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Harry very distinctly remembers making the drive to his new, big city UNI with a large smile on his face and an open mind full of optimism about what his first year would be like. He spent his time at rest stops making notes of how many people he should aim to talk to in his first week, planning for when and where he should set aside his time to study, and googling fast food joints that would be closest to him for the hundredth time. He had a plan, he had confidence, and most of all, he had hope.
What he didn’t account for in any of this was his terribly loud, horribly inconsiderate, and all-around mess of a roommate.
See, Harry prided himself in his twenty-four-seven kindness, so he hadn’t hated Louis Tomlinson right from the start—even though he did have reason when he first stepped into their room to already find junk food wrappers and crumbs littering the floor.
So a messy roommate, he remembers thinking, That isn’t so bad. Just have to clean up a bit more often.
How naïve of him to believe that Louis’ problems stopped at his indifference to filth.
Two days in and Louis had made himself at home. He didn’t pick up after himself, his laundry was somehow already piling up, and his junk food and microwave meals were taking up well over his half of cabinet space.
Most annoyingly, he stayed up until two blasting shitty music in the room right beside Harry’s. Harry didn’t complain to his face (he may have tossed a few curse words at him from the privacy of his own bedroom), even though he himself is an early riser who would want to be awake in four hours.
He powered through and was still up before seven because he has a morning routine, a simple one, but a routine nonetheless. He wasn’t about to let this boisterous little fuck ruin that for him.
He sets out chipper as ever, cooking his breakfast, blending some fruit into a nice, morning smoothie. Despite everything, he’s making an effort to be quiet for Louis’ sake, because he’s still trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Two loud knocks hit the wall and Harry cuts off his blender, eyebrows furrowing in worry. He makes a move to go and scope out where the noise was coming from, but then—
“Could you keep it down in there?”
That. That is.
Harry’s pissed. Like, really pissed. More pissed than he should be able to be at half six, and yet, here he stands.
And so, he does the only logical thing and sets his blender to its loudest setting and continues his routine.
It takes all of three minutes for Louis to saunter into the kitchen, hair wild with sleep, eyes barely open. Harry would find him cute if he didn’t already know about the devil of a personality that he hid beneath this innocent persona. “Some people want to be asleep at six in the morning.”
Harry smiles, nodding his head. “Some people want to be asleep at two in the morning, but then they have a roommate who insists that two AM is the perfect time to blast some shitty music.”
Louis frowns. “That was art in the form of Oasis and I won’t have that attitude towards them in my dorm.”
“Maybe you can just learn to sleep through my blender sounds as I have to learn to sleep through your art,” Harry reasons. Before Louis can argue any further, Harry cranks up the blender again and makes the effort to give Louis a dimpled smile.
Louis rolls his eyes and goes back to bed.
If you asked Harry, this was where their bitter rivalry began, and it only escalated from there.
That very night, at precisely two AM on the dot, Harry heard loud puking noises coming from Louis’ room. Before Harry could worry that something was wrong, music began to play and he heard the distinct voice of Eminem enunciating the words you don’t know how sick you make me.
And Harry thought his music taste was shit before.
The next night, Lily Allen’s Fuck You fills the once silent dorm, and then Three Day’s Grace’s I Hate Everything About You the next. This is when Harry suspects that Louis is petty, and it’s only confirmed when he purposefully leaves his dirty laundry in the middle of the hallway, where Harry has to navigate his way through it just to get to his own room.
So Harry retaliated. He made his usual fifteen-minute morning routine last a full hour, complete with loud work out music while he did pushups, sit ups, anything he could think of. The first time Louis walked in on it, Harry had heard his footsteps and prepared himself for a shouting match, but he was met with silence. Once he’d finished his set, he finally looked up at Louis, whose eyes were bulged out of the sockets as he quickly tried to flick them from Harry’s naked back to his face. Harry couldn’t help himself and smirked, right before Louis shook his head and simply returned to his room.
