Chapter Text
12.
There is no parting them when they step back inside. As they’d walked, Niall rambling on between them about the intricacies of an Irish jig, Harry had entwined their fingers behind his back and they hadn’t let go since.
Niall bounds off in the next second, moving swiftly to Gemma’s side with an enthusiasm not dissimilar to a puppy meeting another puppy for the first time. She loves every second of it, that much is clear — as soon as his hands touch her waist, she’s spun around and started kissing him.
“This is so weird,” Harry says quietly, as they survey the room.
Louis squeezes his hand a little tighter.
They meet several knowing looks head on, Gemma’s and Liam’s and Anne’s. Behind them, several others who aren’t quite so well informed look a little intrigued. Karen’s gaze lingers on their hands for a long moment, but she doesn’t stop smiling for a second which Louis takes as a good sign. She doesn’t come over to ask any questions, and Louis thinks that they can leave it for the rest of the night. There’s always tomorrow for explanations, after all.
“Gemma is never going to let us forget this,” Harry says.
Louis nods grimly. “I don’t think anyone is going to let us forget this.”
He realises then that they’re just standing in the doorway, holding hands and probably looking vaguely intimidated, so he kicks himself into gear. He drags Harry further into the room, towards Liam.
When Harry figures out where they’re headed, he balks. “Oh, no, Louis — can’t this wait for-?”
“You have to meet him sometime,” Louis says.
“I have met him!”
“Not properly. Come on, you’ll like him, he’s wonderful.”
Liam looks about as nervous as Harry does when they finally make their way over to him. He’s got another glass of champagne in his hand. He had been talking to someone when they’d walked in, but apparently that conversation had ended sometime in the interim, because he’s standing alone now.
“Hi,” he says to Harry.
Harry cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink. “Hey,” he replies. He looks awkward and embarrassed and so, so sweet.
Liam picks up on this quickly — at least the embarrassment part — and Louis watches as he relaxes. It’s actually ideal, Louis realises, that Harry is nervous. Liam never performs better than when he’s trying to reassure someone else.
“I see you guys have sorted yourselves out?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Harry flushes even more, but this time Louis is right there with him. Kicking playfully at Liam’s shin, Louis looks at the ground and tries to hide his smile. “Yeah,” he says.
A grin breaks out across Liam’s face, like he’s been waiting for confirmation before allowing himself to get too excited. “I’m glad,” he says. This would be where the conversation might peter off, if Liam weren’t the best person in the world. As it is, he dispels any awkwardness that lingers in the air by acting completely naturally. “I think some of the grandparents are getting a bit sleepy, so they’ll probably start wrapping everything up soon.”
That’s actually quite a surprise — but Louis doesn’t linger on it too long. Evidently, he and Harry had been outside talking for a little longer than he’d thought.
“They’ve still got to cut the cake though,” Liam says.
He grins again at that. They’ve been hearing about this cake for weeks now — from Karen over the phone and then at least twice a day all week from Niall.
“Thank you,” Harry blurts out.
There’s a pause, during which Louis to figure out why on earth Harry is thanking Liam for the cake — before he realises Harry’s not talking about the cake at all. He feels his face go a little hot as he clenches his hand in Harry’s and avoids Liam’s eye.
“I mean,” Harry explains, his words a little jilted. “Just — thank you. For, for looking after him.”
Louis stares at his toes. From anyone else, he might feel a little indignant at the suggestion that he needs to be looked after, but from Harry he doesn’t mind. Harry doesn’t mean it like that anyway.
Liam sounds incredibly soft when he replies. “Not at all,” he says. “I should be thanking you. This is the first time he’s not looked half-ready to cry in days.”
Louis stomps down on Liam’s toes and scowls.
Liam barely even reacts, just smiles down at him fondly. If anything, that makes Louis more irate — but he doesn’t get the chance to announce it because that’s when Gemma and Niall take control of the microphone.
“We just want to say a big thank you to everyone who made the journey to be with us today,” Gemma says, her eyes shining. “It means so much to us that you would take some time out of your schedules to come and celebrate with us. This is such a special day for Niall and I — one that we’ll remember for a long, long time, so yeah. Thank you!”
