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Ringing the doorbell, Harry quickly adjusts the scarf on his head and fiddles with his shirt to make sure he looks presentable. He’s confident he looks alright, not at all like a person unable to take care of a child. The scarf on his head is lilac and has little grey butterflies all over. It’s his friendliest scarf, specifically chosen to make sure he comes off as un-murdery as possible. His shirt is open but he's wearing a t-shirt underneath, so there's no excess skin showing, which Lou had suggested might be a good idea. He's ready. Completely trustworthy Harry Styles, here to safeguard children. This’ll go great.
After a while, the door hasn’t opened, but he does hear some thumping and yelling. Frowning, he rings the bell again, and as the door opens he is met with the sight of complete and utter chaos. There are soap bubbles everywhere and a little further down the hall Harry sees a little boy, all flailing limbs and determination, throwing himself into the soapy mess with a screech of “GERONIMO”. That’s a little unnerving. Right in front of him stands a truly beautiful man. He’s covered head to toe in soap and something that looks suspiciously like strawberry jam is caked in his black hair. With a devastating grin, he holds his hand out, “Harry right? Good to meet you man, come inside”. It takes all of his determination to school his face into something pleasant and impassive as he shakes the hand offered to him and answers, “Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”
He’s going to kill Niall.
As Harry enters the foyer, the guy looks at him apologetically. “So, yeah, I’m Zayn, and this is not really what it looks like”. Harry’s not entirely sure what it’s supposed to look like then. Because what it looks like is like there’s some massive cleaning up ahead of the people living in this house. The foyer’s flooded, and as far as Harry can see, the hallway leading further into the house is in no better condition. The screaming child reappears in front of them, wearing swim trunks and a worryingly satisfied grin. His hair is wet, but it looks brown, and he’s got dark blue eyes. He narrows his eyes, smile dimming a little, giving Harry a quick once-over before turning to Zayn. In an exaggerated whisper he says, “Uncle Z, who’s that?”
“Well,” Zayn says, crouching so he’s eye-level with the boy, “this is Harry. Do you remember I told you you’re getting a babysitter because I have to work this summer and your dad has training?”. The child immediately looks from Zayn to Harry with a face so scrunched together that he looks like a deeply disgruntled chihuahua. He keeps glaring at Harry even as Zayn says, “Can you introduce yourself like we talked about earlier?”.
Harry’s earlier sense of everything’s going to be fine disappears as the boy holds his hand out for Harry and rattles off, “My name is Christopher Tomlinson, I am six years old and 4 months and your hat is stupid and I don’t like you at all”. Harry flounders a little and his immediate response, instead of something clever, is “It’s not a hat, it’s a scarf.”
Christopher looks supremely unimpressed and Zayn looks mildly horrified and amused at the same time.
“It still looks stupid”, is Christopher’s reply, and with a shrug he turns around, screeches like a banshee, and throws himself into the bubbles again, completely ignoring the two adults watching him wreak havoc as he slides down the hallway, soap bubbles and delighted laughter trailing in his wake.
Seriously, Niall is going to meet his untimely demise as soon as Harry gets home. In what universe does this seem like an “easy gig, H, I swear, Chris is the coolest kid. It’ll be a laugh”. Harry’s going to steal all his left socks. And then kill him.
“Come on, let’s go to the kitchen, we can talk while I try to get this place back in order. Chris’ll be fine”, Zayn says, and after Harry’s taken off his shoes and sock and placed them on a shoe rack, they very carefully start making their way through the foyer and into an open, airy kitchen. There’s a large kitchen island with barstools on one side, and Harry sits on one while Zayn goes to the fridge to grab a couple of waters.
“Don’t mind Chris too much.” Zayn hands Harry a bottle and sits next to him. After taking a swig of his own bottle, he continues, “He’s just angry that I can’t babysit him this summer. Try explaining to a 6 year-old that you’ll get fired if you don’t go to work. He keeps saying I should just get another one; preferably one that means I can bring him sweets every day.” He looks immeasurably fond talking about Chris, and while Harry isn’t necessarily impressed with Chris so far, there’s something very sweet in the way Zayn speaks about him like he’s the best child in the world.
“Nah,” he replies, “I’m not too worried. I’ll make friends with him, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be happy either, I think”. After a short silence, where they both have a drink and survey the counters, that are covered in an array of different used utensils and dirty dishes Harry can’t help but speak up. “You do know you have jam in your hair, right?”
For the first time, Zayn’s sunny disposition falters as he lifts his hand to his hair and immediately blurts out, “Oh, that little shit, he fucking promised.” Zayn doesn’t elaborate as he jumps off his stool and hurries out to the hall, screaming “Chris, you little monster, you said it was bubbles.” From his place in the kitchen, Harry hears a delighted squeal followed by rambunctious laughter, and decides that he’s going to stay out of this one, and simply wait for Zayn to return.
After a couple of minutes of screaming from the other room, Harry hears the front door open and immediately there’s a bellow of, “What the fu-, uh, what in the world is going on.” Must be Chris’ dad then.
To be fair, Harry has been really nervous about this. When Niall had banged through the door to their flat last week proclaiming that he’d found the perfect summer job for Harry, he’d been delighted. Learning that Niall had gotten him a job babysitting footballer Louis Tomlinson’s child for the summer, he’d been even more delighted, and then immediately nauseous.
The thing is, Louis Tomlinson has not had an easy year so far. They’d all read about the divorce in the early months of 2014. Really, it had been impossible to miss; the media had had a field day ripping into football wonder Louis Tomlinson’s messy divorce from his childhood sweetheart turned successful model wife. The Tomlinsons were a brand; this perfect fairytale of the devoted boyfriend and husband, who’d stayed with his girl when she got pregnant at a young age, while still managing to carve a brilliant career for himself as a Man U player and with the prospect of joining the national squad in the near future. Throw an adorable little boy into the mix and it had all the makings of a PR phenomenon.
Naturally, it had all come to a screeching halt when the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Tomlinson had filed for divorce, and while there had been some reporting on the event, the media interest had skyrocketed when rumours started flying that the divorce was happening because Louis had been having an affair. With another man. In the end, Louis had no other choice, Harry thinks, than to go on the record, giving an interview to sort through all the bullshit flying around. Yes, they were divorcing, but it was amicable and they both deeply cared for each other and their son. No, Louis did not have an affair, contrary to some reports. But yes, and this is where everything had kicked up a notch and had yet to calm down, Louis did identify as bisexual, and whilst he had been fully committed to his family and marriage, he had no intentions of staying in the closet if he happened to meet a man he was interested in.
It all sort of kicked off after that; Louis was ripped to shreds by bigoted op-eds in shitty newspapers and at matches the opposing sides’ “fans” made a game of showing up each other in coming up with increasingly disgusting, homophobic chants. To his credit, Louis remained completely above it all, playing well and making sure that the divorce settlement was quick and quiet. It no doubt helped that the Manchester United management team were quick to release a statement in which they fully supported their player, and while there had been some stirrings in the football world, Louis’ teammates have shown nothing but support publically. Now that the season is over, it does seem to have calmed down a little, and while the now ex-Mrs. is working in the States this summer, Christopher is living with his dad, which is why Harry has been hired.