It just became a big back and forth after that—Louis threw popcorn in his hair, Harry ripped open all of his popcorn bags to make them unusable. Harry exchanged his sugar for salt, Louis poured his ruined tea in Harry’s lap. Louis stole the lid to his blender, Harry used one of Louis’ precious records to cover the top as he made his smoothie instead.
It was (mostly) harmless, so Harry didn’t feel the need to put an end to it. After all, Louis kind of started it, so he should be the first to stop, logically.
He’s planning on heading to the living room for his newly-instated morning workout, excited since he’d woken up at five-thirty instead of his usual six, which gives him a whole other thirty minutes of Louis’ sleep to disrupt.
Except he can’t find his gym shorts. He only has about three pairs, and the other two are so dirty he can’t bother re-wearing them. He needs the tacky lime green and orange pair his mother joke-gifted him two years ago during his gym junkie phase.
He looks until his clock’s alarm goes off and he realizes he’s wasted the entirety of his extra half-hour searching for his shorts. It causes him to frown, because Louis had been especially annoying lately and Harry was looking forward to getting him back, however small of a way he did it.
He doesn’t want to just skip out on his workout is the thing, though, especially not now. No, he’s not going to give Louis a freebie over a missing article of clothing.
If he can’t find his shorts, then the obvious solution is to go without them.
Once he’s gotten Eye of the Tiger turned up uncomfortably loud, he lies on his back and deems it a morning for sit ups. He surveys his own underwear-clad body with a smile; Louis will wake up to an eyeful, that’s for sure.
When twenty minutes pass with no sign of Louis, Harry turns his iPod even louder and switches the song to Toni Basil’s Mickey. If that doesn’t get him up, he’s not sure what will.
It only takes a minute of overenthusiastic keyboards and drums for Harry to hear Louis’ footsteps echo down the hall. Harry grins, spreads his body out just that much more and waits.
Louis comes into view, and he’s wearing Harry’s fucking shorts.
Harry’s face drops.
“This is highly inappropriate,” Louis mumbles, face sickeningly sweet as he grins down at Harry’s body that might as well be naked. “I won’t be seduced like this, Mr. Styles.”
Harry sits up so fast his head spins. “Give me my shorts.”
Louis frowns. “Shorts?”
“The ones you’re wearing,” Harry says. “Give them back.”
Louis laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Is this another tactic to get my pants off? I’ve already told you this won’t work. Have some respect. Stop before you embarrass yourself.”
Harry huffs and gives Louis a steely expression, raising one eyebrow. “Is this really what you’ve come to now? Stealing my clothes?”
Louis sits cross legged on their couch, right in front of Harry, and pouts his lips at him. The nerve. “I enjoy going commando, Harry. Do you really think I’d do that in just anyone’s shorts, let alone yours?”
Commando. Louis is fucking commando in Harry’s shorts and like—there’s nothing he can do about it. Louis’ bare ass and dick are currently dirtying up Harry’s gym shorts, and all he can do is sit and pout.
Harry rolls his eyes and stands up, not very mindful of the fact that he’s still in his boxers because he’s past the point of caring about that anymore. “You’re disgusting.”
“Cover your modesty, Harold,” is the only response he hears before he slams his door shut in frustration.
~~~
It’s been two weeks and Louis is still stealing his clothes.
Harry has tried to get him back, to make him stop, just something. He can’t very well do anything with his clothes besides keep them in his room, though, nor can he keep watch of them twenty-four-seven. He had thought that maybe he could sneak into Louis’ room to steal them back, but of course Louis had somehow hidden them so well that Harry didn’t find a damn thing.
He did, however, rifle through Louis’ closet, figured that he could get revenge in the form of getting even. He had a shirt of Louis’ on for all of five seconds before he decided it was too tight to be comfortable, and one look in the mirror told him Louis would laugh in his face before he’d be upset, anyway. And so he figures he could simply keep them in his room, just so Louis doesn’t have them, but then he’d be left with a closetful of clothes he can’t wear and a much more provoked Louis.