She hands to microphone over to Niall.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “We just want to make sure you know how much you mean to us — you’re all here because you’re important and you’ve been a massive part of our lives so we’re really glad to have you here. And I know that the time for speeches is over, but I do just want to devote a few words to my lovely wife as well — Gems, thank you for doing all this with me. It’s been pretty tough, getting everything sorted these last few months, and there’s honestly no one else I’d have done it with. This is just day one though, hey?”
He gets a round of laughter at that, some cheers and a scattered applause. None of it seems to matter a lick to him, though. He’s only got eyes for one person in the room.
“Anyway!” he says after a moment. “Without further ado! We’re gonna cut the cake and after everyone’s had a bit, we’ll finally let you lovely people go home and get some rest! Thanks again everyone!”
The cake is just as good as Niall claimed, if not better. Liam makes good use of his best man privileges and even better use of his big round eyes when he swipes an extra piece for each of them. It’s so lovely that Louis doesn’t even have it in him to laugh when Liam swipes a long line of chocolate across his cheek. Just rolls his eyes and offers him a napkin.
Once the initial awkwardness wears off, Harry and Liam get along like a house on fire. It’s still a tad uncomfortable but that is more a result of how little they know each other than anything else. Louis thinks that if all goes to plan, and Harry does become a permanent fixture in his life once again, they’ll be easy friends.
They talk about Manchester and how Harry has found living there and what he plans to do when they get back. Harry’s been working in a small cafe, he tells them both, and still hasn’t settled on any sort of career plans. “Honestly,” he says, “I haven’t even decided if I want one. I’m happy where I am for the moment, so we’ll see what changes.”
He smiles down at Louis, in a way that is far, far more dopey than Louis would usually allow.
“Well,” he corrects himself. “Things have changed, haven’t they?”
Liam looks at them with veritable hearts in his eyes and Louis thinks he’s certainly not going to live this down.
He doesn’t care though.
It does get awkward a little after that, though, when the conversation turns to how everyone is going to be getting home.
“It’s not like we’re really far away from each other,” Harry says, when he sees Louis’ hesitate. He really, really doesn’t want to let go of Harry now. Not when he’s only just got him back.
Louis smiles grimly. “Yeah, I guess,” he agrees glumly.
“Hey!” Liam jokes. “My room’s not so bad.”
Harry goes stiff at Louis’ side. Liam doesn’t seem to realise what he’s said straight away, but Harry’s reaction is apparently enough to tip him off.
Louis scrambles desperately for something to say. “Uhm,” is all he eloquently manages.
As usual, however, Liam comes to his rescue. A little bit more subdued, but still smiling, he chuckles. “Or,” he says pointedly. “Maybe it is.”
Harry smiles a little thinly, like he’s trying his very best to act natural and failing rather miserably. He’s never had a very good poker face.
This doesn’t dissuade Liam. In fact, his smile widens. “I actually thought this might happen,” Liam says. “And I didn’t want you guys to be uncomfortable, not after the week you’ve had. So I got you this.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver, shiny card. It takes Louis a few seconds to work out what it is — but when he does, his pulse ratchets upwards.
It’s a key.
A key card, to be more specific. Like the ones they use in hotels. For hotel rooms.
“It’s for the lodge where you guys stayed last night,” Liam explains. “I didn’t want to get in the way or anything — and I just figured you deserve it.”
“Liam,” Louis says, sounding a little bit like someone’s just punched him in the stomach. “I might actually kiss you.”
Granted, if talking about Liam’s bedroom was enough to make Harry uncomfortable, Louis probably should have thought his comment through a little more. But thankfully, Harry seems just as caught up in what the key card implies as Louis was, and far too distracted to be paying Louis’ words much attention.
Still, Liam eyes him warily. “Better not,” he says, settling for a hug instead.
He sits the key in Louis’ free hand, then pulls back to pat Harry on the shoulder. “I don’t think anyone would notice if you slipped out early,” he says. Then his ears go a little bit pink. “I mean, if you wanted.”
Louis grips the key very tightly and squeezes Harry’s hand again. “We want,” he says, glancing up at Harry just to be sure. “We want?”
Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes focusing very intently on Louis. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “We want.”
Liam’s gone quite pink by this stage. “Right then,” he says. “Well you go and, uhm, do your thing and I’ll keep everyone distracted, shall I?”
He is honestly the best friend a bloke could ask for.
.
