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Chapter Text

"Have you ever done this before?"

Harry blinks at Louis, grip white-knuckled. "Yeah, I'm not completely clueless."

Louis gives him a small, reassuring smile. "And we're not moving too fast?"

Harry bites his lip, looking up from under his lashes. "Are we?"

"Look around."

Harry does. He knows they're on a motorway, since there haven't been traffic lights for a while and he's on fifth gear, but 100 kilometres per hour suddenly seem a bit much, and the cars around him are definitely slower. "What do I do?" he asks, slightly panicked.

"Relax," Louis starts. "You either switch to the right lane or slow down."

Harry trains his eyes on the cars to his right, looking for an opening. It's a nightmare.

No one told him driving would be so confrontational. The first time a driver cursed him out, he was near tears. The first time he nearly ran over a girl that crossed the street in the middle of the road, he couldn't breathe for a solid minute. How is he supposed to know if there's enough room for him to squeeze into the lane? He's barely spatially-aware enough to walk, let alone drive a motorised death machine.

He decides to just let it go and slow down, but as soon as he reaches for the gear stick, Louis' hand settles over his, warm and small and very distracting. "You can do it, H," he says, like he means it. All of a sudden, Harry wholeheartedly believes him. Because Louis wouldn't bullshit him – he's a sarcastic shithead nearly all the time they spend together, but when he encourages Harry he's completely serious.

Harry takes a deep breath and starts signalling to the right. He waits as car after car zooms ahead, until finally there's enough of a gap in traffic for him to veer into the lane. He still waits for Louis', "Go on then."

He keeps his hand under Louis' on the gear stick. Just in case.

*

For Harry's seventeenth birthday, he gets Louis Tomlinson.

No, that's not right. For Harry's seventeenth birthday, he gets a provisional license and a promise that if he passes the tests, he could get his own car. Harry's ecstatic, has set his sights on a licence ever since Niall got his and tried to teach him how to drive. He failed, of course, loved Harry too much to tell him he was awful, and Gemma had already moved to the States. His mum was too emotionally fragile to see him behind the wheel, and Robin just didn't have the time.

In comes the driving instructor. And he's a decent guy, fifty-something with an impressive moustache and an even more impressive credit debt, going by the arguments he keeps having on his phone during Harry's very first lesson. The problem is his short temper. Harry's a very easygoing guy, he likes to enjoy each moment and all that shit. So he speaks slowly and flails around, tends to go off-topic at times. His first lesson starts out well enough, learning the gears and "feel of the car", controlling the hunk of metal. But then he gets distracted at a roundabout and misses the exit, and the instructor just snaps at him and tells him to shut up and focus.

Which is horribly rude, but Harry's all about giving people the benefit of the doubt. So he lasts four whole lessons before declaring the guy a total prick and asking for a different instructor, someone less… surly.

His first lesson with Louis takes place first thing in the morning on a Saturday.

Harry stumbles out through the front gate in thrown-on baggy jeans and his ratty Ramones shirt, sees Louis leaning casually against the car, and his knees nearly give out. Apparently "not surly" meant a drop dead gorgeous twenty-something scruffy guy with shaggy brown hair and cheekbones sharp enough to chop a salad with. Clearly, Robin's trying to take Harry out.

It's too late to fake his own death. Louis has already caught sight of him, and removes his sunglasses. His friendly smile is big enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, and Harry needs to reassess everything he's ever thought about himself. He's not chill at all. There's nothing easygoing about this morning.

His back is stiff as a board when he comes up to Louis. Introductions would be polite, right? "Hi," he blurts, drawing the word out for too long. "I'm Harry Styles."

"Seriously?" Louis asks, and fuck, his voice is higher and lovelier than Harry could have imagined, almost doesn't fit with his stubble and heavily tattooed forearm. This hooligan, what is he even doing without a jacket in the middle of February? Why is he tattooed? Why is he?

"Harry Styles? You're practically a rock star in the making. We'll make a Formula 1 racer out of you in no time."

Harry throws his head back and laughs. He can barely master running laps, he definitely doesn't belong in motorsports. Louis claps his back like he's in on the joke, and then climbs into the car. With the ice officially broken, it's a bit easier for Harry to get in the car himself. There's still a rather large part of him that's bewildered he's even in the driver's seat. He spreads his hands over the span of the steering wheel and itches to turn on the radio. He shouldn't, though. Maybe Louis hates radio.

"So, Harry," he starts. "I'm Louis Tomlinson. I'm twenty-five, from Doncaster originally, and I love football. Tell me a bit about yourself."

Harry quirks an eyebrow and looks over at Louis. His profile is – it's like looking at the sun. His lashes are long and his lips are pouty and his stubble is trimmed neatly. Stubble. How unfair. "Shouldn't we, um. Drive?"

"It's okay, I'm actually a bit early. We've gotta loosen you up first."

He gulps. He'd very much like Louis to loosen him up. "Alright, well. I'm Harry, I'm in year twelve, born and raised in Cheshire, and – " he looks around, suddenly worried he can't think of anything interesting about himself. "My favourite fruit is mango."

Louis hums in thought. "Interesting. Do you think about mangoes often?"

"As much as anyone," Harry says, shrugging. "Doesn't deliver much of a comedic effect, though."

"True, it's not like slipping on a banana peel."

Harry bites his lip. Should he break out the jokes yet? No, probably not. They've been having a perfectly serious conversation about fruit. He can control himself. "Louis, why are bananas never lonely?"

Louis scratches his beard, probably in an effort to not seem amused. "Why?"

"Because they hang around in bunches."

There's silence for a moment. And then Louis covers his face with his hands and laughs. "Oh God. Let's stick to driving."

Harry's unbearably pleased with himself. "Hey."

Louis nudges his shoulder, and that's a bit weird, he thinks, they're not really supposed to touch each other, but it's not like he minds. He's the best of cuddlers. Not that he'll be cuddling Louis anytime soon (or ever, if he's being honest), but whatever. He might be blushing.

"How many lessons have you had?" Louis asks, a smile still in his voice.

"Four."

"Oh, that's good. So you won't really need me to be hands-on." Harry stares at the wheel so hard he might burn a hole in it. If he had, like, laser vision. "Let's just drive and I'll only give you instructions when I want you to turn, alright?"

"Yup, um, alright," Harry says quickly, trying to ignore the dirty connotations of every single thing coming out of Louis' mouth. He throws the car into drive and hits the gas pedal.

Without lowering the hand brake.

He blushes furiously and puts his hand on it, but his brain must have been wiped out sometime between seeing Louis and getting into the car, because he can't remember whether he's supposed to push or pull it, and he can't just try because he doesn't want to humiliate himself further in front of Louis. Not that he's any less of an idiot when he's just sitting and staring at his own hand in panic. He hates driving.

Louis gently puts his hand on Harry's, warm and confident, and pushes it down. The car stops making noise. Louis takes Harry's hand and puts it on the gear shift. Harry thanks god he's wearing loose jeans.

It's going to be a hard journey to the test.

*

"H, is your blazer inside out?"

Harry shakes his head to focus on Niall. And then registers what he said and shit, it might actually be inside out. He shrugs it off his back and rolls his eyes. He came to school late and dishevelled, after having a furious wank first thing in the morning. "I'm a mess."

"It's just a blazer, mate. No one even wears them," Niall's quick to reassure him. And insult him at the same time.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. "They're part of our uniform, you know."

"Please, you're not even wearing a button-down underneath."

It's true, he's got a white t-shirt on. He's a mess. "It was a rough morning."

Niall snorts like he doubts it, and ruffles Harry's hair like he loves him nonetheless. "What happened?"

Harry bites his lip and leans closer to Niall. It's the middle of English class. "I had a driving lesson."

"And? Were you hurt or something?" Niall asks, eyes wide.

"No, of course not. Except for my brain maybe." Niall still looks confused. Harry sighs. "I want to fuck my driving instructor."

"Ew, isn't he like, fifty and bald or summat?"

"No, my dad hired a new one. Who was supposed to be younger and friendlier. And hotter than the sun."

Niall laughs uproariously as usual, causing their teacher to yell at them to settle down. "So how old is he?"

"Twenty-five," Harry whispers with a sigh.

Niall claps his back comfortingly. "That's not too bad."

Which is definitely not what Harry was expecting to hear. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean, eight years isn't the worst you've come up with."

This must mean Niall approves. Harry chews on his necklace thoughtfully. "You think I could, like, seduce him?"

"I dunno mate. I just know you usually get what you want."

Bless Niall's endless faith in human beings. It's true, though. Harry's a pretty determined guy. He looks deep into Niall's eyes. "I really want him."

"You'll have to be subtle about it, though. So he doesn't think you want to suck his dick to pass the driver's test."

Harry sucks the little airplane pendant into his mouth automatically. "So, subtle seduction."

Which leads to him in an absolute frenzy before his second lesson with Louis. Well, as much of a frenzy as he can get in. He's rooting around his closet lazily with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. "How do we feel about skinny jeans?"

"Nah mate, you don't wanna come off like you're trying too hard," Barbara says.

Harry hums, inspecting every hanger. He doesn't even own skinny jeans. Maybe it'll be next year's look, when he's a cool senior who drives and possibly has a hot older boyfriend. "So normal jeans?"

"Mm-hm. And maybe the nice tight button-up I borrowed last week."

"Yeah," Niall adds emphatically. "That's a good shirt."

Harry rolls his eyes. He should've just called Barbara directly instead of calling Niall and having him put the phone on speaker because "how the fuck should I know what's a good outfit for 'I'm classy but I want you to shag me over the hood of your car'?"

He still thanks them both before hanging up, because he's nice and polite and classy. He pulls out his dark wash jeans and the blue shirt, buttoning it up almost to the top. His hair is artfully dishevelled, he thinks, as much as a riot of curls can be styled. He figures he looks good.

Of course he still feels slightly faint when he walks out just as Louis pulls over and switches seats. He tries not to skip to the car, but his "seductive saunter" isn't working either, since he keeps stumbling over thin air. He's an awful seducer. This isn't going to work at all.

He's so exasperated with himself he misses Louis' endeared little smile when he straps into the driver's seat. "Alright?" Harry asks, finally looking over.

Louis' got effortlessly cool aviators on, and his hair is wild over his forehead, spiky like he just rolled out of bed. He's wearing a thin jumper this time, rolled up his forearms so his delicate wrists and some of his tattoos are showing. He looks like a sexy imp. "Alright. How was school?"

"Good, good." Not like he spent the whole day thinking about this very moment. It's only his second time seeing Louis, but he's still drawn to him like they've known each other forever. He can't really explain it. He's a teenager, though, so he doesn't really have to. Niall claims to have been in love with Barbara since he was thirteen. "It's a short day, just maths and English. Was home by one."

"Maths." Louis wrinkles his nose. "School was just a big social to me, you know? Except for drama, I fucking loved drama."

Well, if they're on cursing terms, Harry can probably tease him, right? "You were a drama nerd?"

Louis raises his sunglasses to his hair, pinning Harry to the spot with his bright blue eyes. "Excuse you, I was a drama god."

"Of course, I'm sorry. I'm sure you were worshipped." He starts the car before adding, "By other drama nerds."

Louis huffs, mock-offended. "I knew the baby face was all an act. You're a cheeky little bugger."

Harry makes a show of pouting and fluttering his lashes. "Don't know what you're talking about. No need to get dramatic."

The confidence from taking the piss out of Louis carries over to backing out of the driveway all on his own, stretching his arm over Louis' headrest and twisting around to look out the rear window. Once he's backed up enough he straightens himself and. Maybe. Possibly catches Louis looking at his profile. His heart climbs to his throat and he accidentally shifts to second gear instead of first, causing Louis to start explaining the gears again.

He tries to listen to him and not be embarrassed. By the time they make it to the main road, Louis' back to his method of only giving directions. Honestly, it makes Harry a bit nervous, because the silence gives him more room to think about his driving and face the fact he's bloody awful at it. Of course, the nerves only make him more awful.

Right on cue, Louis starts talking. "What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get a license?"

He doesn't know if Louis read him perfectly or just wanted to initiate a conversation. Either way, he's grateful. "Haven't really thought that far ahead. I'll probably drive my mum to work or something."

"Very rebellious. You can do better."

Harry narrows his eyes at the rear-view mirror, finds Louis smiling good-naturedly. "So there's this pub with an open mic night, but there's no bus stations near it, and none of my mates ever want to go with me. I'll probably go there."

"Much better. No drinking, though, right?"

Harry points to himself, then reattaches his hand to the wheel in a flash. "You mentioned my baby face. I wouldn't get served anyway."

Louis hums, like he doesn't believe him, and he must have keen instincts because he's right, Harry has no trouble getting drinks. Perks of being friends with older guys. Louis lets it go, though. "You like singing?"

Harry nods immediately, smiling. "Love it."

"You're probably good, too."

Now Harry's beaming, pleased enough to get on the motorway without a minor heart attack. "What makes you say that?"

"You've got a very deep voice," Louis explains, dropping his own voice to an alarmingly attractive bass. "For an eighteen year old."

Harry doesn't correct him. His smile is threatening to swallow his face. "Thanks."

"'Course. Take the next exit. D'you wanna be a singer when you're older?"

Harry bites his lip, aware that he's still horrible at switching lanes, but the nerves are evenly dispersed between having to drive and having to give Louis a good answer. "Maybe. Suppose I could also be a baker or go study something boring in uni. Or become a driving instructor."

Louis laughs. It's the best sound in the world. Harry's warm all over. "I didn't even want to learn how to drive a car."

"Really?" Harry asks, trying not to sound too eager to learn more random things about Louis.

"Yeah, when I was seventeen I got an A1 licence, for small motorbikes up to 125 cc. That's the engine size. Figured it would instantly make me hardcore, you know?"

Harry only nods, brain stuck on the visual of Louis straddling a motorcycle in a leather jacket. He's afraid if he opens his mouth the only thing that will come out will be the only thing going through his head: don't get hard don't get hard don't get hard.

"Well, when I turned nineteen I wanted to get a licence for a bigger bike, something you can really ride." Harry's fingers tighten on the wheel. "But I'm rather short, some might say. And for the practical test they only had huge models that were too big for me."

Harry bursts out laughing. "Oh my god. Please tell me you couldn't reach the pedals."

Louis sighs long-sufferingly. "My bum hurt for a week, it was mortifying. I can ride something big now, but back then I just decided to get tattoos to prove I'm a straight-up G, and got a car license."

Harry's starting to suspect Louis' deliberately saying things in the most suggestive way possible. It probably has nothing to do with Harry, could just be the way he is. Harry shakes his head. Don't get hard don't get hard don't get hard don't crash the car. "What was your first tattoo?"

"Got three all in one day, actually. Get us safely to a stoplight and I'll show you."

It might have been a trick, but Harry's never driven more safely or determinedly in his life. Louis even pets his shoulder and tells him he did a good job on the motorway. Of all things, that's what finally breaks him. Don't get harder don't get harder do not crash the car.

He's blushing furiously by the time they finally hit a red light. He adjusts his pants subtly and finally looks over at Louis. It doesn't look like he noticed, thank god. "Um, the tattoos?" Harry asks politely. "You don't have to show me, I'm just curious."

"Oh, it's alright, they're not anywhere naughty," he says, smiling mischievously, and he must be the most inappropriate driving instructor in the world, but Harry never wants to leave this car. Louis' nimble fingers tangle in the right sleeve of his jumper and he pulls it all the way up to his armpit. Harry blinks. Louis' skin is golden and his arm is subtly toned and Harry wants to munch on him a little.

"So there's the stick man," Louis starts, pointing at the little doodle of the skater, almost hidden in the middle of his inner arm collection. "And the blank quotes, which I still like," he says, pointing to the inside of his wrist, above the rope. Harry tries to think of the ten million possible symbolic meanings, but then Louis flexes his arm and points to his fucking bulging munchable bicep. Far Away.

Harry could have kept blinking and internally drooling over Louis' inked arm if it weren't for someone honking rudely behind them, startling Harry into accelerating sharply. Louis easily takes over the speed with the dual control pedals. He doesn't tell him off for not concentrating, but doesn't apologise for distracting him either.

Harry tries to regulate his breathing, his heart beating way too fast. His driving is choppy at best from that point, too cautious and insecure. Louis doesn't try to get his spirits back up, just turns on the radio and lets him focus on the road.

He really is awful at seduction.

*

Niall meets Louis for the first time two weeks later. Harry always asked Louis to pick him up from his house, specifically when no one was home, "just in case", but after two weeks and no progress in his seduction plan, he’s given up on making Louis forget he's a schoolboy and just booked a lesson during a free period. It's what everyone does anyway, a good use of his time. The concept still makes him sad.

He's not a quitter, really he's not, but being exposed to Louis so often only cemented how completely out of his league he is. Because Louis' hilarious and clever and fit and older, and he gets that Harry's clumsy and jittery when he's nervous, so he keeps distracting Harry with questions and stories. Somewhere along the way they ended up accidentally getting to know each other, and it made everything worse. He doesn't just want to touch him, he proper fancies him. It's a nightmare. ("I'm not just sexually frustrated, it's like my heart is frustrated too," Harry told Niall over a spliff. Niall just laughed and pulled him into his lap to pet him comfortingly.)

"What crawled up your arse?" Niall asks him, frowning under his shades.

Harry gulps and adjusts his blazer again. It's a nice dark blue and stretches just right over his broadening shoulders. It's not hard to pull off the preppy schoolboy look when he's actually a preppy schoolboy, but Harry's still concerned. "Nothing, tragically. You really don't have to wait with me."

Louis' running a few minutes late, so Harry and Niall are just standing by the gate where Louis' told him to wait. Niall shoves his shoulder. "Don't be a dumbfuck. I wanna see if he's really all that."

"You think I lied?" Harry asks, forfeiting his obsessive staring contest with the road to glare at Niall. "I showed you his Facebook page."

"He's always crossing his eyes and throwing up gang signs in pictures. That's no man who deserves you."

Harry's heart melts a little. "That was lovely, mate."

"Whatever," Niall brushes him off. "That his ride?"

Harry snaps his eyes back to the road and yes, there's the familiar car. Harry's getting better at reacting to Louis. As in, he doesn't start hyperventilating when Louis climbs out of the car and walks from the right side to the left, waving at Harry with a crinkly-eyed smile. Instead Harry keeps an eye on Niall, who stops devouring his sandwich for long enough to wave back at Louis.

"Well?" Harry asks, nudging Niall.

Niall swallows. "I wouldn't say hotter than the sun, but I'll give him fit as fuck."

Harry can work with that. "Isn't he just lovely? His hair always does things. And his eyes are blue like yours but kind of – "

"Please go to your lesson before I barf."

Right, okay. Harry leans over to hug him and then hitches his bag higher and walks over to the car.

Before he even says hello, Louis asks, "Who was that?"

He sounds more serious than usual, and Harry arches an eyebrow at him while lowering the hand brake. At least he's got the driving thing mostly down. "My best mate."

Louis deflates. "Oh. Niall, right?"

Harry's eyebrow climbs even higher. He remembered. They're obviously too close. He bites his lip excitedly. "Yeah, Niall. He's Irish."

"Right." Louis finally turns his head from the window to Harry. His hair is flatter than usual, brushing his forehead softly. He hasn't shaved in a while, either. His cheekbones are the same devastating chiselled state.

