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“Louis, help!”
The responding silence isn’t unexpected, but Harry doesn’t hesitate to escalate immediately.
“Louis? Louis! Help me, please!”
Still nothing.
“Helllllllllp!”
Harry huffs a frustrated exhale, tinged with childish indignance even to his own ears. It would be so easy, and almost certainly more effective, to simply leave the kitchen to find Louis rather than continue to yelp into the void. “Louiiiiiiiiis, I need you–”
“Have you been murdered, Harold, bloody hell?”
“Louis!” Harry beams at his ruffled partner, gorgeous as ever, even through his confused, grumpy expression. “Can’t get this jar open,” Harry sulks as he holds the offending, impenetrable jam jar towards him.
Louis tilts his head, his eyebrow arching expertly, even as he reaches out to accept the jar. He looks down at the glass, turning it to read the homemade label. “The strawberry jam, eh?”
“Yeah,” Harry pouts.
“The one your mum gave us last weekend?”
“The one she made, yeah,” Harry nods, proud. “It’s really good, Lou.”
“Mm, I’ll have to trust you on that love, since you’ve been hogging it so far.”
Harry huffs again, but he can’t help smiling. “Like it.”
“I guess so, love. Seeing as you’re the only one of us who’s had it, stands to reason you’re the one who closed it last, yeah?”
“Guess so,” Harry shrugs, giving his all to keeping his smirk in check.
“And yet you've managed to close it tight enough that even those big, daft hands of yours can't open it?”
Harry knows Louis isn’t actually looking for an answer, so he doesn’t give him one. Only shrugs one shoulder and tilts his head with a half smile, the one he knows draws a dimple out just so.
“Hmm,” Louis toys with the glass but doesn’t attempt to open it. “And how do you reckon that's possible, eh?”
“Life is full of wonders, Louis.”
Earning Louis’ mildly exasperated laugh is one of Harry’s favorite achievements, no matter the thousands of times he’s managed it over their years together. When Louis lowers his head and shakes it softly at the same time, hiding what Harry knows to be rakishly handsome crinkles fanning out from the sides of his eyes, it’s altogether devastating.
But Harry bravely carries on. “Lou,” he whines, “will you help me or not?”
Louis lifts his head and meets Harry’s eyes, his own shining with mirth. “When have I ever been able to refuse you, Curly?” He finally grips the jar lid and begins to twist, furrowing his brow when it doesn’t budge. “Fucking hell, Harold, you really did a number on this. Were you trying to keep your special jam hostage? Or just keep me away from it.”
“Maybe I just wanted to need your help.”
Louis knows this, of course. It’s a well rehearsed routine by now. But saying it aloud never seems to make it any less fun.
“Well you’re really making me earn it this time, baby.”
Maybe Harry had gotten a bit carried away when he’d closed it this morning, distracted by where it might lead. “Want me to–”
“Now what kind of chivalry would that be? To just hand it back to you after all this?”
Harry smiles shyly, his cheeks going warm as he keeps his hands to himself and simply watches his love. He may not have intended to give him quite this challenging a task, but he can’t pretend to regret it when Louis’ bicep – front and center thanks to Louis’ recent penchant for vests – is straining just enough to make its strength known. And Harry never forgets how perfectly, subtly toned Louis is. But he also never minds having it flaunted mere inches from his face.
The popping sound when Louis finally defeats the overly tightened lid startles a small gasp from Harry, which in turn elicits a huff of laughter from Louis. “Didn’t think I’d actually get it? Where’s your faith, darling?”
“’Course I did,” Harry sing songs, reaching to collect his prize. “Thanks, Lou.” He winks and Louis rolls his eyes.
“Hate to admit it was a close one,” Louis says through a laugh, rubbing his left thumb into his palm, wincing slightly.
Harry reaches for his hand instinctively, offering a sympathy wince, his brows drawn together. “It was really that bad? I didn’t mean it.”
“I know, love,” Louis replies, giving his hand freely. “Did practically rub me palm raw, though.”
Harry lifts his hand to his mouth, cooing directly at it. “My poor baby,” he murmurs into Louis’ cupped hand before pressing a soft kiss into his palm, and then another. One more for good measure before he lifts his gaze to Louis’ face. “All better?”
“A bit,” Louis replies. “Think I hurt my fingers too, though.”
Harry nods solemnly and drops his gaze back to Louis’ hand, inspecting his fingers closely before taking the tip of one into his mouth. Louis hums in response and Harry lifts his eyes to meet his as he sucks the full length of Louis’ finger into his mouth for a few soothing moments.
“Good?” Harry asks from around the tip of his finger before swirling his tongue around it.
Louis nods and Harry takes another finger into his mouth, humming around it. He licks and sucks one after the other as Louis just watches him silently, nodding along. Harry finally takes two into his mouth at once, his eyes falling closed, and he sucks them down far enough to faintly trigger his gag reflex. Louis groans at that, which prompts Harry to open his eyes again. He sucks his excess saliva back into his mouth and then kisses the tip of each finger one by one.
“All better,” he declares, and Louis clears his throat. He looks a bit dazed, and Harry preens, kissing Louis’ palm once more for dramatic effect.
“You’re a right menace, you are,” Louis says, and Harry’s smile stretches across his face, undoubtedly the mix of proud and fond that Louis always teases him over. “Look at the state of me.” Louis gestures down to where his well worn grey joggers are tented rather obscenely and Harry swallows thickly. “Got me all riled up, with my hand in no shape to take care of this myself.”
Harry giggles and grips the front of Louis’ shirt, hiding his face in Louis’ shoulder.