When they get to the lodge, Harry takes the lead. He is, after all, the one who’s been here before. Their room number is on the back of their key, number 207, so it isn’t too difficult to find the right room. They stumble up one flight of stairs then rush down the corridor, searching out the right door.
Louis’ body feels alight with anticipation, the kind that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. It’s not as though he’s been abstinent since their break up, but it feels like he might as well have been. The idea of getting to touch, getting to feel Harry’s skin after so long seems like some bizarre day dream that he should have stopped thinking about by now. But it’s not, it’s a reality — and it’s only about two minutes away.
Heat swells in his lower belly when they finally reach the door, and Louis is almost overtaken by the force of it. This is happening, he thinks. This is really happening, truly — in just a few seconds, he and Harry — they’ll be —
“Fuck,” Harry whispers, fumbling the key. He struggles a few times to get into the slot and Louis laughs, feels high on it.
“Come on,” he urges, knowing he’s not helping at all. “Come on, Harry, come on.”
“I’m coming!” Harry says hastily.
They both pause.
“Don’t,” Harry says after a beat.
Louis is still sniggering to himself when the door finally clicks open and they tumble inside. There’s no more pauses, no hesitation, when they reach for each other. The door hasn’t even swung shut when Harry gathers Louis up in his arms, dragging him towards the bed in the middle of the room and dropping him unceremoniously in the middle.
“Come here, come on, here,” Louis says, reaching up with his hands to tug Harry down on top of him.
They kiss like they haven’t in a long time, their lips hot and wet with spit. Their teeth knock together a couple of times, before they settle into a familiar rhythm. Harry’s mouth on his is warm, insistent, and Louis can’t help but grab him by the collar and haul him closer. His heavy weight on top of him brings bliss like none other, like Harry’s surrounding him from every angle, blanketing him completely.
“Louis—”
Louis sucks in a harsh breath when Harry pulls away, his curls draping forward and shadowing Louis’ face. His green eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark and Louis can’t look away — not even when he reaches down to tug at the fabric of Harry’s shirt.
He hasn’t, however, taken Harry’s suit jacket into account. No matter how much Louis might appreciate the garment when they’re upright, the way that it falls from Harry’s shoulders to hug his exquisite curves, now it is nothing more than a hindrance. He tugs uselessly at the shirt a few more times anyway, growing more and more frustrated. “Fuck—Harry.”
Harry’s large hand settles around Louis’ wrist, stills him. His grin, when Louis sees it, is positively delighted. “What’s your plan, here?” he asks, quirking his brow.
“Shut up,” Louis orders. He yanks his hand free from Harry’s and shuffles, freeing his other arm so that he can reach up and push at the corners of Harry’s suit. He manages to get the offending jacket pushed down to Harry’s elbows, before Harry has to lean back to help. He rids himself of the jacket and tosses it to the floor — but before it lands, Louis’ got his hands back on him.
He snakes his hands underneath Harry’s shirt, his fingernails scraping over the soft muscle and pushing the fabric away. There are so many tattoos — so many tattoos that he hasn’t seen — and Louis wants to drink them all in.
“Off,” he orders, continuing to push even though he knows the shirt unbuttons. “Get it off.”
Harry looks hopelessly endeared, which is an incredibly positive sign. He tugs the shirt off over his head, despite the buttons, and disregards that as well.
And then — and, and then.
There’s so much fucking skin, Louis doesn’t know where to begin. All he knows is that he wants to get his mouth on him, fucking yesterday, and he’s not going to waste any more time.
He shoves at Harry’s shoulder, rough enough that it catches Harry off guard — or off balance, whatever — and he tumbles to the side. Louis climbs over him without a pause, settling a leg on either side of his hips before bending down and finally, finally, drinking in his fill.
He starts at Harry’s collarbones, scraping his teeth across the crest of the bone there and nipping at the fleshy place where Harry’s neck meets his shoulder. Harry makes an absolutely wonderful noise, clutching at Louis and letting his head fall back. It only exposes the hard line of Harry’s neck, which Louis is more than happy to reacquaint himself with.
The skin there is undeniably soft, and Louis lingers. He bites and he nips and he licks as he pleases, marking his place in this spot where Harry’s scent is so undeniably strong. Harry’s pulse beats a crescendo under his lips that mimics the frantic thump that thrums through Louis’ own veins.