And so his own closet is dwindling, his blood pressure is probably spiking, and he’s just really desperate to get Louis to stop.
His friends prove to be useless when he asks for their advice and they either laugh in his face or give him a shrug followed by an, “I don’t know what to tell you.” Begrudgingly, he enlists the help of the internet, but it proves to be just as ineffective when all he can find is a poor video on how to keep your sister from stealing your clothes (which recommends getting help from your parents—nope).
He resigns himself then, deeming the situation a lost cause and deciding he’ll just have to request a new roommate. Or a new room. Or just drop out altogether.
He forgets his dramatics when he goes to close his browser and an ad catches his eye.
Mary’s Monogramming & More — personalizing your life since 2009!
This—this is it. This is perfect. He’ll write his name on his belongings like they’re in elementary school again and Louis won’t want to touch it. Genius.
He clicks the links and is directed to the company’s homepage. The first thing he notices is that this place is in Georgia and he’s not even sure they personalize your own stuff so much as they personalize their products to your liking. He wouldn’t have the time to send it out even if they did, not when Louis is stealing a minimum of one article of clothing per day, so it’s not like it matters.
But it’s okay. Yes, he’ll just figure out how to monogram things himself.
He spends the next hour watching tutorials and buying a sewing machine from eBay on a whim.
It’s only once he’s logged out of his Paypal that he realizes that this is much more effort than he should be putting forth into a petty little feud, much less a feud with someone like Louis. Jesus. This is insane, he’s insane.
He takes one last look at his shrunken bank account and he closes the lid to his laptop.
Oh well. No turning back now.
~~~
His fingers are going to fall off.
Even with his sewing machine (that got here in two days thanks to his splurge on expedited shipping), his hands are cramping terribly and he’s pretty sure he’s only got four or five items done.
But, he reasons, if all works out as planned, then perhaps it’s worth it.
As he pulls away to examine a shirt he’s just embroidered the letter H across the chest of, he decides he actually kind of likes the look of it anyway. This can be for him just as much as it is for Louis.
He takes a glance at the pile of clothes waiting to be monogrammed to his left and sighs.
It’s going to be a long night.
~~~
“You’re a fucking weirdo,” Louis greets him the next morning. Harry smiles and takes a sip of his tea. He’s finally gotten Louis to stop taking his stuff, he thinks, he can finally stop hiding his outfits in obscure places and doing laundry twice a week just to have something to wear.
He looks up at Louis with a smirk just waiting to grace his lips, but—
But Louis is walking around with an H right over his actual heart, and it—it’s getting to Harry?
He coughs to compose himself despite, shaking his head. “You’re the one wearing my initial on your chest.”
God. This was a bad idea, a terrible idea. He should’ve just dropped out.
“You’re the one buying a sewing machine to put your stupid initials on your ugly ass shirts,” Louis argues. “As if something like that would stop me when I’ve already put on said ugly shirts to begin with.”
Louis is right, his initials are stupid. Harry is stupid. He should’ve known something like this would happen, because it’s his unfortunate life, and of course his plan to get back at Louis would backfire.
“You should change.” Harry doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes as he says it and he hopes Louis doesn’t guess at what that means.
Louis ignores him. “You have poor taste for someone with the last name Styles,” he says, turning to show the back of his pants to Harry—the pants Harry had just stitched his name across last night to keep this type of thing from happening again.
Of course, he’s accomplished nothing but indirectly making himself pop a stiffy over Louis fucking Tomlinson.
It’s just—that’s Harry’s name written across Louis’ ass, and apparently Harry is possessive. Holy shit, is he suddenly possessive. And the person making him realize this is the same person Harry had wanted to kick out of his dorm—and hopefully his life—not only five minutes ago.
He’s so fucked.
His eyes remain downcast as he tries to nonchalantly cover his growing bulge. “Prick,” he mutters bitingly under his breath before swiftly making his escape to his own room.