Sometimes Harry wonders how Louis doesn't notice the blatant check-out he gets every time Harry so much as blinks his way. He actually caught himself biting his knuckle the other day while staring at Louis through a red light. He's terrible. "How are you?"

"Frustrated." Same. "I had a first-timer today, and I swear he deliberately tried running over several little old ladies."

Harry snorts. "So, much worse than me, right?"

Louis' highly aware of Harry's need for approval by now. He just pets his arm. "A lot worse, sweetheart." It's supposed to sound teasing or condescending. It mostly makes Harry's chest constrict. "Is that your school uniform?"

And back to depression. Yes, I'm a child. "Yes, it is."

"I like the blazer. It's proper posh."

This might be the moment Harry falls in love. Because Louis commented on the one item of clothing Harry likes to wear outside of school, too. He grins and taps his fingers on his lips, tugging on them distractedly. "Fancy private school, remember?"

It takes Louis a moment to reply. "Why of course, Harold. Turn left here, I want you in built-up areas."

Harry frowns, but turns left onto a side street. "I wanted to go fast."

"I know you do, but you need to learn how to go slow first. It's harder."

He pouts. It all sounds like an annoying metaphor right now. Louis doesn't need to talk to Harry about hard. His time has been neatly divided into "boner" and "semi" ever since he met Louis. "Alright. Can we at least get away from here for a bit?"

"This horrid place of learning? Remember that I'm a teacher."

Harry snorts, slapping Louis' arm without thinking. "Like you're setting such a fine example. I keep thinking about your tattoos."

He probably shouldn't have said that.

He really, really shouldn't have said that. Louis' quiet for such a long time (like, two seconds) that Harry panics and goes to shift gears but his hand slips and ends up on Louis' thigh. They touch each other in, like, a laddy way all the time, a shove here or a tickle there, but Harry's never come in direct contact with Louis' thigh in black skinny jeans. It's muscular and solid, just the way it looked whenever Harry appreciated how… generally curvy Louis is. His eyes dart down and great, now he knows the approximate ratio of his big hand compared to Louis' crotch area.

He snatches his hand away and plasters it to the wheel, apologising profusely and blushing.

Finally, Louis clears his throat. "It's alright, Harold. Let's keep the hands above the belt, yeah?"

Louis' probably smirking at him. Harry probably won't look him in the eyes for the next century. He's entering semi territory, barely five minutes into the lesson. Forty to go.

(He's late to biology because as soon as Louis drops him off back at school he locks himself in a toilet stall and jerks off, fast and angry, biting down hard on his wrist to keep the desperate sounds in. Thinks about biting Louis' strong thigh. Comes.)

*

Harry's made a mistake. A fatal error.

He has two minutes to prepare himself for a driving lesson, two, because the only time Louis was available was right when Harry's shift at the bakery ended, and Harry just agreed like a dumb idiot. So now he has to tear the stupid apron off him and ask Babs if he looks nice. She pinches his cheek and tells him he looks lovely, of course.

He sighs and washes his face thoroughly, fluffs up his hair so it doesn't look like his head's been stuck in an oven for the past six hours. His cheeks are hopelessly flushed and he burnt his fingers on a scone earlier, but at least he remembered to bring a nice white polo shirt to change into.

He drums his fingers on his lips and contemplates sending Cal a picture of himself for approval, but ultimately decides against it. There's no time anyway. He grabs a couple of sweet buns and some biscuits and skids out of the bakery just before 6 PM.

Louis' already waiting outside in the passenger seat, feet thrown over the dashboard, legs spread. Harry takes very, very calming breaths before he opens the door and spills into his seat. "Hi mate," he says, voice lower than anticipated. It's been two weeks since the thigh incident, but he still can't keep his eyes off of Louis' legs.

Louis tosses his phone into the cup holder behind the handbrake and stretches out exaggeratedly, his jacket riding up his stomach, and then he repositions his legs on the floor. "Hey – oh my god," he cuts himself off, sniffing like a hound. "You smell amazing, what is that?"

Harry flushes immediately, pleased down to his toes. He flaps the bag around. "I know it's a bit late for tea, but I got you treats."

Louis actually claps excitedly. Harry thinks that's what he loves most about him – he looks etched in marble sometimes, with his cheekbones and styled hair, but he's so animated and excited and a little shit all the time. Harry kind of adores him. "I love treats, you're the best," Louis claims, reaching out. At first Harry thinks he's about the snatch the paper bag, but then he ruffles Harry's hair and. That's new. Harry's neck arches into it automatically, but at least he keeps from purring.

"Calm down," he says, mostly to himself, and opens the bag. "Buns or biscuits?"

Louis hums like it's the most important decision he's ever had to make. "Are they sweet?"

"My buns are always sweet." He tries not to grin, so Louis could take it either way, but of course Louis laughs and waggles his finger at his face. It's his usual tactic whenever Harry flirts too blatantly.

"Gimme your sweet buns then."

Harry pulls them out obediently and shoves them under Louis' nose. Louis takes a big whiff and laughs again. "You should really consider racing cars with those yeti paws you call hands." He still takes both buns in his dainty hands.

Harry shrugs and watches Louis take his first bite. He closes his eyes and makes a soft noise that goes straight to Harry's cock. Fuck, why are his eyelashes so long, what purpose do they even serve other than sweeping prettily over his cheekbones? This isn't a desert and Louis Tomlinson isn't a camel.

"This is ace," is Louis' verdict, since he, of course, talks with his mouth full. He must mistakenly think Harry's longing gaze is directed at the food, since he sighs and holds one hand up. "Here cutie, have a bun."

Someone should arrest him for all the fake terms of endearment. They keep making Harry glow and it's unfair. He doesn't even want a stupid bun. "It's cool, they're for you."

"Good, good student." He even eats cutely. Louis' this cross between a sexy professor and a meerkat. Harry should tear his eyes away and actually start driving at some point. "I should repay you."

"Of course not, I made these."

Louis' eyes widen in wonder. "Seriously? Mate, that's amazing, I can barely even boil water."

Harry preens. The point of the treats was to both distract Louis from his driving, and to shove something in Louis' mouth so Louis won't distract him from his driving. That one backfired spectacularly. "That's nothing. I make a mean profiterole."

"Oh, is that the one that…" He trails off, then presses his fingers to his mouth and makes an exploding noise, but his eyes are clinging to Harry's lips. Harry can't help but lick them, like there's actually been a creamy explosion on them recently.

It's unexpectedly intense. Louis' attention on him makes his squirm, and he laughs awkwardly to diffuse the tension. Louis' eyes dart back up to his eyes. "Anyway, you can actually make that stuff? Just this weekend I saw them being made on Bake Off. That Paul is such a size queen, I swear to god."

"You watch?"

"Of course, I binge it. What do you do on weekends?"

He says it with a sly smile, like he thinks he knows Harry's knee-deep in alcohol and pussy or something. Harry spends his weekends babysitting or walking his friends' dogs. He matches Louis' smirk and says, "Homework, of course."

Louis taps his nose unexpectedly. "Obviously." He finishes up his bun and then sucks on his fingers, which, okay, Harry's breathing. "Thanks for real, though. I haven't eaten all day."

Concern surges in Harry ridiculously. "Seriously? Lots of lessons back-to-back?"

"Oh, no, just you today." He pops his middle finger in his mouth. "Every couple of weeks I volunteer at this children's hospice? You know, just hanging out with the kids. It's awesome, but not very appetizing."

This might be the moment Harry falls in love. What the fuck. Louis might be the most inappropriate driving instructor in the world, but he's such a standup guy. Harry almost feels bad for wishing Louis would fuck an underage student driver. "That's incredible, mate."

Louis immediately brushes the praise off. "Whatever. I wanna trade my bun for a biscuit."

Harry makes a big show of shoving the bun back in the bag and pulling out an extra sweet butterscotch cookie. Louis holds it protectively with both hands and takes a long bite. He does the eyelashes thing again. Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"We should schedule every lesson after your shift," Louis says mid-chew, spraying crumbs everywhere. Some catch on his beard, and Harry thoughtlessly reaches up to brush them off.

It's not even that it's a dumb move, too familiar and domestic and weird; it's that he's actually made contact with Louis' face. His beard, his mature hot older boyfriend beard. And it's marvellous and scruffy to the touch, and Harry pictures it against ten different places on his body, scratching his skin red and sensitive. He shivers, eyes wandering from Louis' jawline to his pink lips. They part slowly, like Louis wants to say something, except nothing comes out but soft breaths. Harry's fingers drift dangerously close to them.

The surreal moment is cut short by Louis' phone ringing. Usually Louis makes a point of ignoring his calls when Harry's behind the wheel, but this time he practically twists in half to salvage his phone from the cup holder. Harry's embarrassingly aware of how his heart is beating a hole in his chest, so he tries to take deep breaths, forget how it felt to touch Louis' skin, listen to Louis' overly loud ringtone. It's some pop song, by a girl band Harry vaguely remembers hearing on the radio.

"Hi babes."

Well that gets Harry's attention. He stares down at his lap, picking at the fabric of his chinos in what he hopes looks like a polite avoidance of eavesdropping and not an obvious sign of sexual frustration. He just wants Louis to rub his beard against his thighs a little bit, is that so wrong?

"I'm just starting a lesson," Louis says. His voice is soft in a way Harry isn't sure he likes. "Yeah. It was alright, I'll tell you about it at home." Harry definitely doesn't like that. His eyes flit momentarily to Louis' hand, but no, there's definitely no wedding ring. That's last year's nightmare. Ben bloody Winston.

"No, he brought me sweets." Oh. So the horrible person on the phone apparently knows Harry? Or that Louis has a male student, that makes much more sense. Louis laughs at something the wretched person says. "I promise I won't, Zayn. I'll see you soon?" Another gut-wrenching pause. "Alright. Love you, bye."

And that would be Harry's heart breaking into pieces. Zayn. What a stupid fucking cool name. He's probably nice and lovely and fit with a name like that. By the time Louis puts the phone back in the cup holder, Harry's imagined the entirety of Louis and Zayn's summer wedding, and is in a full-on strop about it.

Thinking back, Harry suddenly remembers a number of instances where Louis' mentioned a Zayn, but since it was never coupled with babes or I love you, he didn't pay it any mind. That was dumb. He knew it was unlikely that Louis was single, like, he's bloody perfect, of course he has a boyfriend or whatever. And even if he were single, it's not like Harry had a shot anyway. But he still feels the sting of rejection.

*

Harry meets Zayn one week later. It's brief and probably coincidental, but feels monumental. They start the lesson at the school again, and Harry's actually got his seatbelt on and is starting to chat with Louis before he notices the person in the back seat isn't another student driver, but a startlingly beautiful man. He gapes at the rearview mirror for so long Louis says, "Getting jealous over here."

Harry blinks, looking from the mirror to Louis and back again. He's getting Older Men whiplash. There are too many hot people in this car. Maybe Louis could ride in the boot. "I'm so sorry, um. I'll just. Sorry. I'm Harry. I can't promise it won't be a bumpy ride, but I have great knock knock jokes if you get bored."

"He is a charmer," the man says with a thick accent, looking at the back of Louis' head.

"Very well-behaved," Louis agrees, like he's proud, like Harry's isn't right here, and Harry has no idea what's happening but he feels hot all over. "Harry, this is Zayn, my mate."

"Nice to meet you bro," Zayn says, reaching out a hand like he hasn't just dumped metaphorical ice water all over Harry's lap.

Zayn. Now that Harry knows Other Older Man is essential to the plot, he gives him a better look. So Zayn is gorgeous and cool and very heavily tattooed, and Harry doesn't typically hate people, like, ever, but this one is not to be trusted. He won't be fooled by his surprisingly sunny smile or how he harmlessly says, "Sorry for hijacking your lesson, I just needed a ride to this restaurant and Lou said you were too nice to mind."

Harry bites his lip and plays with his bracelets in lieu of smacking Louis upside the head for making promises and exposing Harry to his tattooed boyfriend who casually refers to him by cute nicknames. Of course Harry's too nice to mind. "No problem. Just give me directions."

"Of course."

Harry's very lucky he's a solid driver. It's the only thing stopping him from wrapping the car around a tree during the ten minute drive to the restaurant. Because Louis looks exceptionally good in a tight T-shirt and two days' worth of scruff (not that Harry charts his facial hair growth in his journal), and Louis has an obscenely good-looking tattooed boyfriend, and they keep talking about stuff they need to buy for their flat or shows they're watching on their telly. The worst part is that they're not even arseholes about it. They really try to include Harry in the conversation, but for everyone's sake he tunes them out completely.

He's really not in the habit of feeling shitty about himself, but this might be one of those rare times. He shouldn't have gotten attached to his driving instructor in the first place.

He swears it's like a knife to the gut when Zayn finally tells him to pull over, and Louis makes him wait while he exits the car. He tries not to look, but his eyes still drift to the window and he catches a glimpse of Louis hugging Zayn tightly goodbye. He's sad. Like, he'll definitely wank to Louis and Zayn engaging in various homosexual activities, because fucking hell are they hotter than 98 percent of the gay porn industry, but he's not going to be happy about it. They'll be sad wanks.

The deep, deep sadness makes Harry give less of a shit. There's no need to beat around the bush.

As soon as Louis returns to the car, Harry doesn't give him a moment to open his mouth. "You could've just said he's your boyfriend. I wouldn't have minded, y'know. I'm bi meself."

He thinks it's an ample way of letting it be known he's upset yet covering his tracks all the same. When Louis turns startled eyes to him, Harry thinks that he's made the wrong move. "He's not, though. I don't have a boyfriend. He's just my best mate. And flatmate. Like, we just dropped him off for a date with his fiancée."

Harry blinks. That's a lot of information he's pretty sure he didn't ask for. Also, Louis isn't fucking Zayn. It means Harry's made a complete twat of himself, but it also means Louis is single and most probably gay and not fucking Zayn.

Alright, he's back in the game. Well, maybe the bench. At least the general area of the field. "Oh."

"Yeah, so." Louis drums his fingers on the windowpane. He seems oddly uncomfortable. Sometimes he just gets like that, though, it's quite unnerving. Especially since Harry's usual tactic of putting people at ease is to smile really wide, and that only seems to make Louis more jittery. Whatever, Harry won't be rude about it. It's just Louis. And Harry's just been incredibly rude to his best mate. Who he isn't fucking. Harry's grinning to himself when he puts the car back in drive.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" Louis asks finally.

"You not having a boyfriend?" Yes, a thousand times yes.

Louis snorts. "No, you casually coming out of the closet to me."

"Was I not supposed to?" Harry glances at the rearview mirror to check if there's a car behind him. And also if Louis' looking at him. It always seems like he is, Harry has no idea how he even criticises his driving if he never looks at the road. "It's not really a big deal to me. I already came out to everyone two years ago. Well, everyone that matters."

He doesn't count it as a huge achievement. He's always been a bit quirkier than his classmates, but for some reason being tall and nice and Niall Horan's best friend spared him any bullying. He told Gemma first, then his mum and Robin, and finally Niall. It sort of spread from there. Not because Niall told anyone, bless him, but because Harry never denied it and kept finding himself in heated debates about gender equality. Also he might have openly wept to Niall and several bystanders about Mr. Winston's face.

"That's great, Harry. Took me a long while to do it."

"Yeah?" Harry leaps on the subject, peeking at Louis from the corner of his eye.

Louis nods, and for a second Harry thinks he'll leave it at that, but then he goes on. "When I was around your age I wanted to be a famous actor. I thought I'd finish college and immediately make it big, and somehow convinced myself that getting a girlfriend was part of the package."

Harry frowns. "Why? There are so many gay British actors today – "

"Harold," Louis interrupts him. "I know. There was… a lot that went into that. I was different when I was twenty. I kept the girlfriend thing up for way too long before I just… gave up."

"On her?"

"On acting." Oh. Surprisingly, Louis forges on, despite sharing more than Harry ever thought he would. "I think I'm just meant for something different."

"Being a driving instructor?" He hopes there's no judgement in his tone. He honestly doesn't judge Louis, feels lucky to even be privy to so much personal information. Also, Louis isn't fucking Zayn.

"No," Louis snaps, rolling his eyes. "I'm getting my teaching certificate this year. Gonna be a drama teacher."

Harry grins, immediately digging the concept. Louis will be a fantastic teacher. "You'll be a fantastic teacher."

"Uh, thanks," he says, like he's surprised by Harry's earnestness. "I just think it's important, you know? For young people to express themselves like that. And my practice school is really nice. The education system isn't that decrepit yet, is it?"

"Not if I know what decrepit means." Louis laughs. Harry's pleased. Louis is single. "You're really just a good guy, aren't you?"

Louis gives him a strange look. "I'm trying really hard to be."

It's starting to come together. Louis being single, Louis never shutting Harry down explicitly, Louis flirting so bluntly he must just be playing the part of the lecherous old man, but what if it's the only way he can flirt for real? What if Harry's back in the game?

Louis unwittingly gives him the perfect opening with his next question. "Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

Harry could probably weasel out of it, since it is a rather inappropriate question, but. "Nope. Haven't really… found the right person, I guess." Alright, why the fuck not. He's just told Louis how honest he is. He goes for broke. "I have this thing for older men? But they tend to be, like, happily married to women? Or be my creative writing teachers? Or both? It's very inconvenient. I wanna be happily married."

Louis doesn't even try to cover up his laugh. "Even as young as you are?"

"Definitely," he says emphatically, shaking out his fringe for good measure. He thinks Louis says something or makes a sound, but a car honks behind them and Harry instinctively pounds the gas pedal, like it's his first fucking lesson, and Louis has to manage that disaster.

Finally, when Harry's calmed down and convinced himself he's in the right lane at the right speed, Louis tacks on, "I'm sure you'll find someone. You're a good kid, mate."

Disappointment settles heavy in his gut, but he gets over it by the time the lesson ends. He's a positive person, after all. Louis might have just dismissed him completely, but at least Louis' single.

The day's not a total loss.

*

It's Harry's best lesson yet. He booked an hour and a half, and they're rocking out to Little Mix again and Louis didn't have to brake even once. He knows he's getting ahead of himself, but still, after the time's up and they switch places for the short drive back to Harry's school, he asks, "That was lesson number fourteen, right?"

"Yeah," Louis says, switching lanes annoyingly smoothly. "Have you thought about when you wanted to take the practical test?"

As much as Harry's excited about his driving skills, he's in no hurry to say goodbye to Louis. "Nope. But I am thinking about asking for that car already."

"What?" Louis asks. He's probably making a confused face, but, like every time he drives, Harry's more focused on his hands and forearms, strong and sure.

"That was the deal. I pass the test, I get a new car."

"Sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn't hear you over the quids spilling from your mouth to the floor of my cheap car."

Harry rolls his eyes. Nothing could get him down right now. "If you're fishing for a raise you could probably ask. The private lessons are keeping you from having more students, right?"

It was a condition, Harry found out. Robin pays Louis extra so Harry has the car to himself and isn't more stressed than he has to be. Not that he's got stage fright, but – whatever keeps Louis away from other boys.

Louis barks a laugh. "Trust me, I'm not fishing. If you paid me any more I'd have to start giving you – tips."