He pulls back to admire his own work, to watch the swelling red spots that will be purple by morning, when something else catches his eye.
Two swallows stare back at him, lining Harry’s chest and robbing Louis of his breath. “You kept them,” he says.
He’s seen them over the past few days, but Harry’s sheer shirts have only offered a hint of the lines that actually detail Harry’s skin. Louis hasn’t let himself think about it too much, hasn’t let himself dwell because he’d thought he’d never get the answer.
But now, Harry just smiles and says, “Course, I did,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Which, if Louis is honest, makes sense — Harry’s probably not at a point in his life where he can afford tattoo removal — but Louis’ heart still swells to twice it’s normal size. The way Harry says it makes it seem like he never considered anything else, like no other option ever crossed his mind.
Louis rakes his gaze across the rest of Harry’s skin — the moth is a new addition, but not a surprise. Harry had been talking about getting it when things between them had come to a close. Instead, what takes Harry off guard are the two laurel leaves that frame his hips.
He runs his thumb across one of the smaller leaves and savours the way that Harry’s abdomen jumps under his touch. “They’re beautiful,” he says.
Harry smiles up at him, looking practically angelic with his curls splayed out on the pristine white sheets. “Thanks,” he says.
Louis reaches out to touch the other one, “You should tell me why you got them.”
“I will,” Harry says. He leans up then until he is sitting, and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. His bites at the base of Louis’ neck, licks the tender mark he leaves behind and then says, “I want to hear about yours as well. But later.”
Louis thinks about the dagger that runs up his arm and flushes. Harry has certainly seen it over the past week — it’s been hot and Louis’ hasn’t been wearing many sleeves unless he’s had to. He hasn’t thought about it til now, hasn’t thought about what Harry might think — especially considering that Louis got it almost six months after they’d broken up.
Later, he tells himself. For now, there are more urgent tasks that need seeing to.
“I like your hair long,” Louis says, toying with it while Harry teethes at his neck. “It suits you.”
Harry hums into his skin. “Thank you.” He brings his hand up and presses his palm to the curve of Louis’ jaw, brushing his thumb across the bristle of Louis’ stubble. “I like the beard.”
Louis blushes at that, and distracts himself by refocusing on the task at hand. There is so much more of Harry to touch, to taste, so he shouldn’t waste time.
He pushes Harry back down, realigning their legs so that their hips press together just right. Then he reacquaints himself with Harry’s third and fourth nipples, and smiles into Harry’s skin at the breathy giggle he gets in return. It’s playful for a moment, until it’s not, until Louis’s lips touch the laurel on the left and Harry’s jaw snaps shut with a click.
Louis points his tongue and makes a point to trail it across the black outline. Harry’s stomach quivers with the mood and his hand lands suddenly, heavily, in Louis’ hair. The noise he lets out might have been a word, in one lifetime, but certainly isn’t anymore.
The taste of him is something earthy, sweet and heady. It’s the way he smells, only intensified. Musky, like the smell of dusk on a summer night and home.
He could spend the rest of the night there, Louis thinks. Without a doubt. But the time he wants to devote to relearning Harry’s body definitely outstrips the one night that Liam’s paid for — so eventually he pulls away and leans back up near Harry’s face. He dots a kiss on Harry’s jaw line before leaning back to survey him.
“Hey,” Harry says, because apparently he’ll be an absolute dork no matter how many years pass.
Louis rolls his eyes, doesn’t think about how fond he probably looks. “How are we doing this, then?” he asks.
Harry considers him. “You mean: will I do you or will you do me?”
He lifts his hip as if to drive the point home, as if Louis needed any further encouragement. Not that Louis is complaining, of course. The hard line of his dick is absolutely exquisite and Louis’ mouth almost waters at the feel of it.
“I’d quite like to do you,” Harry says then. “If that’s alright with you.”
Louis fights the urge to whimper and instead, nods thoroughly. “Oh, my god, yes,” he says absolutely shamelessly. “But I reserve the right to fuck you in the morning.”
Harry grins. “Glad to know some things haven’t changed.”
Louis smirks. It’s unfortunate, he thinks, that Harry won’t ever know what it’s like to be wrapped up between Harry’s legs, because it’s one of Louis’ favourite places in the world.
