“Figure what out?” He asks, voice slightly more alert. He knows by the tone and hesitancy in Harry’s voice that something’s up and now is the time for serious and awake Louis to be around.
“That you’re… not straight.” Harry says. Louis never did actually give him a label, just woke them all up one morning with ‘Good morning boys, I have decided to tell you that I like boys as well as girls.’ and that was that. Later, talking about it, Liam had said ‘bi’, but Harry isn’t, like, ignorant. He knows it’s not black, white and grey. He knows that there’s all these other sorts of people he may never learn about, and Louis could be any one of them. So just because he said he likes boys and girls, doesn’t mean he’s bi.
Louis sucks in a short breath, like the question caught him off guard. Which, it probably did. There was no prompting or warning, just a question at 11 o’clock on a Wednesday night, when they should be sleeping. They’re rehearsing for the live show tomorrow quite early.
“Well, I mean, I think it was when I noticed I was watching the guys in porn, if I didn’t find the boy attractive I wouldn’t watch. But like, the actual realization just like, punched me. I had a proper breakdown on the bathroom floor and pretended I was sick so I could stay home from school the next day. There wasn’t really any figuring out to it, you know? Just kinda happened.”
“Just kinda happened.” Harry echoes.
“Why do you ask?” Louis asks then, readjusting behind Harry and pulling him slightly closer. Harry tries not to sigh and wiggle into his body, tries not to want to be engulfed in Louis, tries not to let the smell of Louis’ Head and Shoulders shampoo permeate his every thought. Tries.
The question registers then, and there’s a pause. A pause in which Harry wants to scream. Wants to have his own mental breakdown right there. Wants to yell, “Because I think I’m falling in bloody love with you.”
Instead he just mutters, “Just wondering. Sorry if it was invasive.”
“Haz, you can always talk to me, alright? I mean I know I’m rather loud and- you know, like, weird, but I can be serious if you need it. I will always be here.”
“Always.” Harry echoes again, and he doesn’t remember when his eyelids shut.
“Yes, always.” Louis must have taken it as a question, or maybe he was just repeating it. Doesn’t matter anyway, Harry’s asleep.
“Lou?” The word leaves Harry’s mouth before he can think better of it.
“Yeah, Harry?” Louis replies. He sounds tired, it is three in the morning after playing a huge stadium, but. His spine is against Harry’s, and Harry is cold. He misses the days when he was small enough for Louis to wrap around.
“How did you figure it out?”
“Figure what out?” His voice has the same sleepy tone, and his words are blurred together.
Harry takes a breath, “That you were in love with me.” He doesn’t like the wording of that sentence. Doesn’t like how small his voice has gotten and how conceited it sounds. He doesn’t like the past tense ‘were’. Even if he didn’t mean it, he can feel the subtle change in Louis, in the air around them. Louis picked it up, but maybe doesn’t think enough of it to comment.
“I dunno, really.” Louis says, and Harry tries desperately not to let his heart sink. Tries desperately to keep tears from pricking behind his eyes. Tries to control the urge to turn over and wrap his arms around Louis’ steadily shrinking waist. Tries.
“Not at all?” Harry prompts, proud that his voice didn’t crack.
“I think I just- was, all of a sudden.” Louis’ still sounds sleepy, like this conversation isn’t worth staying awake for. Harry could write novels about the moment he realized he was in love with Louis. Could tell someone exactly how many times Louis had blinked in the span of time Harry had stared at him while I’m in love with you I’m in love with you I’m in love with you marched through his mind.
“Why do you ask?” Harry knows the question is one of curiosity, not concern. Harry wants to explode then, let the dam down and the crying out. Wants to yell, Because I think you’ve bloody fallen out.
Instead he murmurs, as quietly as possible so his voice won’t shatter, “Just wondering. Sorry I kept you awake.”
Within seconds, Louis’ breathing has evened out and he’s snuffling into his pillow. Harry can feel each of his vertebrae digging into his flesh and wonders what happened to ‘you can always talk to me.’
The boys have gotten used to waking up to Harry curled up with Louis, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever be. He’ll never remember not to lift his head right away, because Louis has a minimum of two fingers impossibly tangled in Harry’s hair. He’ll never get used to blinking open his eyes and having Louis’ chin right there. Or how at some point during the night Louis’ hand that’s not in Harry’s hair made it all the way down Harry’s back and how the tip of his pinky finger has slid under the waist band of Harry’s boxers.
Harry had gotten used to waking up tangled up in Louis, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to waking up cold with the shower already on. He still never lifts his head right away, expects Louis’ fingers to be wrapped in his hair. He’ll never get used to the first thing he sees being the window and the curtains, not Louis’ forehead and hairline. He’ll never get used to not having Louis’ hand down his back or cupping his bum. Harry will always fight tears when he asks Louis if he wants him to come in and shower with him, and Louis replies that it’s not worth it and he’ll be out soon anyway, and then finally emerge twenty minutes later.
Breakfasts in the x factor house are always crazy, and Louis being the morning person he is, you’d expect him to contribute to the clangor of dinnerware and shouting, but he doesn’t. Harry isn’t a morning person, to say the least. He loves his sleep, and he and Zayn often argue who’s better at it. But Zayn doesn’t get up for breakfast (no wonder he’s so fucking skinny, Harry thinks and looks down disapprovingly at his thighs, and vows someday he’ll get into working out) so it’s only Harry who’s still sleepy. And Louis likes to feed him, because his own hands don’t quite know how to function yet. It’s quiet in their little corner of the table, Louis spooning strawberries into Harry’s awaiting mouth. Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder and lets his eyelids close, and every time he chews and swallows, he wants desperately to say ‘I love you’ like it wouldn’t be some big thing.
It doesn’t feel like it should be a big thing. He feels like they’ve been friends (or more, please more) for years, not weeks. He feels like muttering a “god I love you” should be something casual, something that would get Louis to ruffle his hair and call him Curly and feed him another strawberry.
“Hey lads-” someone says in their direction, it sounds like Matt, Harry doesn’t know all he can hear is the crunching of the strawberry seeds between his teeth and Louis’ heartbeat under the skin of his shoulder and the bones creaking with slight movement.
“Sh- baby is sleeping.” Louis cuts him off. Harry feels his face go hot and he sits up.
“M’not a baby.” He mutters around the last dregs of the strawberry.
“You’re my baby.” Louis replies, quietly, timidly, bashfully, looking at him from under his eyelashes. Harry hears someone make a gagging sound before his hearing whites out and all he can hear is static. And its there, in front of everyone in the loud, chattery dining room, with strawberry seeds stuck to his teeth and morning breath disguised with fruit, that he mashes his mouth with Louis’ for the first time.
It’s something he couldn’t have controlled if he tried, this animalistic urge that pumped in his veins and took control of his body. ‘You’re my baby’ pounding through him like adrenaline. It’s all he needed, those three words that are another three words in disguise. And he knows ‘You’re my baby’ was synonymous to the three words. He can tell by the way Louis is kissing him back, and flipping off every one who’s catcalling.