It's the high of driving really well and pleasing his instructor, it's this overconfidence that allows a certain thought to sneak into Harry's head. That Louis didn't mean to say "tips" at all. That Louis was this close to bringing up the subject of head-giving during a lesson.

It's that feeling that has him asking, "D'you reckon I could pass the test?"

Louis hums, perhaps still flustered over his slip of the tongue. It's been happening more and more lately. Harry might have also been breaking out the tighter-fitting shirts and making sure to play with his lips all day so they're nice and puffy when he meets Louis. Since he's decided he's back in the game, he's damn well going to play.

"If you drive like you do with me, sure thing," he answers eventually.

Harry beams. Louis looks pointedly at the road. Or maybe he's just driving, whatever. "How awful would it be if I called my dad right now and talked him into letting me get a car?"

"Very awful. You'll see him in a few hours."

"But then you wouldn't be there to back me up in case I needed support." He thinks it's a legitimate reason. Louis probably disagrees, going by his scoff, but he still ends up nodding.

Harry pulls out his phone excitedly. Robin answers after just a couple of rings. "Hazza, how are you? Aren't you at a lesson?"

"I'm alright, actually just finished it. So I've been thinking, like." Louis snorts next to him and Harry flicks his ear. "We might as well go car shopping, don't you think? Just to get the process started even before I pass my test. I'm really close to it."

Robin chuckles. "I don't know about that. Are you sure you're ready?"

Harry nods eagerly, even though Robin can't see him. "Yeah, more than. Even Mr. Tomlinson agrees, right?" he asks pointedly, putting his phone on speaker and looking at Louis pleadingly. Please be cool.

Louis arches an eyebrow at him, mouthing Mr. Tomlinson?

Of course, he's cool. "Mr. Twist, Harry'll pass in no time."

Harry blows Louis a goddamn kiss and turns off the speaker, playing with his own curls happily while Robin says they'll "talk about it at home".

"I hope you appreciated that," Louis says as soon as Harry hangs up. "I feel like a sell-out."

Harry laughs wildly and hurries to cover his mouth. "Very. Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson."

Louis rolls his eyes. "What even was that? Is that what you call me at home?"

Not really, it's just Louis or The Instructor. "Mr. T if I'm in a hurry."

It's Louis' turn to laugh. "Like you even get that cultural reference, you child."

"Hey, not all of us consume shitty reality shows exclusively. I don't keep up with the Kardashians."

"That makes you better than me, then?"

Harry stifles another giggle. "Of course not, I'm sorry. I like watching old shows with my dad sometimes. The A-Team and M.A.S.H. It's funny. He's funny, too, Robin's great."

(This is the turning point.)

"Yeah?" Louis asks. He's probably not expecting a reply, since they've never talked about family stuff – at least, not their own families. They have the Kardashian talk every week, and don't get Harry started on the fucking Duck Dynasty. Reality families are always awful, he doesn't get it.

Anyway. "Yeah, it's. It had been just my mum for a long time before she met Robin and settled down. He's been really great with my sister wanting to go to uni in the States and me coming out and, you know. Raising two teenagers. He's a good dad."

Louis' smiling to himself, like he's pleased for Harry. He doesn't really expect a heartfelt reply, so he's not disappointed when Louis says, "He would've had me at new car, really."

"Well obviously. It's all about him being well-off for me. I'm a right sugarbaby."

(This is the middle of the rabbit hole.)

Louis frowns, surprisingly serious, so Harry falls over himself backtracking. "I'm kidding, of course, Jesus, he's my dad. I'm just playing. Most of our money's from my grandparents, they have this farm. Never mind."

"It's alright, Harry," Louis reassures him. Harry quiets down immediately. When Louis doesn't add anything, Harry just glances outside the window and nibbles on his bracelets, thinking about his family and this awful joke Robin told him that Harry immediately made his own.

"We're almost there," Louis says, cutting into Harry's thoughts.

(It's a mistake. A slip. A dumb, dumb thing to add to the string of dumb things that come out of Harry's mouth in Louis' presence.)

"Thanks, daddy."

He's so distracted by his thoughts that he wouldn't have even noticed his mistake if Louis hadn't swerved sharply. Harry grabs the oh shit handle and turns panicked eyes to the driver's seat, only to find Louis grimacing and cursing to himself. He's about to ask what happened when it hits him.

He gets an actual headrush from the mortification, blushing faster than he can ramble. And ramble he does. "Oh my god, that was so weird, I'm so sorry, I was thinking about my dad and we were talking to him and it just slipped out, fuck."

Louis doesn't interrupt him through the whole thing and Harry just wants to jump out of the moving car, he really does, because it's like accidentally calling your teacher mum.

Only no, not really.

Daddy. That's some porn stuff, or at least a racy Beyoncé song, completely foreign to him, but Harry's even more turned on than usual and Jesus Christ. He shoves his knuckle into his mouth to shut himself up, and Louis still hasn't laughed or said anything. Harry, very slowly, completely terrified, turns his head.

Louis' knuckles are white on the wheel and there's an actual flush working its way over his cheekbones.

An odd sense of calm settles over Harry by the time they reach his house. A sex zen. Louis might have just been hit by second hand embarrassment for Harry, but he might have not. Might have been hit by something else. And there's no reason for Harry to feel awkward if. If he can use this.

Lesson fourteen is very significant.

(Harry tests the theory in lesson fifteen and sixteen. Just teasing, right? Just huffing and saying "Yes, daddy" after the tenth time Louis tries to explain a certain crossroads situation. Because Harry knows, he's a decent driver. And because it shuts Louis right up.

It's not that Harry's goal is to make him uncomfortable, but he's never thought he even had the ability to keep someone on edge, let alone someone like Louis. And it always flusters Louis, and Harry might just launch Seduction Plan 2.0.)

*

The first time Harry fingers himself, it's Niall's fault. Sort of. It's the weekend after the daddy thing started, and he's basically been wanking himself raw, keeps seeing Louis biting on his pouty bottom lip and glaring at Harry for saying it again. Louis actually asked him to stop. Harry didn't. He's gone mad with power, like a comic book villain. He loves affecting Louis so much. The thought of turning Louis on turns him on ridiculously often.

Anyway, Niall calls him in a panic on Friday with an Official For Real Code Red, so Harry stops wanking for long enough to take a cold shower and then walks over to the farthest Boots from their neighbourhood. Niall greets him with a long hug and a nervous laugh. He's wearing a big Jack Wills hoodie that's definitely Harry's, trying to be shady.

It's very uncharacteristic of him. Harry fully expected Niall to buy condoms at Tesco without even using the self checkout, not drag Harry five blocks over at 9 PM. The whole operation is kind of sweet. "Actual code red?" Harry asks.

Niall nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's happening. Harry, I'm gonna put it in." It sounds crass, but Niall's whole face says she is a goddess and I am a mere mortal with braces. As it should be, Niall's going to bang Barbara fucking Palvin and fulfil the fantasy of 70 percent of the male and probably female population of their school.

Harry gives him another hug and leads him into the store. "Are you sure this time?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure, we've been talking about it for a while and her parents will be gone for the weekend. Jesus fucking Christ. What if I have a heart attack in the middle of it? Make a proper cunt of meself?"

Harry's eyes widen. She'll be traumatised for life. "Why the fuck are you asking me? Ask her, she's the one with experience."

Niall looks at him like he's an idiot. "She can't know I'm thinking about heart attacks, Haz. I'm supposed to make it all romantic and shit."

Harry hums. "Oh, I could make you a playlist? To get her in the mood. And maybe distract you so you don't shoot your load as soon as you put the condom on."

Now Niall looks at him like he's a genius. "I love you so much, mate."

Harry knocks their elbows together. "You too. I'm happy for you. Even if it'll leave me the only virgin I know."

"You know that's only because your standards are impossibly high. Bat those pretty lashes at anyone but Louis and you'll get it in no time. Not that you should," Niall adds, frowning like he's offended on Harry's behalf. "Being single doesn't mean you're weak, it means that you're strong enough to wait for what you deserve." Harry blinks at him. Niall ducks his head and tugs on Harry's hand. "Now let's find a condom for me to fuck my girlfriend's brains out with."

Harry rolls his eyes and goes with Niall to browse. He knows he should be inspecting expiration dates or sizes or whatever, but for some reason as soon as they reach the aisle his eyes are drawn to some unidentifiable gel in a deceivingly small tube. "Mate, that's not toothpaste," Niall interrupts his inquiry. "Trust me."

Harry arches an eyebrow, and Niall nods to his right where – oh. Lubricants. Hm.

Since meeting Louis his porn consumption has tipped drastically towards the gay side, and since the daddy thing happened the porn got a bit kinkier. He was apprehensive about it, but then the first video he found featured a bottom actually called "Harry Louis", so he thought it must have been a sign. (Harry Louis also got nailed by two guys with huge cocks, so. Harry Styles will settle for one. If it's attached to Louis.)

It wasn't even about the guys, really. They were just background noise. As soon as he touched his cock his eyes drifted shut and his thoughts went straight to Louis. Rubbing him slowly, skilfully, kissing his neck and leaving beard burn on his skin. Mostly he talked, though. Whispered in Harry's ear how good he looked, how good he wanted to make Harry feel. How much he wanted Harry's mouth on him.

Rationally, Harry should probably be fantasizing about Louis blowing him, not the other way around. Rationally, Harry shouldn't actually open his mouth as wide as he can and get off just to the feeling of his jaw stretching, the thought of Louis sliding in. He probably looks like a proper knobhead when he does it, but whatever. He wanks like no one's watching.

For all that Harry watches guys fuck and thinks about getting fucked, he's never actually tried it out with himself. It just seemed like such a daunting process, getting the right lube and setting the right mood and waiting for the house to empty and preparing himself and all the things the websites say.

And now he's swimming in different lubricants. Of course Harry's got some Vaseline and nice-smelling lotions at home, he's not a barbarian, but these ones specifically, like, have the word anal on them. Right on the tube. Teasing him. And it seems like the first step. And for once, he actually has a last step in mind. An option, as unlikely as it might be, of getting fucked in the near future. He shivers at the thought.

Harry touches one brand of lube with shaky hands, and already knows what his plans for the evening will entail.

He ends up buying the least inconspicuous-looking tube, because if he's doing it, he's doing it right. It's flavoured and everything, kiwi strawberry. Niall doesn't do more than roll his eyes, since he's having his own vagina-related panic attack. They're probably both hard when they part ways. They'll probably take care of it in very different ways.

He should wait for the house to empty out, and he knows his parents usually go on dates on Fridays, but he can't wait a whole day. He's got the lube in his sweaty hands. He's got a plan.

So he locks himself in his bedroom and turns on some ear piercing music. That done, he turns off the lights and strips naked, practically jumping into bed. He's overeager for it, probably. He knows it's going to hurt, that it's supposed to, but whatever. It's just him and his hand. How bad could it be?

He opens some porn on his laptop for inspiration, pretty standard "twink blindfolded and fucked". He's already hard, but he still takes a few moments to just lie there, watch the porn and play with himself. He wants to take his time, start with something familiar. Twisting his nipples until they're puffy, until he's hissing and planting his heels into the mattress.

He slides one hand down, scratching along his abdomen until he can wrap it around the head of his cock. The twink on screen is kneeling on the floor and drooling over a faceless top's cock, sucking sloppily because he can't see. Harry groans and thrusts his hips up instead of moving his fist down, gets hot from the motion of his own hips.

The camera zooms in on his mouth, his bruised and swollen lips, and Harry lowers his other hand to stroke his balls, arching his back a little. He manages to keep his eyes open for just long enough to see the top pull out of his mouth roughly and then jerk off so fast the shot is blurry. Harry's confused for only a second before ribbons of come land on the twink's face. The top rubs it into the flushed skin of his cheeks and Harry's whole body shudders, like he’s the one who's just come.

He's so focused on coming before the movie's over that he actually does, precious lube completely neglected. He's happy and relaxed, cleaning up his belly before he remembers the whole point of this. He could slap himself, seriously.

So he finds another movie, and once he's half-hard again he squirts some of the lube on his hand. It doesn't actually smell like kiwi or strawberries, but Harry guesses it's really not the point. Thinking about the point of having lube with flavours, though… that does the trick.

It feels kind of cold so Harry rubs his fingers together, causing some of the lube to spill over and Harry to curse. He adds more, and then some, because arseholes are generally dry and he's going to put something up his and how scary is that?

He drops one hand to his cock and strokes it, sliding easily with the lube and the come from earlier. It makes an obscene wet sound and Harry focuses just on that, the sounds and breathing, until his apprehension leaves him.

He spreads his legs wide and tries to get his hand to his hole over his crotch, but his wrists bump together and he changes course, getting there from under his thigh. It's a learning experience, really. An experiment. Once he's confident in the angle, he spreads his own cheeks with two of his fingers, so he can flutter the middle one over his hole.

His body jumps on its own, but it's not, like, as exciting as he thought it would be. It's just a finger. He must be doing something wrong. So he shuts his eyes and tightens the hand on his cock, trying to get back into it. The first thought that comes to mind is Louis as the top from earlier, jerking off on the twink's face. It fades easily into Harry's face, his own lips spreading to catch on the head of Louis' cock, and god, that's good.

His hips rut up and the tip of his finger slides inside of himself, so slick Harry barely feels it. The fantasy changes with it, to Louis finger-fucking him for the first time, careful but sure, the way he wraps his delicate fingers around the gear shift, the way he looks at the road in fierce concentration. Harry getting all that attention on his body, getting Louis inside him. He grinds down without thinking, getting his finger up to the knuckle before startling and pulling his hand out. Fuck.

He reapplies the lube, breathes deep a few times, and then tries again. The first push is coupled with rough tugs on his cock, and with the rate his brain is going, it's mostly just an extension of his pleasure, his desperation to come. It's not even that it feels good, it's the idea of Harry riding something, like it was the idea of Harry taking cock and opening his mouth wide for – for daddy.

He moans, far too loudly, has to twist around a bit so he can bury his face in the pillow. He's sweating by now, can only think of Louis' fingers sliding easily down his shivering body, then burying themselves in him. He gets more lube and bends his knees closer to his body, so there's room for his probing fingers.

His back arches into it before he knows it, and he's doing it, he's grinding down on his finger, he's moving his finger in and out, properly fucking himself, and it feels fucking good. It's so different to touching his cock, more intense and all over the place, hot hot hot, like he has to chase this feeling and knows it'll be worth it. He's so close already, it's absurd.

His other fingers start cramping from how he's bent them, so it seems only natural to tuck another one along with the first. And, fuck. He chokes on a long sound, body going taut. It's really uncomfortable and it burns, no other way to look at it, but there's something about the solid pressure, something about the fact he'll still feel it after he comes. Feel... stretched and achy. He tries curling them individually but he's too tight for it to make much of a difference, so he just works his wrist to pump them in and out, making himself moan. He strips his cock faster but it's like his fingers keep distracting him, too many sensations for his body to handle. He's so close he could cry but he needs something to tip him over the edge, someone.

What if… Oh.

His eyes fly open. He knows it's a bad idea, but fuck it, just fuck it. Letting go of his cock is almost physically impossible, but if he takes his fingers out he might not work up the courage to put them back in, and fuck, he really wants to come with something inside him.

Using his now free hand, he scrambles for his phone. It's fairly disgusting to touch it with his slick hand, but it's also fairly disgusting to do what he's about to, so. He sucks it up and looks up Louis' contact. Then he sort of stops breathing. It's rather hard to do, what with how his chest is heaving and his fingers are twisting and his hips keep snapping up as if he's still jerking himself, but he has to stay quiet.

He has to sound normal, so Louis won't know he's jerking off with two fingers inside him.

Who is he kidding, the thought of Louis knowing – watching him makes heat curl in his belly. The thought of Louis telling him to call if he needs to come. Maybe after fingering Harry himself and then leaving him, sweaty and flushed and unbearably turned on with no release.

Honestly, Harry's going to shoot his load in two seconds, Louis might not even pick up in time.

Eventually it's the urgency to get his hand back on his cock that convinces Harry to make the call and put the phone on speaker in quick succession. He bites his lip hard and stills his fingers.

Louis picks up in time.

"Hullo?" he says, and fuck, his voice is lovely and breathy as usual, and he's actually there, actually listening in.

The depravity of what Harry's just thoughtlessly done sinks in all at once, a brilliant rush that has his legs spreading and his fingers moving on their own. He stops chewing on his lip for long enough to say, "Hi Louis."

Shit. His voice is embarrassingly high and broken, but there's nothing he can do, he – he's jerking off with Louis. He wraps his hand around his cock, stifling a grunt and hoping against hope that the loud music might mask the sound of his slick hands moving.

"Is everything alright?" Louis asks.

Harry can't help but smile. He's never been more turned on in his life, yes, everything is alright. "Yeah, I – " he bites down on another moan, can't even tell what's getting him off faster, his fingers or his palm. his whole body feels twisted up. "Alright." Short sentences, that's the way to go.

"You sure? It's rather late, Harry." He nearly comes right then, with his name curling on Louis' tongue in disapproval. Really, considering the situation he's put himself in, he can't feel ashamed about what he wants. And he sort of wants Louis to tell him off. Or tell him what to do. How to touch himself. Jesus, his toes are curling.

"Yeah, yeah." Fuck, his voice keeps jumping from breathlessly high to raspy low, Louis' going to think he's possessed or something. "Sorry about the hour, I just really needed a lesson tomorrow."

"Oh." Oh, oh, oh. It echoes in Harry's head. He's basically grinding on his fingers now, so close there's no way to keep all the sounds in. It can't feel anything but amazing, the pressure and feeling full, feeling open. He can't breathe, has to bury his face in the pillow and bite down so Louis won’t hear him lose it. "Well, I'm sorry mate, I've got curriculum stuff to catch up on. I could do Monday morning, though. Could you come, Harry?"

Oh god, it couldn't have gone any better if he'd scripted it himself. Harry can't free any of his hands to hang up so he just shoves his phone off the bed with his hip and that's about the last thing he can do before he's coming so hard he's dizzy, riding his fingers and jerking himself punishingly fast. Fuck, it feels like it lasts forever, milking it until there's come splattering his fucking chest.

He lets go of his cock first, spent and sensitive. Then he twists his fingers a few times, drunk on how fiercely he can feel it, like he's still coming, weirdly enough. Like he could clench and warm himself up for the real – for Louis – holy shit, Louis.

Harry's brain clears at a frightening pace, and he stops playing with himself immediately. He wipes his hands on the comforter and turns over to peek at the floor where – well, if he'd hoped to drop the phone hard enough that the battery would plop out, he'd been mistaken. The call has been disconnected though, so Louis must have hung up once Harry stopped responding.

Or maybe... maybe he listened. A flash of heat passes him and he makes a helpless noise at the thought. He can't trust himself to talk, would probably sound sex drunk or lazy. So he carefully picks his phone up and texts Louis. Ignoring the stiffness of his fingers. Because, right, he'd just finger-fucked himself. Amazing.

Sorry mate, i didn't realise how late it was and then i dropped my phone and it must have disconnected. Mon sounds good! xx

*

"What's gotten into you?" Louis asks, incredulous.

Harry can't stop smirking. He half-wants to tell Louis exactly what got into him, just for the shock value. He's chipper and cocky with it. "Nothing, why?"

"You're just... more cheerful than usual."