A shower, he needs a shower. A shower will calm him down.
He grabs the first set of clothes he sees—a pair of joggers and a tanktop—and runs to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He runs the water as cool as he can stand and steps right in, hoping the shock of it might be enough to make him go flaccid.
It probably would be if the images of Louis walking around with Harry’s name on his bum like some sort of claim weren’t burnt into the back of his eyelids.
There’s only one way to get rid of his stupid boner, it seems; one hand comes to rest up on the shower wall while the other shamefully wraps around the base of Harry’s cock.
He slowly brings his fingers up to the tip of his cock and back, then does it again while pressing his thumb up under the head. It’s embarrassing how close he already is and he doesn’t have it in him to make himself wait.
It takes all of two minutes for him to finish, which is a record he’s sure not even his virginal teenage self who had just discovered masturbating could have held.
He turns the water up warmer and decides to go ahead and wash his hair, because there’s a good chance Louis saw his hard-on while he was leaving the kitchen and figured out he was wanking; he really doesn’t want to be teased about finishing fast.
Stepping out of the shower, he somehow feels even dirtier than before.
He pulls on his clothes slowly, not particularly excited to get back out into the rest of the dorm, where things like Louis Tomlinson’s annoying self parading around with Harry’s name brandished across his ass exist. He doesn’t want to, but the bathroom can only provide so much and he’ll probably need food and sunlight at some point.
After a quick scan into the hallway to make sure he won’t be spotted, he makes a beeline for his room. He keeps his eyes on the floor the entire time, very much afraid of running into Louis after having just jerked off to him, and that… that would just be the icing on top of this mind-fuck of a cake.
He reaches for the light switch once he enters the room and flips it off, ready to turn in early and call it a night despite his clock reading 10:00 AM.
He only knocks his knee against his desk once before he finally gets to the bed, where he proceeds to flop down onto his stomach and sigh.
“We doing it in the dark, then?”
Harry jumps at the voice, scrambling for the switch to his lamp so he can see who his intruder is even though he already fucking knows.
The light the lamp provides isn’t an extensive amount, but it’s enough for him to make out the features of Louis’ face clearly turned up into a smirk, and to notify him that Louis is, in fact, shirtless.
“What are you doing in my bed?” Harry asks, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking.
He watches with wary eyes as Louis scoots even closer to him, resting his head in his hand and propping his elbow against a pillow. “I was going to take care of that boner I gave you, but considering you pranced right into the shower after you left the kitchen, I guess you don’t need me for that anymore.”
Harry attempts to look unfazed. “Who says I had a boner?”
“Your dick was literally about to bust out of your pants.”
He swallows. “Who says it was because of you?”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Styles. Literally every fabric of your being says it was because of me.”
And Harry wants to argue it with him, he really does, but he kind of doesn’t even know where he would begin with his lie. Thankfully for him, Louis doesn’t even give him the chance to get a word of this in.
“I think I turn you on as much as I annoy you,” he mumbles, scooting even closer.
Harry sucks in a deep breath, eyes quickly glancing down at Louis’ lips on reflex. He coughs. “You do annoy me.”
Louis huffs. “That’s really not the way you should be talking to me if you want to get into my pants.”
Harry can’t help it; he grins. “My pants, you mean.”
It’s like there’s a click into place and the tension Harry’s been feeling ever since he heard Louis’ voice just eases. Louis laughs, light and airy, and it’s the first time Harry’s really listened to it. He decides he quite likes it. “Such a fucking idiot.”
Then his mouth is on Harry’s mouth, and they’re kissing.
Harry—well, he quite likes this, too.
Louis’ lips are soft and the perfect fit for his own, it feels like. It’s weird, because only a few hours ago he would’ve scoffed at anyone who suggested this would be what he was doing at ten in the morning, and yet.
Louis straddles him, steadying himself with his hands on Harry’s headboard. Harry moves his hands to his hips on instinct, squeezes gently in hopes of comforting him, but Louis’ only reaction is to take Harry’s wrists in his own and move them to his—oh.
