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“Poetry, dreams, desire, everything leads me to you" — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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“Your smile is lonely,” Louis had said the first day when he had sat next to Harry in class. Nothing of his tone was aloof, if anything his voice was warm, soothing.
Your smile is lonely.
Harry had repeated the words in his head all day long, flashes of Louis’ smile ingrained in his mind.
Your smile is lonely.
Except, smiles aren't lonely. They're happy and bright. So much that they light up an entire room full of darkness. That’s how Harry thinks Louis' smile is — radiant and sparkling. Every time Louis smiles, Harry's own isn't too far behind. It's like dominos falling, a chain reaction, slow and then all at once.
It's beautiful, in the most tragic of ways, the feeling that comes from the deepest parts of Harry’s heart, tainted bitter with such a sense of urgency, of the need of having Louis all to himself, that it leaves Harry untethered to everything and everyone around him.
The transition of Louis and Harry to LouisandHarry had been so seamless, the realization of just how much Harry craved Louis’ presence didn't surprise one bit. Their friends never bothered with the teasing either, leaving them to their devices.
“You’re my best friend.”
It's what Louis had whispered to Harry one night, words pressed into the skin on Harry’s neck while the rain outside had muted the whole world. Harry had gulped, hoping the beat of his heart didn't give him away, trying to slow his breathing and not let the lump in his throat grow.
I don't want to be your friend, Harry thought but the words died on his lips.
Self-awareness has always been one of Harry’s best traits. When he realizes something he’s not good at, he lets it be. There’s no point in struggling and losing hope when there are many more things he’s better at. Perfection isn't ideal, flaws are. What beauty has ever been perfect?
When the realization hits him, Harry welcomes it forlorn. It happens on a day when the sun is bright in the sky, with no grey clouds hovering above. It's nothing monumental, the moment, but it has more effect on Harry than the leaves falling down to the ground as autumn seeps in the weather. Walking in on Louis and Zayn kissing had been miserable. He had played the memory in his head over and over again but the way Louis’ cheeks were a blushed pink as Zayn pulled away was heart-wrenching. Harry’s not entirely sure he’ll ever be able to get over it, no matter how immature that makes him.
He does what’s the most reasonable plan of action and decides to get drunk. Just enough alcohol in his system to help him forget the hurt in his heart. It's not the healthiest of tactics but he’s also in no position to be rational. He ends up inviting his mates along, Louis and Zayn included.
“Alright?” Liam asks him as he hands Harry his shot.
Downing it in one go, Harry wipes his mouth by the back of his hand. “Uh-huh.”
A soft giggle echoes from behind him. It's a sound he’s heard a thousand times and has had the honour of getting them out of Louis. He watches as Louis comes in his line of sight, with Zayn close behind as they make their way to the dance club.
“Another!” Harry slaps a hand on the sticky table.
“Clearly,” Harry hears Liam snort, though the man in question doesn't push. Harry exhales a sigh of relief.
It's been a while since they’ve arrived and Harry’s since lost track of time. He remembers getting shots with Liam, getting to the washroom after standing in a tirefully long queue and that’s that. It's a blurred bundle of faded music that washes through his brain as tries to recollect what had happened next. But somehow, he’s squished between sweaty bodies as his own moves to the beat. Harry knows he probably looks way out of it, what with his moves and the alcohol thrumming in his veins, but there’s someone who looks more graceful than they have any right to be.
It's like gravity. Like the sun and the planets that do nothing but revolve around it. It's all they know. And it's all Harry knows — being with Louis. It's a need rather than craving, a way to make his breathing calmer every time Louis’ around.
His eyes find Louis, his body clinging to someone else. Harry’s vaguely aware of the one pressed to him uncomfortably, his shirt sticking to his skin. He feels a little gross but all of that leaves his thoughts when Louis looks back at him.
It's hard to make out his eyes in the dark but Harry knows they’re blown out black, the blue in his eyes a mere circle but vibrant as ever.
In a moment of darkness, the sun goes out. The person clinging to Louis pulls him into a kiss, their face was hidden from Harry’s sight. Harry sighs as it happens, another person who gets to have Louis. Another one who gets to kiss him and touch him, look him in the eyes after his lips are puffy from being bitten.
