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They've been at the pub for nearly two hours and Louis has counted twelve missed calls. It's not like he's trying to be nosey or pry. Leon is just one of those guys who throws their phone up on the table when they've sat down, screen up, close enough to notice but not enough to respond. It seems to be the case with the way he's left it to vibrate and rattle into the hardwood every few minutes. Each time, the screen is illuminated to the same picture - Harry. With his curls half swept up behind him, grinning wide behind a pair of dark sunglasses, he's the epitome of a happy summer afternoon - pretty and soft around the edges.
Leon doesn't seem as enamored by the photograph of his boyfriend as Louis is. In fact, he can't really be bothered, everything else in the pub garnering more of his attention. Gaze shifting from Ida - their waitress with the bubblegum pink lipstick and dark eyes to the telly playing some boxing match to the rest of the lads at the table, all shouting and bantering back and forth. He only seems to take note of his phone at all when it starts vibrating again, this time clattering over to bang into his arm.
"Oi! Fuck off." Leon hisses, reaching a thick, sweaty hand to squeeze the device until he effectively ends the call.
"He alright?" Louis asks, tries for casual as he picks up his pint, taking a long pull. He hasn’t known Leon for very long, more of a fringe friend than anything, just on the outskirts of Louis’ inner circle. That’s why he can’t really have an opinion, but as the night’s gone on, Louis is starting to form one. He's been watching the texts coming in to too, a full screen of where are you? answer me. at least let me know you're okay?? leon! please let me know you’re safe..
"I don't know. He's been blowing up my phone for ages now. Can't stand it when he doesn't know exactly where I am." Leon huffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance as another text comes through. Louis can barely see the caps locked YOU CAN IGNORE ME BUT NOT TEXT BACK? before Leon flips his phone over.
"Seems a bit important." Louis likes Harry. Has met him a few times at social gatherings, around the pub and Leon brings him on game nights sometimes. Always struck Louis as one of those package deals, you know, all grace and beauty but probably has a wicked tongue when he's allowed to hash it out. Not that Louis would admit to noticing. It’s just hard not to notice when Harry comes in a room.
"It's always important. Been on me for weeks now about planning something. He's always doing shite like that, you know, mate? Wants to be pampered and taken care of." Leon is drunk, sweaty when he leans into Louis' side. "It's those rich, posh fuckers. Little cross around his neck, good Catholic boys, expecting everyone to just bow down and treat him like a princess."
"Harry?" Louis is genuinely surprised, eyebrows raising nearly into hairline. "Never seemed that way to me. I thought he was always real pleasant when you'd bring him around."
"Yeah well, you don't live with him. Always harping on me to do the dishes, pick up after me self, take out the trash. Like, he's home all day, why is he nagging on me the moment I come through the door?" Leon complains loudly, slurping from his pint. Some of the foam gets caught in his blond beard. "And then, when I have a moment on the couch, he's all over me. Wants to talk and have a cuddle, discuss our days, kissing me while the match is on. Just girly shit. Gets all bent out of shape if I tell him to turn the radio off when he's washing up from dinner."
"Seems like you have a real nice domestic life, mate." Louis can hear the own venom in his tone, sash turned on as he rolls his eyes again. Leon is a selfish twat, is what he is. Has a literal model with a candy heart at home and he'd rather be making eyes at the barmaid than answering his phone?
"And you seem a bit too invested for someone who has only met him a few times. Got a bit of a crush, Lou?" Leon sneers, the sharp edge of his mouth turned up in one corner. “Been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“Just think you sound a bit ungrateful, that’s all.” Louis shrugs. He’s not aiming for a fight, but if push comes to shove, he can land a punch. Leon seems like the type of guy that deserves a quick one straight to the mouth. “Do you even know why he’s calling you? Did you even ask? What if something’s wrong?”
“You know what?” Swiping his hand across the table, Leon grabs up one of the napkins and a pen, scribbling over it before shoving it with two fingers harshly into Louis’ chest. “Here’s our address. Why don’t you go find out what he wants since you want to know so bad?”
“Oi, fuck off.” Louis reels back, the napkin falling onto his lap as his chair skids on the floor. He can see Oli and Stan turn their heads at the commotion, eyebrows raised, but Louis isn’t looking to turn this into a brawl. “I’m just saying you’re being an arse about it. Harry is a good boy. He deserves at least a text back.”
“I can tell how much of a good boy you think he is.” Leon’s snarl doesn’t change, the corner of his mouth lifting higher. “But he’s still calling me, not you, hm?”
“Watch your mouth.” Louis is about done with this conversation. Who the fuck talks about their own boyfriend like this? “Or are you accusing me of something?”
“Just giving you an out, lad. Like Harry would even look at you. He’s too busy crawling up my ass to notice anyone else.” Leon snarls, rolling his eyes in a dismissive shake of his head. “But if you’re so concerned, go see what he wants. Make him happy enough to leave me alone, eh? Since you’re so worried.”
The beer in Louis’ stomach seems to sour at the words. It’s not just the way Leon is talking to him, it’s how entirely disinterested he seems in the entire situation. Louis doesn’t fucking get this guy, ego too big to even see past the end of his nose, and Louis hates guys like this. Doesn’t have time for them. He gets to his feet, leans down only once to let Oli know he’s headed out. Whatever casual Tuesday night they were going for, it seems ruined by Leon’s big mouth, and Louis isn’t going to stick around when he knows he’s one word away from throwing hands.
Stepping outside into the cool, November air, he digs in his jacket for a smoke and a lighter, letting the warm rush of nicotine calm him down a bit. It’s just beginning to snow, the flakes coming down in a dizzy sort of way that makes the city look pretty, quiet, still early enough in the evening that cars are rushing past and the street lights have that still merry sort of glow. Louis can feel the bite in the air even as he slides his free hand into his pocket, turning to make the quick trek back to his flat, when his hand closes around something rough.
