Chapter Text
Louis' life is about to be over. He can hear the clock ticking. He can smell the end. It smells like a receding hairline and impotence.
It would have been easier to ignore if everyone else hadn't known about it too. His sisters have already called to make plans, and his mum subtly started asking if he and Harry needed something for the house. The faculty all pitched in to buy him a massive cake from Sainsbury's. The rumour even got around to his students, horrifically enough. A minute before the bell rang, they all circled him on stage and started singing, even Isabelle, who's rather disdainful toward actually performing. Louis wishes they didn't keep such close tabs on him. It's really hard being the most beloved teacher at school sometimes.
"Big three-o, eh? Are you planning something special with Harry?" Greg asks during lunch with a friendly smile.
Louis tries not to appear as annoyed as he feels. He cracks a joke about being a neglected Christmas baby and stuffs his mouth with cake to avoid talking about his deathday or about Harry. Not that he doesn't appreciate the interest, or the fact they all remember Harry's name. It took them some time getting there. Well, time and a crisis.
During his first year at this school, Louis was still in the closet, and one time during lunch he heard one of the biology teachers, a young woman, gossiping about how one of her students was a fairy and she hoped to set a better example for him than his parents who let him "get that way".
Louis overreacted so spectacularly he came out to the faculty and started an LGBT soc for the students, accidentally walking ten awkward and amazing teenagers through discovering their sexual identities. Not that he thought he was qualified to take such a role, but every time he was unsure about something, he just said what he thought Harry would say. (Harry was so proud of him he felt like a fucking superhero, when usually Louis' the one admiring Harry. He's changed over the years, got wittier, sharper, smarter, found things to care about. Sometimes Louis feels like he's just trying to keep up.)
Anyway, Louis' hoping Harry might have forgotten about the birthday. He knows it's unlikely, since his partner has a knack for dates and special occasions, but maybe he forgot the fact Louis' turning thirty.
Louis shivers at the thought, Peter Pan syndrome in full force. This is it, from now on it's counting backwards. It's about buying a sensible car and having polite sex with the lights off and talking about how England has gone to the dogs.
It's about Harry dumping him.
He's kind of expected it. Has been gearing up towards as the date drew closer. He's trying to shut Harry out, not texting unless it's absolutely crucial or hilarious or both. Limits himself to ten kisses per day.
It helps that he and Harry aren't actually speaking right now. They got in a huge row two days ago, mostly because of Louis. Harry was trying to bring up the birthday, hinting at some big surprise he's been planning, and Louis sort of snapped and asked him if he was sure he wouldn't be too busy with recording.
It escalated from there, until Harry was yelling at him, "Why are you making me out to be so flaky? You're the one who won't even hear about starting a family!"
Louis' pretty shitty in conflicts. "Well you're the one going on a bloody national tour with fuck knows who for fuck knows how long!"
Harry's face crumpled and he took a long step forward, but Louis took one back. "Lou, you know we'll figure it out, where is this coming from?"
"I don't know anything, alright?"
It wasn't alright. It wasn't alright when Harry slept on the sofa and it wasn't alright when Louis sneaked out the next morning three full hours before his first class.
And now it's the last day before Christmas break and everyone and their mother wants to know how Louis' dealing with withering and dying. It's fucking bullshit.
He's walking as fast as he can to his office, needs to just grab his things and go home and draw a bath and make up with Harry and eat anything but cake. He nearly has a heart attack when he opens his door and there's a person already inside.
Of course it's Harry.
"Hi love," Louis says with a smile, before remembering they're in a fight and dropping the delight from his face and voice. He's not at all excited to see him. He's Upset.
Harry looks back at him carefully and leans back against the desk. He's holding up a red apple like a peace offering, or the biggest cliché in teaching history. Harry's always had a little Snow White in him, even during the summer they spent in LA getting tanner than any Englishman has a right to. "Hi, um. You forgot it this morning."
