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“Ten.” Mitch points at the clock with a grin in Harry's direction, and says, “Nine.” Harry rolls his eyes, counting his tips on the bar in front of him, attempting to ignore Mitch’s continued countdown, “Eight… Seven… Six…”
Harry scribbles down the total and stacks his cash, rushing out, “Five, four, three, two, one.”
“Happy New Year's Eve?” Harry offers.
It’s four in the morning, December 31st, there are 20 hours left until the year ends and a new one begins, and Harry's been on his feet behind the bar at The Cherry Pit all night. He’s tired. Exhausted, actually. All he wants to do is go home and go to sleep. He doesn’t even care if he showers first.
Not that anyone’s there to care whether or not he’ll be clean when he climbs into bed.
Harry sighs and gives himself a surreptitious sniff. He can smell stale beer, the ripeness of his own sweat, the margarita he spilled earlier, and the scent of his Alpha hormones fighting their way through the neutralizers he wears to work. He reeks.
Mitch and Harry leave together, and Harry's denim jacket doesn’t do much against the cold. He hunches slightly, cupping his hands to block the wind as he lights a cigarette. It catches and he inhales deeply, looking up at the waxing crescent moon and letting his arms hang loose, glancing over at Mitch. He has his long hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck. It shows off his relatively new mating mark, and Harry can’t help the little surge of jealousy when he sees it. Not that he’s jealous of Mitch or of his Alpha, Sarah, either. He just wants that sort of thing for himself. A relationship, a bond, a mark, an Omega to call his own.
Mitch offers to drive Harry home, but it’s not a long walk from The Cherry Pit, so he waves him on, promising to see him tomorrow. Later today. Whatever. Harry stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and ducks his head against the wind, walking faster and hoping it’ll warm him up.
All it does is get his heart rate up and make him sweat a little. He runs up the stairs of his building and hustles down the outdoor walkway that leads to his apartment. The key is cold in his hand, but he fits it in the lock, and turns, and when he gets inside and it’s warm, he takes a relieved breath. And freezes in place.
Harry sniffs the air—vanilla and honey—and quietly unties his boots, leaving them by the door so he can move silently through his little apartment.
Curled up on his couch, bundled up in the quilt Harry’s grandma made, and wearing the hoodie Harry lounged around in that morning before going to work, is Louis. Something settles inside Harry at the sight. Seeing Louis vulnerable like this, face slack, the crinkles around his eyes only faint lines, his forehead smooth. The full beard and the threads of grey at his temples offer quite the contrast.
“Lou?” Harry whispers, sniffing the air again when Louis doesn’t stir. A hint of strawberry. Perfectly normal.
Since there’s nothing off about Louis’ scent, Harry leaves him there to sleep while he showers. Despite his every intention to fall onto his bed and pass out while still dressed in his work clothes, Louis is all the motivation Harry needs to wash the day off. He shampoos his hair, and while his conditioner sits, he scrubs the restaurant stink and grease from his skin.
Clean, but still tired, Harry dries off and pads barefoot into his bedroom where he finds a pair of grey sweatpants hiding at the bottom of his basket of black t-shirts from The Cherry Pit, all various degrees of faded.
With nothing but his sweatpants on, Harry heads back to the living room, walking around to stand in front of the couch, looking down at Louis. He’s sleeping peacefully, and he hates being woken up, but he really hates spending the night on the couch, so Harry bends down and pushes the hood back off his face.
“Lou, come to bed,” Harry says, putting a touch of Alpha timbre in his voice in the hopes it’ll help wake Louis up.
Louis’ long eyelashes flutter and he blinks slowly, humming, then murmuring, “Hey.”
“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, tracing the line of Louis’ jaw with his fingertip. He jerks his hand away and hides it in the pocket of his sweatpants, standing up straight, gazing down at Louis. “Thought you weren’t speaking to me.”
“Got bored,” Louis says, stretching his legs out with a groan, and throwing the quilt off.