It's a surge of pure spiteful jealousy that makes him pull the person clinging to him closer, blindly finding their lips and pulling them in for a kiss. Harry opens his eyes, finding Louis immediately. Dropping his hand lower. Harry deepens the kiss, eyes strained on Louis.
Louis does him better and brings the strangers hands to rest on his arse, squeezing himself closer to the person he’s locked lips with.
It shouldn't be as arousing, but something about them kissing different people yet looking at each other has a deep fire burning in Harry’s gut.
“Damn,” the person pulls away from Harry, glancing at his crotch.
Their smudge eyeliner is all Harry notices before his eyes flicker back to Louis.
“Alright there?” The person asks again, this time Harry manages to look into their eyes. They're an alluring grey but not the blue ones that seemed to have run away.
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It's around 3 when he makes it back to his room, the buzz in his being sobered to a soft hum. He manages to drink some water but not before throwing up in the kitchen sink, wiping his mouth as he drags his feet to the bathroom.
He stands under the shower spray, lethargically soaping up with hygiene as his sole motivation. Its effort pays off when he settles in the sheets, dropping face-first on the bed. Moments from earlier play in his head on a loop. In the back of his mind, Louis fades as does the memory, darkness of sleep taking over.
A hard knock on the door jolts Harry up, heart frantic with the sudden noise.
“Open up!” Louis shouts from the other side, way too loud for his neighbours to ignore it.
Smiling to himself, Harry makes his way to the door. Louis’ still in his clothes from earlier but more awake than Harry is. Come to think of it, Harry doesn't remember seeing Louis having any drink at all.
“Wanna smoke?” Louis walks past Harry and side. “Found Zayn’s stash,” he giggles.
Ten minutes later, Harry’s sprawled on the bed, sheets cool against his skin, unlike Louis who’s warm.
Eyes blown with the high weed, Louis looks alive. It's a different kind of haze than the one Harry sees every time Louis talks about football or watches kids play in the park. It's the sort that makes Harry want to breathe the same air as Louis until he’s choking on his own breath, taking up every part of him for the best.
Louis’ since removed his jeans, complaining about how itchy he was feeling. Now he rests his legs over Harry’s, face resting on his chest.
“Good Lou?” Harry’s voice comes out hoarse, raw as if he hasn't spoken for days.
“Cold,” Louis mumbles.
Pulling the blanket over, Harry's hands brush near Louis’ crotch. He freezes momentarily, then pulls his hand away as if scorched by the sun’s heat.
Looking away, he mumbles, “Sorry.”
“It's fine,” Louis smiles up at him.
The blush on Harry’s cheeks is still high when he cuddles closer to Louis, hands resting on Louis’ thigh, feeling the soft skin under his palm.
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Harry watches Louis. Watch him when he eats, when he talks, when he sleeps, when he breathes. Every now and then Louis catches him, his eyes glinting amusingly while Harry looks away, caught. The very existence of Louis stirs feelings deep within Harry that he isn't sure he’ll ever be able to fully comprehend. So, he sticks to watching Louis, admiring him from afar. Scared to go too close lest he burns himself. Icarus did.
The flutter of Louis' lashes against his cheekbones is a motion that fascinates Harry. The shadow they cast against his skin, the soft tint that seems to permanently reside under the skin of his cheeks, the freckles dotted across his face that dares Harry to reach out and touch and feel enough to never forget.
Except, it's never enough. Watching, touching, having Louis exist alongside him is never enough. Not having Louis all to himself is never enough. The sheer struggle of having to share Louis with others, witnessing them all standing in a queue, waiting to have a piece of Louis with desperation.
It's times like this when Harry wonders if he'll ever be enough. Every now and then he gathers the courage to ask Louis, to know the inevitable denial that comes with the answer to his question. The words lie heavy on his tongue, waiting to be spilled and ask Louis if Harry will ever be enough.
He never does.
December is right around the corner and the weight of exams feels heavier as the days pass. It's the season of long nights and cold breaths, ink-stained fingers gripping warm cups of coffee. It's how Harry makes through his nights and days, squeezing in power naps and consuming copious amounts of coffee.
Harry’s eyes follow the trail of steam, as it leaves from the mug and floats up to fade in the air. He rubs his palms together every now and then, the friction giving temporary warmth to his skin. The rain hasn't stopped since it started pouring down yesterday night, a steady stream of drops splashing against the windows as firewood burns in ambers in the distance.