Harry feels atmospheric, euphoric, like the oxygen in his blood cells was replaced with helium, like the only thing tethering him to the earth is Louis’ mouth moving with his own. Louis’ hands cupping either side of his face. Louis’ racing pulse under Harry’s finger tips. The only thing is Louis, and all Harry can do is feel him with similes.
Harry often starts breakfast alone, waiting for Louis to come out of the shower. There’s always cold tea, indicating that Louis had already made some and at least poured it in a cup for Harry, but didn’t bother putting in his one sugar or keeping it warm or bringing it to him, like he used to. Harry heats it up in the microwave while he gets out Louis’ favorite cereal. He hears the shower turn off so he pours two bowls, both for Louis, because Louis has a cereal problem. He only pours milk in one, because Louis likes it sort of soggy but not really soggy. Then he pulls out his own favorite cereal and pours a bowl, before setting it down at the breakfast bar and moving to pour some orange juice and grab a banana from the fruit bowl Gemma bought them as a house warming gift.
Louis emerges a moment later, long, water-darkened hair slicked back and still dripping a bit and his waist wrapped in his favorite navy blue towel.
“Morning babe.” Harry says, setting down the orange juice and moving in for a kiss. Louis dodges, “Morning breath.” He says in explanation, before reaching for an apple. He holds it between his teeth and adjusts his towel so it’s higher up on his hips. Even just that little motion hurts Harry. He’d gotten so used to a routine, that no matter how long it’s been broken, he will never be used to Louis hiding himself.
“Oh, okay.” Harry says, a good twenty seconds too late. “I poured you cereal.”
“No thanks, ‘m not that hungry this morning.” Louis says, “Gonna go get dressed.”
Harry knows it’s just cereal, it’s not like he prepared a four course meal or anything, but his heart sinks.
Louis doesn’t take as long as Harry does to get dressed. He wears t shirts and tight black jeans and Vans or sweat pants and tank tops, so why is Harry left sitting at the breakfast bar watching Louis’ cereal turn to a brown mush?
Harry feels grounded, miserable, like the oxygen in his blood cells was replaced with lead, like the only thing keeping him from collapsing is Louis. Because for some reason, he has to be strong for Louis, even if he’s the one making Harry feel weak.
It’s after rehearsals that Simon pulls them aside.
“Boys, I’d like to speak with you.” He says, in his serious Simon-y voice. Louis starts to call the other boys over, but Simon interrupts, “No, just you two.”
Louis and Harry look at each other in confusion, but they follow Simon as they lead them off to a more private corner.
“So I’ve been informed about what happened today at breakfast-” Harry feels his face immediately turn beet red, “-and firstly, I’d like to congratulate you. Young love can be a beautiful thing. Secondly, I need you to understand that this can’t be public. There are ignorant and hateful people in the world, and being out could jeopardize One Direction’s chances of winning the show. I’m not going to force you to stay private with your-” he gestures to the two of them, wondering if he should call it a relationship yet, “but I just want you to think of Niall and Liam and Zayn, alright boys?”
Harry feels something tighten on the happiness in his chest, cages made of twine encasing a bird, like ropes on a hot air balloon, like an anchor. Not very strong, allowing some freedom, but still there and heavy.
After breakfast and the hour it takes Harry to securely wrap a headscarf around his head, he and Louis head over to a meeting scheduled for them. Once they get in the car and Harry’s made sure Louis buckled (he doesn’t like to) Harry starts to drive.
“So I found this new song and I finally got it on my iPod if you wanna plug it-”
“I have a bit of a headache.” Louis cuts him off. Harry squeezes the steering wheel, knuckles whitening and skin cracking, dry from the long winter.
“Probably because you didn’t eat enough this morning.” Harry chides, trying to keep his voice light and the sadness out.
“Don’t fucking mother me Harry.” Louis snaps. Harry wants to look at him, gauge his emotions, but he’s a responsible driver. And he thinks maybe Louis will see the shininess in his eyes, and that’s not something he needs. Every instinct in Harry is screaming at him to ‘mother’, to worry, to protect. So Louis can’t see him sad. Because Louis is more important than Harry, and that’s that. Louis seems upset, he doesn’t need to know that Harry is too.
The car ride is silent but for the crackling tension between them. And not the good kind of tension that could result in road head. (Occasionally Harry is not a responsible driver.)
When they settle down into the meeting, Harry’s stomach rolls. Last time they had a meeting like this, six months ago, they were told the next one would be the big one.
“So let’s get down to business then, shall we?” Clara, the director of the meeting, says. “The fans have been noticing some things.”
“What else is new.” Louis scoffs offhandedly.
“They’ve been noticing how distant you two are-”
“Yeah! Because you made us do that! Our bloody eye contact is limited. Of course they noticed, they’re not stupid.” Harry says angrily. She ignores him.
“So we want you to play up the ‘bromance’ some more. It will be a bit of a primer, if you will, for when in three months Louis and Eleanor’s break up is released to the press.”
Harry can’t keep the grin off his face. Honestly, he loves Eleanor. She’s the bravest girl he knows for doing the job she does and putting her actual love life on hold to protect his and Louis’, he thanks her every time he sees her. But that doesn’t stop a pang of anger shooting through his heart like an arrow when he sees pictures of them together.
Next to him, Louis lights up a cigarette and sits back. There’s no emotion on his face, and the happiness drains out of Harry’s pores. Harry wonders when Louis decided it was okay to smoke indoors, he used to hate people who did that. Lately Louis doesn’t have emotions as strong as hate.
“Secondly, the fans are concerned about you, in particular, Louis. They say you’ve been losing a lot of weight, so to appease them-”
“My weight is none of their fucking concern.” Louis spits, “Or yours. Or even Harry’s, fucking no one but mine, capiche? I will not put on weight to get them to stop worrying, I don’t need to be fucking worried about. Next fucking point, please.”
“Did you say ‘fucking’ enough times? Jesus Lou, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Harry snaps. “They’re worried about you, they love you, you don’t need to be so cross with them for it. They like to do nice things for you and look out for you and you’ve been treating them like dirt lately.” He doesn’t look at Louis.
“Look, I’m no relationship counselor but it sounds like you’re having problems. I suggest working them out before your next interview in two months, because that bromance has to be played up.” Clara says sharply. Harry doesn’t hear her, not really, he’s focused on the fact that Louis’ cigarette is out, but there was no ashtray, and something sharp and cold that feels an awful lot like dread-mixed-realization tightens in his chest.
Harry’s head is on Louis’ tummy when it happens. The Loudest Grumble Ever.
“Was that an earthquake?” Harry jokes, nuzzling at the soft, tanned skin with his face, like he’s trying to calm down Louis’ belly. Louis’ giggling, ticklish but unwilling to admit it. He assures Harry quite often that the only person allowed to be tickled is Harry and the only person allowed to tickle is Louis, and that’s that. Harry knows it’s because Louis doesn’t want Harry to know about his incredibly ticklish spot behind his knee, but Harry indulges him, because he loves him to bits.
“But seriously Lou, why are you so hungry? It’s ten at night.” Harry asks.
“I’m a growing lad, leave my stomach and it’s wishes be.” Louis says in mock defense.
