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“There, now, don’t he look good in red? I told you lads—he’s the perfect boy for tonight.” Harry recognises the sound as Louis, his Louis, next to him. In the darkness, Harry controls his breathing, adjusting to the blackest black of the blindfold he presumes is a red colour, to the collar locked around his neck that jingles every time he moves, to the cotton shirt that brushes his bare arms, to the hug of his knickers.
He takes a deep breath.
Stay still, he reminds himself.
The balls of Harry’s feet ache from being on his knees, bearing the weight of his body. Louis had laid out a few freshly bleached towels to protect his knees and feet, else Harry would be complaining about being sore for days after, and the si, oui, no and non would be scraped beyond recognition. Granted, it’s Harry’s own fault that he didn’t stretch well enough before settling into this position, and he’ll surely feel it tomorrow. Without moving too much, he finds the smallest twinge in the muscles in his legs and arms, and recalls his muscle memory - flex, relax. Flex, relax.
From the other room, World Cup commentary of the games is blaring noisily from the telly. Louis’ excuse for inviting all his friends round. But not the true reason.
A firm hand rests on Harry’s shoulder, and the thumb delicately brushes on the nape of his neck, stealing his breath away. Holding it hostage. He wants to bury his cheek into the skin.
No. Stay still. That’s what Daddy said.
“Why did you pick red for ‘im? Red blindfold, red collar, red clip in his hair.” a second voice asks. Liam? Maybe. Harry has to strain his neck to hear, so he must be further away.
“He’s a good boy,” answers Louis. “He doesn’t want to see what’s goin’ on before it starts, and the clippy was his idea - didn’t want none of youse piss in his hair.”
“Wait.” Zayn, finally. “The red, the point of it, I mean - it matches his shirt, too. The fire hydrant on it.” Pride grows in Harry’s chest. The shirt had been a vintage find, a perfect statement describing one of his and Louis’ more uncommon kinks.
The mood in the room changes, as the other three voices clamber in disbelief, bleeding into excitement and boyish interest for Louis’ plans.
“Louis, you’ve got to be joking—”
“You’re letting us use—”
“Is that why you want us to drink water?” Silence. “Noted.” More silence, then a quiet gulping noise and the sound of plastic crinkling, one after the other, like they’d all followed suit.
Louis’ hand tightens on Harry’s skin, claiming him as he explains the lay of the land. “You were sent a list of particular rules to follow before being invited tonight. You all agreed to them. You took tests that came out clean, but don’t act smart. No touching Harry unless I say so, and only where I say you can. He doesn’t like to be hit. He doesn’t like to be called names. You can touch yourselves and each other, too, I don’t care. You’ll drink exactly three bottles of water, and you’ll let me know when you’re ready. And, we’ll go at our own paces,” Louis pauses for dramatic effect, “but we don’t end - we don’t stop - until Harry comes. He’s got a strong stamina; you’d be surprised. Am I clear?”
All three of them utter a loud, “Yes.”
*
An estimated twenty minutes pass.
In darkness, Harry has found his space to relax, nearly tuning out the party around him and honing onto his own pulse. He isn’t at all interested in the snarks and the hesitant noises, more waiting in anticipation for his daddy’s orders. His body is screaming at him to get up, to let his joints breathe, but he hasn’t been told to do anything else besides ‘sit there and wait until i’ve told you differently.’ He could also use a sip of water, but he’s been told to keep quiet. He could colour out at any time, but he has a feeling from the speed Louis is pacing that he’ll get his chance for hydration soon.
Light - yellow light, at last, welcomes Harry to the world. He blinks a million times, rubs a knuckle in the corners of his eyes, and looks at the three men sitting across from him on the floor. All in the nude. All with an eager hand on themselves.
Folding his hands behind his head, Louis leans back comfortably in the only chair in the room, like a king looking down on his subjects. “Liam, go ahead. Touch him.” He doesn’t ever stop looking at Harry. Zayn and Niall look on, too, with shy but curious glances.