He gestures to the desk, where there's a neatly wrapped sandwich. Even yesterday, Harry's made sure to prepare him lunch for school. Blood sandwiches of passive-aggressiveness, sure, but Louis still took them. Until this morning, when he woke up to a text from Lottie about thirty balloons and nearly threw up.
He's still not sure the apple, or his posture by the desk, is an accident. As if Harry could pass up on a good cliché. However this conversation goes, Louis' pretty sure he'll be fucking Harry on his desk before long. Good thing he locked the door as soon as he saw Harry. "Thanks," he says, taking a measured step toward Harry. "I didn't mean to, had to rush out. Sorry."
"It's okay," Harry lies. "You were too busy being weird, I understand."
Louis crosses his arms over his chest, automatically standing taller. "Were not."
Harry arches an eyebrow. "You wanted me and Niall to go on a lad's trip to Fiji, Louis."
He knows he's being disgustingly petulant, but he shrugs anyway. "It's a nice place."
This must be Harry's tipping point. Fighting with Harry is a delicate, horrible art, because even when he's visibly and loudly upset, he'll stay sweet and kind and non-confrontational, up until the very last straw. He straightens his back and takes a step closer to Louis so that he's practically towering over him. "Louis, you can't just chuck me to a remote island because you're going through something. Fucking man up and talk to me."
Harry's last straw is usually what breaks Louis, as well. He's always just looking for a reaction. Once he gets it, he's more than ready to crumble and spill his guts and beg for a cuddle. "I'm turning thirty," he whispers, mortified.
Harry doesn't do anything. He doesn't gasp or clutch his chest or run out. He just furrows his brows and says, "That's usually what happens after you're twenty-nine for a year."
Harry doesn't hear it. The thirty is underlined with and I have a twenty-three hot piece of arse boyfriend. Louis looks down while he gathers his thoughts, but Harry takes two strides and he's there, tilting Louis' chin up and looking in his eyes. Louis can't hide anything when Harry looks at him like that, he just blurts it all out. "I know the age difference was hot for you when I was twenty-five and skinny, but now I've got, what, just ten more years of good hair and twenty years of proper penis functions, and I'll start getting lines, god help me, don't you get that it's downhill from here? You should just save yourself and go to Fiji and fuck a groupie."
So this must be the most pathetic he's ever let himself be with Harry. He doesn't even mean half of it. He'll kill Harry's entire fanbase before he goes near a fuckable groupie, and he knows he'll have good hair for at least fifteen more years. But he hasn't talked about this ache in his chest with anyone, so if he's opening up, he's doing it proper.
"What in the name of fuck are you talking about?" Harry asks after a long silence, his eyes wide in shock. He opens his mouth to say more but ends up grabbing the front of Louis' button-down and hauling him in for a kiss. It was probably meant to be bruising or punishing, but Harry gives it to him soft and slow, a bit relieved. Louis relates; it's been two long days. He completely forgets all the shit he's just said and wraps his arms around Harry's neck, leaning into him and deepening the kiss.
When they part, they're breathing heavily, and Harry gives him a good smack on the bum. "You knobhead. You thought after five bloody years the magic will fade just because you're turning thirty?"
"Well, yeah," Louis persists, looking down at Harry's neck instead of his eyes.
Harry shakes him a little. "Do you even know me at all? If in some dystopian universe we weren't together, I'd be trolling for forty-year-old divorcés with a minimum of two children."
Louis startles himself by laughing so hard his stomach aches. Because he can see that. In some dystopian universe where he can even conceive of Harry being with anyone but him, he can see him becoming best friends with random children and ensnaring their parents with his cute arse. "Harold," he manages to say, but then just starts laughing again. All the stress of the past few weeks is being lifted at once and he feels oddly light. And dumb as shit.
Of course Harry's right. He just needed to hear him say it. "Fine."
"No, I didn't sneak into a school for fine. Say it," Harry insists, nudging Louis' fringe with his nose.
Louis rolls his eyes and clears his throat. "I'm sorry for being dumb, I love you more than anything ever, I'll try to give you more than twenty years of dick."