“Yeah, sure, Mr. Nineteen Year Old.” Harry grins the teasing name into Louis’ tummy like it’s a tattoo, a kiss, a butterfly, not a sort-of-insult.
“If you wanna play the age card I’ll remind you that any sexual relations between us are illegal and our naked skin together will not so much as be thought about for the next year, month, and something odd days.” Louis says, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Harry’s eyes widen comically, but the horror there is definitely not a joke. He has the libido of the sixteen year old he is, and a hot as fuck boyfriend, he would never last a year and a month and some odd days.
“Fine, no age card.” He says, ear still suctioning to the warm, soft skin beneath him. Louis’ tummy grumbles again.
“Do you want me to get you a snack?” Harry offers.
“No, no I’m fine. My stomach probably doesn’t agree with something I ate.” Louis waves his hand in dismissal. Harry frowns, thinking back through the day. He can’t remember Louis eating anything but the frosting off his birthday cake.
“Lou, what have you eaten today that could possibly cause digestion issues?” Harry sits up, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle.
“Calm down, Hazza, I’m not getting food poisoning.”
“No, that’s not what I’m asking. Have you eaten anything other than that bit of cake today?”
“Yes, of course I have eaten, now quit your eyebrow-ing, you worry wort, you’re going to get stuck like that.” Louis scoffs, reaching up and forcibly relaxing the muscles in Harry’s forehead.
“You sound like my mother.” Harry grumbles.
“Don’t call me your mother if you ever want anything sexual ever again.”
“Must you always pull the sex card?” Harry sighs fondly.
“What, like you’re with me for my dashing good looks?” Louis says with obvious sarcasm. And it occurs to Harry that Louis really doesn’t understand just how beautiful he is, that when he said that, he meant it.
“Louis, do you really think I’m with you just for sex?” Harry’s eyebrows furrow again.
“No, of course not. Now kiss me, you fool.” Louis grins, quoting something Harry’d said on the x factor. Harry obliges, but he only forgets about the troubling conversation once Louis’ fucking up into his mouth and Harry comes in his pants nearly at the same time Louis spurts down his throat.
Harry’s scrolling through twitter in bed when it happens. Louis’ stomach rumbles loudly.
“Are you hungry? Want me to get you anything?” Harry asks, despite the fact they seem to be fighting.
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
And that’s that.
Harry’s always worried that he’s a bad kisser, but whenever he asks Louis if he’s doing alright, Louis always assures him that he’s the best kisser in the entire world. It’s just the first bit that Harry worries about, fitting their mouths together correctly and making sure his lips aren’t open too much or too little. After that, it’s like an instinct, like they were born to kiss. Like Harry’s body and mind don’t know anything else than kissing and the fizz of champagne on Louis’ tongue, and Louis’ erratic (and Harry’s not smug about that, at all, really, he’s not) heartbeat under his palm. Everything, it’s everything. And what a way to bring in a new year, with Louis. With his boy. With his everything.
“Happy New Year.” Harry whispers against Louis’ still wanting mouth.
“I love you.” Louis replies. And it’s the first time, and it’s not some big thing, some big and incredible instant, it’s just them, surrounded by people watching the fireworks, but Harry’s just watching Louis’ eyes twinkle and listening to the ba-boom of his own fireworks in his chest. He feels like he’s swollen, like this incredible happiness has been injected into his veins and his arteries and his heart and-
“God, I love you.” Harry explodes with the finale of the fireworks. And Louis brings his face to Harry’s and kisses him again, fitting together their still slick mouths, and each crackle of the fireworks sound like choruses of ‘I love you’s.
Their hands stay tied the entire night, Louis leading and Harry following around dopily, the compass and the ship.
But when Harry asks Louis what his New Years’ resolution is (only because he wanted Louis to ask him so he could reply that his resolution was to spend as much of his time with Louis as possible and hopefully Louis would have a cute answer too) and Louis says, “like everyone’s, to lose weight,” he really should have realized then.
Louis won’t talk to him. Well, it’s not like it’s the silent treatment, he’ll answer if asked a question or to ask a question, but when Harry asks if they can talk about whatever’s going on, Louis just walks away. Literally, flat out ignores him and walks into another room.
Conversation is minimal, consists only of polite exchanges like pass me the remote, will you? Or Harry could you grab me my glasses, right by your elbow, thanks. Or Lou what do you want for dinner? And Nothing, thanks, ‘m not hungry.
Harry hasn’t told him he loves him for weeks now. He feels like it’s unwelcome. And he’s so, so scared Louis won’t say it back. But this is getting out of hand, it’s been three weeks since the meeting with Clara and Louis hasn’t said anything about being able to come out soon. Harry’s started to bring it up, but Louis would abruptly change the subject or just walk away.
So he has to do something. He has to confront Louis, trap him and make them talk about their problems. Currently, Louis is reading in the bedroom and Harry is cleaning up the kitchen from his lunch, so really it’s the perfect time, since the only escape would be the bathroom, which Harry can easily get into if need be.
He takes a deep breath and steels himself. He’s never had to do this, they’ve had their fights, their spats, but always small things, like not doing the laundry or doing it incorrectly, or making a mess in the kitchen, or teasing too much in an interview which usually ended in lovely angry make up sex.
And speaking of sex, Harry hasn’t so much as seen Louis’ dick in something like a month. He’s hopelessly horny, because he feels too guilty when he wanks. He’s tried, god, he’s fucking tried, but he knows Louis is just in the other room and they could, but they won’t. For god’s sake, he even got a new tattoo. That usually results in really great, really kinky sex. Louis had only glanced at it, hadn’t tried to touch it or anything. What a nice anatomically correct heart, he’d said, and turned back to his phone. Harry had wanted to tell him that it was for him, for fuck’s sake, everything was for him.
And that’s how he starts, barging into the bedroom with a, “For fuck’s sake Louis, what is wrong with you?”
Apparently that’s not the best way to handle things, because Louis drops the book, and for the fleetest of instants, Harry sees a look of deeply written sadness cross Louis’ features before it’s wiped away by anger.
“What do you want?” He spits.
Harry’s taken aback, like, jesus fuck what a question.
“What do I want? What kind of fucking question is that? Fuck, Lou, I want to tell you I love you-” it’s there, that Harry starts crying, let’s the past weeks’ pent up emotion out, “- without feeling like you’re going to reply ‘thanks’ or ‘cool’ or not reply at all! Louis, I’m going out of my fucking mind, what did I do wrong?”
Louis jumps up, bare feet hitting the floor and he throws out his hands, “That’s the problem! That right there! You love me too fucking much! I don’t- You- it’s just, it’s too much!”
Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, all he knows he’s angry. He thinks for a moment, letting the words roll around in his brain like thunder- you love me too fucking much. Louis keeps yelling when Harry doesn’t respond immediately.
“Jesus, Haz, you’re always asking what you did wrong. Why can’t I have done something wrong? You’re being wonderful as always when I’m being shit to you, I don’t understand how you- I just-” Louis takes a deep shuddering breath and sits back down on the bed, like his legs lost the will to support him. Harry steps forward and sits down on the bed too, about six inches between them.