"Impossible. Maybe you're just grumpier."

Louis rolls his eyes and doesn't comment when Harry puts the car in drive and steers smoothly into the lane. Instead, Louis opens the glove compartment and rifles through it. "DNA or Salute?"

"Salute," Harry says immediately. Louis nods and pulls the CD out, then ejects the CD already in the stereo system. Amazingly, that one is another copy of Salute. "Louis, no judgement, yeah? But I think you're obsessed."

Louis groans. "Fucking Zayn, I swear. When each of them came out he went to HMV and bought, like, thirty copies just to give out to random people in the street. And hide in my cars and sock drawers and fridge. There's supportive fiancé and there's bonkers, you know?"

Harry will probably die before he unsupports Zayn's attachment to his amazing female fiancée who is definitely not Louis. "I think it's sweet."

"Of course you do, you're a sappy – "

"However. What if we don't listen to Little Mix this one time?" he suggests.

Louis gasps like he's just offended him gravely. "That's… possible?"

"Let's check at least? I've actually got a mix CD I made," he says, pointing to his bag in the backseat. And then staring when Louis twists around to grab it. The collar of his low cut T-shirt dips past his tattoo and Harry's throat goes bone-dry because Louis has chest hair. Chest hair.

For all that Harry's cocky and pleased and well-fucked (he basically hasn't left his room since Friday. His fingers are still cramped), he has an inner panic attack when he catches sight of Louis pulling his leather-bound journal out of his bag. "Please don't," he says immediately. "Please, please don't."

Louis puts it back in the bag, but doesn't waste the opportunity to give Harry shit. "Is that your diary? It's full of things about your crush, isn't it? Like their last name and how perfect they are and – "

"It's. It's just thoughts. Lyrics, sometimes."

Louis must realise he's hit a bit close to home, so he pets Harry's thigh and mutters that he's sorry he touched it. "So. Did you mean the CD that's titled All My Stuff And Things, or the one that says Code Red?" Of course he pops Code Red in without waiting for Harry's answer, because "it sounds dangerous, I like it".

Harry stops breathing. He actually forgot he's stuffed his lovingly-made humping playlist into his bag after Niall texted him false alarm no craic parents still home )))): on Saturday.

Why do these things keep happening to him? How does he manage to subtly proposition Louis completely by accident? Even with all the headway he's made, he still has to consider himself as a rubbish seducer. Cookie crumbs, misstatements and now mix mix-ups. Harry Styles has no Lolita game.

The beginning notes of Do I Wanna Know? are extremely different from anything Little Mix has ever released. Before even the first word is uttered Harry's mind derails to gritty sex, perhaps against a wall or in the back of a car. Louis lets out a laugh, but it sounds kind of strangled, and when Harry looks over he sees that Louis' shifting in his seat.

He stops laughing as the tracks change, from more Arctic Monkeys to The 1975 and The Kills. He's dead silent and positively twitchy when they break out the Beyoncé and Lana Del Rey. So basically Louis' mildly uncomfortable for thirty whole minutes, and it's Harry's biggest success yet.

The lesson is coming to a close, almost at Harry's neighbourhood, so he risks it. Drives intentionally slowly and starts singing along. Why not, right? Louis' the one who said he's got an impressively deep voice. Louis' also the one who's squeezing his own knees. It's the most obvious and reckless Harry's ever seen him, so of course he pushes. Harry's a fearless bastard. "You and me baby, making love like gorillas," he sings.

Since they've been silent for half an hour Louis visibly startles, and turns wide, blue eyes to Harry. His hands move from his knees to his thighs, rubbing circles. Harry just smirks and chews his gum particularly obnoxiously. "I got a fistful of your hair but you don't look like you're scared, you're just smiling tell me daddy it's yours."

Louis sucks in a loud breath and then actually covers his face with both hands. "I've made a mistake, I don't like Code Red at all."

So Harry sings even louder, you're screaming give it to me baby give it to me motherfucker, and Louis bangs his head against the window. It's amazing. Harry is mad with power, existentially comforted by the hint that he's not the only one out of his mind from sexual frustration.

Harry's still singing filthy songs even as Louis drags him out of the driver's seat. This is the best discovery since anal penetration.

*

"So we're dropping you off at home?"

"Actually, can I drive to the city centre? Or is that too far from your next lesson?"

Louis shakes his head. "No, it's no trouble, I actually got a cancellation."

"Seriously?" Who in their right mind would give up on an hour with Louis? Harry considers using this information to make it a double lesson, but he's got an appointment he can't miss.

"Yeah, outrageous, I know. Not every boy is as disciplined as you."

Harry chews his lip. He knows Louis' teasing, considers it just a private joke they share rather than something that makes Harry's cock stir, but fuck if Harry doesn't take it seriously. Harry's a very serious person. He's earnest and honest and level-headed and very mature. And yet. "I'm a good boy then?"

Louis sort of pauses. It's quite painful. And then he ruffles Harry's hair and says, "You know you are."

Harry's so pleased he blanks out for a moment, misses it when Louis removes his hand from his curls and asks a question. He blinks at the road and shuffles in his seat. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked what you're doing in the city centre."

Oh, right. Harry perks up immediately. "I'm getting a tattoo."

Louis' quiet for a moment, but that's okay, Harry can wait for the applause. He's a patient boy. It's not like he's getting it to impress Louis, but he was definitely inspired by Louis' arms and maybe wanting to appear more mature. So Louis would fuck him. But seriously, he's not doing it for Louis.

Finally Louis says, "Do your parents know?"

Harry blinks slowly. "I can keep a secret." (It's obviously bullshit, his mum knows and assured Tom it's perfectly fine, otherwise he wouldn't have bent the rules and tattooed Harry before he turned eighteen.)

"Hm." Very noncommittal. Harry can work with that. "Are you meeting a friend or doing it alone?"

"Oh, the artist is a friend, actually."

Louis tuts. "Don't let some kid give you a tattoo, Harold, you can't exactly wash it off after."

Harry frowns at the rearview mirror. "What? Tom's thirty-two."

He can actually see Louis' expression shift from concerned to annoyed. "You have a thirty-something tattoo artist friend?"

"Yeah? Like, most of them are? Not tattoo artists, but more middle-aged? I love babies so I babysit a lot, like, you know I don't need the money but I like making friends."

He knows he's rambling, but with every word Louis looks more annoyed, and it's kind of precious. "Are you sure they're not, like, predators?"

Harry snorts, trying to imagine James Corden luring him to a sex dungeon. And James is the one he did kiss. "Please, they're not it." He doesn't mention Mr. Winston. Absolutely nothing good will come of thinking about Ben Winston in compromising positions while driving with Louis.

Louis looks like steam might come out of his ears at any moment. "I don't like it," he decides. It's ridiculous and dumb, but Louis' all sorts of ridiculous and dumb, so it makes sense.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Well excuse me, didn't know I needed your permission to make friends, Daddy."

Louis' hand suddenly drops from Harry's headrest to his nape, catching on his curls. He shivers. Hopefully Louis doesn't notice. "Harry, I told you not to call me that. I'm not old enough to be your dad."

That is both accurate and a very important thing for Louis to acknowledge. The tattoo is already making him older and he didn't even get it yet. Bolstered, he attempts to tease. "Sorry. I'll only call Tom daddy."

It's definitely intentional when Louis tugs on the springy bits at his nape. He knows it is because Louis says, quiet and dark, "No, you won't."

It's a miracle they're stuck at a red light, really, otherwise Harry might have veered into another lane. He's getting hard right in the car, Jesus, that hasn't happened in a few weeks. He's slipping. But Louis is, too. "Okay," he mumbles, voice breaking embarrassingly towards the end.

The air in the car turns stuffy and Harry's driving is so shaky it breaks the tension, somehow. Louis mutters something to himself and then snatches his hand from Harry's hair (its rightful place) and puts it over Harry's on the wheel to steady him. He can probably feel how Harry's shaking, and fuck, Harry almost wants to crash the car just so Louis wouldn't know how desperate he makes him. But also he doesn't, because it's comforting to feel Louis' hand on his, it's reassuring to drive with him.

Harry's a mix of overconfident and scared shitless when he says, "You're a bit older than me and we're mates?"

He doesn't breathe until Louis replies, "Yeah, but. I'm not middle-aged. And I'm not a predator. You should only trust me. "

Alright. So they are officially mates. And Louis' insane and possessive and that's so hot Harry nearly crashes the car again. "Okay." Fuck, he knows he sounds dumb but he can't think of anything to say that isn't I do only trust you please deflower me.

Thank god, Louis starts talking before Harry does. "How will you get back home?"

Lou said she'd give him a ride, but bringing up the fact Tom's happily married might tamp down whatever glorious thing Louis' going through right now, so Harry just says, "Tom said he'd take care of me."

Louis squeezes his hand for just a moment. "How about I do it?"

Harry hazards a big-eyed glance at him. "Take care of me?"

Louis' staring resolutely ahead. It doesn't mean anything other than him being a responsible driving instructor. Probably. "Give you a lift. I've actually got some business around here, I could swing back in half an hour and pick you up."

Harry tries not to smile like a maniac. Of all the cards he wants to show Louis, his patent frog smile could probably wait until after he gets his dick wet. However. "I'm not sure I'll be able to drive right after?"

"Don't be a knob, it's not a lesson. it's a favour."

"For a mate."

Louis clears his throat. "Yeah, exactly."

Harry's so smug he could float away. "Alright, mate."

*

"Does it hurt?" Niall asks as soon as Harry picks up.

"It... sort of." He can't really describe it.  Well, he can, he actually came up with the perfect metaphor while getting the tattoo, but he can't share it with Niall in front of Tom.

See, getting tattooed for the first time is a lot like putting something up your arse for the first time. It was terrifying before, and painful at first, but then he kind of gave into it. The pain became inconsequential as soon as he dared to open his eyes and actually watch Tom work. Then it was just cool, seeing his skin marked by black ink that will stay there forever, a pretty five-point star decorating his inner arm. It still hurt, but it was consistent and thorough and just became a numb buzz at some point, thrumming from his arm and through his whole body. It became pleasant at some point. Like, extremely. Like, Tom actually had to pin his arm down because he was squirming. And that didn't help at fucking all.

Anyway, for all that he was nervous, he can't wait to get another one. "D'you see the pictures?"

"Ew, no, I thought there was blood."

Harry frowns. "Nialler, I took them for you."

"Whatever mate. I'm gonna see it for myself tomorrow at school, right?"

"Of course. I'm gonna walk around shirtless to show off to everyone."

"So basically a regular Wednesday?"

Harry giggles. He can't keep it inside any longer. "Ask me how I'm getting home."

"The fit hairdresser?"

"Nope. Louis' picking me up. "

"Seriously? You're gonna drive after getting the tattoo?"

Harry grins to himself. "No driving, he's just picking me up. As a favour. For a mate and potential boyfriend. His words."

Niall laughs sharply. "I can't believe your Lolita project is actually happening."

That's rich, considering Niall's the one who started the thing. "You don't approve?"

"Well, like. Just a bit worried for you," he admits, surprisingly serious. "I guess I'm glad it's not some forty-year-old weirdo; I did go through year ten with you."

"Hey, I don't have a fetish for older people," Harry protests. Tom clears his throat loudly. Harry whispers the next part, "Virgins can't have fetishes, I think."

"That's not true. Virgins watch the most porn, we're bound to have freaky fetishes."

"Fetish porn grossly misrepresents women, sexuality and healthy habits, Niall." He's obligated to say it, as hypocritical as it might be. "Wait, you think I'm freaky?"

Niall huffs. "Of course not, you're a beam of sunshine. The fact you think about elderly cock most of your day is normal."

Harry chokes. "Elderly? Oh my god – wait, someone's ringing." He looks at the display to find Louis' name. "So sorry mate, it's Louis, he might be outside, I should – "

"Stop apologising and answer, you polite freak."

With an eye-roll he might have picked up from Louis himself, he hangs up on Niall and picks up Louis' call.

Apparently he's already right outside the tattoo studio, so Harry hugs Tom goodbye. And flinches at the direct contact with his tattoo. And gets a scolding by Tom. Whatever. Like Louis said, it's a tattoo, it won't exactly wash off later.

When he climbs into the passenger seat, the first thing he notices is the strong smell of cigarettes. "You smoke?" he asks immediately.

Louis shakes his head. Then nods. "I met up with Zayn, who chain-smokes. Filthy habit, don't go near it. I don't smoke, myself. Well, not always. When I'm stressed, mostly."

"You get stressed?" You're human? Amazing. Harry clears his throat. "Were you stressed then? Why?"

Louis actually lifts his sunglasses to glare at Harry. "No reason, Harold."

Harry lets himself smirk, and then brings his necklace up to his mouth to play with. "The tattoo-getting went very well, thanks for asking."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Cheeky. D'you have the ointment and everything?"

"Yeah, I'm all set. Think I'm gonna throw a pool party to show it off."

"What?" Louis smacks Harry's shoulder. "Firstly, you wo – you're not supposed to expose the tattoo to the sun or to chlorine. Secondly, where even is this tattoo?"

"I'll show you." He could technically just roll up his sleeve. But he could also take off his shirt, and that feels more fitting. To him, at least. Louis looks awkward as fuck when Harry squirms out of his shirt and flips his messed-up fringe to the side, before lifting his arm to show the ink.

The tattooing process went a lot quicker than Harry had predicted, so by the time Louis came to pick him up, Harry'd been waiting at Tom's shop for long enough to remove the bandage. The ink looks raw and like it could smudge at any second, but it's pretty and permanent and Harry's smug as hell.

Especially when Louis lets the awkwardness go and ducks forward to inspect it. He's not touching Harry, but his stare feels heavy and Harry has to bite his lip. "Is it like you pictured?" Louis asks, curious.

Harry fidgets and drops his arm. "You don't like it?"

"No, I do!" Louis grabs Harry's elbow and pins it to the headrest so his tattoo is on display again. "It's pretty and sweet, it… suits you." Harry believes Louis' just called him pretty and sweet. Louis shaking his head at himself seems to confirm it. His fingers are still tight on Harry's elbow. "Dunno why I was expecting a full-on sleeve tattoo with ugly dragons."

Harry cackles at the thought. Gemma would have killed him. "Why would I get an ugly sleeve as my first tattoo?"

"I… thought you were trying to make a statement. To. Impress someone." Louis is flustered, this is the very best day.

"I like staying true to myself," Harry claims, instead of yes I was trying desperately to impress you please lay me down.

"It's the best thing about you," Louis admits. He must not have meant to, because he shakes his head again, shaggy hair floating majestically everywhere, and really, if Harry were to get a full-on sleeve it'll be an unworthy rendition of Louis Tomlinson's face with like, an embarrassing arrow-pierced heart or something.

Distracted by the thought, he says, "Yeah? The best?" and stretches to his full height so his just-starting-to-show abs and perpetually hard nipples are more in Louis' eyesight.

Louis notices. Like, full on checks out Harry's pecs and tight stomach, for two whole seconds (that get Harry vaguely heated), before he lets go of Harry completely and looks at the road. While starting the engine, he says, "Well Harold, you need a good personality to make up for your shitty driving skills. Put on a shirt."

"What the fuck ever, Lewis. I have the best personality." The fact he knows Louis' joking – the fact they're actually mates and can banter and swear and tease each other – it sends something warm through Harry's chest. "And you know I'm a good driver," he adds while pulling his shirt back over his face.

Louis looks like he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it and starts reversing out of the parking lot. Like always, Harry loves watching Louis drive. He's sure and confident when he grips the wheel, eyes flitting to take in the road conditions and then he shifts gears imperceptibly. Harry's sort of stuck on that, Louis' dainty little hand tight on the knob of the gear stick. The way he manipulates it smoothly. The way his thumb makes circles over the tip. The way that same digit was on his naked skin, centimetres from his throbbing new ink, a few minutes ago.

The ride to his house is short, and that's probably a blessing. Jumping Louis while he's driving would have resulted in disaster.

"Thanks for the lift," Harry says, putting his bag strategically over his lap before opening the door and slipping out of the car without waiting for a reply.

"Hey, H," Louis calls out, rolling down the window. "It really is nice. But wait before you get another one. And don't hang out in the sun too much."

Harry doesn't really know what to do with all this concern. It depends on whether it's patronising or friendly or. Something else. So he just smiles weakly and says, "Yeah, alright."

Louis sighs exaggeratedly. "C'mon Haz, give me the twinkly eyes."

Harry's smile broadens on its own at the nickname. It must have some effect on his eyes because Louis nods and says, "Good boy."

Which. Has Harry pressing the bookbag tighter against his crotch. He couldn't walk up the driveway fast enough.

*

"How can I help you?" is a delightful way to start a phone call.

Harry picks at his lip to keep from smiling helplessly. Even though he's sitting in his empty room, he's sure Louis would hear it. "Lewis, are you doing anything right now?"

"Nope, just waiting for you to call."

Fuck it, Harry's just going to smile. "Really?"

"No, Harold, I'm with a mate." Oh. Harry pouts. "Don't pout, it's just Zayn."

Great, Louis can hear both smiles and pouts. What if he has Harry's room bugged? Jesus, Harry hopes not for Louis' sake. The amount of times he’s come saying Louis' name would probably scar him for life. Harry stops looking for suspicious nanny cams when he hears who must be Zayn on the other line whine, "Just Zayn then? Because I don't have curls or a nice smell?"

The rest is muffled, maybe because Louis was quick to cover his phone with his hand, maybe because blood is rushing to Harry's ears along with his cheeks. He touches his hair automatically, ruffling it and sweeping the fringe to the side. "Anyway," Louis says, finally returning. "I'm sorry, I'm not working today. But we had a lesson just yesterday, don't tell me you miss me."

"First of all, of course I miss you, you know I live for our lessons. And secondly, I'm not calling for a lesson, I'm calling for help."

"With?"

"Right, so I'm going with Robin to the car dealership soon, but the truth is I know fuck-all about cars? I'm not asking that you come with me," because I'll just end up pushing you into backseats and it'll be awkward, "But maybe I'll text you models and you'll tell me what's best?"

Louis hums. "Will you pose with the cars and make silly faces?"

"You bet."

His laugh is warm and lovely, and Harry can't remember what made him decide against humping him in pricey new cars.

It'll have to be texting.

*

(x)

*

The unthinkable happens. Harry actually forgets about a lesson. Getting his new car made him giddier than he thought possible, even though he couldn't even drive it on his own. He's not even much of a car guy, but it's a '66 Mercedes-Benz convertible. And a gorgeous one at that, sleek and white and his.

He keeps sending Louis random pictures of it from different angles. Most of the replies he gets are sad emojis now. He's not bothered. The only thing he stops himself from texting is the most important observation: this car is basically Louis. Like, the sign next to it said "hot, small luxury cars target younger buyers". It blew his mind. (Louis didn't reply when Harry texted him the picture. Maybe he texts his driving instructor too often.)

Anyway, he was so chipper it must have affected destiny itself, because Maths was cancelled and he got to come home early. Also, the weather was surprisingly lovely. It all conspired together to make him forget about the time and go for a dip in their pool.