It takes another verbal cue from Harry for Liam to start, but once he does, they fall into an easy rhythm while the others look on. Liam’s quick and takes a gentle hand to Harry, to the line of his jaw. He’s drawn into a strong kiss, a tongue tracing over his lips, and Harry sucks on it deeply. Liam drags him down so he lies flat on his back in between Liam’s arms, and he slots in between Harry’s legs, starting to rut against his arse.
“Liam,” cautions Louis, “no.”
Liam stalls, but backtracks easily to take a different path. He looks at Harry through heavy eyes, hungry for more. “Can I take his shirt off?”
“Yes, go ahead. We wouldn’t want to soil such a nice item, would we?”
Harry’s automatic reply is, “No, daddy,” the first words he’s said in an hour, and his throat feels hoarse. Liam starts to pull Harry’s shirt up, but Harry stops the action and withdraws, and the pace they’d started comes to a halting stop. “Daddy,” he starts again, addressing Louis directly with a pliant tone, “can I have a drink? I’m thirsty.”
“If my baby’s good to Liam, he can have some water.” Louis picks up a water bottle to show Harry his promise isn’t an empty one, even goes so far as to unscrew the cap and rest it in his lap. Louis is cool and direct, barely affected by the crowd of skin around Harry. “Keep going. You’re doing so well for us, baby.”
“Harry? Is this okay?” Liam asks slowly, looking at him with those big, brown eyes he’d never appreciated so up close before, pupils enlarged with lust. Harry nods again and leans forward so his shirt slips over his head as Liam pulls it off, and the hair on his skin stands up from the cold. Liam holds the shirt in his hands like he’s thinking about where to put it; he ends up folding it halfway and setting it down behind him.
He makes quick work of running his hands across the plane of Harry’s well-endowed chest and giving his pecs a squeeze. Harry closes his eyes, pleased at the motion, and there’s no rational thinking left, all he wants to do - all he’s told to do - is be good. Nimble fingers entwine, and Harry’s on his back again, his and Liam’s bodies grinding against each other and Harry trying to match Liam’s hungry pace, mouthing wet circles on his clavicle.
Zayn’s the unexpected addition. When he comes closer, Harry prepares for another rush of touch, but he goes to Liam first, tilting his chin up and taking him away from Harry. It’s intimate, the way they fit so easily together, but Harry slowly whines from being left out. They turn their attention to Harry, both cheeks pinker and cocks harder than before.
Liam’s mouth bruises Harry’s lips until they’re petal-tender, eliciting another warning from Louis - but he likes it, seeing the thread of spit tying their mouths back together again, and the little gasps Harry isn’t afraid to make. Liam hasn’t forgotten about the collar, either, sure to explore in waves the way it limits Harry’s range of motion if he’d wanted it to. With Louis’ firm guidance, Liam grows aware of how much he can do, how hard he can pull, and it’s a fleeting moment of give and take.
Where Harry wants to go, where he touches Liam harder, comes another hard, wet kiss, of bursts of Zayn here and there, licking teasing trails across Harry’s stomach that makes his breath shudder.
And Liam is the first to come, spilling over his loose fist onto Harry’s thigh, near ruining his cream-coloured knickers concealing the chubby bulge. Harry dips a finger into the milky mess, bringing it up to his tongue, and looks Liam straight in the eye as he licks the salty liquid.
Liam crawls off of Harry, catching his breath and pushing a palm onto his flagging erection. “Fuck, I’m—” His face twists into a shy grimace, into a trained restraint of holding it back, and he groans loudly. Liam’s never done this before, Harry thinks, the clear signs of a rookie - but there’s a point where his muscles have been through too much already. Liam’s body contracts once, then twice when he realises he’s reached the point of no return, a stream of fucks and oh god oh god! , and a light yellow stream of piss trickles down his thigh, enough pooling out on the floor to tickle Harry’s skin. He lets out a low sigh of relief.
