should know about you two?"

Try us five, Niall thinks, thankful he didn't slip up and mention that they've all got bruises from Zayn's nighttime flailings, or that sometimes Harry snores so loudly they all have to kick him to shut him up.

"Just last night, just last night," Louis cuts in quickly, patting Zayn and Niall on their shoulders as he adopts a faux-serious tone of voice. "It's a private issue; they haven't worked it out between themselves yet so we'd prefer to keep it out of the press for the time being."

Louis winks at the interviewer and she is giggly and bemused, and the internet is going wild by the afternoon.

It seems like every time it happens, it feels more right, and that shouldn't be possible. Zayn didn't think they even really had any barriers in their friendship to begin with, but it's like they keep breaking them down, over and over. And at the same time, they keep growing closer, shutting out the rest of the world, not keeping in touch with friends and family back home as well as they used to, often not bothering to leave the hotels except for planned appointments. Because they don't need to; they don't need anybody or anything else, just each other.

Sometimes it's not even about the watching, sometimes it's just the comfort of being there while it happens. Sometimes they'll all curl up on the floor watching Friends while Louis rides Harry beside them, or they'll all just be busy doing other things, only stopping occasionally to tease Harry about the sounds he's making or to wipe the sweat tenderly from Louis's forehead. It just becomes normal. Routine. They get used to it so quickly—too quickly, perhaps—and Liam voices his concerns sometimes but never seems able to act on them.

Time passes too quickly and before long the tour is coming to an end. They've got a break before they start working on the new album, and Liam feels panicky and short of breath whenever he thinks about it. The idea of them all having to go back home and split off from Harry and Louis is unbearable, even though he knows they'll still be so close. It won't be the same, and he's afraid of how easy it will be to stick with their pattern, to end up staying over at Harry and Louis's every night, and how hard it will be to leave in the morning. He's worried they might end up just moving in, and the thought of it makes his heart ache with want, but he knows they can't—how would they explain it? What will he do when his family wants to come visit?

And it can't be healthy. They have to relearn how to cope without each other, or else they'll never be able to, and he knows that it can't go on like this forever.

The worst part is that Harry and Louis—if not Zayn and Niall as well—just seem to take it for granted that this is going to continue even when they get home. They're invited round the very first night and Liam has to speak up, say that perhaps they should try a few days without each other and see how it goes. The others are clearly heartbroken—and Harry seems mad at him—but they do seem to understand, have all had the same undercurrent of worry that only Liam refused to ignore.

He's never felt so alone, in his flat that night, unable to concentrate on a single thing and finding himself wandering aimlessly through rooms, unfocused. He's constantly wondering what the others are doing, and the thought of Harry and Louis together, without them, is painful. He doesn't sleep that night at all, feels wretched.

Harry is moody and irritable, keeps prowling around the flat and not being able to concentrate on anything, leaving Louis to unpack for him. He's angry at Liam and he thinks maybe he shouldn't be, but it's instinctive, because Liam's not letting him have what he wants. What he wants is for the others to be here, now and all the time, and he doesn't care how unrealistic or unhealthy it is because it works for them and that's all that matters. It might be weird, might be a little bit fucked-up, but it's not like they have to tell anybody about it. It's theirs. It could always be theirs.

That night in bed with Louis, they kiss out of habit, but it feels wrong and Harry is tired and cross and rolls over, turning his back on him. They sleep touching each other as little as possible, for the first time in months, and in the morning things feel strained and tense and awkward.

"We have to try get back to normal," Louis pleads with him the following night. "We managed before, right? We can do this."

But they can't; they feel almost like strangers to each other without Zayn and Liam and Niall. They keep trying, but it doesn't work, it's futile, and it just makes Harry feel even worse, like they broke something. It's difficult even to function without the others now; he's grown so used to their constant presence. He wakes up too often in the night and Louis takes forever to drop off, and Louis gets clumsy around the house and Harry ruins everything he tries to cook. Sometimes they fight, bitching at each other over stupid insignificant things like they never really used to. They try not to let it get to them, clinging to each other still because it's something, but Harry's beginning to feel like it's pretty obvious that there's only one thing that will fix this.

"I know Liam said we shouldn't see each other, but we can talk, right? There can't be anything bad about that."

It's been a few nights now and Louis comes up with the idea out of nowhere, perhaps out of desperation. He's been hearing the others' voices in his head—not in like a worrying schizophrenic sort of way, but imagining how they'd respond to the things that he says, picturing their reactions, and it's beginning to drive him crazy.

"You wanna call them?" Harry asks, grinning, and Louis can tell it's half-mocking and half-sympathetic. "Is that even possible? Like a four-way phone call?"

Louis doesn't actually know, but they decide to give it a try—calling Niall and Zayn first and then getting Niall to call Liam. And it works, and just hearing the sound of the other's voices on the end of the line is such a comfort; Louis relaxes immediately, feeling like the tension is draining right out of his body. The best part is the way Liam tries to act like he's annoyed, and totally fails, unable to hide the joy in his voice at hearing the others for the first time in days.

"We miss you," Louis says and the others echo it right back, and Harry snuggles up beside him happily.

It's nice, because as serious as the situation feels, the call is casual—they talk about random crap for twenty minutes and by then they're all yawning, Harry beginning to doze off on Louis's shoulder. It's amazing, the effect it has, so quick and so powerful. He'd thought things were hopeless, and he couldn't have imagined that this—just this—could make such an overwhelming difference. He feels instantly calm, and comfortable, and ready for a long night's sleep.