Harry’s got his hands on Louis’ bum, and it feels absolutely amazing.
He moans, groping at the flesh in his hands. God, he never wants to move his hands. He wants to keep them right where they are, maybe grind up into it until he comes, or fuck a couple of fingers in it until Louis does.
Once the thought’s there, he can’t help but wonder how Louis sounds when he comes, what he looks like, if his breath hitches right before he lets go, if he goes soft and pliant as soon as the feeling hits him.
And Harry, he can’t risk not knowing these things, seeing them for himself.
Reluctantly, he pulls his mouth from Louis’ and revels in the wanton whimper he makes at the loss. “If we’re going to do this,” Harry pants, “lights come on.”
Louis frowns. “You really want to stop this just to turn on the fucking lights?”
Harry squeezes his cheeks a bit harder. “Wanna be able to see you when I make you come.”
Louis bites his lip. “You’re the one who turned it off in the first place,” Louis grumbles as he petulantly flips the switch and turns the light back on, but Harry definitely doesn’t miss the bulge tenting out the front of his—Harry’s?—pants.
He quickly approaches the bed and swings a thigh over Harry’s lap, resuming his previous position. With the lights on, it’s much easier for Harry to make out the details of Louis’ body—his kiss-swollen lips, his protruding collarbones, the tiny pouch of a tummy right below the indention of his waist, and his nipples, small and pert—everything perfect for Harry’s mouth to sink into.
“God,” Harry mutters, placing his hands on Louis’ bum on his own this time and pulling him in even closer. “You’ve got the perfect little body.”
He runs his hands up Louis’ back, stops at his chest and rubs his thumbs over his nipples. Louis shivers and grinds down into Harry’s lap, breaths coming exponentially faster.
“Fuck,” Harry mumbles pitifully, completely in awe.
Louis leans in, panting against Harry’s ears. “I’m gonna need you to get inside me, like, now.”
This gets Harry in motion: he sits up fast enough to make his head spin, tosses his shirt over his head and to the floor, and reaches into his bedside drawer for some lube and a condom. He leaves the condom on top then holds the lube teasingly in front of Louis’ face. “Pants off.”
Louis frowns and pinches Harry’s hip, causing him to jump. “Trying to have sex with you involves a lot of getting up.”
Harry rubs over his hip soothingly. “Sex with you involves a lot of lip.”
His pants come off, and Harry can now very, very clearly see just how hard he is. “Everything with me involves a lot of lip.”
Harry wants to respond with something witty about how that wasn’t anything to brag about, but Louis hooks his index fingers into the waistband of his sweats and yanks them down. Harry groans at the shock of the cool air on his dick, having foregone underwear in his rush to get to the shower when he grabbed his clothes earlier.
“Jesus,” he swears, “Warn a guy.”
Louis hums thoughtfully, then wraps a hand around the shaft of Harry’s sensitive cock. Harry groans and thrusts up into the touch right as Louis mumbles, “I’m about to grab your dick.”
Harry lets out an annoyed sigh that evolves into a laugh. Louis is going to wind up killing him, if not from any of his stupid pranks, then from sexual frustration.
He decides it’s time to take matters into his own hands; he pulls Louis up by his bum, hooks one leg around his and uses the leverage to flip him onto his back. Harry smirks down at him, beyond satisfied at turning the tables, while Louis simply lets out an indignant huff. “That was a dirty move.”
Harry breathes out a laugh. “You really do come with a lot of lip.”
He reaches for the lube, and he can feel Louis’ eyes on him as he does it. “I come with a lot of things,” he mutters suggestively.
Harry sits back on his heels, raises one unimpressed eyebrow in Louis’ direction and continues to stare him down as he pulls his pants and underwear to his knees in one swift motion. Louis lets out another noise, but this one is much more high-pitched, light—almost like a plea. The thought makes Harry smile and blood rush straight to his already-leaking dick.