It's the napkin from before. Leon’s messy handwriting scrawled out carelessly the address of his own home. Harry’s home. Louis knows he shouldn’t care. He should mind his own business. There is a six pack in his fridge, Netflix can be queued up in only a few minutes. He could finish his night lazy at his own apartment if he wanted. But there is that nagging feeling poking in the back of Louis’ brain. How Harry had been calling and calling and calling. That he’s probably worried after two whole hours of radio silence. Louis doesn’t have Harry’s number to give him a ring and reassure him, but according to the napkin, his flat is only a few blocks over in the opposite direction. It’s still early enough that it wouldn’t be odd for Louis to swing by, at the very least to reassure Harry that his boyfriend isn’t dead – just a dick.
It’s the right thing to do. So, with a sigh and a flick of his cigarette, Louis turns on his heel and starts back down the pavement. The bouncer gives him a raised brow as he comes by the bar again, but Louis offers him a nod back and the guy doesn’t comment. He’s probably thinking Louis is drunk, but honestly, he’s feeling incredibly sober. It’s the type of awake that has him taking the stairs two at a time to get to Harry’s door, rapping his knuckles against the hardwood.
It's a ritzy, posh sort of apartment building. Large paintings on the walls, plush carpet to dampen any noise running the length of the hall, silver and glass table just as soon as you exit the lift. Louis doesn't want to think about the comparison - his own flat with its chipped linoleum, cracked wood, the smell of old leather and damp wallpaper lingering in the hall. Still, it's hard to concentrate on anything but the present as the door before him opens, spilling soft piano music and the rich smell of food into the hallway.
"You can’t unlock the door now. Honestly, Leon-" Harry stops mid-rant, hand braced on the doorframe as he stares down at Louis. "Oh.”
Louis is aware that his mouth is open, that it's fallen a little in the middle of him trying to say hello, but in his defense - he wasn't prepared for this. There is so much to look at first, eyes unable to settle on a single inch. Desperately hungry to take in the full image before him.
Harry clearly wasn't expecting anyone else than his boyfriend. His long hair is tousled with curls cascading down one side, over onto his shoulder, effortlessly disheveled in a way that seems easy. Like the way the little rose colored corset clings to the curves of his chest, boning laced between sheer silk, cropped high so it rests just above the butterfly tattoo that stretches over Harry's diaphragm. It leaves his soft stomach exposed, down to the matching panties, lace trim curl under the curve of the laurel tattoos Louis didn't know Harry had. He's topped the entire outfit off with silky thigh highs - soft white against his already pale legs, little black heels with bows on his feet to give him a few extra inches.
He's beyond description, beyond any semblance of thought. Louis feels the words spill right out of his brain, left breathless and dumb as he sweeps his gaze back up to Harry's face. He's wearing a little glitter around them, gold to reflect in the green, with a strawberry shade of lipstick on his pouting mouth. It’s not like Louis didn’t know that Harry – runway model, rich bitch Styles – was gorgeous but it’s like Louis is reminded in every dip and curve of his body.
"Evening Harry." Louis manages to get out, feels it garbled up in his mouth and around his accent.
"Louis." Harry glances over his shoulder like he's expecting someone else to fill up the hallway, brow creasing when he sees it's empty.
"I know it's late and you weren't expecting me-" Louis continues, hooking a thumb over his shoulder as he rocks on his heels. "I just thought I'd pop over, ya know? Didn’t think it was fair to make you worry all night. Leon’s fine, down at the pub, by the way."
"Couldn't answer his phone but could send his mate over." Harry huffs, rolling his eyes as he takes a step back, heels clicking on the marble as he swings his arm wide. "Alright, well, might as well come in then."
"Oh, I really shouldn't. Don't want to impose." Louis shakes his head, feels barely any guilt when his eyes rove down the long length of Harry's legs. He wants to get on his knees, put his mouth all over Harry's thighs, trace the laurel tattoos with his tongue.
"It's fine. You're already here and I refuse to ever have someone label me a bad host." Harry dismisses, waving a hand as motions towards the entry way. "Besides, I haven't seen you in ages. It's just a social call, right?"
There is a bite to his words, but it doesn't keep Louis from walking forward and into the small space. He's only been to Leon and Harry's apartment once - a housewarming party when the couple moved in together last fall. He remembers the ornate crown molding though, the modern design of the art, the warm earth tones carefully crafted into the textiles. Leon doesn't seem like the type of guy to give a fuck, but Harry does. Harry who is a high-end model with real art friends, who is class and sass all wrapped up in chiffon.
Once he's sure Louis is fully inside, Harry leaves the door to shut on its own behind them and turns on his heel, walking further into the flat. Louis loses all interest in the interior design of the flat the moment he sees the other side of Harry's outfit - the smooth planes of his back, the curve of his waist, the dimples at the end of his spine. The panties he has on are sheer, cut in a way that the supple bottoms of his cheeks hang out. They move as Harry walks, a little jiggle to them that makes Louis' mouth water.
Louis has half a mind to raise his phone and send Leon a picture, get the angle of where the stockings cut into the plush curve of Harry's thighs. Maybe text after like 'this is what you've been ignoring for two hours' but Louis feels a sudden rush of selfishness. He doesn't think Leon deserves to see this, see Harry dolled up and gorgeous for him. Louis doesn't want to share this at all. Maybe it makes him a bad friend, but it's hard to think about morals or ethics when Harry is awash in candlelight, hip cocked.
"Do you eat beef? I have a Japanese Kobe steak being kept warm in the oven. I don't eat red meat, but the butcher assured me it's the best quality." Harry asks, coming to stand by the end of the long dining table, reaching for a glass of wine. He takes a long sip of it, lipstick leaving a pink print on the side.
"Oh, I do. Um." Louis licks over his lips, forces his attention away from the golden glow on Harry's soft curls to the table before them. It’s been set for two – plates at both ends, a bottle of red on the side, tall pillar candles in gold holders, and rose petals scattered over the top. It’s set for an – “Oh no. Harry. I’m sorry. I didn’t-“
“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” Harry tosses his head a little, haughty and unbothered, even as his gaze wavers a little. Just a tiny crack in all that fine alabaster. “I know it’s not footie, because you’re here.” He sends a rueful look toward Louis, eyebrow raised. “So, what is it? What has Leon so distracted he can forget our anniversary? One year, you know. A big one.”