There have been four pairs of eyes on him this whole time.
So, Liam’s the first to go. Louis offers him a towel, and he scoots back to sit against the wall for some recovery time.
Gratefully, Zayn turns his attention to Harry, brow cocked and ambitions high, and Louis continues to monitor from afar. A curious finger traces the seam of his knickers, hooks under the fabric, and Harry twitches when the touch approaches the ticklish part of his hips. Zayn’s other hand is primed, short nails scratching lightly up and down his thigh and then fingers splaying to shamelessly spread the mess Liam had made.
Louis has moved from the chair, and is now standing at the far side wall, water bottle in his hands. “Take it off, Zee. Let’s see what you can do.”
Giving a quick nod, Zayn slides off the knickers and bares Harry’s body for all to see. He has to take a moment to drink it in, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps.
Louis again: “We don’t have all day. Quit being selfish.”
“Water, daddy?” Harry sits up and gives Louis a questioning look. “You promised.” He pouts, emphasising the curve of his bottom lip.
Louis nods, but instead of quenching Harry’s thirst himself, he gives the bottle to Zayn. He doesn’t look away from Harry as he speaks about him in the third person. “Give it to him, slowly. He’s been very good. See how he wants it so much?”
The water bottle - the holy grail - sloshes in Zayn’s hand, and Harry greedily inches forward, tipping his head back and tongue out. Zayn brings the rim up to Harry’s mouth, and Harry, hit with the fresh, crisp taste of it, desperately gulps down all of the water until the bottle is completely empty. A droplet trickles on his lips; Zayn’s thumb wipes it away, and Harry chases after it, finally catching the last drop of water and grazing Zayn’s skin with his front teeth and water-laced lips.
In the meantime, Zayn isn’t hard anymore, and Niall is silently watching - has been waiting for the right time to join in, slowly tugging his cock to readiness, breathing slow and steady. Niall reaches to the cooler for a fourth bottle of water, too, and Louis takes note, says something that Harry is too far gone to listen to.
Harry is taken into Zayn’s embrace as Zayn resumes his attention on his neglected cock, kissing and sucking at the smooth tip and moving Harry’s long legs over his shoulders to steady himself on the ground.
Most of Harry is in Zayn’s mouth now as his cock thickens up, and he gasps at the hot sensation that envelops him. Slowly, Zayn loses himself in the small curls decorating Harry’s groin and the laurel tattoos act like a crown—he’d loved Louis in this position, but Zayn there isn’t so bad, either, and he watches on the best that he can in between throwing his head back and shutting his eyes out of pleasure.
Zayn also has no shame in holding Harry down every time he arches his back impatiently, and Zayn’s hand tugs gently around Harry’s balls for extra stimulation. A stiff, tight feeling grows in Harry’s abdomen, and he whines again as he practises some restraint - he’s not allowed to ask for anything else except more water.
As Zayn works on Harry, someone crawls closer, his greedy interest in Harry obviously beating out his desire to wait, and two long fingers are shoved into Harry’s mouth without warning. “Suck.”
A surprised sound bursts out of Harry, but he closes his eyes and laps his tongue around the curve of Niall’s fingers, the slight bump of his knuckles knocking against Harry’s teeth as he reaches further in - Harry can take it, and he dares Niall wordlessly to stick another finger in - a third one, and now Niall’s touching himself again, jerking off impossibly quickly as he shamelessly watches Harry suck off his hand to oblivion.
The motion that Harry maintains, sucking and circling his tongue on Niall’s fingers hungrily, is broken by a loud, animalistic grunt that startles him and Zayn. Zayn’s mouth pops off, so he replaces it with a loose, attentive fist on Harry’s thick, throbbing length. Niall withdraws quickly, eyes shut and breath heavy as he freezes up. Nothing comes of it. He’s held himself back soon enough, but the way his lower belly sticks out prominently, all that water —
Harry’s thirsty.