He doesn't know how long he's out for, since no one else is home. He just floats on his back, feeling the warm water lapping at his weightless body and the sun warming his skin. At some point he starts swimming laps, his only form of exercise these days. Vague thoughts creep up on him, about his new car and tattoo, about maybe trying out yoga, about cats, about how much he looks forward to summer, about how pretty Louis is in the sun, about making pizza. Mostly he just listens to the water rolling with every push of his arms, every stretch of his muscles. It's relaxing and nice and quiet.

Until someone says, extremely loudly, "Oh buggering fuck."

Harry's so startled he flops in the water like an idiot, nearly snorting the whole pool. Once he stops inhaling chlorine and sputtering unattractively, he looks around and finds Louis, in his backyard. He rubs his eyes, feel his eyelashes clumping together with water, but no, it's still Louis Tomlinson. Or maybe he drowned.

He's still gasping for breath and treading water when Louis finally speaks again. "I'm sorry, I – I kept calling, we have a lesson, I just thought I'd have a look before leaving, I didn't know you were – doing that."

The ringing in Harry's ears is starting to subside. And shit, Louis' right, they did book a lesson. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, it slipped my mind," he says, and paddles to the pool's edge. He resurfaces practically at Louis' feet, and shakes his hair everywhere before wiping his face.

The Moment That Changes Everything:

Harry looks up, biting his lip in apology. The look Louis' giving him is so heated he feels the urge to sink back in the cool water. Louis' got his hands fisted at his sides, and he's in black skinnies and a big tank top that scoops past his collarbones and his hair is wild from the wind, one day's worth of scruff, and the point is that he looks fucking edible, but the real point is that he's looking at Harry in the same way. Like he wants to sink his teeth into him.

It hits Harry fast and hard, the (still unconfirmed) realisation that Louis wants him back. That he hasn't been imagining the tension between them. And all it took was getting wet. Harry could've done this ages ago. He could invite Louis into the pool right now, ask him to take his top off and jump in, touch his golden, slippery skin.

Instead he plants his hands on the surface of the pool and hauls himself up using the strength of his arms alone, climbing out and dripping everywhere. Louis must be rooted to the spot, because he hasn't stepped back from the splash zone, leaving Harry right in his face when he finally emerges. And Harry didn't plan this at all, but the moment just keeps getting better and better because it turns out he's quite a bit taller than Louis. He never noticed it because they're always sitting, but right now, standing right in front of him, Harry can't help but step even closer so that he's towering over him.

Louis' still staring straight ahead at Harry's throat, which is working overtime for how dry it's become, and slowly his gaze travels up, over Harry's jaw and cheeks. Finally, their eyes meet. Louis having to look up makes his cheekbones all the more pronounced, actually casting shadows under them, and his eyes are fluttering like he's completely dazed just from looking at Harry. His pupils are dilated.

It doesn't seem like he means to speak when he whispers, "Fuck." Harry knows that because his mouth snaps shut immediately afterwards, and Harry knows that because he's staring at Louis' pretty lips. He's close enough to hear him breathe, close enough to count his lovely lashes, close enough to naturally get closer.

In that moment, he's convinced Louis would let him. He'd kiss him back, he'd tangle his fingers in Harry's wet hair or tug on his bright purple swimming trunks. He wouldn't let him drip all over the ground and shiver. He'd touch him.

For a long minute nothing happens. Harry's standing, hyper-aware of everything, from Louis' short breaths to his own nipples hardening as the wind hits his wet body, to the itch in his fingertips. They're suspended. Until they're not. Harry is so focused on watching Louis' mouth, practically feeling the stubble against his own smooth skin, that at first he doesn't even hear the words coming out of it. "What?"

"I'm saying, you'll catch a cold."

Harry rolls his eyes. The tension isn't exactly broken, like they're in too deep, but now that Louis brought rationality into it, Harry blushes to the tips of his ears. He wants to cover his chest. With Louis' chest. He tries to dismantle the situation, by, of course, making it worse. "Stop worrying, Daddy."

Louis doesn't glare, or scoff, or laugh it off. He clenches his hands and says, very evenly, very controlled, "Then be a good boy and cover yourself up."

Harry nearly whimpers pathetically. Louis has started playing along with him, but it was always clear that he was joking. Playing up the fatherly concern or affection. There's absolutely nothing fatherly about the way he's looking at him right now. The difference between dad and Daddy is acute. He has no idea how he's supposed to catch a cold when it feels like he's about to catch on fire.

Okay, he needs to reassess. Louis isn't exactly going to fuck him poolside, despite the fact Harry's getting half-hard right in front of him. He's big on taking leaps of faith, somewhere between optimistic and careless. "I'll go shower, then. Don't wanna stink up the new car. You could wait inside?"

Louis actually hesitates, which is good, and then says he'll just wait by his car and make a few calls, which is awful. Harry trudges into the house, taking a five minute shower and wank, and then ten minutes to pick his clothes (dark jeans and his Ramones shirt) and fluff his hair back up, making sure it smells nice. His face is still flushed from the sunny afternoon, but he thinks that looks nice too. Not all could be lost, right? Louis didn't cancel the lesson. Louis broke into his house.

He's slightly reassured when he finds Louis outside of his car, sucking on a cigarette. Both because it's so hot his knees get wobbly, and because he remembers that Louis smokes when he feels... weak. As soon as he notices Harry, he drops the cigarette and puts it out with the heel of his beat up Vans. "Alright?" he asks from afar.

Harry just nods, shaking out his wet hair. He should have brought a beanie; it'll be just like him to actually catch a cold. He meets Louis' eyes again. Okay, maybe loose curls were a good idea. "So? Like what you see?"

Louis nods instantly, and then shakes his head like he's annoyed with himself. "What?"

Harry smiles, wide and happy and dimply. "The new car." He traipses over to it and plants his arse on the bonnet. Of course it's more graceless than sexy, with how he loses his footing and slides a bit down, but Louis smiles back at him fondly and fixes his fringe.

"Look at this gorgeous baby," Louis coos, voice still a shade darker than normal.

If he's trying to be sneaky about moving toward the driver's side, he's doing an awful job. Harry clears his throat. "Louis, would you like to drive the car?"

Louis practically runs to the driver's seat and throws himself inside. Harry moves more slowly, as usual, but quick enough to catch the best thing he's ever seen – Louis adjusting the seat. Because he needs less leg room. Because he's shorter than Harry. He's so smug it must show on his face, because Louis smacks his shoulder. Harry rolls into it instead of away, and Louis snatches his hand and plants it on the wheel.

As if that weren't awkward enough, as soon as he turns on the car, the stereo system blasts Harry's cherry-popping playlist. He was not prepared for this lesson. (Or is actually the smartest sneaky seducer in history.)

Then there are the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. Louis, of course, drives attractively smoothly, and Harry, of course, is restless in his seat, drawing his knee up and chewing on his lip distractedly. Louis obviously has comments on the car but he stays quiet, and the silence only makes the music sound louder, Matt Healy moaning between them. Harry can't take it anymore. He opens his mouth to apologise for making things so uncomfortable, but abruptly stops himself as soon as he looks over.

The Moment That Really Changes Everything:

Harry realises he's not the one making things awkward. Louis' quiet and stilted because Louis is hard. There is a bulge, so obvious in his jeans, which are tight enough that Harry can actually make out the shape of it – of him – of his hard cock down his thigh. His eyes widen and his cock twitches in sympathy and his mouth practically waters the longer he stares at Louis' lap. He made him hard. He's been right all along. Louis Tomlinson is into him.

He thinks he can hear angels singing in the distance. He swallows hard, then realises his mouth is still hanging open, so he just blurts it out. "Louis, will you take it the wrong way if I asked to suck your cock?"

"Jesus Christ," Louis hisses. The car jerks forward because his leg must have slipped, and even under the rush of delighted thoughts, Harry takes a second to appreciate the irony of Louis driving like an idiot because of Harry. Then Louis' hand jumps from the wheel to his crotch, like he's relieved Harry finally noticed his hard-on so he could adjust it. It's mesmerising, Louis' hand on his own cock, it's – Harry's fantasies are actually coming true one by one.

He can't even wait for an answer, just instinctively leans closer, puts a daring hand on top of Louis' and presses his nose to the soft hair curling behind Louis ear. He breathes deep, then whispers, wet lips brushing over Louis' skin for the first time, "Would you like me to?"

Louis hisses again, and grabs Harry's chin so he has to pull back. He doesn't remove Harry's hand from his crotch though. Isn't that fantastic? Harry would like to keep it there forever; his big hand belongs in Louis' warm lap. The car stops abruptly, probably a red light, Harry doesn't even care. Louis looks deep in his eyes and says, flustered, "I don't think you really want to."

It's probably his way of trying to let Harry down gently, but there's lovely colour high up on his cheeks and his hips are rocking into Harry's hand, rubbing up against him, and that answers that question. So Harry answers Louis' question by tugging on his seat belt and ducking down to nuzzle his zipper, blood roaring in his ears and rushing to his cock. He's so turned on he could burst with it, absolutely in love with the way he can feel Louis' dick twitch against his cheek. He doesn't know what he's doing, but yes, he really, really wants to do it.

He's too distracted and overwhelmed to hear Louis cursing, but one thing stands out, gets him even hotter. "Harry, anyone can see."

He presses his flaming face harder into Louis' crotch and makes an embarrassing little sound. His heart is racing at the thought of someone seeing, some stranger catching Harry with his head between Louis' legs, finally getting what he wants. It's all moving so fast but Harry feels like he's been waiting from day one. He's not going to quit while he's ahead. Ha. Head.

"Yes," he mumbles, even though he doesn't even remember the question, if there even was one. Just. A big yes to this whole situation.

Louis still makes disapproving noises, might even be telling Harry that they shouldn't, that he'll take care of it on his own, but he never says he doesn't want him, so Harry clenches his hand so hard his nails are digging into Louis' thigh and he says it, his lips getting Louis' jeans damp right over his cock. "Daddy."

He thinks it's not even the word that breaks Louis, but the reproachful tone. Like Harry accused him of being an inadequate daddy, by not letting Harry have his cock. His reaction is stellar. He drives extremely fast over a speed bump, so Harry suddenly gets a face full of his crotch. It's probably fucked up, but his first thought is that if the fly had been undone, if Louis' cock had been in his mouth right then, he would have choked on it, would have gagged when it hit the back of his throat and filled him like – Jesus, he wants it so much he squirms desperately.

He's so caught up in it, panting wetly over Louis' hardness and feeling his face redden, that he misses the moment Louis pulls over. Until he feels Louis' fingers tangle gently in his curls, rousing him, and that's it, it's his moment. He trails his nose over the inseam of Louis' jeans and moves his hand to the zipper, already breathless. Only Louis tugs on his hair, hard enough to pull his face up and away. Harry whines from both the feeling and the result, and Louis tuts at him, fingers just petting him pleasantly rather than painfully. "Let's talk first, love."

Harry opens his eyes slowly, shaking his head to focus. He barely notices when Louis unfastens both their seat belts. "Talk."

"That's right." He's still got his fingers in Harry's hair. Harry would like them to never leave.

His hand is still on Louis' thigh, so he inches it higher and presses down. Louis' even harder by now, obvious. Harry's just – amazed by everything, doesn't want to let a minute go to waste. He's touching Louis, actually, unapologetically. "Do you – not want me to?"

He sounded sickeningly vulnerable, but Louis scratches his scalp and shakes his head. "I – of course I do, Jesus, just. Have you ever done it before?"

Harry's muscles loosen at once, both because of Louis' clever fingers and because of the long-awaited admission. So Louis wants him. He can work out the rest. "You know I'm a fast learner."

Louis laughs, pulling a lock of hair. "Don't say things like that. Sounds like I'm in a porno where you're my naughty student who will do anything for a good grade. "

Harry doesn't like that at all. "You know it's not why, though," he mumbles, frowning. "Like, I really, really like you, it's got nothing to do with the lessons."

"Yeah, hey, I know you're not just trying to seduce me." His thumb sweeps over the back of Harry's neck. "You haven't got a conniving bone in your body. You're a pretty good driver, too."

Harry bites his lip, feeling coy. "I am trying to seduce you, though. You're not, like, taking advantage."

After all the things Harry's done in the last few minutes, this sentence gives Louis pause. "Well. You're smashing it."

He smiles at that. "Yeah?"

"Are you kidding?"

"No?"

Now Louis frowns at him. "Harry, I haven't slept a wink since I met you. I keep thinking of you when I jerk off and then I feel so guilty I have to make lists of why it's wrong to wank to fucking schoolboys, and then I think about fucking schoolboys again and I swear Zayn wants to evict me."

Harry should argue. Or, like, explain at length why Louis shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to fuck Harry, but Louis wants to fuck Harry. Louis wanks to Harry. (Harry kind of wants Louis to wank on Harry.) He shifts in his seat, about ready to just crawl over to Louis' lap and set up camp. "You think about me? What about?" He's just making sure.

Louis shakes his head like he can't believe what he's hearing. "You're bloody sinful. I think about your big mouth and your soft hair and your lovely hands and – how nice your smile is and how you're always honest and you know what you want, much more than I did when I was your age."

Harry ducks down and nuzzles the side of Louis' neck, too happy to look him in the eye. "Can I please suck you off now?"

"Only if you kiss me first."

Harry's so eager for it he nearly knocks his elbow into the horn. He takes Louis' chin gently, feeling the stubble rasping his fingers, but more importantly, feeling Louis smile. When he finally presses their mouths together he starts smiling too, and it's horribly counterproductive but he's glowing. He feels Louis' sharp little teeth nipping at his lip, though, and that gets his head back in the game. He parts his lips and meets Louis' tongue and presses closer, sucks on it a little, like a prelude.

Louis' hand tightens in his hair and tips his head back, making him gasp into Louis' mouth. He lets him take over then, gets snogged so thoroughly his lips tingle and his dick presses hard against his zipper. Harry knows he's a good kisser, but it's not about showing off to Louis anymore, it's about taking whatever Louis wants to give him.

It gets hot and desperate soon enough, once Harry dares to bury his fingers in Louis' feather-soft hair and gasps at the feeling, once Louis bites Harry's bottom lip hard. He can't take it anymore, gets his hand back on Louis. This time Louis doesn't protest, snaps his hips up immediately. Harry makes an appreciative sound that almost drowns out the noise of him pulling down Louis' zipper.

He doesn't bother to wait, instantly dipping his hand under the waistband of Louis' boxers, and gets a grip on his cock. It's a Revelation, touching another dick for the first time. Like, there's a head and a shaft and foreskin, no shocker there, but there's also Louis gasping against Harry's cheek, and Louis wriggling against the leather seat to shove at his hand, and Louis' fingers wrapped tight in his hair.

It takes Harry a few moments to figure out how to move his hand, since the angle is foreign and Louis' pants are getting in the way, but there's nothing discouraging about Louis kissing the side of his mouth and murmuring, "There you go."

It's hot in his grip, incredibly hard, and when Louis frees his mouth to kiss his neck, Harry brings his hand up to lick it. He doesn't know if Louis notices, as he's busy running his tongue over Harry's pulse point and then sucking his skin, but he definitely notices when Harry's hand comes back wet. He groans right in Harry's ear. Harry's heart stops for a second, like he's actually going to come in his pants because he did that. He brought a sex noise out of Louis. A high, involuntary, beautiful noise that will probably haunt him forever.

He's surer from there, gets a good tight grip and pulls the way he likes it himself. His wrist hurts a bit, but he could keep going, could make Louis come, if he didn't remember his goal. He just wants to get his mouth on him. Wants his first blowjob to be messy in a parked car in the middle of the day, just a few blocks from his house. Wants Louis to have to drive afterwards and think about Harry's lips.

The moment he finally works up the courage to duck his head, Louis makes a distressed sound against his throat and pulls back. "Shit, I don't have a condom on me."

Harry opens his eyes very slowly, miffed about Louis letting go of his neck. "You need a condom for blowjobs too?"

"Of course, you don't know where I've been." Louis fixes Harry with a Pointed Look. "No matter who you're with, always use protection."

Well, that's just silly given the context. "Louis, you know where you've been. I trust you. Are you, you know, clean?" Louis nods immediately. Harry grins and kisses Louis' cheek lightly. "So what's the problem?"

It takes Louis a moment to figure it out. Maybe there wasn't a problem, or maybe he's distracted by Harry kissing his beautiful jawline. "I'm trying to teach you a lesson for the future."

Harry tries to bite down on a smile. "Who the fuck else am I gonna be with?"

Louis hesitates before something kind of settles in him. He pushes Harry back and gives him a dark look. "No one else will lay a finger on you." Harry could purr from joy, honestly. Louis grabs his jaw, and his breath hitches. "I'm not your sex ed teacher, am I?"

"No, Daddy."

He half-expects Louis to argue about the name again, but all he gets is a proud smile and Louis shoving his own jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. "Have at it then, baby."

That's all the invitation he needs. He shuffles back in his seat and then leans down and, okay, there's a dick in his face. He knew it would be there, it's what he wanted, but being so turned on doesn't actually affect his inexperience. He's never even gotten a blowjob before, didn't get this far with anyone. So he breathes deep and then darts out his tongue to lick along the head of Louis' cock. It's smooth, and – and Louis makes a soft noise that makes Harry stop analysing the moment. He licks again and keeps his hand tight around the base of Louis' cock to keep it in place. "You're teasing," Louis hisses.

Harry doesn't think it's meant as a criticism, but he still kind of panics, wants to make it good, so he takes the head of Louis' cock past his lips and keeps going until his eyes drift shut and he forgets to breathe. He can hear Louis cursing over the ringing in his ears, and then there's a hand scratching his scalp and pulling him up by the hair.

He breathes in deep and nuzzles against Louis' stomach. "Sorry," he whispers automatically, and startles when his voice sounds rougher. Of all things, that's what's got his dick straining. He's sucking cock. Actually.

"Don't apologise, love," Louis says fondly. There's a roughness to his voice too, which might have something to do with Harry slobbering all over his cock. "Want me to tell you what to do?"

Harry's immediate reaction to that idea should be alarming, or at least explored, but he ends up just nodding quickly, tugging on Louis' tank top with his teeth. Louis pets his hair again, and his stomach twists with pleasure. He's got a feeling Louis is waiting, so he says, "Teach me, then. I wanna suck you good."

"Jesus," Louis breathes, giving Harry's hair a sharp tug that might not have even been intentional. "Lick your hand again and get me wet."

It's easier. Harry attunes himself completely to Louis' voice, so he doesn't get overwhelmed by the width or the smell of him. Does just what Louis tells him to and gets praise in return, an extra pull on his hair if he does well. He gets Louis slick so it's easier to take him in, but before he can get ahead of himself, Louis tells him to jerk him off at the same time, so his hand can meet his mouth. Louis gets considerably less coherent when Harry gets the synchronisation of that down. "Now – yeah, now there's room for your tongue to move, isn't there? Just push the flat of it up so – oh fuck, that's it, that feels amazing."

There's little Harry won't do to keep Louis this affected. He pushes like he was told, so there's pressure from his lips and his tongue, so there's spit sliding down his shaft. Harry finds himself moaning when he feels it drip down his knuckles, because it means his mouth is too full, it means he's getting Louis messy. He rides on that rush, starts twisting his hand up and sucking Louis down, gets his lips tight on him, gets Louis to curse and tug hard. Harry moans again, sparks shooting down his spine the longer Louis plays with his hair.