“I want to talk about it,” Harry says, too tired to disguise his irritation. And too tired to stop himself from offering Louis a hand.
“Bed time for me, Harry,” Louis says, letting Harry help him to his feet.
“I haven't seen you in a week,” Harry says quietly, steadying Louis with one hand on his hip and one on his arm. He spins Louis around and guides him out of the living room, through the bedroom door. “You smell like you’re exhausted.”
“I just said bedtime for me,” Louis tells him with a dismissive wave at their reflections in the discolored mirror over Harry's dresser. “I took my stims.”
“You don’t like to take stims,” Harry needlessly reminds him.
“I can take them if I need to,” Louis says, climbing onto Harry's unmade bed and curling up on his side with his back to the wall.
Rubbing his eyes, then pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry tamps down on the growing hope in his heart, and says, “That’s why you’re here.”
“No,” Louis retorts with a scoff. “Your apartment is warmer.”
It smells like an evasion to Harry, but he doesn’t say so. He’s too tired to argue. Instead he climbs into bed in his usual spot and his usual position, sprawled on his stomach beside Louis. Before he can settle in, Louis scoots closer, draping an arm over Harry's back and cuddling up to his side. Harry wiggles around, turning his head so they're face to face, refusing to do a thing until Louis asks.
“Come on, babe, give me some of those sweet, sweet Alpha pheromones,” Louis says, and he sounds so silly that when Harry tries to keep from laughing, he snorts instead.
Shifting onto his side, Harry lifts his arm up, waiting for Louis to snuggle in. Once he does, temple resting on Harry's bicep, hand on Harry's hip, Harry leans in, nuzzling Louis’ neck, breathing him in before scenting him and letting his Alpha nature take over. Louis relaxes in his hold as soon as he inhales, Harry's pheromones giving him what he needs better than his prescription stims or the hours old odors still clinging to the hoodie Harry left on the couch that morning.
With Louis asleep in his arms, and his sweet and spicy scent in Harry's nose, Harry dozes off, comfortable and happy for the first time in days.
Harry wakes up on his stomach, hands folded under his pillow, with Louis clinging to his side like a barnacle, his face somehow buried in Harry's armpit. Pressed against the outside of Harry's thigh is Louis’ hard cock, and he’s barely moving, shifting his hips just enough to get a little friction. Harry fumbles for his phone and checks the time. It’s just after ten.
“Lou,” Harry says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out rough with sleep.
“Good. You’re awake,” Louis says, nipping at the skin along the back of Harry's armpit before untangling his limbs from around Harry and rolling over. “Need you to fuck me before I go.”
“Where are you going?” Harry asks, but he’s already doing what Louis wants, shimmying out of his sweatpants while reaching for the box of condoms he’s pretty sure wound up under his bed. He finds them and grabs one, holding it in his teeth as he fits a hand between their bodies, searching out Louis’ slick. Harry can smell Louis’ arousal, and as his own scent swirls around them, mixing the two together, Harry's cock throbs. “Lou? Where are you going?”
“Home,” Louis says, reaching back and grabbing Harry's dick at the base. He gives it a squeeze and a few strokes and Harry gasps when he lets go. “I have shit to do today.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” Harry says, opening the condom and rolling it on without looking, his lower half still under the blankets. He learned a long time ago that Louis won’t fuck in a cold room without a blanket to keep him warm, and Louis’ definition of cold varies. Of course, once they get going and his body heats up, the blankets fall to the floor and Harry's allowed to appreciate Louis’ entire body for the gorgeous specimen it is.
“I know what day it is,” Louis says, the eye roll evident in his tone, even as Harry pushes two fingers past his rim.
“I’m still mad at you,” Harry tells him, fucking his fingers in and out slowly. Louis would always rather he hurried.
“I know,” Louis whispers, canting his hips, riding Harry's hand.