“Lou, are you okay?” Harry can’t stop himself from asking.
“Even now! Christ, Harry I’m yelling at you! We’re fighting! Could you not love me just for a few minutes! Fucking hell!”
Rage swells in Harry’s chest, “No! I can’t stop fucking loving you! You’re my everything Louis. Everything. I didn’t know there was such a thing as loving a person too bloody much. You’re in my veins, you fuck. You are a part of me, and being shit to me isn’t going to change that!”
Louis screams this time, his voice going raw, “There is such a thing as too much! You can’t just fall in love like that! You can’t.”
“Like what, Louis, like wholeheartedly? Like passionately? Like the correct way to fall in love? Jeez, what do you want from me? Tell me how to fall in love the way you want me to.” Harry’s vaguely aware that he’s quoted Kate Moss and Ed Sheeran in the past minute, but he’s too angry and sad and concerned about Louis to care.
There’s a pause, both of them just breathing harshly. When Louis speaks again, his voice is small and shattered, broken into tiny pieces and sprinkling out off his tongue, “How can I let you love me when I hate everything I am? How can I let you love me when millions of people will hate us?”
He starts to cry then, closes the six inch gap and turns his face into Harry’s shirt.
Louis’ not as small as they see people make him out to be, but there crying weakly, quietly, into Harry’s chest, he’s never felt smaller in Harry’s arms.
And he really should have realized then.
“Zayn, me and Lou are having our first fight.” Harry says, voice sad and small, into the phone.
“Talk to me, Haz.” Zayn says immediately, and Harry so glad to have a friend like him. He tells Zayn about how Louis was mad at him because he thought Harry was flirting with Caroline. Harry’d made the mistake of telling Louis he didn’t mean to and that it’s just human instinct to flirt with attractive people, which of course was the very very very wrong thing to say. Harry’s not allowed to find other people attractive (he and Louis had both agreed that the exception to that was Zayn, because Zayn’s just fucking other worldly) and Harry wouldn’t want Louis telling him he found like Olly, or someone, attractive.
“I think you should just go talk to him. Doesn’t sound like anything that can’t be fixed with an apology and a blowjob, really. Assure him he’s the attractivest boy ever.” Zayn says, somehow making his dumb, yet helpful, advice sound wise and sagely.
“Zayn you’re the smart one, you should know attractivest isn’t a word.”
“I was dumbing it down for you, figured you didn’t know big boy words like ‘most’.” Zayn replies, and Harry can hear his cheeky grin.
“Fuck off, I have the prettiest dick in the whole universe to suck.”
“There’s a pun in there somewhere about grovelling on your knees.”
Harry snorts, then giggles, “Thank you, Zayn, for giving lovely advice and appreciating the art of puns.”
“Go suck you’re boyfriend’s cock, you dumbass.” Zayn says, and he hangs up.
Harry has to come four times, the last one dry and the first three entirely untouched, before Louis says he forgives him. He does admit, after they’re all cleaned up and he’s folding Harry’s numb and noodley limbs neatly so they can cuddle, that he forgave him even whilst they were fighting, probably. The sex was just a reinforcement.
Harry doesn’t have it in him to be incredulous, just whines against the hollow of Louis’ throat and tries to reconnect his nerve endings to his brain. Falls asleep, curled up in his boy, even though he’s grown out of his baby fat and he’s long and seventeen and floppy, he’ll always be small enough to be Louis’.
“I miss you, Lou.” Harry says, an hour after Louis stopped crying.
“’M right here.” Louis answers. They’re lying on the bed, facing each other. They’ve just been looking at each other.
Harry opens his mouth but Louis beats him to it, “I know what you meant, you dummy. Just being a tit.”
“You’re not a tit.” Harry frowns.
“But I am.” Louis replies.
Harry decides not to press further, knows everything he says will be shot down.
Louis’ stomach growls audibly.
“All that fighting made you hungry, love? Want me to whip you up something quick?” Harry asks. Louis shakes his head and bites his lower lip. It’s not in the way that makes Harry’s dick perk up and his breathing get shallower, but in the way that makes Harry think Louis’ going to cry. He shakes his head and blinks twice in rapid succession, and Harry knows he’s trying to fight back tears.
“Hey, hey, no more of that, alright? I’ll, like, tone it down, until we’re ready to be how we were. I’m sorry.” Harry says in his quiet, Louis-soothing voice.
“It’s not-” Louis starts, “-never mind, thank you, Haz.”
“Anything you need.”
“I love you.”
“God, I love you too.” Harry replies, pulling Louis close and burying his face in his hair.
“I haven’t even kissed you in a month a week and three days.” Louis says, his voice muffled into Harry’s neck. Harry feels like he’s cracking in two with how much he needs to kiss Louis okay, to kiss Louis happy.
“It’s okay, love. We’re working through some things. It’s alright.”
“I just love you so much. I’m afraid that if I get a taste of you I’ll eat you up.” The words come out small and remind Harry vaguely of piano music, or the rain drop sounds in animated movies. “But the problem is you wouldn’t even mind. You’d let yourself be chewed up and swallowed. I’m just worried for you- like what happens if I- what’s going to happen you when I-”
“Louis, please don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t. I can’t- I can’t even hear it. You’re only two years older than me, you’re not going to die on me, don’t even be- don’t even, fuck, don’t even think about that, okay? You’re going to stay. Here. With me, for always. If you want to, of course.” He’s choked, his throat constricting with each word.
“I want to.” Louis nods into Harry’s collar bones, and Harry can feel a hot tear land on his skin.
“Then as long as you want, I’m yours.”
Louis sniffles and nods, burrowing closer into Harry. Falls asleep, curled up in his boy, even though they’re still not one hundred percent okay, they’ll always be each other’s.
“Gonna shower, babe, wanna join me?” Sleep makes Louis’ voice rasp, low and thick in Harry’s ear. Harry slowly wakes up, comes to his senses, and can feel Louis’ morning wood pressing into his back.
“Will we be taking care of your little friend?” Harry grumbles, his voice equally wracked with sleepiness.
“Only if you stop calling my cock a little friend. Especially the little part.”
“Lou, believe me, I’ve had your dick in my arse an innumerable amount of times, I know it’s not little.”
“Harry it’s too early for words like innumerable can we just go have shower sex?” Louis sighs, but Harry can hear the smile in it.
“Carry me.” Harry groans, his eyes still closed.
“As you wish.” Louis replies, and slides his arms under Harry’s body and lifts him up.
“My name is Indigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.” Harry dons a Spanish accent, albeit poorly. Harry opens one eye just enough to see Louis roll his eyes.
“I’m pretty sure Wesly and Indigo don’t fuck in that movie, you have to be Buttercup.”
“But her name is Buttercup, what a dumb name. Indigo Montoya has a much cooler name. And accent.”
“But you’re my buttercup, Buttercup.” Louis teases.
“What a boner killer.” Harry laughs.
“Shut up you twat.”