“Listen, darling,” Louis cringes, nose wrinkling as he raises a placating hand. “I had no idea. He didn’t mention – I only came because I knew you were worried. I saw his phone.”
“That’s very sweet, Lou, but that didn’t answer my question.” Harry sends a carefully assessing glance over Louis – seems to take him all in – before humming softly. “It’s not footie. It’s not some laddy mischief bullshit, since you’re usually the ring leader of those kinds of nights. Guess that leaves me the with the obvious option then, doesn’t it? A girl, then? Some pretty barmaid with her tits out that Leon can’t wait to bury his face in?”
“Harry-“ Louis tries to say, tries to think of anything that may soothe the burn a bit, but what can he really do? He’s not going to stand here and lie to Harry, deserves more than that with the way he’s prepared the evening. Leon is a fucking idiot for letting Ida and her over the top customer service skills distract him when he’s going such a beauty at home.
“Right, well.” Harry takes in a sharp breath, downing the half inch of wine in his glass, before sending Louis a forced little smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, even if it makes his dimples appear. “About that steak? Yes?”
“I can’t-“ Louis starts to protest but Harry is already walking towards the kitchen, his heels clicking on the wood floor.
“Of course you can. Waste not, want not.” He throws over his shoulder, opening a drawer. “I insist.”
Louis isn’t sure how he’s ever going to recover from this. It’s not something he thought he’d ever be into, but Harry standing there in expensive looking lingerie, pulling on hot pads just does something to him. He feels feverish with it, unable to even blink as Harry pops the oven open, bending down to pull out a little pan. The angle put his ass in the air, heart shaped and supple, and Louis wants to be on his knees behind him. Wonders what Harry would do if Louis rewarded his hard work with a tongue between the soft cheeks of his ass.
“Pour me a glass, would you?” Harry calls, seemingly busy with plating up the steak, and Louis forces himself to walk further into the room, picking up the bottle of rouge.
He pours Harry one and then himself, careful not to over fill them. He only had two pints at the pub, but there is something about the ambiance of the place that it is doing something to Louis. He's getting lost in his head, thinking about what it would be like to come home to this every evening. How Louis would find him first thing, wouldn’t even take his jacket off before kissing Harry’s soft mouth. Easy and sweet – light conversation over dinner filled with praises on how good Harry is, how talented, how much Louis appreciates him. Would clean up after and then take Harry to bed or to the couch or anywhere that he could spend just a little longer basking in the domesticity of it all.
“Here, love.” Louis takes the plate from Harry’s hand, depositing it on the table, before handing him his glass. Harry seems surprised at the gesture, eyebrows climbing as Louis moves to pull out his chair.
“Thank you.” He says slowly, sinking down into his seat. For the first time all evening, a rosy blush spreads along his cheeks and Harry glances up through his eyelashes at Louis shyly. “I’m sorry. Is this awkward for you? Do you want me to go change? I have a robe-“
“No, not all. You look perfect. Really, Haz, just. Gorgeous.” Louis probably shouldn’t have said it but he doesn’t regret it when the blush on Harry’s cheeks gets brighter, pink turned to crimson. A flattered Harry is even prettier if that’s possible, nibbling at the corner of his lip. Louis can’t help offering him a grin, charmed as he sinks into the chair at the other end of the table, picking up his fork and taking a bite.
“You’ll uh, have to forgive me if the food is a bit tough. It’s been ready since seven.” Harry clears his throat, digging into his own cut of what looks like salmon. Above him on the wall, the clock strikes midnight.
“He’s a shithead.” Louis says around a mouthful, chewing thoughtfully. "Doesn't know what the fuck he's doing."
"Well, he clearly knows what he's not." Harry murmurs, spreads his hands out on the tablecloth before picking up his fork. His nails are painted the same soft pink as his lipstick. Seemingly trying to push it aside, Harry glances up again with a small smile. "How is it then?"
Louis doesn't consider himself a connoisseur of food, usually content to grab McDonalds or a quick microwave meal if he's real honest, but there is nothing to describe this meal other than delicious. He can't tell that it's been waiting on an absentee boyfriend. If anything, Louis can't imagine it being much better and finds himself saying so.
"Harry, did you cook this?"
Spearing a green bean, Harry nods, lifting it to bite the end. "I'm not like classically trained or anything. But I have a few books, watched some shows. Was a bit addicted to Mary Berry back in the day."
"It's really good. Like, fucking fantastic if I'm being blunt, darling." Louis wants Harry to know he's sincere, wants him to feel like he's appreciated. He isn't sure what kind of boyfriend Leon is, but there is something about the flush and pleased little grin Harry gets every time he receives any compliment that has Louis figuring Leon's more of the oblivious kind.
“I’m glad you like it.” Reaching for his glass of wine, Harry hides his small, pleased grin behind the rim of it.
They eat in companionable silence for a few moments, only the soft sound of turned down piano music can be heard wafting in from a speaker in the corner. Louis can feel himself relaxing into the fantasy of it all, lulled by the taste of good food and beautiful company. He knows he’s probably going to feel guilty about this later, or at the very least, be aware that this is wrong, but he doesn’t feel it now. Doesn’t think his brain can settle on anything, too caught up by the play of light on Harry’s skin.
“Louis.” Setting his fork neatly next to his plate, Harry leans back in his chair, taking in a deep breath. It moves the corset around his chest, the curved edge raising just a bit more to show the edge of the top wings of Harry’s butterfly.
“Hm?” Following suite, Louis presses his palms flat to the table, shoulders rolled back. He can feel something building, a tension rippling across the room.
“Why are you here?” Harry holds up a hand when Louis starts to interrupt. “Don’t tell me it’s because you were worried about me. I know that. Why are you really here? What did he say to you? To get you to come here?”
“He’s said,” Louis hesitates, considers only for a brief moment the lie he could tell, but Harry’s eyebrow raises and Louis is weak to that. “He said if I was so concerned about him ignoring your calls, that I should come find you and make you happy. To get you to leave him alone.”