He oh-so slowly removes Louis’ pants from his body completely, Louis grumbling and whining the whole time as if it’ll speed Harry up. Once they’re gone, Harry realizes the only boundary between them now is the sweats around the middle of his thighs, so he quickly pushes them down to his knees and kicks them off.
He’s completely naked in bed with Louis Tomlinson. What even.
There’s a fleeting moment where he wonders how Louis would react if he just sat and stared at him—as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Louis has the most beautiful body he thinks he’s ever seen. It would feel like a crime to just dive right in without taking the appropriate amount of time to absolutely worship it, but Louis. Louis is currently pinching his arm, wrapping his thighs around Harry’s waist and pulling him in. Louis is impatient.
“Can’t even fuck right, can you? Gotta take ten years just to start. No wonder you never bring anyone back here.”
Harry rolls his eyes, grabs the discarded bottle of lube and slicks up two fingers. One rubs teasingly over Louis’ hole. As predicted, Louis grinds back against it, needy, and moans. Harry smiles. “I fuck just fine.”
Louis bites his lip but doesn’t say anything else. Satisfied, Harry finally pushes his finger inside up until the knuckle.
Louis makes a noise that only encourages Harry he pumps the finger in and out, the moans Louis is letting out serving as music to his ears. With him occupied, Harry can finally take a minute to look at him, to appreciate this perfectly lithe body in front of him.
Yes. Definitely the best he’s ever seen. But he can’t tell Louis that, because he’ll never hear the end of it.
He can just show him instead.
He rests his lips right on Louis’ collarbone, kisses the skin so gently that it drives Louis insane. He starts squirming against him, either up against his mouth or down onto his fingers, and Harry—he needs to focus, and that’s hard to do with Louis being so jumpy.
He brings his free hand up to rest against Louis’ chest and presses down just enough for Louis to catch his hint. Louis pants, eyes rising to meet Harry’s dead on. Harry eyes scan over his face for any sign of discomfort, or nerves, but he finds nothing. On a whim, he curiously pinches Louis’ nipple between his fingers.
“Fuck,” Louis mutters.
God, is he responsive, too. Harry’s in awe.
He slides in another finger, disguises the movement by nipping at Louis’ neck. Louis lets out a breathy type of sound and pushes back, digging the heel of his foot into Harry’s actual ass and mumbling, “Please get the fuck on with it.”
Pushy. “Because you said please.”
He makes quick work of adding a third finger, makes sure to stretch him as thoroughly as he can with Louis egging him on to hurry. He manages to hit Louis’ prostate, and that’s it; Louis practically removes Harry’s fingers himself, scoots closer and reaches blindly for his cock, like he’s going to go and get it in himself.
“Relax,” Harry says, a hint of laughter in his tone. He reaches for the condom and tries to roll it on as quickly as he can, knows Louis isn’t going to give him much time as it is. “I know where my dick goes.”
Louis groans. “Could’ve proven that ages ago.”
Harry wraps one hand around the base of his cock and pops the head inside. “You’re quite mouthy.”
Louis is panting now. “You’ve only got the head in.”
Obviously. He pulls back, just to tease, and thrusts all the way in in one swift motion.
Fucking hell, Louis is tight. It feels like he’s literally trying to pull Harry in, get him to fuck deeper, harder. And Harry, he wants to do those things really, really badly.
He gives one particularly rough thrust, aiming for Louis’ prostate—he must hit it, if the way Louis’ entire body seizes up is any indication. He whines, the kind of noise Harry is sure he didn’t mean to make, and it gives him a twisted sort of satisfaction to have forced it out of him anyway.
Louis mumbles something so quietly that Harry knows if he hadn’t been looking at his lips, he wouldn’t have known he even said anything. “What?” he asks.
“I’m close,” Louis whispers, so evidently embarrassed that Harry almost pities him.