It’s just. Harry’s nervous. It’s very strange to meet someone you know a lot about, when they know little to nothing about you. He does hope that Louis’s been told a little about Harry from Liam, seeing as he’s been hired without an interview, but merely on a recommendation from Niall, who interns at the PR firm where Louis has Liam as his agent. Also, Harry’s a huge Man U supporter and he has eyes, so he’s very much aware that Louis Tomlinson is very, very fit.
Harry turns around when he hears footsteps rapidly approaching the kitchen and suddenly, he’s there. Louis Tomlinson is in the doorway, and the first thing Harry notices is that Louis is much fitter in person. He didn’t know that was possible, actually. Louis is wearing a Man U tracksuit, and it’s clear he’s recently showered as his hair is still a little damp and is currently held back with a simple black hairband. He’s little, shorter than Harry imagined, but compact and his eyes are widened in confusion. They are a striking shade of blue and he looks at Harry for a second before narrowing his eyes in exactly the same way his son had done earlier and blurts out, “Who the fuck are you, then? And can you tell me why my house looks like a foamy disaster zone?”
“Um, hi?” Harry says, and when Louis shows no sign of attempting an actual introduction he continues “Um, yeah, I’m Harry -- Styles? I’m your nanny. Well, obviously not your nanny, I’m Christopher’s nanny. I know Niall?”
“Oh, shit, of course”. Louis relaxes his stance and moves towards Harry, hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, mate. I’d forgotten you were coming today, obviously, because of the state of my house. D’you know what’s happened here? Or where my demon child has scampered off to?”
Just as Harry’s about to answer, a commotion is heard further down the hall and Zayn and Christopher come barrelling into the kitchen at full speed. Chris immediately throws himself at his dad yelling “Daddy, daddy, daddy welcome home. Uncle Zayn and me made a foam party - because, because - remember how Hailey was gonna have a party with foam but then I couldn’t go because you said I was sick -”
“Sweetie, you had a fever -”, Louis tries to interject, but Chris prattles on, “And then I was really sad and I told Uncle Zayn and he said we could do one -” Louis glares over at Zayn, who looks like someone threw him under a bus. “I said we could do one outside, Chris, come on now -”
“But then Zayn was taking too long and then I started without him and it’s so much fun, Daddy, you have to come with me!”
Harry can’t help but smile at Chris’ unbridled enthusiasm, because yeah, he might have done the same thing when he was a little boy. When he looks closer at Louis he can see that a smile is threatening to overtake his face, even as he tries to look seriously at Chris, who keeps talking excitedly about how many times he’s managed to slide through the foam, and how this is so much better than silly Hailey’s birthday, “because, Dad, I’m not even gonna freeze because we’re on the inside.”
At this, Zayn and Harry burst into laughter. You can’t really fault childs’ logic, and Louis glares between them before hoisting Chris up on his hip and leaving the room, telling him that “You and I are going to have a conversation about appropriate indoor and outdoor activities, kid. Zayn will come get you when he’s washed out whatever you’ve put in his hair, and called someone to come clean this mess up. This might be too much for your old man to do alone.”
“It was strawberry jam”, Chris screeches delightedly, “He didn’t even notice, Daddy, I said they were bubbles.” His facial expression turns thoughtful. “Uncle Zayn is very gullibable.” Zayn immediately stops laughing, and calls “It’s gullible, Chris, and no I am not”. His only answer is the cackle of two Tomlinsons.
Harry and Zayn make quick work of cleaning up the kitchen, and while Harry offers to help, Zayn blankly refuses to let Harry help wash out his hair in the kitchen sink, so Harry stands next to the sink while Zayn explains that “It’s not really alway like this, I promise. Today was extraordinary. It’s just, my publisher rang me and before I could finish the call, Chris had found some washing up liquid and just gone to town. Quite funny, really.Chris is what we call spirited, if we’re being nice about it. I just hope we haven’t ruined too much of the furniture.”
Zayn shouldn’t get his hopes up, Harry thinks, but smiles anyway. “Well, he seems like a fun kid. Adores his dad, obviously.”
“Oh definitely, and Lou’s such a pushover when it comes to him. It’s all very cute. Doesn’t mean he’s not in major trouble right now, though, I think this one might be too much for even Lou.”
“No, yeah, I can imagine. Listen, do you need help with cleaning up the foam?”, Harry asks. He’s honestly worried that it’ll cost a frankly worrying amount of time and money to return the foyer and hallway to a halfway decent state.
“Nah, mate, I’ll ring somebody - this is not the first time we’ve had to call in professionals to deal with Chris’ adventures, right?”
“That doesn’t sound comforting at all, you do realise?”
Zayn’s reply is lost when a decidedly more somber looking Chris and Louis return. “Z, can you take Chris out for a little while? I need to have a chat with Harry here.”
That sounds a little ominous. Harry squares his shoulders and looks Louis in the eyes. He’s regarding Harry with a calculating expression, and Harry’s honestly a little worried. He can’t quite get a grasp on the Tomlinson men, it seems. Zayn and Chris gather their things, and after Zayn’s made a phone call they leave, Zayn telling Louis they’ll be back in a couple of hours.
Just Harry and Louis, then. Great. Harry’s not nervous about being alone with a very famous, stupidly gorgeous footballer who decides whether or not Harry can make a living this summer. Not even a little.
“Alright, this is your out. If you don’t want to get involved in this, I completely understand, and I’ll find someone else.”
Wait, what? Harry can feel his face morph into an expression of total confusion. “Wait, what?”
Louis comes over and stands on the other side of the kitchen island, eyeing Harry warily. “Seriously, I wouldn’t mind at all. Listen, Chris is a great kid, the best kid in the world really, but he is also a total terror and he hates football, which is terrible, and I know Zayn probably tried to convince you that today is a freak occurrence, but I’m gonna be honest with you. This is the most normal thing he’s done in weeks.” Louis takes a deep breath, and even as he continues it’s clear to see that he can’t help but smile a little at his son’s antics. “Last month, he tried to adopt a family of foxes, it was a nightmare, we all had to get tetanus shots, and last week he tried to turn the living room into a giant ball pit - I don’t even know where he found all those balls, I mean he’s 6 for Christ’s sake, how did he even go about doing that-” Louis’ expression turns serious again and he looks Harry straight in the eyes. It’s a little blinding, having all that attention on him. “And - and with the whole dating me thing on top of it, I just - I get it, you know. If you want out.”
Wait, what? Dating who?
“I’m not entirely sure I understand;” Harry tries. “Who’s dating you?”
“You are?” Louis replies instantly.
“But I haven’t even taken you on a date yet.” That is not a good reply. Clearly, that is not an appropriate reply. Harry needs to have words with his brain, because it’s clear that it does not react well under pressure. Fuck’s sake.