Harry leans back so Louis' hit by the full force of his smile. He gives him a smacking kiss, obviously a little pleased. Louis knows he's still got some grovelling to do, but it's a start. "There are pills for that, you know. And I'm sure in twenty years we'll all have robotic dicks anyway."
Oh god. Louis pushes him away for being ridiculous, and Harry stumbles back into the desk. He keeps holding Louis' hand, though, so when the does a little tour around the office, he drags Louis along with him. "D'you know, I've been going to your functions and barbeques for three years now, but I've never actually been in your office?"
"Really now?"
Harry surprises him then by pushing Louis into his swivel chair and pinning it against the wall. He then hops on the desk, legs spread on either side of Louis. There's a foot of distance between them, but Louis' already thinking ahead to pulling Harry into his lap. "You understand we'll have to fuck here, right?"
Louis shrugs, like there isn't heat already pooling low in his gut. "I figured."
Harry pulls up a long leg and places his boot on one of the handles of Louis' chair. Louis can't help but stare at his crotch. When Harry started the band at nineteen, he got it in his head that he had to wear skinny jeans everywhere, and in the four years since then, they've only gotten skinnier. It wasn't Louis who planted the idea, but he's definitely reaping the benefits. "D'you know something else?" Harry asks, making Louis turn his eyes back to his face. "A funny thing happened when I tried to find this office."
This is Harry, so a funny thing could range from "I saw a cloud shaped like a wang" to "I rode in on horseback and then it slipped on a banana peel". He seems like he's getting at something, though. "Oh?"
"A few students recognised me and came up to chat." Even under the illusion of making a point, Harry smiles at the memory, adorably astounded by the fact he's actually famous now. "They asked me what I was doing here, and when I said I came to visit you, they said the strangest thing. Oh my god, are you actually his husband?"
Oh shit. Louis might be blushing. He's got one foot in the grave and he's blushing. "I… might have told them I was married to Harry Styles." Harry widens his eyes and gapes like he hadn't actually expected that answer. "Just the soc. I needed to establish my superiority so they'd respect me as their leader in gayness. Plus I wanted to brag."
Harry looks utterly delighted. His face has always been expressive, an open book, and it's lovely during sex and infuriating when they fight, but right now it's breathtaking. Harry beams at him and ducks his head to be cute. "Lou, I think... we should go to Paris for New Year's."
Louis stares. "Do you mean – "
Harry just nods, tugging on his lip. Louis sucks in a breath. "H, you're twenty-three."
"Almost four. What does it matter?"
"You've got your whole life ahead of you."
Harry shrugs and smiles at him. "And I wanna spend it with you. For however many years you have left. I'm not raising children out of wedlock."
Harry Styles, fucking twelve steps ahead. "Babe, that's insane."
"Don't make me do this," Harry says, suddenly determined. He slips to his knees between the desk and Louis' chair, looking up at him.
It's so familiar, but it still takes his breath away sometimes. Harry's wearing the headband Louis got him for their last anniversary, so his fluffy hair is pushed back and his whole face is focused on Louis. "You can't solve everything with cocksucking."
He half-expects Harry to say I can try, but then Harry smirks at him and reaches inside his jeans pocket. "You're gonna feel like such a twat in five seconds."
"Why?"
And then he pulls out a ring.
"Oh my god."
Harry takes a deep breath. He is on his knees holding a ring. "Louis Tomlinson – "
"Oh my god," Louis yells, snatching the ring from Harry unceremoniously to inspect it. "Harold, what the fuck."
Jesus Christ, it's a simple platinum band with infinity symbols looping all along it like Louis' wrist tattoo and Harry's ankle tattoo. Unlike them, the symbol breaks at one part and there's an H&L engraved there. It's sentimental and one of a kind and motherfucking gorgeous. He slips it on his ring finger automatically to check if it fits (it does, obviously). He pushes it with his thumb until the H&L is on top.
He's startled out of his scrutiny by Harry gasping helplessly. When he looks down, Harry's big eyes are wide and a bit teary, and he's staring at Louis' hand like he's seen god. And then he punches Louis' shoulder hard. "Louis, you absolute cock, how could you just do that?"