“Louis,” he mumbles, careful to keep his hips still as he leans down so his face is inches from Louis’. Cautiously, he brings one hand back to Louis’ chest and rubs over a nipple yet again. The response is instantaneous; Louis fucking whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s struggling to keep himself composed.
He’s so terribly vulnerable to the lightest of touches, and Harry’s suddenly really fucking into that.
“That’s so hot, baby,” he coddles him, stroking Louis’ hair away from his face. He kisses his lips, trails down to his jaw where he nips, sucks—anything to make Louis believe him. “Real sensitive, yeah?”
Louis is still breathing hard and fidgeting like he doesn’t know where he wants to be, but he nods despite. Harry doesn’t even think before he’s looking down Louis’ body, passing his pink nipples, the soft indentions of his abs, and finally landing on his cock. He’s so hard he’s leaking, dirtying up the tiny pouch of his tummy, and it’s possibly the hottest thing Harry’s ever seen.
He’s sure to tear his eyes away sooner than he wants to lest Louis grow any more self conscious.
“Here,” Harry begins, “Can you come twice, d’ya think?”
Louis sucks in a breath. “I don’t know.”
Harry groans. It’s really becoming a task, not moving while he’s still so fucking hard. “You think you wanna try?”
There’s a pause where Louis thinks about it, and then he’s nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I can try.”
That… that’s the type of thing Louis would say right now, just to unknowingly sink his claws that much deeper into Harry. All other sex is probably going to be ruined for him once he’s had Louis—Louis, who beyond all the annoyances and pettiness, Harry is starting to think he kind of… likes. Not just because he’s got his dick buried in him right now, though that’s probably helped him come to the realization, but—he likes Louis.
Fuck.
“Fuck,” he says aloud.
Louis tilts his head back, neck on perfect display, as he mumbles, “Wish you would.”
Right. He’s got a job to do now that isn’t having a meltdown, and that’s to fuck Louis so well that maybe he’ll discover he likes Harry, too.
The thought hits him in one instant and he’s committed to it in the next; he pounds into Louis with the quick, jarring thrusts his brain was telling him Louis probably liked. Louis was going absolutely mad for it, tossing and turning like he couldn’t help himself, and it only made Harry go that much harder when he realized he likely couldn’t.
“Come on,” Harry coaxes, brushes Louis’ hair from his sweaty face. “Let go for me, nice and easy, yeah?”
Louis moans as loud as ever as Harry pulls the orgasm from him. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of him, wants to keep the memory as vivid as possible in case this is his first and last opportunity to have him.
He’s breathtaking when he comes, back arched and tummy contracting, toes curling up as his fingertips come up to dig into Harry’s back until they’re sandwiched together. Harry breathes hard into the curve of Louis’ neck, tries not to finish right then and there because he’s promised Louis he would come again and the last thing he wants to do is disappoint.
“Good,” Harry mumbles comfortingly. “So good, Louis, so hot.”
Louis lets out an incoherent hum that Harry takes as an affirmative. Harry grins, keeps stroking over his face until he’s sure Louis is calmed down enough to continue.
He’s one-hundred percent positive when Louis breathlessly utters, “Keep fucking going.”
Harry has no choice but to comply, not when Louis is lying there soft and beautiful and—
Purposefully clenching around his cock.
He swears under his breath and begins building his pace back up, makes sure to aim for Louis’ prostate just for the way it knocks the breath out of him. Louis is even more sensitive now, having just came moments ago, and it’s made him as loud as he’s been thus far. Harry wants to record his noises to have to replay for himself, figures he could get himself off just listening to the way he moans.
“Tell me,” Harry breathes, “that you’re close again, Louis, please.”
Louis groans. “Look at the way you’re fucking me and then—shit, ah—answer that for yourself.”
In spite of himself, Harry grins, wraps a hand fully around the base of Louis’ cock. “This how you like to take it?”
If there’s anything he knows about Louis, it’s that he won’t take something like that without a bit of bite, so he makes sure to deliver a rather powerful thrust as soon as Louis’ mouth opens.