It was supposed to be a nice weekend, a break away from the bright lights of the city and the honking of vehicles at night. A little get away from the world, just him and Louis. And books.
When Louis had first proposed the idea, Harry had frozen. A weekend away in the countryside, just the both of them, seemed a lot more romantic to Harry than it did to Louis. Except that their exams were right around the corner. As appealing as the thought of hiding away from the world had seemed, he had to prepare for the tests.
No sooner had Harry opened his mouth in protest, Louis interrupted him.
“Before you say anything, I know.” Louis paused, eyes flickering down and pulling at a loose thread on his jeans. “You know how jittery I get,” he said, his voice small and so unlike Louis. “I was thinking this could help.” And then rushed out, “You don't have to come,” hands flying up against Harry’s chest.
“Lou,” Harry had sighed and caught Louis’ wrist against his chest, his hands tiny under Harry’s hold. “When do we leave?”
“Harry?” Louis’ voice pulled Harry out from his thoughts, his heart hammering when he turned to look at the boy.
Glasses resting heavily on his face, eyes tired with hints of purple underneath. He looked soft, delicate. Harry knows for a fact that Louis’ hands hold ink stains that match his, specks of black dust on his palms.
“I made tea,” Harry offered.
Louis stood up from the comfort of the bed and padded his way over to Harry, settling beside him and peering out the window.
It's dark now, the trees swaying with the wind as rain continues to patter down. Harry breathes deeply in the whiff of his coffee, the rich aroma filling up his senses.
“Come here,” He beckons Louis who goes along wordlessly, shuffling to make space between Harry’s legs. Harry brings his arms over Louis, pulling him closer until his chest is snug against Louis back.
They had arrived on Thursday, the days since then passing in a blur of books and coffee and papers as they studied through the night, taking breaks every few hours so as to not overwhelm themselves.
They’d be leaving tomorrow morning, Sunday, with enough time to do some quick revision before their tests start on Monday. Harry knows it won't be difficult as long as they have studied well and manage to retain everything when they finally see the question paper. Still, the feeling of not studying enough gnaws at him constantly, even more so for Louis.
“Sleep well?” he murmurs and takes a sip of his coffee.
“Mhmm, best sleep I’ve gotten in weeks.” Louis finishes his tea and places the cup in front of him, leaning back to rest his head against Harry’s chest, cuddling into his warmth.
“I’m glad,” he murmurs back, dropping a kiss to Louis’ head.
It's cozy, with the boy Harry loves in his arms, the warmth of fire cascading over them as it rains outside. Louis was right, this is peaceful. I could get used to this, Harry thinks. Just him and Louis. HarryandLouis.
He bends forward to breathe in Louis’ smell, his mouth resting near Louis’ neck and sighs. Harry isn't sure he’ll ever be able to explain it, the feeling of love, the feeling of having Louis all for himself. He thinks the word ‘Love’ does little to explain the way his breath hitches every time Louis looks at him or the way his heart skips a beat whenever Louis calls out his name. Or the way his skin tingles when Louis touches him. The word ‘Love’ falls short of expressing everything Harry feels for Louis.
He stays that way for a while, with Louis in his arms and his heart leaping with emotions that have long stopped being scary to him. Time feels suspended, no concept of reality or fiction could ever amount to this moment right here.
Just when he thinks Louis’ fallen back asleep, he stirs in Harry's arms. Harry rubs Louis’ arms, well aware if he feels cold, then Louis probably feels colder.
“Cold?” he asks. A pointless question given the state of things but he does it anyway, just to hear Louis mumble.
Grabbing Harry’s hand, Louis stops his movement, holding onto Harry’s hands.
“They’re so big,” Louis mutters, trailing a finger down Harry’s fingers and palms, twirling invisible patterns on Harry’s skin.
Unsure if the statement is innocent, Harry tries to gulp away the insinuation of what Louis has just said, cheeks burning up on their own accord.
Louis plays with Harry’s fingers, dancing his own in and out, catching them every now and then. He turns to Harry’s wrist, running a finger against the delicate skin.
Harry feels Louis’ breath hot against his skin as he inches closer until his lips plant softly against Harry’s wrist. The kiss is gentle and soft, and should probably not stir Harry’s dick the way it's twitching now. He feels like a man from the Regency Era, getting horny over a little flash of ankles.