Eventually, they stop their banter and actually get in the shower. They shampoo each other’s hair at the same time, getting their arms tied in knots and suds in their eyes. And some time after that, Harry is up against the shower wall with his legs around Louis’ waist and his cock flushed and leaking between them, bouncing furiously on Louis’ cock.
He’s so much bigger than he used to be, and he keeps kicking things because his legs have gotten longer, but he still folds as much as possible and Louis can still hold him up.
“Louis please.” He whines, “Please touch me.”
“I want you to come from just my cock.” Louis growls in his ear and snaps his hips upward again, and hits Harry’s prostate dead on. Harry has to bite into Louis’ shoulder to keep from screaming, partially out of frustration. He needs to come, he needs to come so bad, god. He’s fucking himself down as fast and hard as he possibly can, meeting Louis’ thrusts. He thinks the water might have gone cold, but he can’t feel anything that’s not Louis. Louis inside him, Louis holding him, Louis’ mouth on his neck sucking dark bruises into the skin there.
Harry’s hands scrabble for purchase, nails writing sharp pink lines into Louis’ skin, and he finds a hold in Louis’ back, pulling at the flesh and moaning desperately.
“Please.” Harry begs again, the word coming out as a sob.
“I know you can do it, baby, think of how good it’ll feel. How proud I’ll be of you, coming just from Daddy’s cock.” Louis says, voice low and raspy again in his ear.
And fuck they’ve never done that before. Harry’s mentioned it, and accidentally let it slip one time when they were fucking, but Louis hadn’t gone along with it yet.
“You’re so good for me, aren’t you Princess? I want to feel you come while I’m inside you. I want to feel you all over my chest. Come on baby, you can do it, come on Daddy’s cock.” Louis growls, and thrusts up with extra force. Harry’s eyes have fallen closed and he’s just mouthing pathetically at Louis’ neck, incoherent babbles falling from his mouth, ‘daddy’ and ‘please’ and ‘so good’ repeated over and over again into the water and sweat mixed skin. Each thrust sends sparks behind Harry’s eyes, colors and shapes.
He hears something get loud, ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s echoing around the bathroom, and somewhere in some far away place in his mind, he realizes it’s him, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The only thing that matters is Louis, all over his body, inside him.
“Gonna come inside you baby, after you come. Gonna lick myself out of you.”
Harry feels it crest then, suspended in that perfect moment before the orgasm hits where everything is fragile, he can either be pushed over, or sometimes Louis likes to stop and watch him beg for it. But with one more thrust to his prostate, he’s gone, sobbing into the conjunction of Louis’ neck and shoulder, ‘Louis’ and ‘Daddy’ voiced in tandem repeatedly. Ropes of come decorate both their chests, and some still blurts out of him as he comes down.
“So good for me, Baby, so good. Gonna let Daddy come in your fucked-out hole?”
Harry weakly murmurs an affirmation, and it’s only a few seconds before Louis is unraveling, pushing Harry up against the wall for extra support as he comes inside Harry with a shout.
They stay there for a minute, Harry pressed to the shower wall with his chest heaving, hole still fluttering and senstive around Louis. Louis slides out while pressing a kiss to Harry’s bitten red lips. He feels some of Louis dribble out of his sensitive rim. He loves thinking of it as Louis, not as just Louis’ come. Loves to think that Louis is still inside him, filling him up.
The water gets warmer, and through his slightly blurry vision Harry can see Louis fiddling with the temperature.
“’M yours, Lou. Love you.” Harry says, and his voice is so raw, and he can still feel warm come dripping down his balls and thighs and god he loves his boy so much. He loves feeling like this, this haziness, like every atom of his being only exists to be Louis’.
“Love you more.” Louis replies, kisses him, and then helps him down on the floor of the shower. He licks him out slowly, carefully, listens when Harry says it’s too much and he’s too sensitive and to wait. When he uses his fingers and brushes Harry’s prostate and Harry cries out, he doesn’t push it. Cleans him out with his tongue and his fingers and bites more bruises into the back of Harry’s thigh.
Harry’s face feels so hot, and when Louis leads him out of the bathroom, he catches a glance of himself in the mirror. His cheeks are blotchy and red and his eyes are glassy, and he knows he’s going to look like this at the signing they have in a half an hour. Maybe he can blame it on the Dallas heat.
Louis dresses him, curls around him at every chance and tells him how good he was for Daddy. All Harry wants to do is snuggle into him and sleep, press ice to his burning cheeks maybe, but he has a signing to do. And every time he looks at a fan, maybe he’s not really there, maybe he’s back in the shower with Louis’ tongue in his hole. But it’s probably not noticeable.
“Louis, can I come in to shave and brush my teeth?” Harry asks, opening the door a bit.
“Yeah, sure.” Louis replies through the sounds of the shower. Harry opens the door the rest of the way and then closes it behind him, so he doesn’t let all the steam out. Harry hums Little Things which is stuck in his head after last night’s show. He’s glad they didn’t take that off the set, he loves that song, loves hearing from the fans about how it may have helped them, loves singing it to Louis.
He starts brushing his teeth and- when was their toothpaste strawberry flavored? He looks at the tube still in hand and his eyes widen. He spits out the lube as quickly as he can, rinses his mouth frantically, all whilst trying not to laugh.
“Are you okay? You sound like you’re choking.” Louis asks from the shower.
“Lou, why do we keep lube in the same place as toothpaste? This is the second time!” Harry giggles. It’s not like we ever use it anymore. He thinks bitterly, but pushes it away. They’re working through some things, not everything is okay, and it has to be for them to be like they were.
Harry hears Louis laugh then, he got why Harry had asked. And it’s been so long since he’s heard that laugh, he realizes, it’s been too long.
Without meaning to, Harry turns his head just the right way so he can see through the end of the shower curtain. Louis is sitting down in the shower (which, that in itself is concerning), curled in on himself and tiny. He was never that small. Like, he’s the same height, 5’9”, but that’s not very small. But he’s all bones and skin- paler than usual, too. His prominent collar bones now jut out so much Harry thinks they might rip his skin. His lean, muscular stomach he built up for the football match a month or two ago has thinned out even more, and his abdominal muscles have gotten less sculpted. His thighs are ridiculously thin, for him anyway, he’s always had thick, strong thighs, but now they’re like Harry’s size. Then he looks up and meets Harry’s eyes.
“Sorry!” Harry squeaks, and pulls back. Louis doesn’t say anything while Harry brushes his teeth (with toothpaste this time) and shaves his little bit of stubble. Harry leaves the bathroom silently, and Louis doesn’t come out of the shower until an hour later. Harry can’t stop looking at his body now, how angular it is. How hollow his cheekbones are and how pointy his elbows have gotten from their usual. And it hits Harry then, that when was the last time he looked like usual? What even was usual?
“I’m going to go back to sleep for a bit. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Louis informs him, voice quiet. Harry nods and leaves the room.
Forty minutes later, when he can hear Louis’ soft snuffles from the bedroom, he lies down next to him. He doesn’t think Louis could hold him if he tried, could curl around him anymore.
So instead Harry curls around him, but he doesn’t feel like Louis is his, or like he’s Louis’. He’d do anything to be Louis’ boy again. He’d do anything to have Louis back.