Louis is the very picture of confusion. He gapes at Harry a little before slowly saying, as if Harry’s a particularly daft child, “That’s not really needed, though, is it Harry?” A moment passes were they’re just staring at each other in befuddlement, until Louis eyes narrow. “What did Niall tell you the arrangement was? Or Liam, even?”
“Uhm, well, obviously Niall said that you needed a nanny for your son, because your ex.wife is out of the country, and you have summer training. Although, when I spoke to Liam last week, he did ask if I’d be okay with the scrutiny and the ‘Louis of it all’”, he makes little hand gestures to convey Liam’s tone, “and I was under the impression that he just meant that, like, you’re a public person, and I might show up in some pap pics?” Louis’ expression turns murderous. “Did Liam forget to mention something?”
“Yes, he bloody well forgot to mention something. Shit, Harry, did you not find it odd that you were hired. Like, no offense mate, I know you’re studying to become a teacher for, like, musically impaired children -”
“No, wait, I’m studying to become a teacher, and I’m specialising in musical therapy for disabled children, what did Liam tell you - “ Harry interrupts.
“Shit, that makes much more sense, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Harry?” He looks at Louis, who’s gesturing wildly, “did you not think that I’d be able to find an overpriced, overqualified nanny at the drop of a hat?” He looks at Harry imploringly, like there’s something Harry hasn’t figured out yet, and Louis is waiting for him to get it.
“Oh.” Harry feels especially idiotic. “Well, I’ll just leave then. Obviously, I get that you’d rather it was someone more qualified - “
“Harry, fuck, that’s not what I meant at all.” Louis sighs deeply. “Ok, I’ll make it very clear. The thing is,” Louis starts, coming round the island and sitting on a stool next to Harry, “the thing is, that, as you probably know, I’ve sort of had a rough go of it in the public eye for a while - and Liam, who controls my PR thought it would go a long way to smooth things over with sponsors and the media if I found a partner, male or female, at least until we’re back in season. For whatever reason, and it’s utter bullshit I promise you, the general public will accept a queer person in a relationship much better than a single queer person.”
Louis suddenly looks exhausted, slumping a little and fiddling with the bottle cap Harry’s left on the table, and Harry understands that. It cannot have been easy being Louis these last few months, and beyond that, it’s got to be soul-crushing to realise that people who were rooting for you early on have done a complete 180 and are now waiting for you to step out of line, just once, before releasing the proverbial hounds.
Harry makes a small noise of agreement and Louis straightens up and squares his shoulders, looking at Harry beseechingly. “And the thing is, I wouldn’t give a shit if it was just me - but there’s Chris to think of as well, and I need things to calm the fuck down, so he can have a go at a normal life for a while. It’s been utter mayhem taking him anywhere, and I just - I won’t stand for it. So, that’s why we decided to look in our circle of friends for a nanny, who’d be able to be okay with being seen as my boyfriend or girlfriend for a while. Obviously, we’d just let the media draw their own conclusions. A bit of hand-holding, no confirmations and just until the season’s picked up and Chris has adjusted in school.”
“And Niall suggested me?”, Harry asks.
“Yeah, but looking at you now, I think that maybe there’s been a lack of communication somewhere, because you clearly had no idea.” Louis’ face scrunches into a frown. “I’m going to kill Liam, you know. And I’m so sorry to just unload on you - I know it’s a lot.”
Harry feels a little shell-shocked. So this is definitely not a simple summer job to tie him over until uni starts back up again - and he’s not sure he wants to do this even. Louis seems like a good person, is the thing, and while Harry absolutely finds himself attracted to Louis, physically at least, and is pretty sure that Chris is a great kid, it seems like a hell of a lot to get yourself into.
“I don’t know,” Harry begins, “can I think about it for a couple of days?”
And Harry is helpless to feel anything other than enamoured by Louis sudden brightness. He flashes a brilliant, hopeful grin at Harry. “Absolutely mate - just, let me give you a tour of the house before you leave. Chris’s out of the house, I guarantee you it’s the only time there’s a chance to see the place in relative peace and quiet.”
So, Louis takes Harry on the grand tour. It’s a great house, wide and spacious, and while Harry doesn’t get to see Louis’ bedroom, Chris’ room is overflowing with toys and when Harry dares to raise an eyebrow, Louis laughs and says, “Yes, he’s terribly, horribly spoiled, what? I’ve got all the cool toys, anyway.”
And he really does have the cool toys. The house is equipped with an indoor swimming pool with jacuzzi, a garage with several amazing cars, and a game room fully equipped with every single gaming system under the sun, a pool table, a ridiculously large flat-screen with a huge lounge area, and, somewhat inexplicably, a huge Spider-Man statue. When Harry giggles at it, Louis looks a cross between proud and embarrassed and punches him in the arm on the way out.
Outside of the house, Louis has installed a state of the art football field sized down to fit smaller children. It’s completely pristine, the grass looks completely untouched, and the goals are in perfect condition. When they stand at the side, Louis turns to Harry. “Chris completely hates football. He won’t play at all. I had this built before he started walking, and he absolutely refuses to set foot on the pitch. I think it’s what they call irony.” Turning to Harry, his lips quirking into a sort of half-smile. “It’s sort of hilarious, innit. Footballer’s child refuses to even touch a football.”
“Well, hopefully, you’ll have another kid one day who’ll love to play.Or you can be known as the footballer who never got to play with his children because they all revolted and became, like, handball players in protest.” As Louis’ face closes off, Harry knows he’s done it again. Stuck his foot in his stupid mouth. Louis turns away, and Harry follows him. He thinks he hears Louis darkly mumble to himself, “Yeah, if I ever have more children. Not bloody likely under these circumstances- ” and Harry misses the rest as Louis grumbles on.
Grabbing his shoulder, Harry stops and stands so they’re facing each other. “Louis, shit, I’m sorry. Sometimes I just say dumb shit, and I didn’t mean it. That was insensitive, and I’m sorry, ok.” He tries to make sure he looks as sincere as humanly possible. He really didn’t mean to make him upset. Louis visibly softens, though, and he gives Harry a small smile. “No worries. It’s nothing really. Just, children are a bit of a sore subject for me. Come on, let’s go inside, hopefully someone’s on their way to save my house from drowning.”
On their walk back to the house, Louis nudges Harry in the side and smiles at him so softly and openly, that Harry is in actual danger of swooning a little. Christ, but he’s pretty, his face is all angles but somehow he manages to look soft and sweet at the same time. If Harry’s doing this, acting attracted to Louis will not be a problem. Like, at all.
As they're standing in the foyer, Harry putting on his socks and shoes, the cleaning staff arrives. One of the men entering the room looks at the wreckage surrounding them. The bubbles have mostly deflated, and now there’s just this sad, soapy sludge covering the floors and walls. He looks at Louis with an air of resignation, and proclaims that “At least it’s not as bad as the time Chris decided to build a beehive, huh.” Louis laughs at that, and nods. Turning to Harry, he says, “Chris wanted Winnie the Pooh to come and visit when he was 4, so he poured honey all over the windows in the living room. So that Winnie could smell and find us better, obviously. There were ants everywhere. He’s a little monster.”