He says as much to him, then grins when Harry clutches him close and giggles like a mad thing. He wraps his arms around Louis so tight that they tumble to the side, rolling to face each other while Harry rolls his eyes.
“You are such a loser,” he tells Louis then.
Louis doesn’t mind though. He just grins some more. “You got a condom?” he asks.
There’s a minor struggle when Harry tries to get his wallet out of his back pocket, but once it’s free he finds the condom fairly quickly. He ignores the look Louis gives him — a mixture of scandalised surprise and relief — and drops it on the bed beside him. “Don’t have any lube, though,” he says.
Louis raises a brow. “What?” he says. “You mean you don’t carry any in your wallet in case you get lucky.”
Harry goes a little pink and pointedly ignores the question. Instead he says, “I saw some lotion in the shower though — when I was getting ready this morning. I reckon every rooms got some.”
And like, yeah, Louis’ had classes on this sort of thing and read all the pamphlets and he knows that nondescript hotel lotion probably isn’t the best thing to have going into any orifice let alone his — but this is a very special set of circumstances, and he’s never heard of anyone dying from incorrect use of lotion.
He fetches it quickly from the bathroom, sealed and packaged in a compact little bottle. As he walks back, he searches for instructions that might warn against internal use but he doesn’t find anything.
Then, when he glances back at the bed he finds that Harry has used his brief absence to rid himself of his jeans as well, and all of his thoughts promptly fly out the window.
“Fuck,” Louis says, just looking at him.
Harry flushes a pretty pink then beckons him closer. “Find it?”
Louis nods, tosses the lotion down beside the condom and doesn’t take his eyes off Harry. His cock is hard, tenting his boxer briefs out obscenely, the head peeking mouth-wateringly over the elastic band. He steps closer though, almost reverent in his approach, entirely unsure where he should ever try and start.
Harry reaches out and snags his tie, tugs him closer and pouts. “Why are you wearing so many clothes still?”
Louis honestly has no idea.
Harry makes quick work of them though, shedding Louis of his layers with a speed and agility he’s always reserved for the bedroom. Another thing that hasn’t changed, Louis thinks, is how desperate Harry seems to see him naked.
“God, c’mere,” Harry moans when he’s got Louis down to his birthday suit. He doesn’t waste any time, his fingers wrapping around Louis’ length and gripping him tightly. He flicks his wrist exactly, exactly the way that’s always driven Louis mad and groans again. “I’m totally going to blow you later,” he continues almost casually. “But we should, we should — you should come here.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He lets go of Louis’ cock, and watches happily as it springs upwards and slaps Louis on the stomach before hauling Louis down onto the bed next to him. He rolls on top of him smoothly, settling between Louis’ legs like he’s never, never left and digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Louis’ bum.
Their dicks rub obscenely through the cotton of Harry’s pants.
“Jesusfuck—!” Louis hisses.
Harry lets out another wonderful, low noise — that grumbles from the very back of his throat, before leaning down to kiss Louis again.
While Harry’s rough lips drag across his own, Louis brings his hands up, scratching his nails across the tender skin on Harry’s back. He can’t wait to see the marks tomorrow, the red and tender reminder that Harry can still wreck him in the best of ways.
The rocking, when it starts, is completely unintentional. Searching for a way to get closer, to hold Harry closer, Louis’ hips lift slightly and his legs fall further open. Harry buries himself in the space there, squishing their cocks between them and creating the most exquisite kind of friction. Louis actually likes the coarse fabric of his pants, likes the burn that it brings to the soft head of his dick.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Louis pants into Harry’s ear. “Oh, my fucking god.”
“I wanna fuck you so bad, Lou,” Harry’s hoarse voice replies. “I’ve missed it so much, I’ve missed you.”
Louis fights desperately to keep his breath steady and completely, utterly fails. “Wh—why don’t you then?” he gasps. “I’m — I’m not going to stop you.”
As if to prove his point he clutches even more at Harry’s shoulders, flattening Harry out on top of him until they’re touching at practically every point. He can feel the frantic rise and fall of Harry’s chest right up against his own lungs, Louis thinks. The pulse in his neck, the wide set of his shoulders, the slim line of his hips.
“Lube,” Harry pants. “Lube, gimme the lube.”
He doesn’t pull back so much as crane forward, pressing Louis roughly down into the mattress as he reaches for the lube. It does stop the kissing though, which Louis is going to pout about until he realises where this is all going.