He hadn’t expected it. Maybe he should have. Who just throws only one shoe onstage? Of course the second one was going to follow. But he really wasn’t expecting it to follow right into his balls.
He’s on the floor, not really sure how he got there. He thinks he blanked out for a second. The screams of fans are muffled. Jesus fuck- he thinks he might be dying. Niall or Liam or someone is leaning over him, asking if he’s okay. Slowly, slowly the pain subsides and he comes back to his senses. He stands up and adjusts himself and that’s that.
But the next time they’re back stage, Louis tackles him to the ground.
“Harry are you okay?” He nearly shouts, before kissing all over his face. “I didn’t see what happened and I looked over and you were on the floor, fuck, Haz I thought you got shot I thought you were just dying right in front of me but they were telling me not to go to you fuck babe I was so scared.” He’s babbling into Harry’s neck now.
“Louis! C’mon, it’s a quick change we only have another minute!” Caroline urges from somewhere near Louis’ wardrobe rack.
“I’m okay, babe, I’m not dying on you. Though we might never have children.” Harry jokes.
“Don’t worry, Tomlinsons have no problem producing children.” Louis teases, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He presses one last kiss to Harry’s mouth before running off to change.
Harry watches Louis walk on shaking legs over to Niall, watches his lips form the words, “Don’t feel well, take my solo for me?” Niall nods, asks him if he’s alright. And from there, things start to slow down. Louis looks pale, shaky, like he’s not really here. Harry’s missed his cue now, but he’s just watching Louis, and Harry’s walking toward him robotically. Something is really, really wrong. Louis turns and walks away from Niall, on his way back stage for a breather or to puke or something. And then Harry’s watching it in slow motion, how Louis takes two steps and his knees buckle, watches him sink to the stage floor and his head hit with a noise audible even over the shrieks of the fans and the music.
It’s Louis’ solo now, and Niall is sort of mumbling his way through it, getting to Louis as quickly as possible, but Harry’s there first and holding Louis’ head in his lap, glad when he doesn’t feel any blood, but Louis’ eyes are closed and he’s clammy and pale. Harry feels like this is all a dream, a really bad dream, and even the musicians have stopped playing, even though they’re trained to play through anything.
People are saying things to him, but he can’t hear them, because this giant realization has shut his mind down.
Louis wasn’t eating.
He wasn’t just not hungry, he never ate. A cup of tea here and there. A bite of toast, no butter. And Harry’d noticed, was the thing, he just hadn’t pieced it together.
Louis is brought backstage on a stretcher, but people keep Harry from following, and he realizes he’s shouting apologies, screaming them really, and his mic is still in his hand, by his side, but still picking them up. He tunes into himself, yells of, oh god Louis, oh god I’m so sorry. Of Louis this is all my fault of Louis, please be okay of Louis, I love you, I love you so fucking much.
It’s announced that there’s going to be a five minute break, which only alarms the fans and Harry more. If Louis were okay, they’d just continue on and divvy up his solos. But instead they all go back stage and sit, looking at each other nervously. Two minutes in, and they haven’t heard or said anything.
“He wasn’t eating.” Harry says quietly.
“What do you mean?” Niall asked. Harry’d never seen Niall look so… not Niall. Sad, like his light was dimmed.
“I mean he never fucking ate. And I didn’t even- I’d noticed, I just didn’t get it. Fuck, he’s been starving himself.” Harry says, and the last two words are broken by a sob.
Paul comes out then, but not before Harry can see the accusatory look in Niall’s eyes.
“Louis’ being taken to the hospital. He’s unconscious and his heart rate isn’t normal. After the show, instead of going back to the hotel we’ll be taking you all to the hospital to wait for any information.” Paul says, and he looks genuinely sad. Harry heart catches on ‘after the show’, he doesn’t know if he can make that. “And I know this is incredibly scary for you lads, and Harry, I know focusing is going to be hard, but you have over fifty thousand young girls and boys in that stadium, just as scared and worried as you, and millions more reading tweets and posts about what just happened. You have to be okay for them.”
“Louis would want that.” Liam adds. The past tense squeezes at Harry’s heart, claws down his ribcage. He remembers that conversation, all those months ago- I’m just worried for you- like what happens if I- what’s going to happen you when I- And he realizes, to Louis it probably wasn’t an ‘if’. Louis could have planned to die before Harry and- god.
Harry finds himself crying then, wiping furiously at the tears on his cheeks. All he wants to do is curl in a ball and wail, but- the fans. They need them to be strong, so they will.
“We’ve switched around Little Black Dress for Little Things, for a calm down, alright? Are you ready to go back out there?” Paul asks. Harry nods, takes a deep breath.
They walk back onto the stage, calmly. There’s no grandeur to it, the lights are still on from Don’t Forget Where You Belong, the fans are a lot quieter than usual.
Harry raises his mic to his mouth, “Louis-” his throat closes and he shakes his head, gestures to Liam.
“Louis’ being taken to the hospital. We think you guys deserve to know what’s been going on as much as we do, updates will be tweeted through out the night. All we know right now is that he’s unconscious and his heart rate is abnormal.” Liam explains, and Harry loves him for being so strong.
He feels and arm wrap around his shoulders and a thumb press under his eye, and looks over to see Zayn. He curls into Zayn, lets him hug him in front of all the fans.
He and Louis were scheduled to come out a two months from today, exactly. This is the last show of the WWA tour, they have an interview scheduled for The Ellen Show. The bromance has been played up in minor interviews, Eleanor is long out of the picture, and they can see the fans getting excited for it.
But now…
The guitar tune starts.
“We’re switching to Little Things, so we can all calm down a bit.” Zayn says into his mic, before starting to sing. Harry watches Niall play, and his fingers are trembling, but he doesn’t miss a note.
Before they know it, it’s Louis’ solo, and they’re all looking around to see who should sing it, but then all at once, the fans are.
It’s some sort of magical moment, more than fifty thousand people singing all at once. There is not a single scream, Harry never thought he’d see the day. Lots of girls in the front rows are crying still, Harry wishes he could.
All those conversations are the secrets that I keep, though it makes no sense to me. The crowd finishes. Next to him, Zayn is wiping away a tear. Strong, stoic, made-of-marble Zayn, crying in front of fifty thousand people.
Harry raises his mic, begs his voice to hold up, I know you’ve never loved the sound of your voice on tape it’s like a punch to the heart. When they were filming This Is Us, Louis hated hearing his solos in the concert footage. He was so glad when they cut it out of Change My Mind. You never want to know how much you weigh and he’s gone there, tears spilling over his bottom lashes but his voice manages, get’s a little deeper and raspier and a little broken, but manages. You still have to squeeze into your jeans Louis didn’t squeeze into anything anymore, all his clothes were too big. He wore a lot of Niall’s stuff now. And you’re perfect to me. Harry’s sure to emphasize the and, he remembers one time, when they were falling asleep, Louis had commented on it and said how much he liked it.
I won’t let these little things slip out of my mouth, but if it’s true, it’s you, it’s you they add up to. Harry takes a deep breath, makes his decision, I’m in love with you, and all your little things.