Harry can’t help but laugh at that, and with a promise of calling Louis in the next couple of days with his decision he heads home.
He doesn’t kill Niall. He does steal all of his left socks, though. And hides his Irish flag until he’s properly apologised for not making sure Harry knew completely what he was getting himself into.
Apparently, Liam hadn’t been completely explicit when stating what the job entailed, and Niall had had no idea. Liam himself calls to apologise profusely the next day, and to ask Harry if he would mind terribly signing a nondisclosure agreement. It’s very clear Liam feels like complete shit for asking, so Harry agrees straight away. It’s not like he was going to go tell the press at any rate.
He spends the night getting pissed with Niall, who really can’t see why Harry has any qualms about acting as a pretend boyfriend for a couple of months. His points are valid. Harry’s single, has been for a while, and it’s not like there’s any dirt on him the press can dig up. He’s led a fairly unremarkable life. He’s had fun, yes, but he’s never done anything that would cause a great scandal if a journalist decides to search through his past. After a couple of pints, the idea doesn’t seem all that bad, really. He’ll be helping Louis, who really deserves a break from the relentless shitstorm he’s been in, and he’d get to hang out with a child who seems to be somewhere on the spectrum between Antichrist and incorrigible. And he’ll get paid a decent sum for his troubles.
When he’s in his bed that night he decides, fuck it. Yes, he can totally do this for one summer. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand he finds Louis’ number, which he’d been given right before he left ‘in case you have some more questions’, and texts a simple Let’s do this. I’m in. He doesn’t expect an answer, but moments later his phone lights up with a message. Brilliant, thanks so much mate. I’ll call you tomorrow so we can work out some details. Thanks again.
He’s about to text Louis a message about how he shouldn’t thank him so profusely, but he falls asleep before he can formulate the reply.
The next day he goes into Liam’s office, signs the papers and lets Liam know he’s going to do it. Liam hugs him for approximately 20 seconds longer than is probably considered appropriate for strangers, but Harry’s okay with it. He’s a hugger himself. And Liam looks so relieved that he can get Louis some good press finally, that Harry thinks that maybe someone really needed to hug Liam.
It’ll go great.
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Harry’s first week with Chris is a disaster. There’s really no nice way to put it.
He and Louis decide that Harry should come by for breakfast the following Monday morning, and then Louis would head to training, leaving Harry and Chris alone until the early afternoon when he would return.
It’s a very simple plan. In theory.
Except when Harry shows up, Louis looks frazzled as he opens the door and ushers Harry in, explaining that “Young Christopher has decided to become one of those idiotic fantasy monster type things, and I cannot get him out from under the bloody bed.” With those words he leaves Harry to flounder in the hallway as he returns to Chris’ room. As Harry goes to wait in the kitchen he hears a lot of begging, yelling, bribing and pleading and finally Chris comes into the kitchen, wearing a mutinous expression, and followed by a haggard looking Louis.
As Chris’ antics have left no time for Louis to get ready prior to Harry’s arrival, he has to leave Harry to fend for himself to get ready. At least he seems apologetic, giving Chris a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and patting Harry’s shoulder before he leaves. They look like each other, so much. Chris and Louis both have those sharp, blue eyes, and while Chris’ hair is a dirty brown and pin-straight when dry, Louis’ is slightly lighter, tinged with gold in the morning sun. Also, as Louis makes Chris promise to behave, they both break into a stunning smile when Chris pretends to mull it over, eyes crinkling the exact same way, and they truly make a stunning picture.
After Louis has left, Chris has poured himself a bowl of cereal, and is regarding Harry with a shrewd expression. It is unclear to Harry whether he is being sized up, or if Chris has moved on to planning the most likely wildly disturbing end to Harry’s life. For a 6 year-old, he’s honestly completely terrifying. There’s a constant aura of mischief surrounding him, and Harry’s fairly sure that Chris is only ever moments away from causing complete and utter mayhem. He wonders if it came from Louis, or perhaps from his mum.
“Daddy says I have to apologise for saying I don’t like you,” Chris says, shovelling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, chewing loudly.
This is his in. This is the point where he gets Chris on his side. “You don’t have to, you know. I’d like it better if we just started over.” Harry throws his brightest, dimpliest grin at Chris. It’s a smile that has made men and women swoon, frankly, and Harry’s not afraid to use all his tricks to convince Chris to give him a chance.
“Good, because I don’t want to.”
“Don’t want to apologise, or don’t want to start over?”
Chris seems to weigh his options. There’s a very distinct possibility that Chris may turn into a tiny mob boss in the nearest future. Harry’s sweating a little, feels like he’s at an extraordinarily difficult job interview and he just said the wrong thing. He’s regarding Harry cautiously, before his face splits into an almost manic grin. “Apologise. We can be friends.” There’s a slight pause, where Harry breathes out, he hadn’t even noticed he was holding his breath, until Chris says, “maybe.”
It all goes downhill from there.
The rest of the day is spent frantically attempting to shut down Chris’ more or less insane attempts at entertaining himself. Harry suggests they play a rousing game of monopoly. Chris jumps in the pool fully clothed. Harry pulls out a video game. Chris attempts to jump from different pieces of furniture without touching the floor. Sensing that Chris perhaps needs a slightly more active approach, Harry ends up suggesting football, even if Louis’ words are ringing in his ears. Chris screams bloody murder when he sees the football Harry’s dug out of a cupboard, and takes of hiding somewhere in the large house. Harry spends the better part of 45 minutes searching for him, panicked and terrified that he’s managed to lose the child he’s in charge of on his first day, before finding Chris sat on top of a cupboard in a guest room, giggling delightedly.
Harry makes it his mission to heavily limit Chris’ sugar intake.
The thing is, though, that while a strong case could be made for Chris being an absolute brat of a child, Harry can’t help but find him a little funny. Yes, he refuses to listen to reason of any kind, and he really has no sense of self-preservation, but he’s so incredibly high-spirited and exuberant about everything he does, wildly determined and crashing through the house with no regard for things such as indoor voices, that Harry’s just a little charmed.
When he finds a tiny handprint of peanut butter on the back of his black skinnies after making lunch, he’s not particularly charmed though. He understands why Louis calls him a terror. They had leftover pasta for lunch. The peanut butter was on a top shelf in the pantry. Perhaps Chris is magic.
When Louis comes home a little later, Chris has calmed down enough to play in his room, and Harry’s in the lounge trying to catch his breath.
Coming to sit opposite Harry on the sofas there, he hands him a cup of tea and a sympathetic smile.
“You look like you’ve been to war a little, mate.”
“I study teaching, you know.” Harry valiantly attempts to fix his hair, but he realises it’s lost cause very fast. “I love kids, I really do, but I have no idea how I’m meant to control more than one if they’re all like Chris.” He shrugs a little, giving Louis an apologetic look.