“Lou,” he groans out, blush rising up on his cheeks when he hears Louis giggle. Harry tries to sink back, anything to avoid Louis knowing how easy Harry is for him.
“Kiss me,” Louis says and turns to look up at Harry. “Please.”
Harry could question it, ask a thousand questions that would result catastrophically. But a small voice in the back of his mind protests, begging him to let himself have this. The feeling of guilt only sinks deeper as Louis closes his eyes and tilts his head upwards.
Harry licks his lips, the pink of Louis’ lips as inviting as ever.
“Please,” Louis whispers again, eyes still closed. A small tear escapes his eyes, rolling down onto his cheeks.
The right thing now would be to ask Louis what’s going on. But Harry’s selfish — will always be when it comes to Louis. He pushes away all his thoughts, he would ask Louis some other day when Louis isn't as pliant in Harry’s arms.
Harry moves closer until his breath fans over Louis’ lips, sealing them shut in a searing hot kiss.
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The world outside is grey, obscured by the thick winter mist. The trees sway with the air pressure, willing to go along with it despite being rooted to the ground. Harry relates to them, can understand their desire to leave everything and follow the wind wherever it goes.
A bitter laugh escapes his lips but it's muffled by Louis’ giggles and some tacky rom-com currently playing on the flat screen. It was supposed to be just them, him and Louis. It's not like Harry had insisted it be that way, in fact, it was the other way around.
“Are you inviting anyone else?” Louis had asked over the phone.
Naturally, Harry had said no.
“Good.”
Harry's heart beats. It's the cycle of life, he thinks, but mostly it beats for Louis. It skips a beat when Louis calls his name, warms up when Louis looks up at him with his eyes twinkling with something that Harry can never pinpoint. Maybe they're stars but then again, stars aren't this bright. More often than not, his heart stops altogether, forgetting to beat when Harry lays his eyes on Louis.
Harry thinks Louis is his life.
"Lou," Harry breathes into the phone.
"Hi," Louis greets, his voice softer than the most expensive of silks.
Harry had then asked, “what time are you coming home?”
Louis had laughed and Harry hoped it wasn't at him.
“I’ll be home in an hour,” Louis had replied, his voice as soft as a rose petal.
Harry hung up then, excited and giddy because Louis called his place home. The heady feeling bubbling in his stomach sank to a bottomless pit when Harry opened the door only to reveal Louis with Zayn looming behind.
Fast forward an hour, Louis is still attached to Zayn, his bare feet splayed all over Zayn’s lap. The slight tilt of his head over Harry’s shoulder does little to nullify the sour taste of jealousy lingering in his mouth.
The front door being shut startles Harry from his slumber.
“What the —” Harry grumbles and pulls out a sticky note stuck on his forehead.
Let myself out. Don’t let Lou go to bed empty stomach. — Z
Preposterous! Harry thinks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. As if he would forget to feed Louis.
The boy in question stirs next to him, all curled up and covering his mouth when a yawn escapes him. “Haz?”
“Lou,” Harry answers immediately, his voice gruff with sleep. “Let’s eat,” Harry says, hands finding Louis’ bare feet.
“Wanna finish the movie.”
And when has Harry ever denied Louis anything? He agrees, not before ordering themselves a pizza and backtracks the movie by a few minutes while Louis places his feet in Harry’s lap.
“You’re warm,” Louis says, snuggling further against the couch.
Harry wrinkles his nose.
Throughout the rest of the movie, Louis keeps squirming. Tossing and turning until he’s comfortable only to move again.
It happens gradually but not so much that Harry doesn't realize it — Louis’ feet rubbing against his crotch. The movement is ever so slightly. Except, Harry knows if Louis doesn't stop, it won't be long until Harry pops a boner.
Harry grabs Louis’ feet, stopping their movement altogether. He runs a finger along his ankles, Louis' skin soft and warm under his touch.
It's the bare minimum of what Harry wants, needs, but he'll take it. Accept everything and anything that Louis' ready to give him. He'll take it day by day, count his hours until he has but seconds left until he can call Louis his.
Harry lets it happen. He lets go of Louis' feet and closes his eyes and lets himself feel the pleasure that Louis wants to give him.