"That's so good, Harry, you – god," Louis says, raspy and incoherent, and Harry hums and pulls up so he can play with the head, suckling on it and swirling his tongue over it. All the while, his hand flies over Louis' cock, pumping him so fast it makes a wet noise Harry could get addicted to.

He tilts his head and slows his hand down so he can kiss along his length, licking from base to tip. He knows he's teasing again, but this time he's confident, this time Louis makes a frustrated noise and grinds his hips up so Harry's chin digs into his thigh. In retaliation, Harry scratches Louis' thigh with his free hand, and why the fuck does he even have a free hand? He inches it up Louis' leg and then tucks it under his own head so he can brush over Louis' balls. Louis has no comment on that, other than a choked-off noise and another thrust. He's got Louis desperate for it.

With no free hand, Harry doesn't have a chance to open his zipper and relieve some of the pressure on his own achingly hard cock. The terrifying thing is that he might not even need to. If Louis keeps pulling his hair and... being... Louis, Harry might just come untouched. The thought is so embarrassing he blushes even harder, but also burns hotter, gets off on getting off.

He doesn't want to come yet, though, so he tries to focus. Louis' absolutely, magnificently unhelpful by now, so Harry just goes with his gut. Plays with the tip and then sinks down, lower than he did before, daring. It's uncomfortable, but undeniably hot, less about his aching jaw and more about Louis panting and rocking his hips subtly, like he wants to just fuck into Harry's mouth but knows he shouldn't.

Knowing how tightly Louis' got himself wound makes Harry more comfortable, enough to open his mouth that much wider and take another inch in. He pulls off abruptly when his eyes start to water, but not before he sucks hard. He does it just to stop from slobbering over his fingers, but Louis' mental for it, twists a handful of curls between his fingers.

Harry doesn't even come with a mouthful of cock, accomplished. He comes untouched after pulling off, lips loose around the crown. He comes because Louis yanks especially hard on his hair and grits out, frustrated, "Harry, take it." He comes because Louis might as well be saying please.

Harry ruts desperately in his seat and blanks out for a moment, shocked and overwhelmed and shooting off hard in his briefs just from blowing Louis. He makes an alarmingly loud sound and hurries to take Louis deeper, stuff his mouth with it on the off-chance Louis didn't notice him embarrassing himself. He can't really take the deep breaths he needs around a cock, and ends up even more short of breath and spacey, almost like he's still coming, borrowing the pleasure Louis gets from his mouth.

He's sloppy from there, doesn't even try to come up with a technique beyond wet and tight. Louis doesn't complain, doesn't even bother with full sentences. "Yeah, yeah, you feel so good," he whispers, pushing up in the tiny movements Harry allows him. Harry moans around him and feels a bit gone, scattered everywhere. Buzzing from how he can only take shallow breaths, from how sticky his pants are, from how tightly Louis' still holding his head.

"I'm close," Louis breathes out finally. Harry hums happily and moves his hand faster, swallowing him down farther. He can actually feel Louis getting closer as he bobs his head, until Louis stops him roughly. "Fuck, I – baby, you've gotta pull up, pull up now."

Harry does as he says, can't do anything else, but even as Louis comes hard into his own cupped hand, Harry mouths at the side of his cock, so he feels it pulsing, so some come lands on his cheek. It might just be the best moment of his life. He's still a bit loopy from lack of oxygen, and his jaw hurts like a motherfucker, never mind his neck and back, but he can't stop smiling. He kisses the back of Louis' hand, because it's there and why not.

Louis untangles his hand from Harry's hair slowly and carefully, even tucks the sweaty mess behind Harry's ear before he hooks his finger under Harry's chin and pulls him up gently. Harry can actually hear his joints popping when he sits up straight after crouching for so long. He doesn't feel it, though, not yet. Too satisfied to care.

"What are you smirking about?" Louis asks, because he's still Louis, but Harry doesn't get to answer because Louis kisses him. It's not nearly as hard as before, more appreciative and – sweet, adoring, so lingering Harry flushes and curls his toes. He would like Louis to kiss him always, but especially after giving head, because his lips are swollen and tingling and his chin is messy and his throat feels raw and he can taste Louis, shares it in the kiss.

Louis only lets go of him for long enough to rifle through his bag and wipe his hand on something, and then he gets both of his hands on Harry, messaging his burning scalp and stroking his neck, kissing him and whispering about how good he was. Harry's so dazed he forgets why it's a Bad Thing when Louis' hand trails from his chest down his stomach and to his lap. He squirms when Louis lays a heavy hand on his spent cock, and then gulps when he feels Louis freeze. "You're all wet," he notes. "Christ, did you come?"

Harry's so embarrassed he buries his head in Louis' neck and coughs obnoxiously. "I, um. Might have? I'm sorry, you're just so fit and I liked – "

Thank god Louis stops him before he rambles more. He kisses him again, steals the words right from his mouth. "Don't worry about it, it's hot, I love how much you liked it. I just wish I could return the favour now."

Harry whines and tucks his nose under Louis' jaw. "I want it."

"I know you do. Let's get you home, I don't want you to drive like this."

Harry nods slowly and pulls back, suddenly exhausted. He looks at Louis through half-lidded eyes and smiles when Louis leans in to kiss him again, sucking on his bruised lips. "So pretty like this," he whispers, making Harry preen and kiss him back harder. "Always wanted your lips."

(x) (x)

It takes them ages to get the car started again, Harry drifting from needy kisses to being too tired to even fasten his own seatbelt. He's half-asleep when Louis pulls up at his driveway, his hand flung over the headrests so he can tangle his fingers in Louis' hair. "Hazza, we're here."

Harry just burrows deeper into his seat. "Hmm."

Louis laughs. "Should've known you'd be useless."

"Hey," Harry mumbles, vaguely offended. "Not too useless to make you come."

"Right." Harry waits for more banter, but none comes. He cracks one eye open and sees Louis staring into the wheel. It's weird, Louis always has to have the last word. Harry leans closer to kiss his beard, but Louis pulls back and clears his throat awkwardly. "Your, um. Your parents might be home."

Cold is starting to infiltrate the happy daze Harry's found himself in. "So?"

Louis still won't look at him. "So they can't exactly see me."

Right. Because Louis is his twenty-five year old driving instructor and Harry's still in sixth form. Jesus. He tries to be mature about it, even though he just wants this soft, content feeling to last. "Of course. I guess I'll... Just go then?"

He's a bit disappointed when Louis doesn't argue. Just a tiny bit. But he's got bigger things to worry about, like the crick in his neck or his soaked briefs. As soon as he climbs out of the car, the fresh air makes him woozy, and he notices that it's barely been an hour and that his parents' cars aren't here. He turns to tell Louis, maybe make a suggestion, but Louis' already jogging to his own car and pulling out a cigarette.

Harry feels like shit rather quickly. Every muscle in his torso hurts and he's still obscenely dirty, but it's not really hot without Louis looking at him like he's the best thing he's ever laid eyes on. He tries not to feel hurt or disappointed, but he's never been one to repress, and his jaw still aches. He doesn't want to be passive aggressive, either. So he just walks up to Louis' car and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Louis, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Louis lies, but at least he turns around to face Harry and leans up to kiss him. It's short but it's sweet, normal for him. As much as Harry can judge, anyway, considering the fact that just yesterday kissing Louis was a far-off dream, certainly not something to get used to.

Louis pulls back and rubs their noses together like an idiot, distracting Harry enough to open his car door and fold himself inside. Harry blinks at him for a moment. "Okay, um. What about the next lesson?"

"Just text me when you're available, yeah?"

Harry shrugs. Something weird is definitely happening, but Harry just wants to shower and lay down and kiss Louis again. He'll text him. They'll figure it out.

*

The problem with having a crush is that you don't actually expect to feel crushed. So when Louis doesn't text him back, doesn't answer, sends another guy from the driving school instead, it hits Harry hard. Because in all his hopes and fantasies, it never came to this. He never got shut down so thoroughly. And it just makes him realise how much he's actually come to rely on Louis, how much time he spends thinking about him, how he doesn't stop texting him even though it's been three days of radio silence.

So basically, he's being a pathetic shell of a person. Niall gives him three days to mourn Louis before calling him on it. By calling Louis all kinds of names.

They're cuddling in Harry's bedroom, where he's barricaded himself to have a cry and listen to sad music and actually do his homework. He didn't even get up to let Niall in, his mum had invited him to get Harry "out of his slump". She doesn't know about the Blowjob of Doom, of course, but Niall does. "I bet you give amazing head," Niall says proudly, stroking Harry's back. "Louis' a motherfucking twat."

Harry appreciates that. "Thanks, mate. I do think he liked it. Maybe he just realised he didn't like me."

"Again, then he's a knobhead. I bet he does like you, what the fuck's not to like?"

Harry buries his face in Niall's shoulder. "I dunno, since he never told me. I know," he says before Niall even opens his mouth. "He's a total ding-a-ling. Wanna hear the saddest thing?"

"There's something sadder than me catching you crying in your brand new expensive car?"

Ugh. "The saddest thing is that I don't even regret it."

"What, blowing him?"

"No, falling – well, yeah actually. I quite liked it." He nuzzles Niall's shoulder again, embarrassed, but Niall just hugs him tighter.

"It's alright mate, I get it. I mean, I don't get it, but B always gets wet when she does it to me."

You learn something new every day. "Oh."

"Yeah, so. Don't feel bad about anything. He's the sexual deviant who fucked a seventeen-year-old and the heartless shit who left him hanging."

He doesn't necessarily feel bad. "I'm mostly sad."

"Well, you should probably stop moping before it becomes permanent then."

"Heeey. I thought you came to join the moping."

"The only reason I have to mope is that my best friend is mopy. I'll be happy when you're happy."

He sighs in utter despair. "How do I get happy then?"

"You get plastered, of course."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Last time I got drunk I puked in your hat and you didn't talk to me for two weeks." Or days. Whatever.

"My ha – my designer snapback – isn't going anywhere near you this time. You're gonna go out and find a cock that isn't attached to a dick."

Harry snorts a laugh. "You're encouraging me to have casual sex while drunk?"

"No, if it happens it'll be 100 percent safe and consensual," Niall says resolutely. "I'm just encouraging you to have some fun. Without peeing in a bush and letting someone post a picture of your bum this time."

"My peachy bum," Harry emphasises.

"Please don't make me talk about your bum. I'm going to a gay club with you, who knows what I'll see."

Niall is just the best. "You're not coming with."

"What? Why not?"

"It'll just be easier if I go with a gay friend. I'll be okay. If I go."

Niall nudges him to look up and note his deep frown. It disappears as soon as Harry looks, though. Niall can't physically be disapproving or unsupportive. (He gives up on being the wingman when it turns out Barbara will really have an empty house this weekend. Harry doesn't hold it against him. He thinks it'll definitely strengthen their bro-bond if they both lose their virginities on the same night. Like some ritual.)

Saturday night, he goes. After five days of nothing from Louis, Harry finally became convinced if he didn't shake it off, he'd either shrivel up and die. And he's too young to die. He's too young for this club, too, but showing up with Nick Grimshaw has its perks. The first stop is the bar, naturally, and Harry buys himself a sugary cocktail and then lets someone buy him two shots of tequila. Once he gets a good buzz, he realises he's managed to lose Nick at some point.

The place is massive and crowded and loud, strobe lights and deep bass taking over Harry's mind. Right now, it's blissful. Nothing bothers him here, except for the tacky sweat he feels forming on his back. Good thing he's wearing a mesh shirt and no pants under his tight jeans. He downs one last shot and then steps onto the floor, where he's sure he'll forget even that.

He drifts on his own for a while, getting used to the music and the alcohol flowing in his veins. He starts moving before long, swaying his hips to the beat and mussing up his fringe. It's not his usual brand of "embarrassing dad dancing at a barbeque" moves, as Niall lovingly dubbed his dancing style. It's lazy-drunk and smooth. He sings along but he can't even hear himself, and thinks that's nice too, that he can scream out and only hear his loud pulse. He should've gone out sooner.

It doesn't startle him when he feels strange hands settle on his hips, more like a pleasant surprise. The further he moves onto the floor the more crowded it gets, and they're not just touching his hips. There are hands on his shoulders, people against his sides. He loves it. Loves feeling wanted. He's always been friendly, but this is decidedly raunchier than chatting to strangers on the bus. This is someone sweaty and big clinging to him, someone dancing right in front of him, and next to him, and behind him.

He likes that one best. He can't even see him, but maybe that's part of it. It's so much easier to dance when he's following, when all he has to do is match the curve of someone else's body. It's more than dancing, though. The stranger is full-on grinding up against his arse, and Harry might have moved on from him if it weren't for the hand in his hair. Not because the grip is strong enough to restrain him, but because it's strong enough to turn him on.

He grinds back, and the hand tightens on his hip. The music gets louder, or maybe it's his pulse. He wants another drink, but he can't seem to stop dancing, or wanting all these people around him. What if he loses his place in the crowd? What if he misses the guy draped over his back? He can't have that. He leans so his back is pressed to the stranger's chest and he thinks they're sharing a heartbeat.

He makes a disappointed little sound when the guy lets go of his hair, only then he pushes it back and presses his lips to Harry's ear. He slumps, too sensitive, nearly misses it when he hears, "Christ, you're fit. What's your name?"

He hums at the compliment, arching his back so his arse is pressed more firmly against the guy's crotch, and it feels like he's playing the character of someone who's got far more game than him, but the stranger doesn't know it. It gives him a wonderful rush.

He doesn't want to tell him his name. The only course of action is to turn his neck so the strange hand still behind his ear is closer to his mouth. So he can bite at his forefinger. He hears a curse from behind him and shudders, wraps his lips around the digit.

Finally, the guy gets it and shoves two fingers into Harry's mouth. It's unceremonious and kind of perfect, or at least he's drunk enough to pretend it is perfect, that he knows these fingers, that he's back in his car with Louis. He sucks on them and shoves his hips back, so turned on his jeans feel uncomfortable. The guy keeps whisper-yelling about how fit Harry is, and right now he believes it. It doesn't even matter what he says, because the moment he thought of Louis it became all he could think about.

And when he hears some yelling and feels someone new grab at him and start hauling him off, he doesn't think about how hot Louis is; he thinks, meanly, vindictively, that he doesn't need Louis at all. That he could just blow someone in the toilet of a club, right now, because that's how these things usually go, right? He wasn't supposed to find someone older and hotter and into him, for however long that lasted. He just wants to suck a cock that isn't attached to a dick. He turns around to face the man still drawing him away, to politely ask whether he fits that category, and.

Well, just. Fuck. He can't fucking get away from Louis, can he? Can't even stop in his tracks or struggle when he realises he's really awake and it really is Louis Tomlinson dragging him angrily away from the nice men who actually wanted to fuck him.

Harry's dumbstruck, can't even find the rage not to check Louis out. It's been a million years and Louis' wearing rudely tight black skinny jeans and a black T-shirt, because he's an arsehole who'd dress casual to his own wedding and still be more gorgeous than anyone on the continent. If Louis would just stop the pulling and stand still, Harry would much rather grind against him than anyone else. He'd be facing him, though, keep his arms locked around Louis' neck and kiss him and rub their cocks together right on the dance floor.

That doesn't seem to be in the cards. Which is just as well, really, seeing as the farther Harry gets from the nerve centre of the club, the more he remembers that he's mad at Louis. At least Louis' mad at him too, his hand tight around his wrist, unrelenting and possessive and kind of hot, but also annoying.

(x)(x)

The destination isn't the bar or the toilet. Louis' actually been leading him to the exit, and as soon as the doors are flung open, Harry's hit with an intense, sobering cold wave. He blinks against the wind and shivers, mesh shirt doing nothing to cover his sweaty skin. He looks up hesitantly, and feels another chill when he sees that Louis is livid. Still uncomfortably fit, but furious. What Harry doesn't miss is the fact Louis' still gripping his hand like he's misbehaved.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" is what Louis finally says, voice raspy even to Harry's pounding ears. Not how are you or remember when you blew me and then I blew you off or I'm so sorry about that.

Harry frowns at him. "I thought that was pretty obvious, Louis. I had no idea you would even be here." It's not like he was trying to get his attention or anything.

Louis' expression softens marginally. "I didn't say you did. But I know you're too young to be here, let alone drinking. Who are you with?"

Great. After fucking off for nearly a week, this is what Harry gets. "A mate."

"Which mate? Where are they?" he snaps.

Harry shrugs. "I dunno, maybe off with some guy." His eyes widen when Louis pulls out his phone, with the hand not still on Harry. He blurts the first thing on his mind. "Please don't call my mum."

Louis rolls his eyes, probably biting back something sarcastic. "I'm not, I'm texting my mate to tell him I'm taking you home."

"You – are?"

"I'm not just gonna let a cab drop you off." He says it so angrily it takes Harry a moment to understand that he's actually being considerate.

He bites his lip. "I – thank you, but I can't come home like this. I told them I'm at Niall's."

Louis' gaze turns steely again. If Harry's dick were just a bit softer he'd be so fucking annoyed right now. "Where were you going to stay?" Louis bites out.

Harry's eyes flit to the club, thinking about any of the men who touched him. But no, he probably would have found his way to Niall's house. Would have chickened out. He shrugs, and Louis sighs. "Come on then, I'll take you to my home."

Oh. That's. An option.

He leads him to some side street, hand still hot on his skin, and the more sober Harry gets, the more absurd this seems. Running into Louis after a week at the very place that was supposed to help him get over him. Louis throwing a fit and running Harry out of the club. And then making sure he got home safe.

There's something aggressive even in the way Louis slams his door shut, and Harry just. Can't have this tension between them. "You realise I'm legal, right?" he asks, innocently enough. Louis arches an eyebrow at the rearview mirror. "Okay, not to drink, but to fuck. The legal age of consent is sixteen."

Louis narrows his eyes and turns the wheel in a white-knuckled grip, kind of exactly like how Harry wishes he'd grab him. Fuck, he's bloody awful at confrontation.

"Not when I'm in a position of trust over you," Louis mutters. So someone did some Googling. Interesting. "And either way, it doesn't mean I liked watching you grinding your underage arse against some random creep."

More interesting. "Watching?"

"Seeing. Whatever. I can't believe you'd be so irresponsible." Harry ducks his head and breathes through it, knows he's in for a rant. "What if I hadn't been there and some old guy had gotten his horny hands on you and took you home and fucked you too rough? You know who goes to these places, people like Nick Grimshaw." Yeah, Harry definitely stays deathly silent. He'll have to ask Nick how he knows Louis, if he survives the most awkward car ride in history. Without crying. Nor understanding why Louis suddenly dislikes him. "They don't care about you, they just wanna use you."

Harry hates how sad he sounds when he says, "Like you, you mean?"

Louis comes up short. He's quiet for a moment. "What?"

Harry scrubs a hand over his face, pressing hard over his eyes. "I'd say having your student blow you and then dumping him without another word is a pretty good definition of using. If this is you being possessive after all that, you can fuck right off."

"No," Louis hisses, distressed enough that Harry looks up at him again. "This is me... caring about you and driving you home."

That's even worse. "So you care then?"

Louis looks shocked and starts driving faster. The roads are virtually empty at this hour; wherever they're going, they'll be there soon. "Of course I care, that's why I was ignoring you in the first place."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. No offence," he adds.