He wants to sing it, I’m in love with Lou, and all his little things, sing it clearly, unmuddled and tell everyone right there on that stage. But he can’t do it without Louis, knows how scared he is to come out, and for him to wake up (and, fuck, he’s going to wake up) into a world where he’s out would be just awful.
Harry lights the last candle just as Louis walks into the room. The smell of roses permeates the air, and some sandal wood because Harry ran out of rose scented candles. There’s also chicken, but that’s wafting over from the kitchen where it’s cooling slightly.
“Harold? What’s all this?” Louis asks, but he knows.
“Happy second anniversary.” Harry sing-songs, flits over to him and kisses his cheek.
“Hm, now let me think,” Louis says in a jocular tone, “is this the anniversary of when we met? When we got put together as a band? When you surprise attack snogged me for the first time at breakfast? The first time you blew me? The first time I blew you? The first time I fucked you? The first time yo-”
“Okay! Okay jeez so I’m fond of anniversaries. It’s not a crime.” Harry pouts, but he’s glad Louis remembers all those milestones.
“So this is The Big One, eh?” Louis smiles his crinkly eyed smile.
Harry rolls his eyes, can see the huge wrapped gift behind Louis’ small frame.
“Yeah, yeah I know. Happy anniversary, my love.” Louis leans up to kiss him. Harry expects short and chaste, but there’s Louis’ tongue, and there’s his body pressed up against Harry.
“Nuh-uh.” The negative is pushed against Louis’ skin, “Dinner. Cooked it m’self. Elbow grease.”
“Was that even english at all?” Louis teases fondly.
“Fine. I won’t feed you bites of my delicious chicken whilst sitting on your lap. You’ll have to do all the work yourself, if you’re going to take the piss out of me like that.” Harry sniffs with mock offense. He watches smugly, cold expression faltering on his features, as Louis’ eyes widen. He drops to his knees in a motion that’s perhaps too well practiced and has Harry’s heart racing from the familiarity.
“Please forgive me, oh Harold, oh my love.” Louis says, for some reason unbeknownst to either of them he dons a posh accent.
Harry’s face splits into a grin and Louis mirrors, “Go on then, sniff a candle and sit your pretty little tushy down, I’ll bring out dinner.”
“My tushy is pretty?” Louis asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Don’t even act like you don’t know.” Harry replies. Louis doesn’t respond, turns toward one of the candles instead. Harry makes his way to the kitchen and gathers up their dinner and then- it hits him.
“YOU DON’T KNOW-OH-OH YOU DON’T KNOW YOUR ARSE IS BEAUTIFUL.” He’s so excited he practically shouts, and he hears a snort and then a squawk from Louis. Harry’s still giggling maniacally when he carries the dinners in.
“You made me snort while smelling a candle and now my nose hairs are singed.” Louis pouts, and Harry sets the plates down and tackles him to the ground, until he stops struggling and let’s Harry kiss all over his nose.
“Better?”
“I wouldn’t call it better. There’s more saliva in my nose than usual though, so.” Louis says, cross-eyed looking at his violated nose.
Eventually they do end up eating. The steak is a little cooler than Harry would have preferred, but the way Louis’ eyes flutter closed in happiness when Harry spoons the food into his mouth makes it okay. So for the next hour they feed each other until every bite is gone, and neither of them once brought their own fork to their mouths. They intertwine their arms to drink the expensive wine Louis bought and Louis’ lips and cheeks are red and his eyes are bright and blue.
“I love you”s are exchanged probably too many times, but really, how is there such a thing as too much “I love you”?
(And Louis’ present was a double-ended super expensive and fancy vibrator. They should have gotten a noise complaint, but all the neighbors know by now that that really doesn’t help anything, at least in Harry’s case.)
The first time Harry has to make him eat, both of them cry.
“But I can’t.” Louis tells him, looking down at the bite of chicken like it's going to poison him, lodge in his throat until he turns purple. His grip is impossibly tight around the fork, like if he holds it tight enough maybe he can just absorb the necessary nutrients without the weight that comes with food.
“Would it be easier if I did it?” Harry asks quietly.
“I don’t know. We can try.”
“I really don’t want to force feed you.”
“Then don’t. We can try again tomorrow at breakfast. Really.” Louis’ eyes widen in a pleading and sad look. Fucking puppy dog eyes.
“No, Lou, it’s been two days and all you’ve had was two pieces of toast.”
“Yes! Two pieces of toast! That’s a lot! Like, six days worth of food normally!” Louis argues. “With butter.”
“But ‘normally’ could end up killing you. I know you got off lucky that time, just fainted, but babe you can’t keep doing this. You could die.” Harry says emphatically and a prickling feeling rises to the back of his eyeballs.
“But I won’t, I promise.” Louis says, and holds out a spindly pinky. It’s looking at that digit, how thin it is, that Harry wonders how the fuck he didn’t see it. He was so focused on keeping his distance, letting Louis work through whatever it was, trying to love him less like Louis wanted him to, that he hadn’t noticed his Everything steadily shrinking into a Nothing.
Hot tears land on his cheeks for the nth time in the past three weeks.
“Babe, please don’t cry. I’m going to cry. I’m supposed to be the fucked up one here.” Louis says, and if that’s him trying to lighten the mood he’s doing a terrible job.
“Please, Lou, I don’t want to lose you all the way.” Harry begs. If tears had a voice, it would be Harry’s in that sentence, watery and broken and so impossibly sad. Somehow, Harry gets him to eat half of the chicken he prepared. By the third bite Louis is crying too, his hands shaking so badly Harry has to take the fork from him, spoon the meat onto his reluctant tongue, make sure he swallows.
“I love you.” Louis says, for the first time in three weeks, “I love you and I’m sorry.”
Two of his own fingers were already scissoring inside his hole when Louis asked.
“Haz, could we- um, could I- er. Um, could you-” He stutters, brows furrowing as he tries to find the right phrasing.
“What do you want, Lou?” Harry asks, pausing in his motions. Louis huffs in frustration and just kisses him. Dirty- all tongue and spit and teeth. But instead of pushing Harry back, he leans back onto the bed, squeezes at Harry’s skin and mouths along the column of his throat before his lips make it back up to Harry’s ear.
“I want you to fuck me.” He says, and Harry thinks his blood boils and evaporates right then and there. Or it’s frozen. Or, actually, it’s just all in his cock.
He fights the head rush, grappling onto whatever sanity he can.
“Jesus.” He breathes. I want you to fuck me, he actually said that. Those were actual words he actually said that actually came out of his actual mouth. Harry’s having some difficulty… doing anything, really. But fuck even that one time Louis asked him to spank him doesn’t compare to those six words.
Harry must have paused for too long. “Can we?” Louis asks, pulling his bottom lip under his top teeth.
“Yeah- yeah we- shit- yeah we can.” Harry nods frantically, his brain rattling around in his skull. “I mean, I’ve never, uh, you know you’re my first so I don’t know what I’m doing- um. Lube. Lube we need lube I’ll do lube. Lube.” Harry babbles. His heart is racing and he’s forgotten that he has two fingers up his arsehole and only remembers once his tries to use his hand and can’t.