“Chris is a force of nature,” Louis agrees, humming a little in the following silence. “My mum thinks it’s hilarious of course, because I was the exact same when I was little. And yeah, he’s a little loud and unruly, but I just love to see him so excited about the world, you know. And he does actually know how to behave. Sometimes.”
Looking at Louis talk about Chris, how soft he smiles and how utterly adoring his face goes, Harry’s a little smitten. It’s clear that Louis dotes on him, and from seeing them together it’s obvious that they are each others’ favourite person. It’s very, very sweet, and Harry is nothing if not a sucker for a man who loves children.
Going home that night, he’s exhausted though, and after a quick dinner he’s in bed before 10 o’clock.
The rest of the week continues in the same vein. While Chris slows down a little, and allows Harry to join him in his different games, there’s no doubt that Zayn was right when he called Chris spirited. He’s a 100 miles an hour at all times, and while he’s yet to warm up to Harry in any significant way, Harry can’t help but admire the tenacity with which Chris moves through life.
The afternoons, when Louis comes home, have become a bit of a problem for Harry though. As soon as Louis walks through the door, Chris will abandon whatever he’s doing and throw himself at his dad, who really, it turns out, is just like his kid. It’s disgustingly adorable, and Louis always, always makes sure to have a little chat with Harry about how the day’s gone, all proud parent and sweetness, so much so that Harry has a little trouble concentrating when Louis smiles at him.
They’re a pair of mischief masters, and when Harry hears happy squealing and giggling on his way out on Friday, he can’t help but go investigate.
Chris and Louis have jumped in the pool. Fully dressed. He sees where Chris got the idea. It’s all very cute if not for one thing. Louis Tomlinson, completely drenched, even while fully dressed is perhaps the most gorgeous sight he has ever seen. His hair is falling in his face, there are little droplets of water making their way down the slope of his nose, and he’s grinning from ear to ear, blues eyes crinkling. He’s completely beautiful, and Harry’s a little horrified by the surge of arousal surging through him. There is a child present for fucks sake.
Making the swift decision to remove himself from the situation, lest a truly embarrassing situation should arise, he calls out a quick goodbye and makes a hasty exit.
He doesn’t make it far though. A soaked hand grabs him before he makes it to the front door, and he turns to see Louis smiling up at him, a little bashful and a lot stunning. He’s drenched from head to toe, the fabric of his shirt and jeans clinging to his frame, and Harry can’t help but let his eyes sweep over the contours of his body. He’s fucking ethereal in his beauty, and the world is a cruel place for letting Harry see, but not touch.
When he lifts his eyes to Louis’ face, it’s to the sight of Louis smirking a little.
“You ok, Harry?”
His throat’s dry. “Uhm, yep, yeah, I’m swell.” Swell? Oh god.
“Alright, I was just wondering whether you come out with us next week? I was thinking we could go to the zoo. Chris has been wanting to see the lions, and I have a day off on Wednesday. If, if you still want to, you know, I know we haven’t really talked about it. Like, at all” The smirk has slid right off his face, he looks a little uncomfortable now, messing with his soaked shirt, revealing a bare patch of skin right above his jeans. Harry may never breathe properly again.
“Let’s do that, definitely. I haven’t been to the zoo in ages.” Harry pauses, wincing a little by having to ask the next question. Lifting his hand to the back of his neck he says “Is there anything in particular you need me to do? Like, should we hold hands or something? It’s just, Liam was kind of hugging me too hard to be concise - “
“NO. No, God no, you don’t need to do that at all. I’m just going to let Li know we’re going, and he’ll magic up some paps and an article or whatever it is he does. We just have to go and look at the animals.”
Harry’s a little relieved to be honest. While he’s not opposed to touching Louis, at all, he wouldn’t feel comfortably walking around holding hands with a man he doesn’t know very well, and whose child still seems deeply distrustful with him still.
“Cool, then. Let’s do it.”
The smile Louis gives him is devastatingly sweet, and he’s helpless to do anything other than smile back. Gathering his last things, he heads toward the door, turning around to give Louis a little wave, only to see Louis valiantly attempting to cover up ogling his arse and give a small wave in return.
Nice to know he’s not entirely alone then.
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The zoo trip is a comedy of errors.
First of all, Chris is furious that he doesn’t have Louis to himself all day, and refuses to do anything other than sing Hakuna Matata at an ear-splitting volume on the entire drive there, and makes Louis promise that he can have a large ice cream at the zoo itself. Chris also demands that Harry sing along. As soon as he realises that Harry can actually sing a little, he is specialising in musical therapy after all, he further demands that Harry sings along off key.
Louis looks like he’s developing a migraine, but he bears it with dignity, and when Chris can’t help but giggle at Harry’s exaggerated dramatic renditions, he nudges Harry’s shoulder and gives him a little thumbs up. It’s a small victory, and Harry can’t help but blush furiously and throw Louis a huge grin. That Louis narrows his eyes a little and mumbles “Cool it with the dimples, Curly” is another little victory.
Secondly, when they arrive at the zoo, it becomes clear that Liam has hired perhaps the least stealthy paparazzo in the history of man. As soon as they get near the entrance, a balding, middle-aged man shows up a couple of metres ahead, with a huge fucking camera, and immediately starts snapping pictures. Chris loses his cool and starts throwing jelly beans at him, to the absolute horror of Louis, who, instead of looking happy and loved-up, has to have a serious conversation about acceptable behaviour with a rebellious 6 year old. Harry’s just trying to make sure he looks natural, standing next to a father-son power struggle as if he’s always been there. Is there a natural way to hold one’s arms? What do they do normally? Why do they suddenly seem so long?
Thirdly, when they’ve made it into the actual zoo and have spent a couple of hours looking at all the animals, Harry and Louis share a look and a little smile, relieved that the day seems to have taken a turn for the better. Chris is having loads of fun, asking all sorts of questions about the animals, and even allowing Harry to lift him onto his shoulders, when he tries to get a better look at all the monkeys.
Louis had tried to lift him up, but Chris had batted his hands away, turning to Harry with big, blue eyes and a look of complete innocence and sincerity on his face, asking, “Harry, can I please sit on your shoulders?” He’d batted his eyelashes, and Harry, completely floored by being deemed worthy had responded, “Of course, hop on.”
As he had squatted down so Chris could climb on, he’d looked at Louis, who had looked equal parts offended and fond, and as Harry had stood up to his full height, he couldn’t help but notice Louis’ eyes sweeping over his frame, mouth slightly open, and a small flush spreading over his cheeks.
Harry had felt unbearably smug, and it had only gotten better, when Chris’ reply to Louis’ inquiry as to why he suddenly wasn’t good enough to carry Chris had been a simple, “Daddy, Harry is taller. And I need someone tall right now.”
He couldn’t help but laugh uproariously at Louis’ absolutely furious expression. It stopped abruptly when Louis leant in slightly and under his breath muttered, “Keep laughing, Styles, and see if you get any sweets later.”