“Oh.” Slipping one of his legs over the other, Harry seems to mull over the words, taste them on his tongue like the sweet wine he’s been drinking. It puts his profile into relief with the candles, that aristocratic nose, the soft curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s too good to be sitting lonely, and Louis knows that he knows it.
“He’s a dick-“ Louis tries to reassure, offer some sort of condolence, but Harry just scoffs out a little laugh, shaking his curls back from his face.
“He is. But he sent you here to make me happy, right?” Slipping one leg over another, Harry pushes himself up off his chair. The click of his heels on the hard wood seem to echo around the room, the steady ticking of a clock. Louis can do nothing but watch those long, smooth legs make their way towards him.
“Do you want to know what would make me happy, Louis?” Harry murmurs, dragging his fingertips along the length of the table as he moves closer, flower petals falling to the floor. “What I’ve wanted all evening? Planned this whole meal just so I could have it.”
“Yeah?” Louis can feel sweat prickling at the back of his neck, body strung tight, held still on a breath as Harry sinks down, sits on the edge of the table just a half breath away from Louis’ left hand. Up close, Louis can see the gold glitter reflecting around his eyes, the smooth curve of his skin over his hips, down to the milky plushness of his thighs. Harry doesn’t look like the type of boy who has ever been told no, has had the whole world in the palm of his hand. Louis can do nothing but stare at him, take him all in. He only has a moment to marvel at the way the laurels on his hips look behind lace before Harry is reaching out a hand, cupping his jaw and forcing Louis’ eyes back to his face.
“I want you to fuck me.” Harry murmurs, his thumb brushing just over the curve of Louis’ bottom lip.
“Harry-“ Louis gasps, lets the name slip out like a whispered prayer, feels his eyes go wide with it. Harry doesn’t flinch though, seems to loom even closer, all dark curls and bright eyes.
“It’s my anniversary, Lou. Don’t you think I deserve to be fucked?” Harry asks, tilts his head just slightly as he studies the man next to him. “I cleaned the house. I cooked dinner. I’m wearing extremely expensive lingerie. It’s French silk, you know? Feel it.”
Boldly, Harry uses his free hand to grip Louis’ wrist, tugging his hand up until Louis’ palm cups along the front of the corset. Under his palm, he can feel the soft etching of lace, the silk peaking as Harry’s nipple goes hard under the touch. Louis rolls his hand just slightly, caresses over the nub as he cups Harry’s breast, can’t help himself when Harry fills it out so well.
“You want to make me happy, don’t you?” Harry whispers, leans down so his nose brushes over Louis’ in a ghost of a caress. “You were so worried about me. Rushed over here and all. Such a good man. Always were the hot friend. I always thought so. Every time he would bring you around.”
“H.” Louis tries to think, tries to remember the reasons and the justification but his hands flex on the top of the table, back tensed.
“Think I deserve this, don’t I?” Fingers slip from Louis’ jaw as Harry reaches down, cups over where the tent in Louis’ jeans has become noticeable. “I think I’m really going to like it.”
"Fuck." Louis hisses between his teeth, gaze snapping to Harry's, unable to look away. He feels any last resolve crumbling away, guilt a distance thought.
Not for the warm fingers playing with the outline of his dick though nor the way Harry's nipple has gone hard under the lace. No, it's the flicker - the ghost of a question behind Harry's green eyes, that maybe Louis will say no. That maybe Harry isn't good enough, still, to get what he wants, what he deserves, and Louis will do anything not to see that look on his face again.
Hands coming off the table, Louis grips the back of Harry's neck and waist as he gets to his feet, the chair clattering loudly to the hardwood floor. It’s background noise, a phantom distraction, as Louis crashes their mouths together. It’s rough from the start, a little sloppy and wet, but it’s almost too good. Harry tilts his head, Louis presses in, and suddenly it’s liquid heat and sharp teeth and desperation all caught between the writhing of tongues.
He tastes like mint, like the sweet strawberry wine, and Louis chases the flavor along the soft curves of Harry's mouth. He kisses Harry like he's been dying for it, been thinking about since the first time they met, mind wandering back to it with every giggle and every dimpled grin. Harry falls apart like granite, yields under Louis like petals opening, but still strong enough to wrap his fingers in Louis' hair, to tug at him, arrange them until it goes from good to better to mind numbingly perfect.
Fingertips slip from the warm curve of Harry's waist, up over the lace on his ribs, along to the front of his little corset top. The pale pink fabric has roses embroidered on it, dainty and spread wide over Harry's skin, teasing and hiding his butterfly tattoo. An English rose for an English rose. Louis ducks his head away from Harry's lips just for a moment, presses a kiss to the edge of a petal curved up by his collarbone, feels it when Harry gasps in sharply.
"Louis," Harry mumbles, falls back against the edge of the table so he can reach out a hand behind him, blindly starting to push aside the plates and cutlery. With a sharp tug, Louis pulls him forward, manhandles him until Harry's all gathered up in his arms, hands clasped against his chest.
"No." Louis growls, feels the heat of it rattling around in his chest.
"No?" Lipstick smeared onto his cheek, hair now a mess, Harry stares at Louis with a single eyebrow raised. He might be disheveled, halfway to debauched, but he's still clinging to that air. The attitude of the upper class, posh even in his expensive lingerie and heels.
"It's our anniversary." Louis explains slowly, watches Harry's eyes dilate. "And I know you used the good China, didn't you? So, I'm not about to let you throw it all on the floor."
"But-" Harry gasps raggedly, a deep flush starting to come up from his chest, onto his neck. He tugs on his arms, tries to get his hands free, and that seems to break the very last of Louis’ reservation.
“Hush.” Leaning forward, eyes still on Harry’s, Louis laps the tip of his tongue along Harry’s lips, a barely there brush that has the other man inhaling on a gasp. “Let me take care of you.”