“Right, that. Need that.” He says, talking about his hand. The edges of Louis’ reddened and spit-slick mouth curve up, “Babe, don’t be nervous. I trust you. Like, lots.”
“Lots?” Harry repeats.
“Lots and lots.” Louis nods his head in confirmation.
“Yeah, okay. Okay.” So Harry pulls out his fingers and wipes the excess lube on them on the sheets, tries not to whimper at the sad feeling of emptiness.
So he does what Louis does to him, as best he can remember, because sometimes he’s so far gone that after he can’t even remember what happened. The first time Louis whimpers, though, it’s from pain after Harry slips a second finger in.
“Okay?” He asks with a waver in his voice.
“Yeah just-” Louis twists, grimaces.
“Burns?”
“Yeah, a little. It’s getting better.” Louis replies.
“I’m gonna move now, alright? It’ll get better. I can’t believe you’ve never done this, like, yourself.” Harry says, mostly to distract Louis as he pushes his fingers in farther.
“I believe you, I just don’t get how- ah- you’re going to get your entire cock in there.”
Harry must prod the right way then because he feels Louis tense up.
“That- that was good. I see what all the hype is about.” He says. From there, Harry manages to shut him up, finds his prostate with each thrust of his fingers, scissors him open until he’s whimpering and his cock is blurting precome all over his tummy. Three fingers in then, Louis’ hips are grinding down and louder groans falling from his lips. When he’s finally open enough, crying out at each thrust to his prostate, Harry asks him how he’d like it- on his back, does he want to be on top, on his knees. Louis tells him on his back, and Harry’s glad, he wants to watch Louis' face. Nothing is more beautiful.
Louis’ cock smears precome on Harry stomach when he leans over him and connects their mouths and lines himself up. Louis’ whimpers smudge into Harry’s mouth and his breath tangles through Harry’s teeth.
“Ready?” Harry asks, breaking away from Louis’ lips. A kiss is his yes, and moves his hips slowly forward.
So the first time isn’t perfect. It wasn’t expected to be. Harry has more difficulty finding Louis’ prostate with his dick, slips out more than a few times, and Louis clearly doesn’t enjoy getting fucked as much as Harry does. He may be built to bottom, but his personality is all top. But god, when Louis comes over Harry’s hand and clenches down around him, he feels like his head’s been blown off with the force of it. He comes inside Louis (inside a condom) while Louis is still shaking from the aftershocks, hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He looks beautiful, ethereal, even, and Harry almost wishes he hadn’t come so he could ravish him all over again.
Louis’ therapist and their couples counselor have both said they need to bring intimacy back into the relationship. Francine, Louis’ therapist, says Harry needs to show Louis it’s okay to be naked and exposed in front of him. Camille, their couples counselor, says that they need to go back to acting like they’re in a relationship, and not just coexisting. They kissed for the first time in months in her office, a quick, chaste thing that made Harry yearn for more, but Louis’ knuckles turn white around the arms of his chair.
So here they are, Louis beside Harry on the bed with his shirt off, and Harry with nothing but his underwear on. Louis is pale, his breath is shaky, and Harry wants to spiral into how did I let this happen? But here, right now, Louis is depending on him more than ever, whether he knows it or not. Harry has to be strong.
“I’m scared.” Louis says. Every instinct tells Harry to say don’t be but Camille says they need to talk about their feelings more.
“What are you scared of?” Harry asks. This makes Louis think, his brows furrow and his fingers pause in their worrying at the rope tattoo on his wrist.
“Being naked? Because you know we don’t have to go all the way the first time. Is it me? Are you afraid of me?” Harry prompts.
“I’m afraid of kissing you.” Louis replies, voice quiet and small. Again, Harry doesn’t understand how he’d watched his boy shrink, his sunny, loud and boisterous boy shrink into someone cloudy and quiet and so not Louis.
“We kissed yesterday.” Harry points out.
“No, really kiss you. God- Harry I spent months trying to detach from you so it wouldn’t hurt so bad. So you wouldn’t hurt so bad- what if it hadn’t just been a bump on the head, what if I’d died or went into a coma or something? What would you do? This- me not kissing you is me protecting you, not me.” Louis says, voice tightening and Harry can see tears welling in his eyes.
“I don’t need to be protected. I just need to be with you.” Harry tells him. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Louis nods.
“Now kiss me, you fool.” Harry quotes, quietly and timidly, but the break in his voice is unmistakeable. Camille had said Louis had to initiate the kiss, and Harry just had to kiss back. Louis let’s out a small sob that sounds a bit more like a laugh, and then there are warm lips on Harry’s. That’s all that touches for a long while, until Louis opens up his mouth and his tongue sweeps along Harry’s top lip. When Harry opens up it’s like a seal has been broken. He feels Louis’ hands on his back, uses Harry to pull himself closer. He feels Louis’ tongue in his mouth and his hair tickling his cheek. Legs pushed between his own, to intertwine themselves further.
From there, it’s nothing but body worship. Louis lets Harry kiss rows down his entire torso, lets him lick I love you into every inch of skin, lets him trace every tattoo with his finger, lets him just look. That’s the best part of it really, how Louis lets him look. After so long of being blocked off, after so long of being kept away, Louis’ letting him in and it’s atmospheric, euphoric, like the oxygen in his blood cells was replaced with helium, like the only thing tethering him to the earth is Louis' mouth moving with his own.
Both of them start crying at some point. Both of them kiss the other’s tears away.
They fall asleep like that, and in the morning when Harry lifts his head, three of Louis’ fingers are impossibly tangled in his hair.
There doesn’t need to be any happy pasts anymore.
So it goes like this- it’s been two months since the end of the tour. Two months since Louis’ ‘incident’ as everyone has taken to calling it. And now they’re backstage at The Ellen Show. Miraculously, management decided to leave this unscripted, they can say anything they want to, do it however they please. Within discretion, of course (“please, for the love of god, don’t tell them about your sex life.”)
It goes with the clapping, and the screaming, and the chanting Louis Louis Louis, because this is his first public appearance in two months. Gained seventeen pounds, he has, and Harry’s so proud of him. (So what if the goal for the two months was twenty? Seventeen is good. Seventeen is progress. Seventeen is where they are.)
It goes with the normal questions, talk of the fourth album, a special twenty second preview of the next single, wedding details from Zayn (apparently the colors are going to be white, red, and black. It seems very Zayn and Perrie to Harry), and then the classic raise your hand if you’re single.
It goes when Niall is the only one to raise his hand.
Ellen asks who Louis’ seeing, after the break up with Eleanor. She was supposed to ask Harry first, everyone asks Harry first, that's just how it works. They planned for Harry to be the one who does it, Louis' still so scared (but, jesus fuck so is Harry.) Harry's heart is pounding, he’s pretty sure you can see his blood shaking his body, his stomach is twisting and his vision is darkening- but then Louis’ intertwining their fingers, and his aren't even shaking, and that’s that.
The roar is deafening. The screen behind them zooms in on their entwined fingers.
And that’s how it goes, with ten fingers and a “Him.”