While Harry drenches his fingers in lotion, Louis finally manages to rid him of his pants. Only down to his knees, the position they’re in doesn’t allow much more than that, but that’s really all that Louis needs.
“Spread,” Harry orders then.
“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, and spreads.
He hooks his hands underneath his knees and pulls back, while Harry leans a little further back to look down at him. Harry’s thighs come forward, propping him up slightly beneath his bum to give him a better vantage point.
“I missed you too,” Louis suddenly blurts out, looking up at Harry with wide eyes.
Harry pauses, lifting his gaze away from where Louis’ is on display for him and frowning slightly. Which is understandable, because Louis had just kind of spoken up from out of the blue.
Blushing, he rushes to clarify. “I mean, I haven’t said it as much as you,” he explains himself. “And I want you to know that I do. Did. Have. I’ve missed you.”
Harry softens. He turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to the inside of Louis’ calf, raised half up in the air.
“I know,” he says. “You don’t have to explain.”
Louis nods, feeling incredibly embarrassed now. “I just wanted to be sure.”
This is so weird, he thinks. Of course, in the wake of the week they’ve had, it’s no surprise that their emotions are running a little high — but it’s completely ridiculous to be panting in each other’s ears one second, then gazing into each other’s eyes in the next.
“Oh god, listen to me,” Louis whines. “I’m a sap; you’ve turned me into a sap.”
Harry looks incredibly, incredibly pleased. “You are a sap,” he says, sounding delighted. Then he leans forward, pasting an overtly sleazy look on his face and hoods his eyes. “A sap I’m gonna fuck.”
Louis slaps a hand over his eyes, and doesn’t even have time to think before he’s barking out a laugh. “No,” he says immediately. “No way, that was fucking awful.”
Harry shoots him a toothy grin before leaning forward, pressing sweetly through the gap where Louis’ still got his legs spread wide to place a soft kiss on Louis’ lips. It’s mostly teeth — he’s grinning so wide, but Louis doing exactly the same thing so it doesn’t seem to matter so much.
“Get away from me,” Louis protests, even while he pulls Harry closer. “You’re disgusting, you disgust me.”
“You love me,” Harry croons back, still grinning like a loon. “And you love me fucking you.” He sings it. The motherfucker actually fucking sings it.
He’s right. Louis does love him.
“Oh, alright,” Louis sighs, like his dick isn’t still rock hard and begging between them. “Go ahead then, if you must.”
Harry grins and without even pausing, settles a wet finger at Louis’ entrance. He presses the tip of his finger inside, looking impossibly smug and not breaking eye contact even once.
Louis squeaks.
“God,” Harry says. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
Ordinarily, Louis would spit fire at a compliment like that. But now he’s too distracted rocking back on the tip of Harry’s finger, desperately searching for more, to pay the comment too much mind.
From there, things move fairly quickly. Once the first finger has slipped in, a second one quickly follows and then a third. Louis doesn’t pay attention to the time, unable to think of anything outside of the exquisite stretch of Harry’s long and well practiced fingers.
He only notices when Harry pulls away, and lets out a pathetic little whine that he will absolutely deny later.
His only saving grace is that Harry seems just as desperate, his fingers fumbling in their eagerness to tear open the condom packet. In the end, he does it with his teeth, snagging a corner and yanking it open by force. Then, it takes two tries for him to actually get the damn thing on.
Louis can’t help but tug at his own cock. He feels awfully empty, without Harry’s fingers to play with — but the promise of Harry’s dick is more than enough to keep him from complaining.
Harry stretches out over him, rubbing the head of his dick over Louis’ hole a few times just to make Louis whine. And Louis will complain, he really, really will — but that particular brand of lovely, awful torture is completely forgotten only seconds later when Harry finally pushes forward and sinks into him.
He lets out an absolutely wonderful sound, low and guttural and completely overwhelmed as he presses in to the hilt. Once fully seated, he pauses for a moment — holding his whole body tense like he might explode at any moment.
Louis, overwhelmed and happy and satisfied in every sense of the word, preens. It feels good, so good, too good, to be stretched like this on Harry’s dick — but it feels even better knowing that Harry is just as affected.