Planting his feet, Louis bends down in one quick motion and hooks a hand just above the bend of Harry’s legs. He lifts, hardly gives Harry a chance to realize what’s about to happen before Louis lifting him into a bridal carry. He’s tall, sure, but Harry is thin enough and caught off guard enough that he doesn’t put up a fight, just loops his arms around Louis’ neck as Louis starts off towards the hall on the right.
It’s not hard to pick out the bedroom, the door having been left open a jaw. A lonely, half melted candle sits high on a bureau, a few scattered on the bedside table. It makes the room glow golden, a hazy sort of romance with the white comforter and silk robe tossed over the chair to the side. Harry completes the picture when Louis lays him down on the bed, watches in awe for a moment as he settles into the blankets, looks divine with primrose colored silk and lace.
“You’re so beautiful,” Louis murmurs, standing at the end of the bed and toeing his shoes and socks off, watching the way Harry’s back arches in a stretch, makes his panties slip down just a little more, revealing more ink. “Made just for me, aren’t you, baby? Heaven sent me their best.”
“Flattering words.” Harry’s palms are resting up towards his face, sprawled with a halo of curls around him, but his blush has cleared enough that he’s bold when he scoffs. “You always talk big with no action?”
“You want me to rush through this?” Louis asks, resists the urge to lean down and bite at the plump curve of Harry’s thigh meeting his stockings. Instead, He hooks a hand in his own shirt, tugging it over his head and neatly tossing it to the side. It doesn't go unnoticed the way Harry’s eyes widen a little, gaze heavy and warm as it traces over all of the newly exposed skin. “Quick fuck then? Want to just flip over?”
He can’t help but wonder if Leon knows what he has when he looks at Harry. Does he know how very eager he is to submit, how Harry is practically begging to be put in his place, to be taken care of in a way that he doesn’t have to fight to get? Harry who seems all bite and upturned nose but who flushes when Louis’ hands push him around, who falls apart under a rough kiss. Louis hasn’t even had him in bed for more than five minutes and he can already tell that whatever Harry is getting from Leon, it’s not nearly enough for him.
“I don’t.” Harry’s voice gains that whine again, petulant and bratty, and god, does Louis want to hear how many other noises he can pull out of him. “Lou-“
“So, be patient.” Raising an eyebrow, Louis steps forward and then up onto the bed, kneeling at the very end of it.
With careful hands, he grips one of Harry’s ankles, guides it up until his foot is resting in the center of Louis’ chest. Tracing along the white nylon of his thigh highs, Louis caresses over Harry’s calf, down the curve of muscle there, over his thin ankles before slowly reaching for the small, golden buckle on the side of his heels. Pressing a kiss there, Louis slips Harry’s shoe off, letting it topple down onto the floor before repeating the action on the other one.
“Good boy.” Louis praises, caresses each ankle with his hands as he slowly slides Harry’s feet along the blanket, opening his legs for him.
“Oh.” A whimper – high and short – falls out of Harry’s mouth, his eyes gone a little hazy around the edges.
“That it, isn’t it? Just want to be my good boy tonight?” Louis asks, moves forward until his thighs brush against Harry’s. “You can be good for Daddy, can’t you? You look so beautiful. Made me such a nice dinner. Think you deserve a reward on our special day, don’t you?”
“Lo-“ Harry starts and then he sighs when Louis leans down, kisses over the curve of his inner knee, gaze turned up towards him. Louis swears he can see the string snapping, all that bratty resolve melting away as Harry finally collapses all the way into the mattress. “Daddy, please.”
It’s what Louis had been waiting for, that easy consent when everything felt good and right. Harry spreads his legs wide and reaches down with manicured hands to wrap up in Louis’ hair. He doesn’t tug, is polite enough to drag his nails along Louis’ scalp, doesn’t push as Louis trails biting kisses up the inside of his thigh. He can smell the lotion on Harry’s smooth skin, the hint of jasmine and citrus, a bright note muddling up with the slight clean musk of Harry’s inner body.
Dragging his tongue along the front panel of Harry’s panties, Louis feels the damp silk twitch against the pressure. He’s half hard, the indent of his cock hidden behind that lacy panel almost obscene as Harry squirms against the now damp fabric. He doesn’t reach for himself though, slides a hand from where it was caressing along Louis’ temples to reach up and tug at his own bottom lip, watching with half lidded eyes. The green is being swallowed up by pupil and when Louis grins, Harry shudders in a breath.
“Pretty baby.” Louis coos, traces his finger along the thin straps on either side of the panties, flicking them with a stray nail. Any hesitancy has long sense been shrugged off, Louis dedicated to watching that flush spread down Harry’s throat, over his chest. “Tell me. Want to hear you ask for it, darling.”
“Please.” Harry gives it up easily, pushing himself up on his elbow and then his palm, using the other to reach down and hold Louis’ jaw. He doesn’t tug as much as guide, pulling Louis up and over him, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s softer this time, so fucking sweet, a dizzying mix of soft kisses and then a hot tongue teasing its way into Louis’ mouth, tasting him, tracing along his teeth.
Rolling his hips forward, Louis presses his still jean covered cock against Harry’s, separated by too many fucking layers. It feels good though, a tease heightened into something delicious when Harry’s nails scramble a little on his back. He lets out a sharp moan, spreads his long legs around Louis’ ribs, cages him down, draws him slow and careful until Louis is forced to press his weight into Harry – pinning him to the mattress.
He should be more careful than he is, Louis thinks distantly, panting into Harry’s curls as the other man works a mark into the curve of Louis’ throat. It’s almost obscene how good it feels, sparks something up in Louis that has him sinking a hand into Harry’s hair, tugging on it as he pulls him back, has to get them kissing again, wants to taste the moan on his tongue when Louis finally reaches between them, starting in on the snaps up the front of Harry’s corset.
“Wait.” Harry pushes his fingers into Louis’ chest, gets him to lean back just far enough that Harry has the room to shift his weight, pushing with his knees to get them to roll over.
This way, Louis lands on his back, propped up a little on the bed pillows. He stares up at Harry – curls tousled, mouth now bruised, looks perfect back lit by the dim candles in the bedroom. Panting a little, Harry grins – would be devilish if not for the way his cheeks are flushed pink, looks like a princess sitting on the thick outline of Louis’ cock. He grinds down a few times, rolls his hips, and Louis can’t help but let out a groan, rubs his hands up and down Harry’s thighs, tugging at the nylons there.