Louis gapes at him and rubs his shoulder with his ringed hand. "What the fuck did I do?"
"You just put it on! Didn't even let me propose!" Harry wipes at his eyes angrily, and Louis loses touch for a moment because his stomach drops because Harry's right because Harry's engagement ring is on his finger right now fucking hell did he just get engaged?
"Harry, I – shit, what do I do? Do I take it off?" he sounds panicked and there is a ring on his finger that attaches him to Harry for infinity. For when he's thirty and Harry's twenty-almost-four and when Harry's thirty and Louis' still-twenty-nine-because-birthdays-are-just-an-arbitrary-concept and when their children are thirty and Prime Ministers of Space.
"No, oh my god, leave it on if you wanna marry me," Harry rambles, probably the fastest Louis' ever heard him speak.
"Of course I wanna marry you, don't be an idiot," Louis says immediately, and only a second later realises that fuck yes, he really fucking wants to marry Harry. It even rhymes. He's the real songwriter in the house. His stomach sinks even lower. "But I didn't even get you anything."
"It's not Valentine's Day, you don't have to get me something. Just let me do it right, you bumhole."
"Yeah, alright," he mumbles, getting more and more overwhelmed by the second. It's actually happening. He rolls the chair back to the wall and stands up in front of Harry, lightheaded.
Harry smiles up at him approvingly and brings up one knee. He clears his throat. "Louis Tomlinson. Five years I've been in love with you, two albums I wrote for you, seven rings I may have secretly bought you and ten million times I wanted to propose." He pauses like he's making sure he remembered his lame speech correctly, or maybe because Louis' getting a bit teary himself. "I know you're afraid of getting old, enough to send me packing to Fiji like a fucking idiot, but I also know you shouldn't be because I'm not. I intend to grow old with you and raise kids with you and fuck you when we both have erectile dysfunction." Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry slaps his knee in warning. "I know we don't know what's going to happen with the band, either, but I'm just not worried because... You're all I want, so much it's hurting when we're apart. I never wanna be apart again. So even though this was supposed to happen on top of the Eiffel on New Year's Eve, I think you should marry me anyway."
Louis' been biting his lip hard throughout the speech to stay quiet, but when Harry gives him a hesitant nod, Louis opens his mouth and starts shouting, "Yes, Jesus Christ, I wanna have all that with you, I wanna wake up with you every morning and kiss your dumb face every night and call you my husband."
Harry has to wipe his eyes again, and he's giggling breathlessly. He holds Louis' hand, thumbing over the ring in wonder. "I like spouse better."
Louis laughs at his fiancé and pulls on his hand hard. "Will you get on the fucking desk already? I'm gonna fuck you so hard – God, I'm gonna fuck you for the rest of our lives."
Harry makes a small noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan, and Louis instantly knows where he's going to take the dirty talk. This he's good at. He might have fucked up and tried to push Harry away, and he certainly didn't expect to get engaged when he came to school today, but if fucking Harry were a sport, he'd be an Olympic gold medallist.
Harry clears Louis' desk, pushes aside the neat piles he must have tidied himself before Louis came in. He hops on the desk and leans back invitingly. Louis doesn't waste a second before crowding up between his legs and pulling his face down for a long kiss. He fits his hands under Harry's shirt and Harry melts into him, as expected.
Louis knows Harry's body better than he knows his own, fucked him at seventeen when he was still pudgy around the waist and fucked him at nineteen when he grew even taller and discovered the gym and Louis spent more time lifted and pressed into walls than he did on his own two feet. He fucked him at twenty when he completed his sleeve, a beautiful patchwork of memories mostly shared with Louis. He fucked him at twenty-one when he wore his collar in public for the first time, and at twenty-two when he had a motorbike accident and got a scar down his leg.
Now he's twenty-three and he might be more beautiful than he's ever been, broad shoulders and defined abs and long hair pushed back by fabric they keep having to wash. And Louis' going to fuck him wearing his engagement ring. To be honest, he should've proposed five years ago and gotten it over with. It's not like anyone else is ever going to be enough.