Louis taps his foot against Harry's crotch.
Pulling down the zipper, Harry pulls down his jeans and pants just enough to pull out his cock. He hisses when the cold air hits him, the hiss turning into a moan when Louis' feet touch his cock.
Harry groans when Louis slides his feet down his cock, spreading the precum over his length. He keeps at it, soft long drags over the length until it has Harry moaning with every touch.
It's very little and all too much and leaves him craving more.
"Lou," he groans out a warning, something to make Louis go faster.
Louis ignores it though, eyes still trained on the television in front, the drags of his feet as slow as ever.
Harry's patience wears out and he grabs Louis' ankles to a stop.
The action makes Louis look at him, eyes hazy with lust. A flicker of confusion passes over his features.
Holding Louis' feet, Harry brings Louis' feet over his slit to collect the beads of precum and spreads it more. He lets out a sigh of relief when the pressure is just right.
A gasp leaves Louis' mouth at that, he turns onto his back to get a better look at Harry. His hips thrust up in the air of their own accord, heat pooling up in his belly at the thought of Louis using his feet to get off.
Harry watches the way Louis tries to fuck the air and moves Louis' feet faster over his cock, the feeling over falling over the edge close. It crashes over him like a tide, a high rush of relief along with a string of curses that leave his mouth.
His come streaks over his jeans, mostly on Louis' feet. Though sensitive, Harry uses his cock to rub his come all over Louis' feet. It's filthy but satisfies his carnal desires, like an animal marking up its mate.
He looks to Louis and down to his crotch. He hears Louis whimper, body shaking as a wet patch forms over his jeans.
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The new year is just around the corner. Drinks, laughter and music flow freely in the house, the excitement of a brand new year’s arrival thrumming with alcohol in everyone’s veins.
Harry’s not sulking. He doesn't mean to look sombre, not when everyone is dancing off their feet and drunk off their asses. Some cling to someone while others are in search of their midnight kiss.
Harry’s shining, heck he’s covered in glitter so no, he’s not sulking.
It was a harmless prank by the host of the party, who's currently giggling into Zayn’s neck while the latter holds him close by the waist. Apparently, it was a fun idea to sprinkle glitter all over Harry and Liam the moment they entered Louis’ house.
Whyyy, Liam had groaned, when the shock of his state hit him. Louis had giggled his way out, escaping with Zayn into the crowd leaving Liam and Harry with fucking glitter all over their bodies.
Still, Harry smiles. If having to bathe in glitter makes Louis laugh like that, he’d do it all over again, every fucking day.
“Who knew removing glitter would be this hard,” Liam grumbles beside him, though he doesn't wear the same expression as Harry’s. His voice is laced with a hint of fondness that he only ever reserves for Louis and his antics.
Harry’s cheeks burn up, shame overpowering the sour taste of jealousy in his mouth. His eyes flicker back to Louis who is dancing with the crowd, Zayn close behind.
Don’t you see me?
Harry's always known it was selfish of him to want Louis all for himself. Everyone wants a piece of him, wants to be around him. Like planets revolving around the fucking sun. The sun who shines so bright, enough to shed its light on the farthest planet of all. Except, the farthest planet gets such little light that it's left cold and frozen.
Harry doesn't want to be frozen. He wants to be warm. Next to his sun.
Twenty minutes to midnight, Harry finds himself nursing a red drink that some girl had bought him. He had snorted upon seeing the bar, of fucking course Louis would set up an open bar. He hadn't expected anyone to notice him enough to buy him a drink, not with glitter stuck all over his face yet here he was.
Harry huffs when Louis sits next to him and signals the bartender for a drink. “Are you pissed?” he asks.
Harry gulps down the rest of his drink, doing his best not to make a face. “No.”
“Why won't you look at me then?”
You're too bright, Harry wants to say. Instead, he keeps mum and looks at Louis, trying hard not to fixate on his eyes or the slight flush of his cheeks. It’ll only ever hurt Harry.
Louis turns away when Liam calls. “Lou!” he says, his body swaying from a slight buzz, “let's go!”
Don't you see me?
Harry chugs Louis’ drink and leaves.