“Fucker,” Louis mutters. Harry starts jacking him off, nice and quick, before he can even think of trying again. Louis ends up whimpering and whining, reduced to putty in Harry’s hands, and it’s doing so much for Harry, Christ.
“Shh,” Harry says teasingly, fucking Louis harder so he’ll get louder despite. He’s clenching up again already, abdomen drawn in so tight that Harry knows he’s going to come soon.
He pumps his hand around Louis’ cock even faster. “Want you to come now. Promise I’ll come inside you once you do, yeah? Just gotta come for me again, know you can.”
There’s a hitch in Louis’ breath and a high-pitched squeak when he comes for the second time, making a mess on his stomach all over again. Harry doesn’t tear his eyes away for a second, watches Louis thrash through the pleasure he gave him.
Louis’ hole spasms around him, feeling even tighter from his orgasm. And it’s just, he’s got a pretty boy on his dick that he’s evidently made feel so good, and Harry’s only human.
He covers Louis’ body with his own, keeps himself pressed deep inside as he finishes into the condom. He quiets his own noises by biting into the side of Louis’ neck while Louis strokes soothing fingers down his spine.
It takes him a good couple of minutes to finally come to himself again, but Louis keeps drawing shapes and planting kisses up his jaw as he rides it out. As much as Harry doesn’t want to make him stop, he’s about to become a pile of deadweight and he really doesn’t want to drop himself on Louis. Reluctantly, he rolls over and onto his back.
Louis props himself up on his elbow and scoots closer to him so that their faces are mere inches from each other. Harry can’t help but take advantage, flits his eyes all over every fraction of skin he can see, offers him a dopy sex-high smile.
“That was intense,” Louis remarks; he’s gone quiet and soft in his own post-orgasm haze.
Harry grins. “Bet I could’ve made you come with just the head.”
Louis rolls his eyes and huffs, but there’s still a hint of a smile in his countenance. “I could just get up and leave.”
“No,” he argues weakly, brain slowly shutting down as he realizes just how tired the sex has made him. “Stay.”
Louis hums. “Give me two minutes.”
Harry is too tired to put up any semblance of a fight so Louis ends up out of the bed (and Harry’s grip) in a few short seconds. He hears his feet pad off toward his own room, the sound of stuff being jostled around.
He sighs and looks up to the clock on his bedside table. It’s half eleven in the morning. Louis has already reduced him to sex before noon and he isn’t even mad about it. Though he is tired. Really tired.
Louis returns with a disc in his hands, making a beeline for the radio Harry takes to the living room in the mornings while he works out. He frowns, ready to ask what Louis was doing, but Louis beats him to it.
“Music helps me sleep,” he explains. The mischievous smile on his face should’ve been Harry’s first clue.
But Harry, he doesn’t really care what Louis is plotting right now, not when the promise of a warm body in his bed to cuddle him to sleep is on the line. So he stays quiet, even as the beginnings of what sounds like a somewhat familiar metal song start to flow through the speakers.
Louis hurries back to the bed, crawling in behind Harry this time. He wraps himself around him like a koala bear and Harry guesses he probably looks like a human backpack at the moment. It’s nice. “Nap time now.”
Harry hums his approval and closes his eyes. Only seconds later, the music starts building up, getting louder and louder. Before he can tell Louis that maybe he could pick a calmer song, or at least turn down the fucking volume, the words fuck me like you hate me fill the room.
Harry sighs. “I’ve changed my mind. Turn that shit off and go back to your own room.”
He can feel Louis’ breath against the back of his neck, and he guesses if he could see him right now, he’d be grinning. “Shh. I’m trying to sleep.”
Maybe later he’ll reach a truce with Louis on this back and forth, and maybe he’ll fuck him to come to that agreement. But for now, with Louis latched onto his back in a death grip and his body lax from the best sex he’s ever had, he’s content to let Seether lull him to sleep.
And, he concedes, for monogramming to become a full-time hobby.