“Daddy?” he asks again, his used mouth now free to make another request.
Louis appears by his side with another full bottle, and though he’s enjoyed this game of playing it cool, the thick cock poking through his grey joggers says otherwise, and Harry is so, so thirsty.
“Look at you, asking for a drink over, and over,” Louis says. He squats down and Harry intently stares at his tanned hands as he opens the bottle. “Do you want to do it yourself, this time?”
“Yes, daddy. ‘M so thirsty, please.”
Harry finishes the bottle in no time flat, and his stomach is heavy and full, water sloshing around. He’s got no say in what he’ll do next, but he hopes Louis will let him lie on his back again, or maybe he can ride Niall…
After he kisses Harry deeply, Louis cocks his head deep in thought. The others are waiting for his next decision, which is all too quick as he shoves his joggers down and completely off, and growls out, “H, hands and knees. Now.”
Harry does as he’s told, and Louis’ impatience gets the best of him, and he guides his hand to Harry’s rear, between his cheeks, where a lubed silver plug has sat in Harry’s hole for hours. They lock gazes as Louis whispers sickly sweet nothings, encouraging Harry to relax as the plug is taken out, leaving him empty. The other three exclaim softly; they weren’t aware of the plug being there this whole time.
Louis directs Zayn to get in front of Harry, and Niall and Liam on either side of his body. Niall continues to fist around himself in varying paces, only told to watch Harry and not touch; from how he’s fidgeting in place, he might not last long.
Louis positions himself at Harry’s lubed entrance. “We’re gonna start now, okay?”
“Yes, daddy.” Harry exhales, his muscles loosening as Louis takes his time guiding his erection into his hole. It presses deeper inside, pushing on his prostate and his bladder, and Harry’s arms begin to shake from how full he is. He nor Louis have to ask for Liam to provide a resting place if he needs it. He kneels down to Harry’s level and starts running his fingers through his hair in a soothing motion - being careful to not shift the red hairclip - paying close attention to the baby curls around his ears, allowing Harry to lean on him as Zayn steps forward, his dark tip poking at the corners of Harry’s panting mouth.
“Take it, babe—” Louis voices “—Put your pretty lips round Zayn’s cock. He treated you so well, it’s only fair you return the favour.”
Harry, full and sated, obediently wets his lips and wraps his fingers at the base of the twitching cock in front of him, and he locks eyes with Zayn as he hollows his cheeks.
“That’s it…” Louis digs his hands into the fat of Harry’s love handles as he settles in. Arousal laces the edges of his voice, but he has a task to do, making sure they’re all included and that Harry, above all, is safe. “Z, control your pace however you want. Harry doesn’t have a gag reflex, but don’t shove your dick so far in…”
Zayn sinks into small, forceful thrusts as he fucks Harry’s face, singing short praises to the magic of Harry’s mouth, and someone has their hand on Harry’s ankle, their stubble-laced cheek stinging the outside of his thigh, all while Louis takes what he wants from Harry.
Too into his own head—and with a cock in both of his holes—Harry doesn’t register Niall’s absence; doesn’t notice him getting to his feet or Liam pushing him to the edge, positioning his hands right under Niall’s belly button and pressing down slowly, forcefully. Niall inhales sharply, his voice clearly aroused and shaky, no, i can’t do it, i can’t hold it any longer , and there’s a responding chorus of let go, it’s okay. It’s quiet, waiting, and a choppy flow comes out of his dick onto the muscular ridges of Harry’s back, urine spilling into a torrent over the curve of his body for seconds and minutes on end, finally reducing to small, soft drips.
“Good, Ni, you held out for so long. Have a sit,” Louis praises. “Harry here’s doing - uh - wonderful, too, ain’t he? Stuffed full of us, and he just wants more.” He doesn’t do much, gives Harry’s ass a squeeze and another hard thrust.