Louis just sighs. "None taken, I'm obviously dumb if you think I was dropping you just because I already had you."

Harry's not quite ready to let that thought go, but he does recognise the fact Louis thinks he's just rescued him from some satanic virgin sacrifice (at a club Louis went to himself). So maybe he's not quite over Harry yet. "I don't get you at all."

"You do, that's the – you know what, we're doing this. But not now. I want you to at least be sober and smell less like…"

Harry sniffs at himself when Louis trails off. "Sweat and cigarettes?"

"Someone else."

"Right."

Louis and Zayn's flat is a bit of a shoebox. Which is to say it's small and cosy and has shoes everywhere. Harry's still drunk enough to wonder how many legs they have, but not drunk enough to ask. Of course his first act as a guest at Louis' place is to knock over the wooden key dish and cringe at the noise.

Louis sighs and stops Harry from trying to pick it up. "C'mon love, let's get you tucked in," he says, leading Harry past the kitchen to one of the bedrooms. At least he's less prickly now, whatever possessed him at the club dissipating.

So he's in Louis' bedroom, a magical, wonderful place that Harry didn't even hope to see. He's sluggish, and if Louis weren't pouring him into the bed he probably would have knocked over a dozen other things. As it is, he's sweaty and smelly, and splays himself over Louis' covers. "You gonna sleep with me?"

Louis shakes his head, but leans closer to run his hand through Harry's hair. It's an irreparable mess probably, nothing could save it but a shower, but he's too tired to move, not to mention have Louis stop touching him. It's just. Absurd that he's so desperate he's willing to forget how Louis had hurt him. But he's always been a bit desperate for Louis.

"No, I'll take the sofa. Don't want Zayn to bother you when he comes home."

Harry's devastatingly disappointed. He curls in on himself. "Right."

"Listen, don't fall asleep yet, I wanna get you water and some Paracetamol. Take off your shoes though, you animal."

Harry groans at the thought of moving, but Louis leaves before he can protest. So he straightens up slowly and slips his shoes off, then his socks, and then his shirt. He knows he'll be freezing soon, but for now he's so relieved, slumping back on the cool sheets. He reaches both his arms up until he can grab at the headboard and points his toes, stretching his muscles and making his body strain. There's still something restless under his skin, the phantom touches of the multiple men who were all over him, adoring him before Louis swooped in and "saved" him. Maybe Louis thought it was chivalrous, but the truth is it just left Harry frustrated.

He whines to himself softly, and that's how Louis finds him. Harry can only watch as Louis rakes his eyes over Harry's long form sprawled on his bed. He snaps out of it too soon, shakes his head and dumps the water and pills on the nightstand. "Good night," he says stiffly and retreats, closing the door behind him.

Disappointment still coils in him, that he's come so far but Louis still can't even look at him. He turns over to bury his face in the pillow, but all that accomplishes is flooding him with Louis' smell, clean and lovely. Christ, he's in Louis' bed, and all he can think about is blowing him. It's haunted him since the moment it happened, and the memory is too strong now, coupled with the familiar scent, with the knowledge Louis is just outside. He can't really skip out on him when Harry's in his bed. It just reminds Harry that he's been packing a hard-on for like, three hours, and he rubs against the mattress unthinkingly.

It feels too good to stop once he starts, and he's still got his hands clamped around the bars of the headboard. He rubs his face into the pillow to stay quiet, despite the fact it's getting harder to breathe, and the less focused he gets the more he thinks about Louis. First it's his cock filling Harry's mouth, something he's miraculously familiar with, but then it's his cock in his own hand, lying right where Harry's lying and tugging himself fast. I keep thinking of you when I jerk off.

Harry bites the pillow and grinds down harder, thinks about Louis saying his name and touching himself, his beautiful skin glowing and sweaty, his muscles stretched tight and his tattoos standing out, begging Harry to lick over them. Thinks about Louis clubbing with him, fitting his smaller frame to Harry's and dancing, getting to wrap his arms around Louis and press tight against him. Dragging him off to blow him in a toilet stall with the door wide open. He gasps when he finally comes, so relieved and satisfied he doesn't even think about his pantsless situation and staining his jeans.

He lifts his head so he can breathe properly, and once he comes down, he shoves his jeans off and dumps himself back in the bed. He remembers to drink the entire water bottle, and then curls up around Louis' pillow and falls asleep in seconds.

*

When he wakes up, he's less hungover than he is disoriented. His stomach keeps turning and there's dried sweat all over his body. He's pretty sure he stinks. He groans to himself and stumbles to his feet, feels his way outside of the bedroom to find the shower.

He's halfway into using an industrial amount of shampoo when he realises this is not his flowery shampoo because this is not his shower because this is really not his house. He actually gasps aloud and clutches the showerhead to his chest, looking around in horror. Jesus Christ, it's all coming back to him, dancing with a stranger and making Louis so jealous he abducted Harry to his bed. In which, fuck, Harry wanked. What was he thinking. Louis will hang him if he finds out.

If Harry ever gets out of the shower. This is the rudest thing he's ever done. He's definitely supposed to ask before using someone's shower. Fuck, he didn't bring clothes with him, too used to walking around naked in his own house. He didn't even check the time, it could be the middle of the night and he woke everyone up. Woke Louis up. He's just used Louis' shampoo. Yesterday he thought he'd never see Louis again, and now he’s christened his bed. Harry should consider a career in this unwitting seduction thing.

Alright. He showers as thoroughly as possible, to get the smell of the club off his skin, and then steps out and uses mouthwash he hopes isn't expired. His clothes haven't magically appeared, so he finds the one towel that isn't wet on the floor and wraps it around his waist. Alright.

With a racing heart, he opens the door, and, surprisingly, doesn't find Louis and Zayn standing outside with the police. He tiptoes out, and notes that the living room is empty, which probably means Louis is awake. He doesn't flee, more like a graceful gallop back to the bedroom. Once he's finally safe, he closes the door softly behind him.

He rounds the bed and cracks open a window, so there's a sliver of light and fresh air in the room. It leads to the disconcerting discovery that his shirt is too disgusting to be worn unwashed, and his jeans are unusable too. Jizz jeans. Not something he wants to parade around Louis' house at the moment.

The only option is to crawl back into bed. He's too anxious to fall asleep now, keeps thinking over what happened, why Louis could have brought him here. If Louis would appreciate him sleeping naked in his bed or actually hang him.

He's a bit relieved when Louis finally knocks on the door. He pulls the duvet up to his chin and fixes his hair, curlier than normal after the shower. "Yeah," he croaks out.

Louis opens the door slowly and shuffles into the room elbow-first, carrying two cups of tea.

It's been the most frustrating week of his short life, and he spent most of it mad at Louis, sad over Louis, and convincing himself Louis is some evil mastermind. But right now all he sees is his mate, who cracks inappropriate jokes just to make Harry laugh and gets weirdly intense over salad choices and got under his skin somewhere around day one. And he looks sleep-rumpled and fluffy and Harry wants to crawl into his lap and kiss his face. He's brought tea for Christ's sake.

Louis gives him a once-over and sniffs. He probably meant to open with "good morning" or "I hope you like tea", but instead he goes with, "You used my shampoo."

Harry shrinks into the blanket. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright. I like the. Smell."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that makes sense. Since you own it."

"No, I meant – okay, let's go with that."

Harry suddenly remembers something Louis said last night, about Harry smelling like someone else, and he knows it's dumb and weird, but now, in Louis' bed after using his toiletries, he thinks he probably smells like Louis and. That's probably what Louis meant. Harry runs a hand over his face to cover the blush, hopefully. "Um. It's weird seeing you standing up since I've only ever seen you in a car."

Honesty is the best policy, and at least it breaks the tension. Louis snorts and moves into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it, which. Okay. He then steps closer to the bed and hands Harry a mug. "I know you're probably a weirdo who likes green tea, but I only have black, so. Deal with it."

"You're a shit host," Harry says, making Louis glare. "Is there sugar at least?"

"Fuck. I figured you were sweet enough?" he tries.

Harry rolls his eyes again, and bites back a smile. "Thanks." It's just the right temperature to drink in gulps, which means Louis' waited a while. Harry imagines Louis standing in the kitchen over piping hot tea and psyching himself up to come face Harry. "So. I'm sorry about last night, I guess, you really didn't have to stash me here."

"No, I. I think you're due an apology. Can I sit?"

"It's your bed." He shuffles back, making sure to keep the duvet bunched well over his waist. Louis doesn't need to know he's naked right now.

Louis sits down gingerly, curling his little hands around his mug and tucking his legs up. He's close enough to knock their shoulders together, never one for personal space. Harry bites his lip again and waits for him to start, setting his tea on the nightstand. Finally, Louis says into his tea, "Sorry I've been ignoring you."

When it doesn't look like Louis' going to add anything, Harry clears his throat. "Did I do something – "

"No, of course not," Louis cuts him off, wrapping a hand around Harry's wrist and tangling his fingers in the bracelets. It's oddly intimate. "You did all the right things. I'm the…" He takes a deep breath. "The moment we kissed I felt – I knew that it's gonna be a thing that, like, I won't be able to stop doing. And then you blew me and it hit me how much you wanted this too, and I was – am afraid that you're just trying to please me, because you're so young, Harry, how can you know what you want?"

Okay, Harry needs a moment to stomach all that. "Louis, have I ever jerked you around? I've been pretty fucking obvious, like. I know what you want." He turns his hand so their fingers clasp together.

Louis sighs. It's so hard to see vibrant, loud Louis this defeated. "But you don't really. Your first boyfriend should be your own age, okay? It should be normal, you deserve to experiment and explore stuff, you don't need someone like me."

Harry can't believe it's coming down to Louis' insecurities. "You're saying I'm – not normal?"

Louis sets his tea aside and catches Harry's eye. "Of course you're not, you're fucking amazing."

Harry turns to him, squeezing his hand. "So – "

"And I get the appeal of sleeping with someone experienced, but – "

"Louis, that's not it at all," he cuts him off, leaning down to nudge his shoulder with his forehead on instinct. His instinct will always be to touch Louis. "It's not an older man thing, it's a you thing. It's you being funny and caring and getting me. I want you, I know I do. I'll want you when I'm eighteen and when I'm twenty-two, okay? And if you were mad enough not to realise that, why did you even bring me here last night instead of dropping me off at Niall's?"

Louis' face hardens. "Didn't want anyone touching you. I just wanted to get you out." His voice is harsh and Harry kind of wants to melt into the mattress. "What were you even doing there, really?"

Harry shrugs, moving closer to Louis. It feels like time. "Trying to get over you."

Louis starts chuckling, and when Harry frowns at him he just shakes his head. "Me too. Fucking poetic, innit?"

Harry bites his lip hard and nuzzles the soft fabric of Louis' loose T-shirt. "So we agree that you're dumb and that I want you to kiss me right now and possibly fuck me later?"

"Excuse you, I'm not dumb, I'm having very legitimate moral dilemmas like any lecherous old man who – " Harry kisses his dumb mouth then, because it's there and being assertive with Louis is crucial.

He's rewarded by Louis leaning into it immediately, wrapping his hand around Harry's neck so his fingers tangle in his curls. Harry parts his lips, fitting perfectly against Louis' mouth. He sighs when he feels Louis' stubble scratch his chin, since he didn't shave this morning. Harry would like to think of it as a gift.

He's distracted by Louis' tongue licking into his mouth, and somehow misses the moment Louis puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back against the pillows. That is until Louis rolls half on top of him and kisses him deep and hard and the blanket tangles between their legs. Harry tries to right it so he could get his hands on Louis, but somehow that leads to Louis' leg slipping between Harry's thighs and – Jesus, Harry's back arches at the contact and his legs clench around Louis'.

Louis stops snogging him and freezes for long enough to make Harry open his eyes, confused. He finds Louis staring at him with his beautiful mouth hanging open, puffy from kissing. Harry leans up to kiss him again, but Louis pushes him back down. "You're naked. Where are your pants?"

Harry flushes instantly, trying so hard not to rub up against Louis' conveniently-placed thigh. "I, um. Never had any?"

Louis blinks at him. His eyelashes are indecently long. Harry wants to kiss him. He's naked under Louis and kissing is an option, what a wonderful morning. "So last night…"

"Yeah," Harry says, even though he's not sure what Louis' thinking. He just wants the discussion to end so he can go back to kissing and maybe see about Louis moving against him. "Slept naked in your bed."

Louis' still annoyingly immobile. "I meant at the club."

"Oh. Then you probably don't wanna look at my jeans."

Of course Louis does. At least he moves in a way that brings him in contact with Harry's hard dick again, so he counts it as a win, for the half-second it actually takes Louis to piece together what the jizz jeans mean. Then Louis makes a deep sound and his hands fly to Harry's shoulders and pin him down. It's not like he was going anywhere, but Louis manhandling him – yeah, that could be a thing.

Louis perches on his thighs, so beautiful and so close to his cock. He bends down to kiss Harry's neck, but no, this could hardly be considered a kiss. He bites the skin hard and sucks it into his mouth, makes Harry gasp and throw his head back.

"Harry," Louis growls in his ear, then bites that too, tugs on his earlobe. His nails are still digging into Harry's shoulders. "Jerking off in my bed?" he asks, scolding. Harry knows he can't actually be mad, since he hasn't kicked him out of bed for being weird and sneakily wanking in another person's house. So he's pretending. Acting. It hits home when Louis adds, "Is that what good boys do?"

Even Harry can't believe how much he gets off on it. He could have been perfectly content just snogging Louis and grinding against his thigh and having normal, lazy morning sex, but as previously established, he's not really normal. And this is so much better, this feels like Louis' turned up the heat in the room, this feels like giving. Harry's always been eager to please.

He arches up when Louis sucks another bruise into his neck, and Louis has to pin him back down and twist a nipple in reprimand. Harry makes an embarrassing, helpless little noise, because his nipples have always been sensitive and Louis' not gentle at all. The best part is that Harry knows it's because of him. That Louis wouldn't be like this if Harry hadn't reacted the way he did when Louis pulled his hair and got rough with him.

He bites all along Harry's collarbones, sucks and licks and keeps rubbing his beard against his skin. It burns and it makes it so fucking hard not to thrust his hips up. Louis isn't even done. "You made me so angry last night, dancing like that, sucking on some guy's fingers – " He cuts himself off with a flick of his tongue against Harry's hard nipple. "I could see everyone looking at you and I couldn't even blame them, you were fucking obscene. Could have given it up to anyone."

Harry squirms and shakes his head. "Only wanted you."

"Didn't seem like it," Louis says, tugging harder on his nipple and kissing him right under his jaw, where his pulse beats the hardest. "Looked like you were ready to bend over for them all. They wanted you to. Wanted your arse, wanted your pretty lips around their cocks. But I'm the only one that had your mouth, aren't I?"

Harry nods this time, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. His cock twitches against his stomach but Louis' keeping him firmly pinned down, sitting on his thighs and splaying a hand over his heart. "You are, I swear, I didn't mean to make you angry."

That gets him a kiss, at least. It's unexpectedly sweet, considering the bruises he can feel blooming on his chest, but with his mouth Louis is gentle, sucking on his lower lip and pressing them close, opening Harry's mouth carefully. Harry sighs into it, draws a sense of calm from the moment. It shatters as soon as Louis starts talking again. "I know you didn't. You were still very bad. Should I punish you for it?"

Harry's nodding before Louis even finishes the question. Whatever Louis wants, he can have. He doesn't know why he trusts him so much, when their bond became what it is, but he's pretty sure he'll be losing his virginity to Louis by noon, so. Whatever gets him there. Louis kisses him slowly again, bringing his hand up to tug on Harry's damp hair in reward. "Alright. Wanna know what I'll do?"

Harry considers this, despite the fact he's so turned on he can barely think. On one hand it might be hot to just let Louis take over completely and keep him in the dark, but on the other he needs Louis to talk. So he nods again. When Louis doesn't react, doesn't even twist his nipple again, Harry breathes out, "Yeah, yeah, I do."

"Well, I guess the classic would be to spank you, but I don't want to hurt you for your first time. Not that much, at least." Harry's stomach twists and his toes curl, both from the thought of Louis spanking him like he really is in a porno, and Louis saying first time, like this is actually happening. It's beyond anything he could have hoped for. He got it. He got what he wanted.

Louis takes his sweet time with the explanation, keeping Harry on edge. Since he didn't even think to open his eyes he keeps being surprised; one second Louis' mouth is latched to the spot behind his ear, the next he's scraping his nipple with his teeth. "I could... not allow you to come. Keep you desperate and on edge for hours. Don't you think you deserve it, after coming in your pants two times and not letting me take care of you?"

Like it's a privilege Harry's denied him of. He ruts up involuntarily, but Louis' strong thighs are still keeping him trapped, which just makes him struggle more. He thinks about Louis keeping this up, just this, staying close but not close enough, touching him but pulling away, teasing him but not allowing him to come. Controlling him like that. He nods frantically, wriggling under Louis, who quiets him with kisses. "I couldn't, though. Not right now," he adds when Harry makes a disappointed sound. "You're just so beautiful, open and clean and naked in my bed. I couldn't keep myself from playing with you."

He emphasises it by wrapping his lips around Harry's nipple and sucking hard, making his back arch into it again. Louis just rolls with it, careful not to give Harry even a glancing touch to his cock. He'll probably die soon. He still doesn't want it to end. He wants Louis to play with him for the next fifty years or so.

"Open your eyes, babe," Louis whispers. Harry obeys immediately, and blinks at the sudden light. He abruptly stops when he catches sight of Louis. He's absolutely stunning, straddling Harry's thighs and curved over his body. Harry's breath catches in his throat when he catalogues all of Louis' features, how flushed he is, how his eyes look almost drugged, how Harry brought this out of him. And he's still fully clothed. And he's still talking. "You look so wrecked just from this. I wanna see how far I can get you."

Harry doesn't know what it means, but he can't even think it over because Louis lets go of his nipple and brings his hand up to his own mouth instead. Harry watches helplessly when Louis licks his palm, his eyes glued to Harry's and a bloody smirk playing on his lips. Yes. Harry cants his hips up, so ready for it he scratches his own hips distractedly.

He definitely isn't prepared for Louis to draw his waistband down and wrap his hand around his own cock. He strokes himself slowly, so Harry can see the length of him, and. He's had it in his mouth not too long ago, but it was in a car and it was his first time and Harry had various concerns. Right now Louis' stripped him of any possible worry, and he's sitting on him, couldn't be more obvious if he tried. Harry can't stop looking at Louis' hips work, barely feels his own jumping up in sympathy. His eyes snap back up to Louis' face when he hears him make a soft noise.

His face is just blissful, eyes half-lidded and harsh breaths escaping from between his pink lips. Harry can't believe he gets to watch this, gets to have Louis fucking his fist on top of him. "Stop whining," Louis says suddenly. Shit, Harry didn't even notice that half the sounds he was hearing were his own. He clamps his mouth shut, even through Louis' next instruction. "You can touch your cock now. Want you to get yourself off."

Louis could be a decent MI6 torture person, probably. Seeing as he's making Harry watch him jerk off artfully with his delicate, veiny and tattooed hand, but forcing him to settle for his own clumsy hand. He wants to whine some more, but he already knows what Louis will say. That he doesn't deserve it after his behaviour. Hasn't earned him yet.