“Go on then,” Louis says, aiming for nonchalance and falling far, far short of the mark. “What are you waiting for?”
Harry shudders with his whole body, his hips twitching forward and pressing Louis right fucking there. “You to shut your smart mouth,” he pants back in reply.
And yeah, Louis thinks. Harry’s definitely the one for him.
Any reply Louis can think of is lost when Harry lifts himself up over Louis. Bracing himself on his elbows, framing Louis’ head and holding him close, Harry begins to rock his hips back and forth, pulling out of Louis slowly only to slam soundly back home.
“Who—?” Louis tries, when his brain has somewhat gotten used to the constant jolts of pleasure that come with Harry’s every move. “Who else is going to tell you what to do?”
Harry chooses that moment to slam up against his prostate and then pauses there. Louis lets out a loud and helpless shout, and the sudden onslaught of pleasure that bursts through him actually stings tears at his eyes.
“Oh, fuck!” Louis says, when Harry begins to move, nailing that spot with every thrust. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” It’s completely involuntary, the words that escape him, and the only way he can think to stop himself is to bite down heavily on his lower lip.
Harry protests almost immediately. “No,” he says, “don’t do that, I want to hear you. Let me hear you.”
The air was thick around them, heavy with the smell of sweat and sex, and Harry’s request is so sincere that Louis can’t even help himself. He loses himself to it, lets his head lie back and allows the soft, high pitch moans to spill from him without caution. ‘Uh, uh, uh’ it sounds like, and Louis might be embarrassed if he didn’t already know how the sound drove Harry wild.
Like he said, he thinks incoherently. Some things never change.
He can feel his orgasm coming, the constant stimulation on his prostate far, far too much to handle for long, and releases himself to it. It feels so good, and the fact that it’s Harry only makes it so much sweeter. He thought that he’d lost this, that he’d never feel this again — and by fucking Christ, he’d never take Harry for granted ever again, not if it meant losing this, the closeness and the safety and the absolute sense of security that Louis felt when he was wrapped up beneath him.
Harry doesn’t let up, even as Louis’ body jerks the way it always does right before he comes. It’s almost too much, but he doesn’t even pause — just continues pounding into Louis’ clenching hole, thrusting at a feverish pace.
Louis closes his eyes when he comes, his head pressing back into the mattress as his whole body shudders with it. His own come lands hot on his stomach, just as Harry reaches his peak — and Louis jerks his eyes back open.
He watches Harry come with awe — the obscene stretch of his neck, the sweaty stick of his curls to his forehead and the bitten pink of his lips all coming together to form an absolute masterpiece as his face curls with ecstasy.
“Holy fuck,” Harry whispers as he comes down. “Holy fuck, Lou.”
“Mhmmm,” Louis says, feeling incredibly close to comatose. “Yeah.”
Harry drops his entire weight, pancaking Louis down beneath his body and squishing Louis’ come between them. Louis grunts at the sudden weight, then lets out a huff of annoyed laughter.
“Ugh,” he says. “Get the fuck off me, you oaf.”
“No,” Harry replies. “I’m never moving ever again.”
He rolls off in the next second though. He pulls out of Louis, the two of them only wincing slightly as they part, and quickly gets rid of the condom. He does his best to toss it across the room into the wastepaper basket, but it misses by a mile and lands on the carpet.
“Whoops,” Harry says.
“You’re disgusting,” Louis says fondly.
Harry shrugs and rolls back, forgetting about the condom in favour of nuzzling his curls into the curve of Louis’ neck. He lifts a heavy leg and drops it over Louis’ legs, like he can’t bear even the smallest inch of space being left between them.
“Love you,” Harry hums.
Louis smiles, lets the words rush over him. “Love you, too,” he says.
They rest in silence for a while then, revelling in each other’s company and the softly slowing beat of their hearts. It doesn’t last for long though.
“I also love Liam,” Harry announces grandly. “Liam’s the best.”
Louis grins, and buries his face in Harry’s curls. Harry is probably referring to the key and the hotel room that Liam had gifted them, or maybe even to the way that Liam had finally exposed their secret. But Louis thinks of it a little differently. After all, if it weren’t for Liam, he wouldn’t have come — he wouldn’t have seen Harry again, and none of this would have happened at all. So,
“Yeah,” Louis sighs happily. “He really, really is.”
.
Fin.
.