“Want to put on a show for me?” Louis asks, raises an eyebrow as Harry reaches up, takes hold of the top of the corset.
“Yeah.” Harry bites into his bottom lip, undoes the first snap, slips down further to undo the next one. “Know this is your favorite part.”
It’s teasing, too fucking hot, the way Harry’s gaze doesn’t falter as he continues further down. The corset is held together by a series of small snaps and with each other, more and more of Harry’s chest peaks through the pink silk. Finally, he undoes the last one, uses his long fingers to slowly pry the sides open, before slowly shrugging it down his shoulders until he can drop it over the bed.
Louis doesn’t waste any time. He sits up, hands desperate as they caress down the smooth plane of Harry’s back, trace his spine, the dimples above his ass. Lips wrap around Harry’s left nipple, Louis giving it an appreciative slow kiss, sucking a little as his fingers trail to the other, tracing it slowly before he flicks his nail over it. Harry lets out a sharp moan, high pitched and scattered, rocks his hips down on almost impulse. Louis does it again just to hear it, feels Harry squirming on his cock and can’t help but lave his tongue over to the other side, giving the other nub the same attention.
“Oh fuck,” Harry moans, his hands back to caressing through Louis’ hair, messing it up, nails scratching a little when Louis bites down particularly hard. “Daddy!”
“Love your tits, baby. So perfect. Right mouthful, aren’t they?” Louis tugs one between his teeth, letting it slide out, mesmerized by the way the dusty pale pink has now gone a rosy red. “So gorgeous, darling. Can’t get over how good you look when you want it so bad.”
“Give it to me.” Harry tries hard to sound bratty, that little posh lilt to his voice as he hooks an arm around Louis’ neck, rocks his hips down. He’s hard now, wet patch on the front of those expensive panties, legs spread wide so he can work the angle. Louis’ mouth goes a little dry as he watches the butterfly flexing on Harry’s abs, his body one sinewy line when he grinds down.
“Come on, Daddy.” Harry murmurs, uses his grip on Louis to keep moving, drags his ass over the front of Louis’ jeans, drops his weight. “I know you want it. Show me.”
Harry giggles, hot and warm against Louis’ ear, drags his tongue along the shell. It has goosebumps breaking out over Louis’ skin, too hot all of the sudden. He wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, uses the other to press into the bed and neatly flips them. Harry lets out a gasp when his back hits the mattress, that cocky grin melting away to shock when Louis manhandles him, drags him down so Louis can kiss him as he slides his hand into Harry’s panties.
He's so fucking wet already, dripping at the tip, silk messy with it. Louis wraps a hand around him, strokes him slow and steady, spreads some of the mess around. Harry moans loudly, tosses his head back, his feet sliding on the bedspread – can’t get a grip because of his thigh highs. It doesn’t matter anyway, doesn’t need to hike his legs up when Louis is doing it for him, easing his panties down his thighs, over his calves, to toss them off the bed.
Harry’s cock slaps against his stomach, leaves a trail over one of the laurels when he gasps, arching up into nothing. Louis doesn’t leave him alone without any pressure for long, reaches between Harry’s thighs to grab at his own jeans, tugging the button open and then the zipper, yanking them further down. The noise of the denim hitting the floor seem to snap Harry out of his whining, craning his neck up, eyes gone a little wide as Louis strokes over himself through the black fabric of his briefs.
“You going to be a good boy for me?” Louis asks, raises an eyebrow, looks up at Harry as he leans in, leaves a kiss at the top of each of Harry’s stockings. It’s only when Harry gives a dizzy sort of nod that Louis grins, rolls the last of Harry’s clothes off him, discards them in the same way he did the panties – over behind him.
“Sweet boy, aren’t you?” Louis asks, doesn’t expect an answer even though he gets a moan in response, Harry shuddering as Louis trails his tongue over the edge of a laurel, lapping away the mess there. “Sweetest baby in the world. All mine too, aren’t you?”
“Yours.” Harry can barely nod when Louis grabs his thigh in a tight grip, forces it up and over between them, rolling Harry onto his front. He doesn’t even try to fight back, just submits to it, hooks his arms around the pillow and pushes himself up on his knees.
Louis takes a moment to appreciate the curve of Harry’s spine, the way his ass is heart shaped like this, thighs spread open. He’s strawberry pink everywhere, his smooth skin and his hole now winking up at Louis. Looks like a spoiled cherub when Harry turns his head, turns needy eyes up at Louis, his curls half obscuring his face. And Louis – he’s been patient, warmed up to it, but he’s only so strong. He trails his hand slowly from Harry’s curls, pets them gently, along the long dip of his spine, cups his hand over the soft cheek of Harry’s ass.
“Going to give you what you deserve, little dove. Let Daddy spoil you now, yeah?” Louis murmurs, leaves a fleeting kiss at the very base of Harry’s spine before he drops down further.
Harry doesn’t hold anything back, doesn’t seem to care about neighbors – if he has any – with the way he immediately cries out as Louis gives a wet kiss to his hole. He’s soft down here too, smells sweet and a little musky with the sweat now pebbling up on his skin. Louis likes the salt on his tongue, the tang of it, as he traces his tongue from just behind Harry’s balls to up to the fading kiss mark. Louis has skills in this, a whole bag of tricks, but he likes it best when it’s messy. Wants to see how desperate he can get Harry before he dissolves into really begging for it.
Legs spread wide, Harry is whining and writhing into the pillows, his hips trying to arch back as Louis fits his lips around the soft pucker of Harry’s body, sucks a little at the rim as his tongue presses in. It’s not with real pressure yet but Louis feels it acutely when Harry hitches his hips up, tries to open himself up to Louis. He’s so easy for it, desperately crying out for more when Louis slips his fingertip up there too, presses just below Harry’s sack as he finally breaches him.