They've never been so dependent on each other, and that's saying something, because Niall knows they've always been pretty clingy. But usually if they've been around each other a lot, for a long time, they actually want a break. It doesn't usually last very long, and they'll miss each other, but this just takes that to a whole different level. It's only been a few days and already they're calling each other, needing to call each other simply to be able to sleep. He guesses they've got into a habit, and he guesses they should probably break it, but it's just so much nicer not to.

He wishes he could see Harry and Louis, though. On tour, it got to the point where he couldn't really wind down without just seeing them make out a little bit. His bedroom—his whole flat—feels so empty without the others here with him and it's strange, and lonely, and the next day he finds himself waiting for the call, not really being able to concentrate on anything until the phone rings.

And there they are, the four of them, their voices flooding him with happiness. Once again, they don't really talk about anything of importance—Liam's in the middle of telling them about how his washing machine broke, which Niall's sure would usually earn him a "cool story bro" and a change of topic, but for some reason tonight they're all listening, just glad to hear his voice even if what he's saying is utterly boring. And then Niall realises that Harry and Louis have been very quiet for a while, and then he hears a sharp intake of breath in the background, and he grins.

"You two are shagging, aren't you?" he says, interrupting Liam.

There's a guilty pause.

"Are you?" snorts Zayn, listening close, and then he hears a bark of Harry's hysterical laughter.

"You are!" cries Niall triumphantly. "I knew it."

There's a bit of sheepish laughter, and then Louis says, a bit more serious, "Actually, we haven't been, you know. Able to. Not since we got home."

Zayn isn't sure how to respond to that, and judging by the silence, it seems like Liam and Niall aren't either. The thing is, he knows that's really bad. Like, if you literally can't have sex without your best friends there—or listening in—that has to be fucked up in some sort of fundamental way. He knows that. He's known that all along. But it's really hard to care, because it feels like this thing is for all five of them and it was always meant to be. So why do they need to be able to do it on their own? The others can always be there for them. Will always be there for them.

There's suddenly a sort of whimper from the phone, and Niall's voice says, "Haz is blowing you, isn't he? You always make that noise when—"

"Yeah," Louis says, his voice sort of low and wavery now, and Zayn's always liked that—the way Harry's the only one who can quieten Louis down. "Yeah, feels so good. Like we haven't done it in ages."

Liam can remember exactly the last time they did it; after their last performance of the tour, Harry on his knees backstage. Not long ago at all, but he understands what Louis means, because it feels like a different lifetime. God, he misses them. Listening to Louis's heavy breath, he just wants to be there with him, to smooth his hair back and hold him close and watch as Harry takes him all the way in.

The three of them have all gone silent now, listening to Harry and Louis intently, though they can't pick up very much and it's frustrating. Liam is already thinking that this isn't going to work, that they need more than this, but he's still reluctant to give in so soon—he knows that if they all meet up, if they all go round to Harry and Louis's, they might never leave. He wonders frantically about video calls and Skype and it's all so ridiculous, they live in the same block of flats, but—

Louis's breathing is getting more erratic on the other end of the phone. "Are you close?" murmurs Zayn's voice.

"Y-yeah." Louis's voice hitches, and Liam's stomach twists; he wants to be there with them so badly.

"C'mon, Lou," he hears himself saying, softly, and Zayn and Niall join in with silly little sounds of encouragement, and then they hear Louis's familiar, weak moan, and Niall actually cheers, hilariously, causing them all to fall about laughing.

"I love you," comes Louis's voice suddenly, a little slurred, sounding blissfully happy, and Liam's not sure if he's just talking to Harry or to all four of them.

Harry grins, crawling back up the bed just in time to hear a responding chorus of we love you toos from the speakerphone. He feels so satisfied; there was something about just listening to the others and their mindless conversation that made everything feel okay, and he and Louis were touching each other before they knew it, Louis bringing Harry off with his hand, quick and easy.

"'s nice, this, innit?" he says into the phone, stretching and settling back against the pillows.

"It could be nicer," Niall points out.

"Yeah, it's kind of tricky just imagining what's happening," says Liam, and then goes silent abruptly, like he's not sure he should have said that, admitted he was creating pictures in his head to go along with what he could hear.

"What, did you want a running commentary?" Louis teases, and without thinking he adds, "Might be easier for you all to just come over and see for yourselves, let's be honest here."

There's a long pause. Louis looks at Harry and makes a face, whispers whoops, worried he's taken it too far, that Liam will give them another lecture about why this can't go on.

And then Niall says, "Well, I don't know about you two," addressing Liam and Zayn, "but I'll be there in like. A minute. Just let me get my shoes on."

"Er, yeah," says Zayn after another slight pause, and then he's laughing gently. "Yeah, me too. I'll be round soon."

Louis exchanges another look with Harry, waiting for Liam's response. The thing is, they need Liam's response—Niall and Zayn might sound quite sure of themselves but if Liam says he's not coming, that's it. They need all of them for this to work.

Liam clears his throat on the other end of the line. "I think," he says, and he sounds uncertain, but Louis can hear a slight smile in his voice, "I think maybe we should pack some bags, too. Just in case we end up staying for a bit."

"Good idea, good idea," says Niall, and it sounds like he's already working on it; they can hear him bustling about in the background.

"Yeah," says Louis, looking at Harry sidelong, seeing him smirk. "Yeah, you know. Just in case."

End.