Slipping his fingers free, Harry grips Louis’ waist, stilling him, then he nudges his cock between Louis’ cheeks and presses the length of it into his crack, getting it sticky with Louis’ slick. Louis whines, trying to change the angle so he can impale himself on Harry's cock, and Harry gives in, guiding the head of his dick up and down, getting it wet before pushing against Louis’ rim.
The first press into Louis’ body always takes Harry's breath away, but it’s been weeks since the last time. He has to concentrate as he slides inside, squeezing the barely there swell at the base of his cock to keep his knot at bay.
“Yes,” Louis hisses when Harry pulls him into the cradle of his hips, filling him completely.
“You need it, hmm?” Harry asks, more out of curiosity than any attempt at dirty talk.
“You know I do,” Louis says, reaching back to grab Harry's hip, holding him in place, keeping him in deep.
On his side and held against Louis’ ass, all Harry can do is grind circles and thrust in little pulses, but he figures that’s what Louis wants. He’s never been shy about asking for what he needs.
“Alphas are for fucking and pheromones,” Louis said during their first conversation, when he was moving into the building and Harry offered to help haul boxes up the stairs. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own groceries.”
Louis relented when his Omega friend Zayn intervened and asked if he was capable of moving his couch by himself. All Harry’d wanted to do was be a good neighbor. And here he is, half a year later, balls deep and in love, four months into a no strings attached, sex only situation with the Omega of his dreams. He’s still not sure how it happened.
“Deeper,” Louis says with a groan, and with his hand tight on Harry's hip, he rolls onto his stomach, taking Harry with him.
“Fuck,” Harry mutters, mouth pressed to the back of Louis’ shoulder as Louis spreads out under him. He settles between Louis’ legs, running his hands up Louis’ sides and over his arms to the backs of his hands, lacing their fingers together. Dicking in deeper, Harry keeps him full just the way he likes it with almost constant pressure against his prostate. Louis comes from that alone, body trembling and tightening around Harry's cock as his knot begins to swell.
Desperate for release, Harry drives his hips down, forcing the engorged base of his dick past Louis’ rim with a gasp. Louis clenches his muscles like he’s trying to keep Harry from pulling out, and that’s all Harry needs to tip him over the edge. He comes, flooding the condom, dragging his teeth over the side of Louis’ neck and licking the spot he wishes he could bite.
“Can’t fucking breathe with your heavy Alpha ass on top of me,” Louis says, wiggling until Harry forces an arm under him and rolls them together to rest on their sides. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Harry says, wincing at his words. Post-orgasm Louis is one of Harry's favorites. He’s relaxed, he smells amazing, and he’ll usually talk more without Harry feeling like he’s prying. “Are we going to talk about it?”
“Nope,” Louis says with a short laugh.
“So you just wanted a knot,” Harry says flatly, sucking air through his teeth when Louis clenches around his cock, milking even more come out of him.
“Wanted a fuck, darling,” Louis says, looking back over his shoulder. “The knot’s for you.”
Cheeks flaming, Harry gives a few shallow thrusts, trying to get his knot to go down faster, no longer so keen on the idea of being tied to Louis this morning. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“Asking me on a date?” Louis asks, beard tickling Harry's bicep where he’s resting his head.
Harry scoffs and says, “Asking because you weren’t supposed to be here, and I have to work.”
“I’m hanging out with Zayn,” Louis says, and Harry sighs. He can smell the dishonesty, but he doesn’t mention it.
Caressing Louis’ side down to his hips, Harry grabs the blanket to pull it back over them, but then Louis reaches a hand between their bodies, cups Harry's balls, and with a grunt, yanks Harry's partially shrunken knot past his rim. His dick slips out easily, and Louis rolls away, scooting down to the foot of the bed and crawling out from under the blankets.
“I hate when you do that,” Harry says as he tries to get out of bed on shaky legs, condom still tight around the base of his knot.