“Don’t get shy on me now, baby. Not when I need your help. Tit for tat and all that.”
“Not sure how my tits can help with this.” Harry can never help himself.
Louis smacks his bum and Harry pulls his head back with a laugh.
“I got you, Lou,” he assures through a smile. “Only right that I help you, seeing as I got you into this… jam.”
Louis groans and rolls his eyes, stepping back. “Not gonna need your help if you keep on like that.”
Harry laughs and crowds Louis’ space, edging him towards the counter and palming his still very interested cock. He leans forward to whisper gruffly into his ear, “Sure feels like you still need my help.”
Louis groans again, laced with entirely new meaning this time.
“On the couch, or should we take this to the bedroom?”
“No,” Louis rasps, “here. Want it here.”
Harry’s hand is inside Louis’ joggers and wrapped around his cock before he even answers, “K.” He backs Louis the final few inches to the counter, his bum pressing into the cabinetry with a satisfying bounce. It knocks a low huff of breath from him and Harry tightens his grip just slightly.
He pulls Louis off slowly, thorough and unhurried, almost decadent. Harry fucking loves jerking Louis off when he knows it’s the destination, not just foreplay. Not that he doesn’t love a hand job appetizer. But when it’s the main course, he relishes it. Revels in the symphony of sounds he’s able to pull from Louis simply by knowing exactly when to change pace and pressure, when to twist, when to pause, when to dig his thumbnail into Louis’ slit or grip Louis’ base.
Sometimes he likes to stare at Louis' cock the whole time, watch himself as he works Louis over, mesmerized by the filthy peek a boo of Louis’ glistening cock head popping up through his fist before disappearing again.
But today he just wants to feel it, the heat and heft of Louis’ needy cock. So he keeps his eyes glued to Louis’ face, taking in the grey hairs scattered throughout his stubble, his perfectly pink lips as he licks and nibbles them – pressing them together occasionally to fight against the beautiful moans begging to tumble through them.
Mostly he looks directly into Louis’ eyes, and Louis, to his credit, doesn’t shy away from the intensity of Harry’s attention, never one to back down. It’s almost overwhelmingly intimate, staring straight through Louis’ crystal clear eyes in the full light of their kitchen, in the middle of the afternoon. Through Louis’ breath and his lids both going heavy, through every minuscule twitch of his facial muscles, every sharp inhale and moaned exhale. Through the litany of curses Louis always emits as he’s getting close. Through his climax, when his eyes finally snap shut as Harry milks him through his orgasm, whispering softly into his ear and licking at his ear lobe just to make him shudder.
Louis thanks Harry in a voice so soft Harry very nearly reaches for his spent cock to start again, but Louis distracts him with a line of sweet kisses up his neck and then along his jaw. As his lips finally reach Harry’s, his fingers start toying with the button of Harry’s trousers.
Harry grabs his hand and tsks him, causing Louis to break their kiss with a disgruntled hum and pull back to meet Harry’s eyes, his face protesting Harry’s interruption.
“What about your poor hand, Lou?”
“Stop taking the piss, Harold, lemme get my hand on you.”
Harry bites down a smile and feigns concern. “Just looking out for you, Lou.”
“Fine,” Louis huffs, “have it your way.” He shoves Harry off him and twists himself towards the oven, grabbing an oven mitt from its hook.
Harry barks a laugh. “Oi, you’re not going to jerk me off with a fucking oven mitt, Lou. Not enough olive oil in the whole of Italy for that, let alone this kitchen.”
“Harold, Jesus Christ, gimme a little credit,” Louis rolls his eyes, grabbing a second mitt. “I’ve no interest in compromising this perfect cock of yours with a bloody sure-grip oven mitt.” He drops both mitts to the ground, arranging them with a pointed toe before dropping to his knees on top of them.
“Get your fly open, then, you curly haired cunt, since I’m not allowed to use me hands apparently.”
Harry giggles and undoes the button at the top of his fly, but then stops.
Louis glares up at him and a spark of heat shoots through Harry.
“Reckon you and that clever mouth can get the zip yourself.”
Louis arches an eyebrow, stubborn determination flooding his face. He leans forward and nuzzles into Harry’s groin, capturing the zipper pull impressively quickly and drawing it down with so little trouble that Harry almost pauses the proceedings to ask where the fuck he’s been practicing that.
Except then Louis leans back, looks up at Harry again, and with blazing eye contact that very nearly makes Harry join him on his knees, he makes a show of placing his hands behind his back. “Gonna need your help if I’m not allowed to use my hands, love.”
He drops his jaw and lays out his tongue and Harry can't even speak, let alone move. So he just stares long enough that Louis finally gives him a cheeky smirk and a wink before closing his eyes and whispering, “Do your worst, baby,” before dropping his mouth open again.
Harry exhales a humid, shuddery breath as he pulls his cock out and places his hand on the back of Louis’ head. Louis hums in approval when Harry grips his hair and feeds his eager cock into his waiting mouth. Harry moans unabashedly at the blissful, welcoming heat of Louis’ tongue and Louis wraps his lips loosely around him, leaving room for whatever pace Harry decides to set.
Harry keeps his thrusts slow and gentle, basking in the enveloping swirl of sensations from Louis’ velvety tongue and encouraging hums.
When Louis whines with impatience, Harry shushes him, murmuring that he’s going to take his time, promising not to hurt his throat like he’d hurt his hand earlier.
And as Louis settles in, relaxing his throat to invite Harry in deeper, Harry keeps his word, maintaining a cautious but deeply satisfying pace, reveling in the restrained pleasure. Already thinking about how tightly he’s going to close the jam jar again tomorrow.