So he does as Louis says, like always. Untangles his clammy hand from the sheets and gets it on his cock, eyes drifting shut and legs stretching as soon as he touches himself. It feels like it's been years and he knows he's loud but he can't help it, because Louis' always loud, because the sounds of them both mingle in the air, because his hand feels so fucking good after all the teasing.

Louis doesn't help him along, extremely careful not to go near his cock, but he's still the one that makes Harry come, when he leans down to kiss him again, steal his breath away. It's not even his eager lips, it's when he mutters, "You're so big" and "I want to see you come now".

He just falls apart, shoots as high as his chest and writhes under Louis' weight on his thighs. Louis kisses him through it, which eases the niggling disappointment of making himself come when Louis' just sitting there. Next time, he guesses. After he catches his breath.

Only, he doesn't actually get a moment to catch his breath. Because as soon as he tries to let go, he feels Louis' hand wrap around his wrist and move his hand for him, stroking over his sensitive dick. He grunts and opens his eyes slowly, unfocused and confused. "Keep going," Louis says simply. "You need to stay hard for this."

"For what?" he asks, and realises belatedly he hasn't spoken in a while, because he can barely recognise his own voice. It's deep and raspy and sort of meaningless, because he does what Louis says, keeps pumping his cock with his own come, even when his body feels spent and drawn tight all at once, struggling to keep up.

"You tell me," Louis says, and he's stopped touching himself now but his sweatpants are still lowered so Harry can see his cock. It looks flushed and achingly hard, it looks like Louis' just waiting. Harry's basically drooling.

If the question was what Harry would like next, he doesn't even need to think about the answer. "Fuck me."

Louis' eyes actually widen for a second, like he's surprised it even crossed his mind. Like he hasn't been thinking about it at least once a day since the Fateful Fingering. What it'll be like to have Louis hold him down and fuck him, fill him up and stretch him and make him come on it. He squirms just thinking about it, his hand still jerking his sensitive cock.

Louis recovers fast enough. "Yeah? You want that? Want me to pop your cherry? Fuck you so good you'll be ruined for anyone else?"

The words send a rush through him, flip some switch, something that makes the friction on his cock stop hurting and turn mindblowing, something that makes him whisper a word he didn't think he'd actually use during his first time having sex, but fuck it. "Daddy."

Louis visibly shudders at that. Harry thinks a switch flips in him too, can somehow sense it in the way his shoulders tense and his eyes get darker. He's fucking gorgeous like this. He's always gorgeous, with his cheekbones and wild hair and scruff, but right now he looks like he wants to tear Harry apart, and Harry wouldn't have it any other way. It makes it even worse when Louis says, "I won't. I don't think you've earned it yet," because Harry knows he means it. And it devastates him.

He arches up and squeezes his own cock, whines and brings his free hand up to tug on his hair so he's at least a bit distracted by the pain. And the floodgates open. "Please, Daddy, just fingers then, I need something – I need you, please make it good, when I tried – I needed you too."

He can't be bothered to feel embarrassed, just hopes it gets him somewhere, because he finds that he meant it. He has to have more of Louis, could take anything. Louis keeps his face impassive, bless him, but Harry can see his cock flush even darker against his stomach. His grip on Harry's wrist tightens and stills his hand. His body keeps rolling with it, cock pulsing in his hand. It's unbearable, but he feels sort of… detached from it. He shakes his head and focuses on Louis' voice. "What's that? What do you mean when you tried?"

Harry bites his lip. If there was any time to be honest, this is probably it. "When I tried fucking myself for the first time, I couldn't – I was close but I couldn't make myself come, so I, um, called you."

Louis' eyes flutter shut for a second, and he takes a deep breath. "And?"

"And what?"

Louis' grip on his hand is almost painful now, and Harry thinks about bruises around his wrists and a sudden wave of arousal hits him. "And did you come once you called?"

Harry blinks up at him. "Of course. I heard your voice."

Louis' nostrils flare, and he has to take another calming breath before speaking. "So that's three times you came without letting me know. Remember that number." He suddenly ducks down, presses his lips to Harry's overheated cheek. "Calling someone while jerking off? That's fucking filthy, Harry. Is that what good boys do?"

Harry remembers that Louis' asked this before, at some distant point. He can't remember if he answered then. He knows the answer now. He shakes his head, embarrassed and weirdly disappointed with himself for something he did weeks ago. "No. I'm so sorry, Daddy."

He shouldn't be apologising, should he? Louis seems to think he should. He hums sympathetically and says, "That's right baby, they don't. Don't ask for my cock if you're not good enough yet. Don't even deserve my fingers."

Harry could cry, honestly. He whines low in his throat and twists under Louis, happy he can't see his eyes because he's so embarrassed by being caught as a bad boy. He knows he can be good, he has to be. He will be for Louis. "Please," he whispers. It sounds sad and broken.

Louis pulls up abruptly, and places a gentle hand on Harry's chin to tilt his head up. His eyes look clear all of a sudden, and it helps Harry when he focuses on them. Thinks of their colour. It's easier to breathe. "Harry, do you want to stop?" he asks. Before Harry can shake his head, Louis adds, "I mean stop playing. I'll still fuck you and it'll be just as good, okay?"

Harry considers it.

It won't be, though.

He shakes his head anyway, and the rush Louis' proud smile gives him is proof that he's on the right track. Louis kisses his forehead sweetly and whispers, "I'm having so much fun. You're doing so well. Promise to tell me if the light turns red."

"Promise," Harry assures him. "Promise, promise. It's all green." His fingers tighten in his hair. Now that there's… a boundary, he wants to go back under it. Wants daddy back.

Louis recognises it, and his face is imperious and disapproving when he straightens his back again. Harry shudders. Anticipation coils in his gut, and he loves this. Has no clue what Louis will do next.

He sucks in a sharp breath when Louis kneels up and shuffles back so he can settle between Harry's aching thighs, instead of on them.

The first time Louis touches Harry's cock, he wraps his hand tight around it and says, "You're gonna come empty again. No fingers. Just my mouth." And then he draws him in between his lips and Harry shuts his eyes and moans so loudly it echoes, might have even crossed the border into yelling.

If he thought giving head was a big deal, getting head is something else. Louis' lips are tight around him, and he wastes no time in taking him in, tongue first. Harry's never felt anything like it before, completely overwhelmed by the wetness of it, by Louis sucking around him. He didn't even think it was possible to get this hard just minutes after coming, but Louis' mouth does the trick.

Heat courses through his body, makes him shake under Louis, utter words that don't make sense. Louis goes achingly slow, swallowing him inch by inch but stopping before even reaching halfway. Harry never thought there would come a time he'd wish he didn't have a big dick, but.

His eyes flutter open and he nearly snaps them closed again at the sight between his legs. Louis' got his own eyes closed like he's… relishing this, and his hair is flat on his forehead and his cheekbones are jutting out with the way he's sucking. It's nearly dwarfed in comparison to the view of Harry's hard cock disappearing between his lips, and they're pretty and puffy and stained with Harry's come from earlier. Louis can taste it right now, he doesn't even need to come in his mouth – fuck, Harry's hips snap up to bury his cock deeper in Louis' mouth.

Louis doesn't punish him for it, just takes it and keeps bobbing his head, giving Harry the friction he needs. It strikes Harry that Louis can take it, that he's experienced with this sort of thing, and it lets loose another small piece in Harry. Knowing that he doesn't need to think about anything because Louis' got this.

He can only watch helplessly as he jerks his hips up in short thrusts and Louis opens up wider, keeps his tongue flat on the underside that Harry knows is covered with come. Watches Louis get a little sloppy, feels and sees spit dribble down his cock, enough to get him slick, enough so that when Louis wraps a hand around the base of his shaft it's as smooth as his mouth.

Harry throws his head back against the pillow and fights the headrush, probably caused by not being able to breathe, definitely caused by Louis' face. Louis pumps him fast but sucks him slow, so his lips and hand don't exactly meet, so Harry doesn't have any one particular feeling to cling to. Louis keeps distracting him with his tongue against the head or with twists of his small hand that only makes Harry's cock look even bigger. Harry's well on his way to losing his mind.

He definitely loses it when Louis starts licking over his cockhead and making pleased little noises, barely audible over Harry's own ragged breaths but more overwhelming. Louis' loud even with a cock stuffed in his mouth, and Harry wants him to stay right there forever, but he can already feel the tight pulling in his gut, the pleasure getting to be too much.

He manages to hold off for a while longer, just watching Louis expertly work over him. He's not sure he'll ever get used to the sensation, but he probably won't mind if it makes him this weak every time. Louis takes him deeper again, and Harry's legs spread uncontrollably. He turns his head into the pillow, embarrassed by his own reactions. He doesn't want to look too eager in case Louis thinks he still hasn't earned this.

Louis just props Harry's knees up and over his shoulders and starts running his tongue over his length, before pulling his balls into his mouth. Harry whimpers, weak weak weak, thoughts and feelings colliding inside him, his heart thumping violently against his chest. Louis slides both his hands up Harry's calves until they're tucked under his knees and he pushes them apart. Harry's legs fall open again and he clenches on nothing, his heels digging into Louis' back to hopefully pull him closer. It rips out of him. "Please."

Harry whimpers pathetically again when Louis pulls back and just breathes on his wet skin, still so close Harry can practically feel his lips brushing over him. It's not his lips in the end, though. It's his beard, suddenly rubbing hard against his thighs, and it burns but it's so good, it's too much -

Fuck, Harry can't get any air in his lungs and his muscles feel on fire and then he arches up and comes again, splattering over his already filthy stomach. It doesn't last as long but it takes him more time to recover. As much as he can, at least. Breathing, for example, is problematic.

He throws his legs out with Louis still between them, stretches out like he can spread the feeling down to his toes. He's still wet from Louis' mouth, like he can still feel him on his cock. Every time he thinks he's alright, he just remembers again and twists in the sheets.

So he's pretty shocked when he feels Louis touch him again. He recoils, way too sensitive, but Louis just follows him and kisses along his dick, sweet and dirty at the same time. Harry opens his eyes slowly, his vision actually blurry around the edges.

Turns out there have been developments while he was coming his brains out. Louis is now naked, and Harry's so out of it he can't even look at him for a moment, offended by every tattoo and muscle and inch of tan skin. Louis ducks down again and Harry stares at his strong shoulders flexing, the way his collarbones pop out. He makes a high noise he's never made before when Louis licks along his soft, spent cock. He doesn't even have the energy to flinch. "I – I can't, it's too much," he whispers.

"Harry," Louis tells him off in a rough voice, and Harry knows it's not a daddy thing, it's his throat being fucked raw from sucking cock. He whines again and tries to shuffle away from Louis' face. "How many do you owe me?"

There's a long moment in which Harry has no idea what's happening or why he's expected to function well enough to answer a question, followed by a more horrible moment where Louis lifts his head and Harry instinctively follows him with his hips. His body still begging for it, even after everything. He shudders when he understands. "Three."

"That's right," Louis says warmly, kissing Harry's bruised thigh and making him yelp. "I know you can give me three. Don't you want to make me proud, baby?"

Jesus, Harry can barely move his legs, let alone promise to be able to come three times in sequence, but even as he thinks that, he knows it doesn't matter. All that matters to him right now is making Louis proud. If he needs to come three times, come sore and – dry, push his body that far, so be it. "I can…" It's hard to form words right now, still reeling from everything, and from Louis asking for even more. "I can try, Daddy."

"Good. Good boy," he corrects, making something warm fill Harry's chest. A big smile spreads on his face, and he doesn't struggle when Louis kisses the head of his cock again. He rolls with it, feels so good he's high on it. It's not even that uncomfortable anymore, now that Harry knows there's a goal. He's a good boy.

"You have no idea how lovely you look, making a mess of yourself over and over again for me," Louis continues. He's moving around, but Harry's too busy lapping up the attention to notice. "Your innocent face all flushed and perfect. You're so spent but you want more, don't you?" Harry nods frantically, spreading his legs even wider. Louis hums. "I just want to give you everything."

Apparently everything starts with a finger brushing over his hole, and Harry's breath catches so fast he wheezes, back locking but hips nudging closer to Louis. He circles his rim for a while, getting it slick with lube, and Harry moans impatiently. Louis tuts at him and Harry's about to apologise again, but – nothing comes out of his gaping mouth because two of Louis' fingertips are entering him.

His whole body clamps down and he scrabbles for purchase, anything. He finds the headboard and grips it hard. Louis' fingers are perfect, better than Harry could have imagined even when he had three of his own fingers thrusting deep inside him. They're thick and nimble and keep fluttering when Louis pushes in in in, filling him up. He's so oversensitive, overstimulated, overfucked, overeverything that the stretch feels nothing but glorious, that he grinds back and makes soft sounds and doesn't have to wait for it to feel good. It feels amazing from the word go.

Only when his thighs start burning does Harry realise how much he's spread his legs. He doesn't even feel the pang of humiliation because just looking down at himself, his long legs framing Louis, his hips pushing down against his fingers for more, it's hot. He likes feeling this way, exhilarated, stretched in every direction for Louis, eager and easy and – Louis likes it too, given the dark look he's pinning him with. "Fuck, you're so tight, I didn't think – you feel so good for me, baby."

Harry feels like he's floating, so pleased with Louis being pleased with him. He beams and bucks down on Louis' fingers, finally getting them all the way inside. He clenches hard just to hear Louis gasp. "Ask me for it again," Louis says.

Harry doesn't know what he wants to hear, so he just lets it all out. "Fuck me, Daddy – " His breath hitches when Louis shoves his fingers even deeper. "Please make it good, I've waited – ah – for so long, only thought of you – "

One of them does it. Louis pulls his fingers out almost all the way and then thrusts them back in hard. It hurts but it doesn't, it's too good to hurt, it's everything all at once, it's getting Harry hard again. He keeps fucking in and out of him, making Harry pant out little broken gasps every time. The rhythm is so easy to fall into, Harry times his own movements, can tell when to brace himself and when to grind back.

So of course Louis changes it up by keeping his fingers buried deep inside him and then moving them. He curves and curls and twists and makes Harry cry out because he could never get that deep himself, he's never had it like this before. He feels too full and like – Louis' keeping him suspended somehow, like he's breathlessly waiting for something –

And then he feels it. Like a spark. Like when he's really hard and hasn't touched his cock for a week, and he knows right when he gets his hand on it that that first stroke is going to feel amazing. It's that tingly feeling only it's not just his cock, it's his pelvis and his balls and his inner thighs and it's strong, it's fucking paralysing.

Louis thrusts against that spot slowly, confident now that he's found it, and Harry can't make a sound. His mouth is wide open but he can't get enough air, and he is wide open but he can't move, so afraid Louis will stop.

"How does that feel, baby? Did it ever feel like this?" Louis asks. Harry shakes his head violently, his sweaty curls flopping over his closed eyes. His whole body's drawn tight as a bow, and this time the feeling does spread all over, with the heat shooting down to his fingertips from Louis'.

Even though Harry didn't answer, Louis starts really going at it, curling his fingers just right and rubbing them in unrelenting circles, not giving Harry even a second to breathe. He feels suspended again, like he's caught in the perfect few seconds before coming, only he doesn't come and it just doesn't stop. He starts babbling at some point, whimpering and whining, too afraid to actually listen to the words spilling from his mouth because he knows he's begging. He can't take it, not after two orgasms, he feels like he's going to explode.

He tries rocking back so at least there's movement, something to ground him, Louis fucking inside him, but Louis grabs his hip with his free hand. It's not strong enough to pin him down, but Harry freezes on his own, knows better than to disobey Louis right now. And Louis keeps with the maddening rubbing, pushing Harry further and further out of his mind.

When it finally happens, it's barely more than a dribble, yet it's so intense it hurts a little, feels like he's coming for whole minutes after he stops. He whines when Louis keeps going and whines when Louis pulls out. He's just a sobbing mess, feels completely out of control, and it only gets worse when Louis crawls up his body and kisses him again for the first time in ages, his lips and his cheeks and his nose and his ear, where he stops to whisper, "You did so, so well baby, made me so proud. You're just perfect."

Harry whimpers again and manages to move his limbs just enough to wrap his legs around Louis' hips and pull him flush against him. He hisses at the contact against his cock but he needs – it doesn't feel right yet – but he can't explain it, knows Louis won't believe him. The only thing he can say is, "Daddy. Fuck."

Louis groans and puts his hands on Harry's thighs, digging his nails in. He stops himself, though, pets Harry gently instead. "You only owed me three, love."

Harry shakes his head, searching for the words. "Daddy – you said if I'm good, said if I earn it you'll fuck me, didn't – don't I deserve it?"

Something dark creeps inside him, but Louis nips it in the bud quite effectively by kissing him, deep and needy. "You deserve it, you know you do, you broke down so beautifully, I can't even believe I got to see it. I'll fuck you now, okay? Daddy will take care of you."

Harry feels so content he's sure it shows, like his skin is glowing under Louis' fingertips. He's holding him so tightly Louis has to pry his legs apart so he can – do something, maybe get a condom on, get lube, whatever. The important thing is the way he finally, finally slides into him, his cock so much bigger than his fingers. Harry feels full and stretched and heavenly, so sensitive there's a fair chance his face is getting wet from more than sweat.

He curls around Louis and forces his thrusts to be slow and deep, to nudge his prostate again and rip a shout out of him. It's only a few thrusts later that Louis comes, moaning in his ear and clamping his hands on Harry's arse. Harry refuses to let him go before he's fully soft, dares Louis to complain about feeling sensitive.

Once he does slip out of him, he gets rid of the condom and then settles right back against Harry. He reaches for his hands, which are still clinging to the headboard so tightly they might be glued there. But he takes them and pulls them down his sides, kisses his aching biceps and then his wrists and palms. He kisses the tattoo on his inner arm and the marks he's left along his chest and the hollow of his throat and his Adam's apple and his chin. The sides of his eyes, where Harry's sure tears have been trailing down.

He's purring into Louis' shoulder by the time he reaches his hair, feels precious for pleasing Daddy. Louis drags his fingers through his hair, sorting out the tangles. It's a painstaking process, considering the chaos his hair currently is, but it's just the right mind-numbing, meticulous action to settle Harry down. "So beautiful," Louis murmurs, like he can't help himself. They're both quiet and soft and slow, and it's perfect.

"Thank you," Harry says. There's still this… spell on him, and it's like his whole body's numb, as if he's already passed out, but as long as he isn't he needs to say it. "Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me. Silly baby. You did all the work."

Harry smiles when he feels Louis' lips on his forehead. He cuddles deeper into Louis' chest, trying to curl up small. "You won't go away again?"

Louis tightens his arms around him protectively. "No. I promise. As long as you'll have me."

Harry thinks he feels something like bliss. He knows he shouldn't initiate a relationship talk right now, with his brain basically mush, but. Before he even opens his mouth Louis says gently, "Love, let's save it for after a nap?"

"But I – "

"Because I'll do anything you want me to right now," Louis cuts him off. "Can't really think."

Harry beams, he absolutely loves that. The fact Louis was the one who... dominated him, but Harry's got just as much power over him in return. He hums contentedly and nuzzles into the crook of Louis' neck. Falls asleep wrapped up in him, sure in the knowledge Louis will stay right there.