Ten minutes to midnight, Harry finds himself on Louis’ bed. The soft sheets feel lovely against his itchy face but the scent they hold is far more intoxicating than the alcohol thrumming in his veins. The buzz of it is slight and a welcomed distraction from the heavy weight building up in his chest. Harry plants his face against the sheets. The urge to scream into them is tempting enough that Harry gears up for it, ready to muffle his screams into the fabric.
He stops when the bed dips next to him.
“Harry.”
It's Louis. It's always Louis.
“You don't like the party?” he asks, voice small. Harry wants to melt in the sheets.
“Good,” Harry says into the sheets, not daring to look at Louis.
“Do I look that hideous then?” Louis’ voice breaks.
“No no no. Never,” Harry sits up instantly, grabbing Louis’ hands. “Your makeup is lovely.”
Louis sniffles, looking down at their hands. “Really?”
Harry drags the pad of his thumb along Louis’ bottom lip, mesmerised by how plump and cherry red it looks. “Yes, the loveliest,” he says, resisting the urge to bite Louis’ lips and kiss him.
Louis giggles, swatting away Harry’s hand.
“Let me bring my makeup wipes. Maybe the glitter will come off then,” Louis says, turning away.
Harry doesn't miss the soft blush of his cheeks.
The makeup wipes do little to remove the glitter. Louis then brings out his trusted bottle of coconut oil and some cotton pads. The end result is promising, the glitter has all but gone off of Harry's face but it leaves his face feeling sticky. Not the kind of sticky he’d rather feel on New Year. Definitely not.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbles. “You should go out, it's almost midnight.”
“Aren't you coming?”
Harry shakes his head. “Wanna take a shower.”
Harry walks to the bathroom, not waiting for Louis to leave. His clothes come off easily, except for the pants that he has to struggle with a little. Being so close to Louis, touching his lips but not kissing him was frustration on its own. Thinking about how Louis would go out and celebrate the new year with someone else, kiss someone else who isn't Harry, boils Harry’s blood.
A nasty side of his that Harry hopes Louis never learns about.
The countdown outside starts just as Harry steps under the spray, hissing under the cold water splash.
10, 9, 8...
Just as he stumbles to adjust the temperature, the unmistakable drag of the door sliding open sounds.
7, 6, 5...
“What—” Harry turns around, his anger only rising at being interrupted.
4, 3, 2…
“Lou—”
1
Louis is on him, cutting Harry off effectively. Harry's naked back collides with the cold tiles, sending a shiver down his spine. Though Harry's sure it's not the cold that has him feeling this way, rather a certain someone who’s locked with his lips.
“Happy new year.”
It's barely there, the whisper, with Louis’ voice soft and shy. The delicate pink of Louis’ lips blooms brightly into a bashful smile. Harry feels a little weak in the knees.
The water splashes onto Louis, making his clothes cling to his wet body. Every curve accentuated to fit his body. Harry’s mouth waters. He wants to reach out and touch, feel the way Lous’ clothes stick to his soft skin. He wants to take them off, rid Louis’ body of the offending clothing and finally drag his fingers over Louis’ velvety skin.
It's quiet, save for the pitter-patter of the shower. The noise outside died down now, muffled music easy to tune out. Harry’s easy when it comes to Louis. He’s long since accepted that fact, since the very first day Louis had smiled at him, his blue eyes wide and coy.
Raising his hand, Harry gulps at the intensity of the moment. Louis stops him, caging Harry and bringing Harry’s hand into his hair. Harry doesn't dare question Louis’ actions, always ready to take whatever Louis wants to give him.
Hand still clutching Harry’s, Louis brings his mouth to Harry’s chest, kissing him soft with his slick lips. Harry shudders under his touch, the wet plush of Louis’ lips leaves his skin tingling and his heart racing.
Louis makes his way down, taking his time with his lips when he reaches Harry's heart.
Harry's heart skips a beat, his breath getting caught in his throat at the simplest of touches. It's the most erotic he’s ever felt, cock already thickening up embarrassingly fast.
Of course, Louis notices it and wraps his hand loosely around Harry’s shaft.
Harry hisses at the touch, hips bucking up into Louis’ hand.
“Shush,” Louis says and covers Harry’s mouth with his palm. His glasses have started to fog up now, the steam from the shower making it rather hot in the room. Louis smiles, lips curving up mischievously as he sucks in Harry’s nipple, flicking it with his tongue.