"You're mine, aren't you?" he says aloud, stepping closer and wrapping Harry's legs around his waist. Harry nods and buries his fingers in his hair, trembling when Louis sucks bruising kisses into his neck. "I'll take you to Paris anyway. Propose to you so beautifully you'll cry. Talk all about how much I adore my boy. Make you Harry Tomlinson." Harry tightens his legs and moans softly. He's not really a boy anymore, twenty-three and tall and big and successful, but when they're like this he'll always be Louis' good boy.
It's never been about his age, anyway. It's about the way he makes himself beautifully vulnerable for Louis, how it's gotten even easier to take him apart the more muscular he got. How he likes it even more when Louis takes care of him, now that there are responsibilities mounting on his shoulders.
It used to worry Louis sick, kept him up at night, the thought that he's taking this seventeen-year-old kid and destroying him, but now it's second nature to him. He still thinks about it, always plans and calculates and watches, but it's just an obvious fact that they need this. They've been playing for five years, he isn't sure they'd even know how to stop.
He can hear that Harry's holding his breath, so he knows he wants Louis to keep talking. Louis starts unbuttoning Harry's shirt while he thinks. Since he only buttoned three buttons in the first place, it only takes a moment. Harry loves walking around with his shirt open for everyone to see his Louis tattoos and Louis marks. The only reason he's in an indie hipster band is so he could wear his collar during concerts and it'd be a fashion statement rather than an I'm in a BDSM relationship statement.
(x)
That's when Louis gets inspired.
He slips Harry's shirt off his shoulders and kisses them, moves in on his neck and up to his ear. "I'll get you a nice ring too, like the pretty one you got me. Slip it on your finger and make you get rid of all your other rings so everyone knows." He pulls his earlobe between his teeth and Harry scratches the back of Louis' neck. "It's not really like your collar, is it? It's something you could wear all the time, when you're giving interviews or having dinner with your mum. But it still makes you mine. You'll wear it and think of your daddy."
Harry moans loudly then, squeezing Louis so tightly their crotches press together. Louis knows it's time to give him something. He run his hands up Harry's skinnies to give him a good grope, and keeps trailing up until he reaches his bulge. Harry gasps and pushes up automatically. Louis would make him wait until he does something good, but considering the fact he just proposed (proposed), he's as good as he'll ever be.
Louis grinds the heel of his hand down and Harry sighs like he needs just this to live on. Louis kisses him then, sweeter than the way he's pressing down, spreading his hand wide to – find a different bulge in Harry's pocket. He digs his hand in and can't help but laugh when his fingers find two packets.
So Harry's been walking around for who knows how long with lube, a condom and an engagement ring. Louis wants to marry him yesterday. "Smart boy," he says, picking out the stashed items and then rewarding Harry by unzipping their trousers.
Harry goes to lie back automatically, but as much as Louis likes spreading Harry out on flat surfaces, he wants him up close this time, wants to hold him and show him what love and devotion mean. He could phrase it like that, or even just tell him that he doesn't want him to bang his head on the desk, but he goes with, "I didn't tell you to lie down."
Harry clenches around him like he's clinging to a lifeboat. "Sorry," he whispers.
Louis hushes him and rubs his back, quietly tearing the lube open with a practiced move. They keep a shit-ton of travel-sized packets around just for these occasions, condoms too ever since they decided not to fuck bareback outside of the house. (Which is a nice way to summarise the disaster that happened backstage at Harry's first gig.)
He considers fucking Harry with his ring finger, but then thinks of a better plan and fucks him with his right hand instead. As soon as he slides one finger in him, Harry moans, and Louis' quick to kiss him, both to throw him off a little and because it's the middle of the school day and his students are used to his open door policy. Currently it's locked, but Louis doesn't think Harry remembers that at the moment. He thrusts his finger deep and whispers into his mouth, "You've gotta keep quiet, baby, anyone could come in. Wouldn't wanna give them a free show."