Standing up with his back to Harry, Louis stretches his arms overhead. His ass and thighs shine with his slick, and when he turns around, there’s come all over his stomach and his softened cock and in his pubic hair. He looks down at the mess and sighs, then shrugs, bending down to pick up the sweatpants and hoodie he was wearing last night. Dressed in Harry's clothes, Louis leaves while Harry's still trying to get the condom off his knot.
When he finally manages to remove it, Harry drops the condom in the bathroom trash, and stares at his reflection in the toothpaste splattered mirror. He’s never been one for resolutions, but he needs to make one. Shit or get off the pot, as Niall likes to say. He sets a deadline for midnight. Seems like the thing to do on New Year’s Eve.
As much as he’d like to go around all day with Louis’ dried slick all over him, Harry washes himself off. Louis’ scent is probably still discernible, but maybe that’s for the best.
After he’s clean and dry, Harry searches through his laundry basket for something to wear and comes up with nothing but his work clothes. Heaving a sigh, he dumps a pair a black jeans, a pair of bleach splattered blue jeans, three pairs of black boxer briefs, and a single black t-shirt (with The Cherry Pit logo on the back) on the clean side of his bed, then collects all the dirty clothes from around his apartment, shoving them in the basket. Dressed in his black jeans and Cherry Pit t-shirt, Harry puts on his red Adidas, slips into his jean jacket and hauls his dirty clothes to the laundry room at the far end of the building.
Once the washer starts, Harry heads for Louis’ door. He sniffs the air around it, leaning in and closing his eyes before he knocks. Then he waits, counting slowly and silently to one hundred. Backing up a little, Harry stands directly in front of the peephole in Louis’ door and knocks again.
“Louis?” Harry calls through the door, trying not to be too loud. He doesn’t want to disturb the neighbors, but he wants Louis to know it’s him. As if Louis would hide from anyone else. “Don’t know if you can hear me, but I want to talk to you. I’m at The Cherry Pit all night, but I’ll have my phone in my pocket.”
Harry waits another silent count of one hundred before he turns to leave. He climbs behind the wheel of his old Ford truck, saying a little prayer before turning the ignition. Thankfully, it starts just fine, and he backs out of his parking space, on the way to the mall to spend the gift card his grandma gave him for Christmas.
Normally, Harry avoids the mall. It’s a dying mall (aren't they all), but it still has his grandma’s favorite department store, and that department store sells Calvin Klein underwear. Normally he buys a five pack of black trunks—the shorter version of their boxer briefs—but they have holiday prints on sale, and it makes him smile to think of wearing red plaid underwear year round, plus the rabbits on the lunar new year pair are cute. Harry grabs about a dozen pairs in his size, then goes looking for black cotton crewneck t-shirts.
“Harry?”
Spinning around at the sound of Louis’ voice, Harry flings the plastic wrapped package of t-shirts into a rack of sweatpants, but he manages to hold onto the underwear. Louis picks up the package, looking it over, and though he doesn’t say anything, his cheeks flush pink. He rubs his thumb over the plastic package, and it squeaks, and Harry sees the name tag on Louis’ black and white polo.
“Are you working here?” Harry asks, and it takes Louis a few seconds before he nods.
“Part-time, for the holidays,” Louis says with a shrug. He seems to notice Harry's handful of underwear, and asks, “Are you— You’re buying holiday boxer briefs?”
Harry nods at the package in Louis’ hand, and says, “And some black t-shirts.”
Looking down at the plastic wrapped t-shirts, Louis’ blush darkens. “These are, um, forty-percent off, if you want to get more.”
“Might be a good idea,” Harry says, adjusting his hold on the dozen pairs of underwear in his hands, and grabbing another package of shirts off the shelf. He tosses it in the air and catches it easily, thankful for his juggling skills. “Do you only work in this section or…”
“Why?” Louis asks, snatching the second pack of shirts from Harry's hold.
“I have a gift card to spend,” Harry says, looking around for a shopping basket or something.