Snapping his eyes over to Louis face, so they were eye to eye, there had been a short moment, suspended in time, where they had simply stared at each other. The moment was broken when Chris grabbed his hair, and happily proclaimed “Your curls are like a steering wheel. Now let’s go over here!” He’d made sure Harry went to the right by giving the handful of curls in his right hand one hell of a yank, and Louis had followed, quietly smug and smirking, saying “Chris, be nice to Harry’s hair, please.”
Harry swears he hears Louis mumble something along the lines of there should be some left for me, but he can’t be sure. Better to not think about it when there’s a happy, little boy on his shoulders. Better not drop him. Yup.
It all goes to hell when they reach the flamingoes. Chris goes very, very, worryingly quiet. He taps Harry on the head, which Harry takes to mean that the little king wants to walk among the simple peasants again, so he sets Chris down again.
Harry and Louis are standing silently next to Chris, watching him with concern. He’s unnaturally still, appraising the flamingoes quietly before he turns to Louis.
“Daddy, why are they pink?”
Louis looks at Harry with wide eyes. This does not bode well. “Well, Chris, they’re pink because the eat a kind of shrimp that’s pink, and that colours their feathers.”
“They steal their colours?”
“Uh, it’s not really stealing, sweetie, they have to eat. And the shrimp are simply the food that they eat. The colour is a side-effect.”
Chris looks like he is trying to make sense of what Louis has told him, but it’s very clear that he’s still extremely suspicious. Deciding that Louis is unable to give a satisfactory answer, he slowly turns to Harry.
“Why do they only stand on one leg?”
This is the worst question. Harry actually doesn’t know. Even still, Chris seems to be relying on Harry for answers, and this is not the time to fail. He can absolutely give an answer that CHris will accept.
“They only use one leg at a time, because they’re, um, they’re resting their other leg. It can be very difficult standing all day.” Nailed it.
“If it’s difficult they should use both of their legs,” Chris immediately answers. He’s clearly having none of it, and narrowing his eyes he turns to the flamingoes again.
Louis only just manages to mumble, “this can go very badly, very soon, we should leave,” before Chris loudly declares to flamingoes and surrounding guests alike, “You are stupid animals and I don’t like you at all,” immediately followed by him trying to get to the fence surrounding the flamingo area, rambling about how flamingoes are dumb animals and I’ll show them how to use both legs, and they’re a stupid colour anyway, who even steals colours from other animals, what a bunch of traitors.
Laughing helplessly at the sheer determination with which Chris seems to have decided to help flamingoes become less stupid, Louis and Harry manage to reign him in before he tries to climb into the enclosure. They pull him away from the enclosure, and the curious stares from surrounding families, even as Chris becomes increasingly impassioned in his anger, yelling, “No one should trust you flamingoes anyway.”
It seems like a fitting time for them to leave.
Chris does get his ice cream cone. So does Harry, even if Louis had threatened to withhold it earlier. Harry takes great delight in seeing Louis expression change from shocked, then mutinous and a little lusting as he happily licks at his cone.
It’s not a bad day.
Liam sends him an email the next day, proclaiming the outing was a great success. Some of the national newspapers have picked up on the story, and an unnamed source, obviously Liam, is quoted saying that Harry is a close, personal friend of Louis and Chris and they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately.
Harry ignores it. It’s not really anything he cares about. He does care about the shy, immeasurably fond smile Louis sends him the next day, when he comes home from training, and finds Harry and Chris systematically removing all pink crayons from Chris’ colouring tools.
Niall buys him a #1 WAG t-shirt.
Harry stitches all the left legs of Niall’s jeans shut..
Life goes on.
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He has a crush on Louis. Of course he does. Harry’s well aware.
It’s just, as the weeks pass, it becomes increasingly clear that Louis is just a great person. Every morning before Louis leaves he gives Chris a big hug and tells him he loves him, and he’s always got a smile or a quick nudge or pat for Harry, and when he returns in the afternoon he looks tired and soft, and even still, he’s always got time for going on an adventure with Chris, be it a rousing game of hide and seek or an almost inappropriately competitive round of Xbox.
Louis is just tremendously kind, and while he’s about as loud as his son when they play, he’s equally happy sitting with Harry, having a quiet cup of tea and discussing how the PR part of their relationship is playing out.
They’ve not done a lot really. Liam suggested that they could go to the shops together, and get photographed, and he would make sure to leak some other unnamed sources or family friends who could tell the media how they’ve gotten very close, but are taking things slow. Going to the shops revealed Louis’ reluctance for cooking, admitting that he got healthy meals delivered from a catering service most days, so Harry has taken it upon himself to cook dinner a couple of times a week. That kitchen is too nice to go unused.
There’s a particularly great picture floating around the web, from when they’d taken Chris to the cinema. Harry’s got his head thrown back, clearly laughing, and both Chris and Louis are looking at him with the same slightly confused, albeit very fond, look on their faces.Harry doesn’t particularly remember what had caused him to laugh like that, but the butterflies that had erupted in his belly when Niall showed him the picture online spoke volumes. He’s got it saved in a folder. He hasn’t told anyone.
Harry and Chris have made friends. Sort of. While Chris will still try to test his limits with Harry, he’s gone from adversary to accomplice in most things. When Chris invited Harry to jump in the pool with him, fully clothed, Harry knew he was getting somewhere.
Obviously, all the extra time spent together, even when Chris is otherwise occupied, has caused Harry and Louis to get closer. They smile at each other a lot, over Chris’ head when he’s done something particularly endearing, and there are a lot of silent moments.
These little spaces of quiet in a house that is most often very loud, courtesy of one Christopher Tomlinson. It’s very clear that Louis enjoys them as much as Harry does, if his light touches and developing habit of messing about with Harry’s head scarves, under the guise of making sure Harry’s hair looks up to par, naturally, is anything to go by. It’s definitely a crush, and it’s very possible that it’s mutual, but it’s something quiet, bubbling just underneath the surface. And while Harry would definitely like to get to the part where they kiss, and touch and have lots of amazing sex, there’s something satisfying in feeling their bond deepen and develop.
They’re friends. They’re quite possibly more.
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It comes to a head when Chris, suddenly and quite spectacularly, manages to fall ill on the one day Louis had specifically asked Harry to stay later, because he has a dinner with his sponsors.
It’s a fairly quiet Friday, and they’ve spent the day baking. Chris had wanted cupcakes, and Harry had obliged, on the condition that they make them themselves. Chris had been ecstatic and after a rousing trip to the shops, where Chris had sneakily attempted to buy any and all type of sprinkle under the sun, they’d thrown themselves into it.
The kitchen is quite possibly a health hazard, Harry’s got icing sugar in his hair, and Chris is covered in food colouring, happily darting around the kitchen like a rainbow coloured tasmanian devil.
As Harry is trying to get the kitchen into some semblance of order, he’s struck with how eerily quiet the room has suddenly gone. Looking around for Chris, he finds him in his room, on the floor, clutching his stomach. He looks an unappealing shade of green.
