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Most days Harry was insatiable.
He’d climb into Louis’ bunk on the tour bus, shove his hand into Louis’ pyjama bottoms before Louis could even get a cursory protest out of his mouth, not wanting to endure the ridicule if anything was overheard again (Niall hadn’t let them hear the end of it the first time, and not even his indulgent grin could stop Louis from blushing like mad). Louis would drag the pillow over his face and bite down while Harry jerked him off roughly, rutting against Louis’ hip.
Nights when they had gigs Harry would sneak up behind Louis on stage and press his mouth to Louis’ ear, breath hot on his earlobe, and he’d whisper something quick and dirty, “want your cock” or “gonna suck you backstage”, to get Louis squirming. Then he’d make good on his promise, dragging Louis into a dressing room and yanking down the zipper of his trousers, pressing a condom into Louis’ hand before spreading himself out over the arm of the couch.
Hotel rooms were like playgrounds for Harry, sheets he didn’t have to wash and giant walk-in showers that made it easy to press Louis against the tile with one hand on his belly, sucking his cock at an unrelenting pace until Louis was shaking apart.
Some nights, though, Harry just wanted to cuddle. It happened more frequently at home, especially after an early morning or a particularly strenuous day. They’d make dinner, Louis doing small tasks like slicing peppers for fajitas or browning meat for tacos, and eat at the breakfast bar with their legs tangling together on the rungs of their stools. Louis would climb into bed first, glasses on and book in hand, and Harry would putter around the flat, loading the dishwasher and brushing his teeth before stripping off and getting under the covers.
He’d nudge at Louis’ arm like a cat until Louis lifted up and let Harry mold himself along Louis’ side, his foot rubbing up and down Louis’ shin and his hand snaking under Louis’ shirt.
“Whatcha reading,” he’d ask, his jaw digging into Louis’ chest.
Louis would let him read with him for a few pages before giving in, marking his page and setting the book aside, lifting the remote from the bedside table.
“Up for some crap TV,” he’d ask, clicking the TV on. Harry would hum happily and nuzzle into the space between Louis’ jaw and shoulder, and they’d watch a silly game show or reality TV until Harry fell asleep, snuffling against Louis’ skin.
Louis couldn’t get enough of Harry either way.