Louis eats like he’s starved, mouth everywhere at once – kissing along Harry’s taint, bites into his cheek, rubs a finger against him and then lets his spit ease his way in. Harry is letting out these little whines, hissing through his teeth when he feels Louis pull back, gasps on an shocked moan when he feels Louis spit – loud and rough – down onto his hole before easing in another finger. It’s dirty, so fucking claiming and Harry’s cock dribbles useless and angry red onto the bedspread.
“Doing so good, darling.” Louis murmurs, kind of mesmerized as he eases his fingertip in and out, watches the way Harry’s hole winks at him each time. He wants more, tries to suck him further in, but Louis isn’t going to do anything that would hurt him. Not this time. “Taking it so well.”
“Please, more.” Harry whimpers, desperate hands sliding along the mattress, his fingers spanning wide as he gestures towards the nightstand. “Need more. Please Daddy. Please.”
“Okay, baby. Alright.” Louis caves, can’t help it when Harry’s watery gaze meets him. They’ve been playing for a while, can tell by the way Harry has started to get sloppy, his mouth wet, the blush high on his cheek. He looks so devastatingly gorgeous when Louis puts a hand on his shoulder, eases him up onto his knees, head turned over his shoulder to seek a kiss.
Louis holds his throat, a warm pressure as he ravages Harry’s mouth, fucks his tongue in and makes Harry take it. He tastes like sweat now, reaching back for Louis with desperate hands. It lets Louis feel it, every inhaled gasp that Harry lets slip out the first time Louis’ now lubed finger presses up against his hole. He had snagged the bottle in the in-between, it now abandoned on the sheets as Louis circles around his opening, slipping in to the first knuckle.
“Oh!” Harry gasps, eyes going wide as Louis uses his grip on his throat to draw him back and then down.
“That’s it baby,” Louis murmurs, so close that their lips are brushing when he speaks. “Take more. You can do it.”
He guides Harry carefully with his hold on his neck, makes Harry drop his weight on the finger and then raise up, repeating until Louis slips all the way in. It’s just one finger but Harry’s eyes stay wide, mouth open in shock as he uses the muscles in his thighs and raises back up, slowly riding Louis’ fingers. When one becomes two becomes three, Louis’ grip tightens just slightly, just enough to pull Harry’s head back against his shoulder, takes his weight as Harry continues to grind down. His cock – heavy and drooling from the tip – bounces in the air in front of him, thrusting into nothing as Harry arches down onto his fingers, fucking himself and yet getting nothing to help him really get off, even as Louis twists his wrist, knows he’s playing with Harry’s prostate with the way his moans turns to whimpers.
“You want to come?” Louis asks, sucks on Harry’s earlobe.
“Uh huh.” Harry nods, dumb and drunk on the feeling, doesn’t even seem to be focusing as he arches down again, takes Louis’ fingers hard. He’s so good at this, swings his hips when he does it again, grips onto Louis’ like he’s taking cock instead of prepping himself for it.
“Right now?” Louis raises an eyebrow, licks the sweat off Harry’s jaw, his neck. He’s so fucking warm in front of Louis, back sticking to Louis’ chest, his butterfly gleaming with it. “Tell me.”
“Ye-Yeah. Wait. No.” Seeming to come to his senses, Harry’s eyes flutter open. “I need-“
“Me inside of you?” Louis finishes his sentence, can’t help but lean in and kiss him, tender and open. He’s addicted to the way Harry’s lips seem to cling to him, open perfect around Louis’ tongue. “You want me to make love to you? It’s our anniversary, baby. Let me make it good for you.”
That seems to do it. Harry whines, melts into Louis, hands desperate as he reaches back for Louis, tries to pull him tighter. It takes some maneuvering, more kissing and caressing over heated skin. Harry clings to Louis like he thinks it’s about to be taken from him, like he’s sure he’s about to be abandoned. It’s the furthest thing from Louis’ mind though, gets Harry down onto the mattress again, caged in against the pillows as Louis reaches down, pushes his briefs down and then off his legs. His own cock is an angry red, slaps against his stomach, and Louis has to wrap a hand around the base to stave off a little.
Harry watches him with a hazy, lustful sort of gaze, spreads his legs open wide, lets Louis see all of him. He’s a little shameless now, so close to pleasure but still needs more. A pretty pink all over, his curls are all mused up, bruised up and panting, staring up at Louis with wide, desperate eyes.
“There’s my good boy.” Louis soothes, keeps a hand on Harry’s stomach, anchors himself there as he leans over to the drawer again, finds a condom half buried against the side. “I’m right here, darling. Going to treat you so well.”
“Daddy,” Harry whimpers, reaches up to take the foil packet from Louis’ hands, uses the corner of his teeth to rip it open, slipping the latex out. It’s pink, the faint smell of strawberries coming off it and Louis has to grin. Of course it is.
“Put it on me, baby. Need to be inside of you.” Louis soothes, arches his back and gives Harry the space to see what he’s doing. He’s a tease about it, uses his left hand to stroke over Louis, cup his balls in a tight squeeze as he presses the condom down with his right. It punches a groan out of Louis, his cock twitching in Harry’s warm hand, hissing a breath through his teeth as Harry smears more lube to mix with the flavored already on the condom.
“I’m ready.” Harry whispers, leans in to kiss Louis so fucking sweet, so tender. He’s all soft lines now, arches his back and lifts his legs. Everything else just melts away now – Louis can almost taste the tenderness shift into the air.
“Alright, baby. S’ good.” Louis reassures, keeps himself close – close enough he watches Harry’s eyelashes flutter when he starts to press in.
Louis thinks back to what tonight should be – their anniversary. It should be careful, thorough, soul shattering love making. It doesn’t matter that it’s all pretend, that’s a balm to a wound. When Louis slides into Harry it’s with love, it’s with dedication, it’s with a hazy sort of devotion that has something click into place between them. Nothing exists outside of this bed, outside of the slim space between their bodies.