“Chris, honey, are you alright?”
He sits up and just as he’s about to answer, he instead throws up all over himself and the floor. Harry’s not used to sick children, and especially not children covered in sick, but the heartbroken expression on Chris’ face, and the fact that he’s come to love the little monster makes him rush to Chris’ side immediately.
“Oh, sweetie, did you eat too many cupcakes?” He’s pretty sure he only allowed Chris to have one, but he’s a sneaky little thing. There’s every possibility there’s not a single cupcake left in the house.
When he looks down at himself and sees the mess, Chris immediately bursts into tears. “N-n-no,” he stutters out, completely devastated, “I only had one, like you said. I don’t feel good.”
Harry puts a hand on Chris’ forehead. He’s burning up, so apparently he’s caught a bug. Harry lifts him from the floor and carries him to the bathroom. Chris is squirming and crying and he keeps saying, “yucky, I’m all yucky Harry, make it stop. It’s not nice,” even as Harry tries his best to soothe him and get him to the bathtub without further incidents.
He gingerly helps Chris out of his stained clothes, and his heart breaks a little when Chris looks up at him, tears brimming in his big, blue eyes, and quietly sniffles, “I want my Dad, please.”
“I’ll call him in a minute, Chris”, Harry promises, “just, let’s get you clean and in some fresh jammies, ok? Then we can watch a movie while we wait for your Dad to come home, and I’ll be right here, I promise.”
Chris seems to exhausted to make a fuss about it, so Harry hums soothing melodies, while he makes sure Chris is washed off thoroughly, and it’s only after he’s gotten Chris into some clean clothes and deposited him on the sofas in the game room that he realises he’s covered in sick himself.
Chris is falling asleep, all curled up in the corner with some blankets and a little bucket by his side in case he gets sick again, and Harry deems it safe to leave for a couple of minutes to ring Louis and try to wash himself off.
Louis picks up after a couple of rings.
“Hello?” Harry can hear people talking in the background, and Louis sounds a little tinny.
“Yeah, hi Lou, it’s me. I’m really sorry to call like this, but Chris’s a bit under the weather. It’s nothing serious, I promise.”
The people in the background fade away, as Louis moves to a more quiet area. “What do you mean under the weather? What’s wrong with him?”
“Um, well, I was in the kitchen cleaning, and Chris was in his room, and it was after we baked cupcakes. Remember I told you we were gonna do that, and - “
“Haz, no one gives a shit about the cupcakes, is my kid alright?” Louis sounds a little frantic, and Harry steels himself.
“I found him in his room, and he threw up, and he’s got a slight fever - but I washed him off, and he’s in the game room sleeping right now, but he asked for you, and I thought I’d let you know, so I rang you straight away, and I’ve got sick on me, actually, so Lou, I promise, I called as soon as i could.”
He hears a rustling in the speaker, Louis mumbling to someone and then he’s back.
“I’m coming home straight away. I’ll probably be about an hour. Wash yourself off, H, and take one of my jumpers if you need, alright? See you soon.”
Before Harry gets around to replying, Louis has hung up. Alright, then.
He goes to check on Chris, who’s snoring softly, sniffling a little. It occurs to Harry he’s never really seen Chris sleep before. He’s unbearably adorable.
After cleaning Chris’ room, he goes to wash up, deciding to throw his own clothes in the washing machine with Chris’. He goes to Louis’ wardrobe, which is huge, wearing only his boxers and socks, as the rest of his clothes were flecked with sick. When Louis said jumpers, he probably meant trackies as well, right? Right.
He finds some old, worn out trackies and a t-shirt that’s only a little small on him, and goes back to the game room with a couple of glasses of water, to keep an eye on Chris in case he wakes up.
That’s how Louis finds him a little later. When Harry hears the front door open, he turns around, and in walks Louis, looking devastatingly handsome. Has in a dark suit, hair coiffed, and he barely spares Harry a glance as he hurries over to Chris’ side, car keys still in hand.
Harry observes them quietly from his place on the other end of the sofa, sees how Louis leans down and gently smoothes back Chris’ hair before placing a kiss on his forehead.
Stirring a little, Chris opens his eyes, and as he focuses on Louis, his eyes fill with tears, and he mumbles out, “Daddy -- I don’t feel good. I threwed up.”
“I know, baby, Harry told me”, Louis replies, and only then does he look around, eyes falling on Harry. He gives him a small smile, and mouths a thank you before turning back around to Chris, who’s taken Louis’ hand.
“Come on, little love, let’s get you to bed,” Louis says, before, ever so gently, lifting Chris into his arms and carrying him off to the bedroom, without giving Harry any further instructions.
Does he stay? He doesn’t really want to leave before talking to Louis, so he does the only thing he can think of. He goes to the kitchen and prepares two cups of tea, and returns to the sofa, waiting for Louis.
He comes back around 10 minutes later, and he’s changed out of his suit into a pair of comfortable pyjama pants and a soft, worn t-shirt.
He gets comfortable with his tea, taking a sip, before looking at Harry, quirking his lips a little.
“Thanks for taking care of him, H. He said you were very nice to him.” Louis has a look in his eyes Harry has only ever seen directed at Chris. It’s one filled with adoration, and Harry flushes, not really knowing what to do with the tingling in his fingers. He wants to touch Louis, run his fingers through his hair, cuddle him.
“‘S no problem. Sorry I interrupted your night.”
“Don’t ever apologise for that. My first priority is always, always Chris, and I’m happy you called. I’d much rather be here if he’s not feeling well, I promise.”
They sit in peace for a little while, until Harry finishes his tea. Just as he’s about to suggest going home, Louis says, “I like you in my clothes.”
Harry’s not really prepared for a statement like that, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “I like me in your clothes, too. Reckon I just like you, I think.”
As far as sweeping declarations go, it’s not really anything grand, but the way Louis’ eyes light up at that makes Harry feel warm and very, very pleased with himself.
“Yeah?” Louis says, setting his tea down and moving closer. “Reckon I like you too.”
He can’t actually control the way his face breaks into a massive grin, is the thing. As Louis comes even closer, Harry can see the sharp angles of Louis’ face, the slight scruff of his beard, and the earth-shatteringly sweet look he’s giving Harry as he leans in.
It’s nothing big. Just a soft brush of lips, the feeling of Louis’ beard scratching his chin and the soft flush crawling up Louis’ neck as he pulls back. It’s very innocent, and it might be the best first kiss of Harry’s life.
He responds by throwing himself at Louis. Naturally. He tackles him onto his back, kissing him almost frantically. Louis laughs against his mouth and kisses back. The kiss slows down, becoming this mix of the soft sweeps of their lips and tongues and them laughing quietly with each other.
They do that until the early hours of the morning, whispering and kissing until both of their lips are bruised and puffy, and Louis decides that it’s time to sleep.
It’s quite a bit more chaste than Harry had imagined his first night with Louis to be, and it is, at the very least, in his Top 3 nights of all time.