Niall steps away in search of a towel for himself, and Liam has made it his mission to touch Harry again, to please him even though he himself was spent early on. He looks to Louis for permission again, and he shuffles forward on his knees behind Harry and next to Louis, slowly working his way toward Harry’s dick bouncing in between his legs. Harry gasps when Liam’s hand touches him in the tender places, close to being overstimulated and used - he pushes on, and allows Liam, Louis, and Zayn to coordinate their motions. After all, he’s the fire hydrant. He’s the prop, there for their pleasure, and if he gets something out of it in the meantime, he’s happy to be there in the first place.
As the warmish liquid saturates Harry’s skin, Louis rubs it in and continues to fuck Harry with more effort. Harry earnestly licks along Zayn’s cock as his own neck tickles wetly, and he sucks off the precome from the tip, taking the time to take all of Zayn down his throat. I can do it. I can take you. A glint in Zayn’s eye says he wants what he came for - what he’ll come for - and that eggs Harry on, and he musters up a string of moans that thrum around Zayn to no end.
Louis’ thrusts grow shorter but harder, building himself to his own climax, and Harry uses his momentum to bob up and down on Zayn’s dick until a bitter liquid fills his mouth, and he swallows every drop of his come, lapping it up like there’s no tomorrow. He licks Zayn’s dick clean, but doesn’t expect Zayn’s lips on him so quickly after, doesn’t expect the exploratory tongue sneaking a taste of his own release.
Zayn leaves their bubble to get another drink of water, taking gasps of air in between.
It’s all so much, so many faces and hands and touches, that when Harry’s dick is squeezed from base to tip, his world surges to a stop, and he considers letting it all go. After all, it’s the relief he’s searching after. He’s hard, fucked, and he wants to come, but he hasn’t made Louis come yet.
It’s his personal rule; Harry doesn’t come until his daddy does.
He plants his hands flat on the ground, and fucks back into Louis’ body, rolling his hips and squeezing around his dick. Liam doesn’t lose pace, either, thumbing at Harry’s wet, dripping tip, and he shakes involuntarily, running out of air, running out of anything -
Louis’ orgasm is the saving grace, when Liam’s told to stop and move back, and Harry’s held firmly into place by Louis’ pulsing come, shooting hot inside of him. His dick slides out slowly, and Louis wipes the rest of what’s on his dick around Harry’s fucked hole, pushing back inside whatever spills out, and finds the butt plug to reinsert . Mine mine mine-
Gently, they all lead Harry to a seated position in Louis’ lap. He’s slow, but still eager, grabbing at whoever’s closest, any warm body he can aim to please.
Harry moans, “Daddy? Can I come yet?”
Louis rasps, “So soon, baby, I promise.”
Liam and Niall take turns licking and stroking the length of Harry’s sensitive cock, and a lightheaded Harry strains to look up at him, making sure that he knows he’s having the best time - scrunching his face or letting his mouth fall open in pleasure. Zayn appears out of nowhere, asks Louis if it’s okay, if he’s not too late - Louis gives him the go ahead, and Zayn takes a second to stand over the group, dick in his hands, as he pisses right on Harry’s collarbone, nearly sobbing as the dam breaks and the clear-ish and warm bath courses down Harry’s body.
“He likes being used.” Louis’ thumbs stroke Harry’s cheeks. “Is that right, baby? You like it when we use you? Suck you dry, soak you?”
In between heavy breaths, Harry answers. “Yes, daddy.”
“I didn’t catch that. Does it feel nice to you?”
“Yes, daddy!” Harry says louder, loud enough for everyone to hear, and his body tightens up, his toes curl inward, bracing for relief. There are eight hands and four mouths all across his sensitive, saturated skin. The bubbling tension writhes and twists into knots under his skin, reaching a peak far too high for him to handle, and he lets go, flying over the edge.