Bracing his forearms down on either side of Harry’s face, Louis thrusts forward, grinds deep and then up, searching. Harry helps him, rolls down to meet him as he drags his thighs up Louis’ sides, hooks his ankles together at his lower back. There is barely any room between them, made less when Harry pulls Louis closer, forces Louis to drop his weight. This way, he can drag his cock along the sharp cut of Louis’ abs, moaning high in the back of his throat when the next thrust gets the right angle.
It's hard to concentrate on anything but the now – Louis grinding into Harry, making sure that each thrust presses into his prostate, can feel the jump of muscle in Harry’s thighs around him. Harry’s nails are sharp vices on Louis’ back, scrambling at him as he moans at the top of his lungs, gasping and begging around praises of Louis’ name. It’s intense, so fucking warm between them that each damp breath feels fed from one set of lungs to the other. Louis isn’t even sure if they’re kissing anymore or just trying to consume one another, entwined until limbs feel like each other’s, like they’re combining into one writhing mess.
“Tell me you love me,” Harry lets out a desperate sob, the overwhelmed tears smearing from his cheeks to Louis’ lips when he kisses them away. “Please, please-“
“I love you.” Louis doesn’t think about it, just gives, gives and gives and says whatever it will take to ease any sort of wound that Harry could possibly have. “I love you Harry. I love you so much.”
“Love you. Love you more than anything.” Harry cries, tangles his hand into the hair on the back of Louis’ head, the other desperately clinging to his back. “Louis, please, please I can’t-“
“Come for me.” Louis soothes, kisses across Harry’s forehead, down the bridge of his nose. “Come for me, baby. You’re good. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Harry tosses his head back, nearly screams as his cock suddenly spurts between the two of them, coating and smearing between their stomachs. He’s a vice around Louis, tightens so quickly that Louis has to slow down, sits and grinds these short little aborted movements of his hips, makes sure not to move from Harry’s prostate. He wants to milk it out of him, wants it to be the best for Harry, only the fucking best.
With the way he’s writhing, these high pitched whimpers and wails spilling out of his bruised mouth, Harry pulls the orgasm directly from Louis’ spine. It hits him hard, would double him over if it weren’t for Harry under him, curved up against him. Louis shouts when he comes, gasping raggedly, back arched. Harry clings to him, digs his nails in, his heels, keeps Louis deep – lets him ride it out even if Louis knows that he must be sensitive. It’s like he doesn’t want them to separate, wants them to stay, must be true as Harry guides him down, takes Louis’ weight as he draws him into a kiss again.
They’re just panting between desperate smears of their lips, of their tongues pressing together. Louis doesn’t even think there is any semblance to their motions, tangled up the way they are. One being, one entity, clinging so tightly that along with the scratches all over Louis’ back, he’s almost sure there will be bruises. It can’t be any different on Harry though, his own thumbs digging in deep on either side of his hipbone, holding him in a vice as they both shake and tremble.
It takes a long time, ages really, for Louis to finally be able to collapse against the mattress, the condom tied off and tossed in the basket nearby. Harry looks unsure for the first time in a while, staring at him from the space across the mattress. He’s got his bottom lip between his fingertips again, tugging on it, blinking damp eyelashes. Louis – always the first to have a comment – doesn’t have the words. Instead, he reaches out, hooks his arm around Harry and tugs him over, fits him snugly into Louis’ side. Harry presses his head against Louis’ shoulder, his nose tucked up against his jaw.
“Harry.” Louis murmurs once they’re both breathing slow again, hold not shifting off Harry’s back as he strokes down his spine.
“Yes?” Harry whispers back. He’s relaxed enough that he’s almost asleep, even as sticky as he’s growing.
“It’s late.” Louis can see the clock on the nightstand from here. It’s early morning now, candles barely giving any light from how long they’ve been burning. “Should I-?”
“Stay.” Tilting his head up, Harry blinks big eyes at him, clear now from the lust but clouded instead with just a little hesitancy. “Please?”
“Alright.” Louis agrees easily. He somehow decided between the first kiss and the one he gives Harry now that he’s not leaving. Not for a while. Not unless Harry asks him. Won’t waste it if he gets a chance to make Harry happy, to be beside him.
“Good.” Harry murmurs, resettles into Louis’ side, uses his free arm to reach for the blankets, flipping them up and over them. He tangles their legs, wrapped up once again like they’re one being, angles fitting together.
“Hey baby?” Louis asks, drops a simple kiss to Harry’s forehead, listens for Harry’s questioning hum before he smiles. “Happy anniversary.”
“Best one I’ve ever had.” Harry whispers, sighing a little as sleep finally pulls him under.
- - -
A few hours later, Louis is standing in the balcony doorway off the living room, a cigarette between his lips when the front door opens. Leon looks confused when he spots him, blinking his drunken and tired eyes slowly as he takes in the silk, pink robe draped around Louis’ shoulders, the sides tied together with a loose knot at his hip. It’s clear even from the few paces away that he’s still naked, takes the Marlboro down to ash it out onto the cement behind him.
“What-“ Leon raises his eyebrows, mouth open wide.
“Hm? Oh. You look surprised.” Louis shrugs a little, inhales the nicotine in a casual pull, smoke spilling out from between his lips. “You told me to come here.”
“But-“ Leon – dumb, pathetic – whips his head away from Louis to the open bedroom door and then back, shock turning to anger. “I didn’t mean-“
“If I recall, your exact words were to make him happy and to get him to leave you alone.” Louis shrugs, discards his filter as he lets the balcony door slide shut behind him. “I did both. In fact, I think I did such a good job it’ll be a permanent arrangement.”
“Louis, you can’t possibly think-“ Leon raises his voice but Louis is quick to click his tongue.
“You can pick your shit up tomorrow. I’ll have Harry text you. He’s a little tired out now.”
Louis keeps moving, crowds Leon back, doesn’t let him even decide to retaliate before he’s bodied Leon back out into the hallway and let the front door shut in his face. Flipping the lock over again, Louis makes sure it’s in place before he trails back towards the bedroom, tossing the robe over onto the footboard and climbing up next to a still sleeping Harry. It’ll be morning soon and Louis has every intention of spending the entire day making sure he forgets all about his now ex-boyfriend.