Harry gulps, grabbing a fistful of Louis’ hair. Louis’ teasing him, trying to see just how far he can push Harry to the edge. It does things to Harry, mainly getting him rock hard and a soft thrum of pleasure that’s racing through his veins.
He groans into Louis’ palm when he starts to make little movements with his hands, the slow drag of his palm and the rub of his fingers has Harry leaking already.
There's not much Harry can do, except stand there and let Louis have his way with him. Any other day, Harry likes to think, he'd have taken control and ravished Louis on his bed, made a mess of him until he’s coming in Harry’s sheets with Harry’s name on his lips, begging and moaning for more. Harry would give him everything.
In a matter of seconds, the hand on his mouth is gone. Louis falls to his knees, his glasses slipping down his nose just a bit.
“Fuck,” Harry mutters. It's a scene that's come alive from his fantasies, not the wildest of all, but having Louis on his knees for Harry’s cock, for him, turns Harry on with fervour. He doesn't dare say it out loud though, will keep his wildest fantasies to himself lest he scares Louis away.
Louis who’s on his knees, eyes glassy at the sight of Harry's cock standing proudly in front of him. He licks his lips then proceeds to lick at Harry’s cock. It's a tiny one, he’s testing waters but then takes Harry all the way down until Harry’s hair tickles Louis’ nose.
The wet warmth of Louis’ mouth has Harry choking, hands pulling Louis’ hair in an attempt to not thrust into his mouth.
Louis pulls out and licks his lips that are coated with precum. It's fucking obscene. Harry wants to slap his cock over Louis’ face, smear his cum on Louis’ lips and fuck his mouth.
“Don't hold back,” Louis says as if reading Harry’s mind, before taking Harry in again.
He bobs his head in a steady rhythm and holds onto Harry’s thighs for purchase. It's then that it hits Harry. Louis’ still covered, his wet clothes clinging onto him like a vice while Harry's naked, exposed in every form. Harry wonders if he’ll ever have the honour of peeling off Louis’ clothes, kissing him senseless.
“Fuck my mouth,” Louis garbles with a mouth full of Harry’s cock.
“Are you sure?” Harry asks because fuck, that’s something he’s dreamed of on many days and nights.
Louis simply nods, fingers digging in the flesh of Harry’s thighs. There’s spit dribbling down his chin, his cheeks tinted red and splotchy. His eyes are dark with lust, the blue of his eyes a mere ring of sapphire. It's an image that’ll be embedded in Harry’s mind forever.
“Tap me and I’ll stop. Yeah?”
Harry fucks Louis' mouth earnestly, pistoning his hips hard as he grabs Louis' face. The wet heat of Louis' mouth has him cursing out, moaning when Louis sucks a little harder.
"Lou," he pants.
Louis taps on Harry's thigh, making Harry pull out. Coughing a little, Louis stands up and turns around until he's bent over against the tiles.
"Do it."
Harry's dick gives a twitch at the sight of Louis' hole.
"Fuck, Lou," Harry grabs Louis' arse cheeks. He brings down his palm on one, the sound of the slap resounding against the tile walls.
Louis whimpers and bends forward a little, pushing his arse further against Harry.
"Haz please."
Harry brings down his hand again, harder than he did earlier. The slap makes Louis' cheeks jiggle with the force of it, blooming with red in the wake of Harry's palm print.
Wasting no time, Harry guides his cock to Louis' hole, rubbing it against his hole. When his cock catches, Louis whimpers. "Haz, please."
Harry wastes no time and fucks inside until his balls are snug against Louis' arse.
"Fuck," Louis moans, arching his back.
"Fuck you're tight," Harry mutters and pulls Louis against him, hand gripping the flesh of his waist. He sets out a steady rhythm, the drag of his cock hard enough to keep Louis wanting for more.
"Harder, Harry, please," Louis begs, hands splayed over the wet tiles, struggling to find purchase as Harry fucks him.
A part of him wants to smirk, let himself feel cocky over having Louis begging for more. Another part of him wants to give to Louis, give it to him the way he wants until Louis can feel the traces of Harry's touch for days.
He does what's the most reasonable and gives in, will always give in to Louis, and fucks him harder. Balls slapping against Louis' ass as he thrusts deep inside Louis.