When he leaves in the morning, waving goodbye to a much better looking Chris, he’s got a date for the following Saturday night, and the world at his fingertips. Feels like it anyway.
Niall wolf-whistles and blares “I just had sex” at an illegal volume for so early in the morning, when he comes home.
Harry just smiles.
Niall threatens to call his mum if Harry doesn’t immediately retaliate with something awful.
Harry doesn’t mind.
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So, while anticipation is sweet, the week leading up to their date is nothing short of torture.
Harry and Louis don’t kiss in front of Chris, although Louis has decided that Harry deserves a hug goodbye in the mornings as well. Chris allows it, only on the grounds that Harry took good care of him the previous week.
While they don’t find time for a sneaky snog in the mornings, the afternoons are a little better. When Chris has had adequate playtime with Louis, he saunters off to play xbox, or superglue their shoes to the floor, or whatever comes to him that particular day, and Harry and Louis get some time to catch up. They spend it furiously making out and groping each other, but it doesn’t go further than that, and Harry is slowly losing his fucking mind. He has never wanked so often in his life. 15 year old Harry would be terrified.
The thing about getting to touch Louis, after having looked at him for so long, is that he doesn’t even know where to start, and he never, ever wants to stop. He’s soft, but muscular and Harry is seriously contemplating building a shrine to commemorate the curve of Louis’ spine, the swell of his arse, and the filthy smirk on his face when he gets Harry to moan.
It’s hell and heaven, and Louis is no better off. One time he manages to get Harry’s shirt open, and he nearly loses his shit when he sees all of Harry’s tattoos. “You’re so fucking fit, I just-”, he practically growls before latching to Harry’s collarbone and sucks a love bite onto it; one that looks like it’ll take at least a week to fade.
But Chris is there, and they have to be careful not to accidentally scar him for life, so they keep it PG-13. Mostly. On Thursday, Harry stays late and cooks them dinner, and after they’re both completely sure that Chris is completely asleep, Louis drags Harry to his bedroom, throws him on the bed, and sucks him off so thoroughly that Harry has trouble speaking for a good 15 minutes after.
When he can actually feel his legs again, he returns the favour. He makes Louis lie still, puts his hands on the bed and spends ages just licking and teasing, making Louis whimper and snarl, and when he finally sucks Louis down, completely come apart. When Louis has come down from his orgasm, he grabs Harry by the hair, kissing him deeply and tells him, “You’re gonna regret that, Haz, I’m going to make you pay for that,” but he’s looking at Harry with such a fond smile that he thinks it’ll be alright.
Harry is clearly an idiot.
Because Saturday does finally arrive, and when Louis shows up at his flat to take him out for dinner, he tells Harry, “Liam’s watching Chris tonight, just so you know, so I was wondering if you’d want to sleep over? I think I owe you.”
Harry barely remembers where they went for dinner, or what they ate, but he realises that Louis is completely serious about getting revenge when he’s lying on Louis’ bed, completely naked, with Louis crouched over him, not touching him with anything but his lips.
He’s been doing that for about half an hour, kissing over his torso, sucking his nipples and licking the dips of his v-lines, and Harry has never been this hard in his life, cock an angry red, dribbling precome on his stomach. Louis finally starts running his hands over him, starting at his calves, running them up over his thighs, barely skimming his dick, telling Harry, “You’ve got such lovely, lovely legs Haz. I can never take my eyes of them, you’re fucking beautiful.”
Harry’s only response is a broken “Lou, please, please, touch m- “
He’s cut off when Louis leans down to suck a love bite into the junction between his inner thigh and his groin, and Harry breaks off into a pitiful whimper.
“Not done with you yet, darling,” he says when he lets go, finally sliding his body down over Harry’s and running his hands over his stomach and chest. “And all these tattoos,” Louis’ hands run over his nipples, tweaking them slightly, before running them over his biceps, “and your fucking arms, babe. You’re so, so beautiful, I can’t fucking help myself. Wanna touch you all the time.”
“You too, Lou, fuck. So beautiful.” Harry’s proud that he can still form words at this point, whole sentences would be a miracle.
Louis crawls further up, straddling Harry’s thighs, and looks down at him with an obscene smirk. He’s stunning, a creature made of pure sex, hair a disaster, a flush rising on his cheeks and running down his chest, and when he murmurs a quiet, “can I fuck you, love?”, Harry can only nod. He’s never wanted anything quite so much in his life.
Louis finds lube and condoms in his drawer, while Harry tries to compose himself.
It all goes out the window when Louis shuffles down between his legs, asking like this?, and when Harry breathlessly repliesyeah, he pushes Harry’s legs apart and up, and with a slick finger begins to circle his rim.
Louis takes his time prepping Harry, with first one finger, which he drags out for approximately an infinity, before giving in to Harry’s whimpers and pleading and inserting a second finger.
By the time Louis up to three fingers, Harry’s almost out of his mind with need. Louis keeps brushing his prostrate on every second stroke or so, and he’s so ready. He’s fucking himself back on Louis’ perfect, perfect fingers and one day he’ll sit down and be properly embarrassed by the needy sounds coming from him, but right now he simply pleads, “Lou, please, come on, I’m so fucking ready, fuck me -”
Louis seems to be as desperate as Harry, responding with a simple “Sure, ‘course, babe”, and removing his fingers to roll on a condom and leaning over Harry.
“Haz, you look so good right now, can’t fucking believe I get to -”
Harry cuts him off with a kiss, nodding. He knows, he really does, it’s overwhelming, but if Louis doesn’t get on with it, he will roll him over and mount him, swear to God.
The first push is delicious, zipping up his spine, and they both groan loudly. From there, Louis goes so slow, taking Harry apart completely. It’s a moment completely suspended in time, as they move with each other, kissing whatever they can reach, panting into each others’ mouths.
As Harry comes closer, feels that tightening in his stomach, he reaches a hand down to wank himself off, and Louis gets the hint, starts snapping his hips faster.
His orgasms takes his breath away, and even as he can feel himself spill over his hand and stomach, he feels Louis still with a sharp Harry fuck, as he comes as well.
As soon as he’s able to, Louis kisses Harry deeply, and pulls back whispering "perfect, you’re so perfect, fucking beautiful," all the while kissing him chastely. Eventually he pulls out, and goes to the bathroom to get rid off the condom, bringing back a flannel for Harry, cleaning him off. Harry’s never felt better. Ever.
They cuddle up, Louis resting his head on Harry’s chest and caressing his stomach softly.
Harry eventually finds his words. “That went alright, yeah?”
Louis looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “Just alright? I’d like to think it was a little better than that.”
“It was perfect, Lou. Really.” Harry kisses the top of Louis’ head when he lays back down, and as sleep overtakes them, Harry thinks he’s quite happy with how this summer turned out, in the end.
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They never send out an official statement that they’re dating.
Three years later, when Louis shows up to training camp with the national squad wearing a simple gold band on his left ring finger, they don’t send out a statement either.