Then again, even people on the Internet have caught on to Harry's exhibitionism kink. "You would, though." He tries to think what visual Harry would like more, and then just gives him both. "You'd have kept the door wide open for any teacher to walk past and see what Mr. Tomlinson does to good boys like you. What if a student comes in, huh?" he asks, slamming another finger in him and twisting them around. "A tall boy from year twelve, sitting in the chair and watching what you learned at his age."
It's so hard for Harry to stay quiet at that, he buries wet whimpers into the crook of Louis' neck. Only Louis can hear him, though. He's being good.
When Louis hitches his hips up and drives his cock into him, he doesn't count on Harry's self-restraint to keep him quiet. Or rather, he doesn't want to test him like that right now. Or rather, he really wants to shove a finger in his mouth.
Harry arches into him, clinging desperately when Louis fucks him in short, deep thrusts, giving it to him hard from the start. He's tight and familiar, and Louis’ had him on beds and carpets and floors and walls and one cage and two mountaintops and some desks, not unlike this one, but this part is always the same and always fucking brilliant.
He snaps his hips fast, loves Harry's gasps and the creak of the desk under his weight. He feels the moment Harry gets used to the brutal pace, because he licks around Louis' fingers curiously, like he hadn't even noticed they were there. Louis pushes them down just as he slams up and Harry bites on his knuckles helplessly, giving him the right signal to keep going at that angle.
Harry starts drawing his fingers deeper into his mouth, and Louis waits for it. When the platinum clanks against his teeth, Harry clenches so tight around Louis he nearly comes right then. Harry's relentless from that point, rubbing his tongue all over the ring, his ring, sucking on Louis' finger and biting and licking and making muffled, pretty sounds.
After they come, it's harder for Louis to pull his finger out of Harry's mouth than his cock out of his arse. Harry just won't let him. Louis lets him keep his hand for a while, uses it to tilt his mouth to the side and give him a mean lovebite high up his throat. Eventually he asks with a smile, "You trying to get the ring back?"
Harry growls and tightens his lips over his finger, making Louis laugh and maybe get a little turned on again. Harry's not completely useless though, rolls the condom off of Louis and ties it neatly. He even tucks Louis back in his slacks and zips him up, all while lazily sucking on his finger. Louis just stares at him, at the flash of silver between his full lips.
He ducks down to kiss the side of Harry's mouth, and that's what finally gets him to release his hand. Harry's always been needy for Louis' mouth. He's happy to kiss him back, deep and filthy and so, so loving. "Love you a lot. Sorry about the last couple of weeks."
"S'okay," Harry mumbles between pecks. "Got us here. The ring's been burning a hole in my pocket."
"How long have you been carrying it around for?" Louis asks curiously, his smile getting bigger and bigger, to the point that it interrupts the kissing, but he can't stop. His heart feels so full, like it's about to burst the longer he looks at Harry. He's going to marry the shit out of him.
Harry shrugs. "Few weeks. Or months."
"Jesus, Harold. I'm gonna propose back so hard, you don't even know."
Harry giggles, swinging his legs around Louis' sides and pulling them flush together. He's still bare-arsed on his desk; Louis should probably clean it thoroughly before teaching hours. When he's done having just-got-engaged sex. Because he just got engaged. To Harry Styles. For his thirtieth birthday. "You don't have to propose back, it's not a thing."
"Shut up, I'm making it a thing," he insists, running a wet hand through Harry's messy hair. "Paris for New Year's?"
"Guess I could clear my schedule," Harry says casually, but he's beaming with a cartoon twinkle in his eye. Open book.
"Clear the rest of your life, too." He wraps his arms around Harry's neck and reels him in for a possessive hug. "Gonna have you all to myself."
Harry sags against him, sweet and pliant. "Wanted to marry you for ages."
Louis smiles into his neck and breathes deep, buries his nose in his curly hair. There's nothing more familiar than this. Louis can't remember a time he couldn't curl up into Harry like this, nor can he bear imagining a time he won't be able to in the future.
"Good thing you always get what you want."