"Wanna see you," Louis pants out between Harry's thrusts.
Harry pulls out and turns Louis towards him. He presses his thigh between Louis' legs, rutting against his as he swoops down to steal a kiss, licking inside Louis' mouth.
"Fuck," he groans when he tastes himself on Louis' tongue. "You drive me crazy," Harry breathes into Louis' mouth and rests his forehead against Louis'.
Louis looks up at him just as Harry peers into Louis' eyes. Up close, it's hard not to look into Louis' eyes. The blue of his eyes, reduced to a thin circle, is a shade darker today, eyes blown out black with lust. A feeling of happiness bubbles inside Harry, a satisfaction of knowing it's all because of him.
Harry thinks he’s falling, though his feet still feel the sturdy ground beneath him. It's a flightless fall that’s sure to hit him hard when he crashes down, leaving wounds for him to lick away later.
"Haz," Louis pulls Harry out his thoughts and wraps his hands around Harry's neck. He reaches up to kiss Harry again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
The kiss is just as electric as the ones they’ve had before, albeit only two, Harry feels it does amount to something. In all honesty, anything Louis gives him, is willing to give, Harry would take it all. Still, the touch of Louis’ lips feels somehow different from the kiss they had at the cabin.
He’s then reminded of the tears that had pooled in Louis’ eyes as he asked Harry to kiss him. It's the worst moment of all to be reminded of it again but it pricks at the back of his mind.
Louis pulls away, leaving Harry to chase the feeling again. “Fuck me,” he says.
Searching into Louis’ eyes, Harry waits. He’s not completely sure what he’s trying to find, when in fact that should be the last thing on his mind. Especially when he’s the boy he’s so in love with, naked and begging to be fucked.
“C’mon,” Louis whines, pulling Harry closer.
Groaning, Harry guides his cock back to Louis’ hole, marvelling at his ability to remain hard while trying to dissect his memories. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist as hoist Louis up, the wet tiles cold against his back.
Harry pushes in slowly this time, inch by inch being swallowed up by Louis’ heat. He thrusts in hard, not waiting to build up a rhythm. Nails dig into Harry’s skin as he thrusts in deeply. He wraps his hand around Louis’ neck, thumbing along the skin there.
Leaning forward, Harry kisses the delicate skin there making Louis whimper. He keeps pounding in and knows he’s hit Louis’ prostate when Louis gasps a little higher, hands gripping Harry harder.
“I’m gonna —”
Harry cuts him off with another kiss, drinking away all words from Louis.
With another thrust in, Louis comes, choking as he clenches down on Harry’s cock, breath coming out in short gasps as his body shudders under the colder spray of water.
“Fuck,” Harry moans and bites Louis’ neck, spilling inside of Louis.
━━━━━━━━━
Hours later, they find themselves on the rooftop. The party has long died down, but the city is still wide awake.
Harry pulls the blanket around them closer, holding his boy tight in his arms.
Louis hasn't looked at him though, eyes adoring the star-studded sky as it twinkles.
“Stars die,” Louis says.
It's an off-handed statement, and Harry isn't sure what to make of it.
“It's quite beautiful in its own way, don't you think?”
All Harry knows when stars die, they burn on themselves until there’s nothing left more to do than fade out into a pitch of darkness. A star is doomed from the beginning, Harry thinks. And maybe that's how falling in love is too.
He glances down at Louis and whispers, “It is, in a way.”
Because love is beautiful and if being doomed means loving Louis, Harry would love him over and over again.
“Stop thinking so much.”
Harry freezes, wondering if he said something out loud.
“Don’t get into your head, it's all messy thoughts.”
When Harry chuckles, Louis goes along, smiling at the sky.
“You’ll always have me,” Louis says. “I’ll always be your friend.”
And that — stings.
That word makes Harry want to scream at the top of his lungs. He hates that word with every fibre in his body.
Friend.
“I don't want to be your friend.”
The words are out of his mouth before he even realises it, head dropping forward to place a soft kiss on Louis’ neck.
Louis shudders as Harry bites and kisses his skin.
“You love me,” he murmurs when Harry pulls away, eyes trained at the heavenly sky above.
"I couldn't be more in love."
━━━━━━━━━
“Does such a thing as 'the fatal flaw,' that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature?" — Donna Tartt