Rolling his eyes, Louis sighs, stacking the packages of t-shirts in his hands, and says, “Follow me.”
Harry does as he’s told.
Louis leads him to the register where he tucks the t-shirts under the lip of the counter, glancing up at Harry, then down at the bundle of boxer briefs. He reaches over and plucks at the elastic waistband of a pair of black and white plaid underwear, and Harry lets it go, staring speechless as Louis lays them flat on the counter.
“Next,” Louis says, looking at Harry expectantly. And Harry tries to hand over a single pair, but he pulls three out at once, then another pair falls to the floor, and Harry drops the rest onto the counter rather than attempt to hang on another second.
“Sorry!” Harry ducks down to pick up the pair from the floor, and shakes them out, laying them flat on top of Louis’ little stack. He picks up another pair and neatly adds it to the pile, and says, “I thought the holiday print might be a little unusual, so, uh… my underpants aren’t going to get mixed up with anyone else’s, like, in the laundry.”
“Good call,” Louis says, nostrils flaring as he exhales.
“Yeah, I, um, don’t really like freeballing at work,” Harry says, laying the last pair of red plaid boxer briefs onto the stack.
“Understandable.” Louis takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He glares at Harry's stack of underpants and says, “What else did you want to shop for?”
“Oh, um…” Harry walks around the side of the counter, and points at a collection of emerald green sweatshirts. They're just the color to make Louis’ blue eyes look a bit more green. “One of those in a—”
“Large,” Louis says, already pulling the hanger off the rack. He clears his throat and hums, looking up at Harry through his lashes. “These are really soft. And they don’t shrink a lot. So, uh, you might want a medium instead. Or you could try it on.”
“Large is good,” Harry says, reaching out to touch the sweatshirt, fingers brushing the back of Louis’ hand on the way. “It’s soft.”
“Yeah, um, were you— were you shopping for anything else?” Louis asks, quickly folding the sweatshirt.
“That’s it, I think, I, uh…” Harry watches Louis add the folded sweatshirt to his pile of things, and doesn’t miss the way he pets it into place. Waiting until Louis looks up and meets his eyes, Harry asks, “Can we talk?”
“Not while I'm at work, Harry,” Louis says, hand shaking as he scans the tag on Harry's new sweatshirt.
“Sorry,” Harry whispers, smiling when Louis waves away his apology. He waits until Louis’s put the sweatshirt in the bag and is scanning the underwear to ask, “You like that green?”
“It’s nice, yeah,” Louis says, an amused tilt to his mouth.
“And you like the way it feels?” Harry asks, pausing as Louis scans yet another pair of underwear. “It’s soft?”
“Yeah, why?” Louis asks, working his way through the stack of boxer briefs.
“No reason,” Harry says, licking his lips. He leans in a bit, surreptitiously sniffing the air between them while he pulls his wallet from his pocket. “Do you think you’ll have time to talk today?”
“When do you go to work?” Louis asks, placing Harry's new underwear in the bag.
Harry waits while Louis beeps the scanner over the two packages of shirts, then answers, “Four.”
“I’m here until five, and then I’m hanging out with Zayn, so, uh, no,” Louis says as he totals Harry's purchases. “Probably not.”
He reads out the amount, tapping his fingers against the counter top, and Harry hands over his gift card, plus a twenty to cover the rest.
“I, um, stopped by your apartment earlier,” Harry says, huffing a quiet laugh. “Talked to the air.”
“Hmm?” Louis frowns like he thinks he misheard or something, counting out Harry's change and dropping his receipt in the bag.
“I thought you were there, um… avoiding me,” Harry explains, taking the bag and cradling it to his chest. “Sorry, um… I just wanted to tell you, I’m at The Cherry Pit all night, but I’ll have my phone in my pocket.”
“Okay,” Louis says softly, and Harry takes a step back.
“Is there, like, a website where I can rate your performance as a salesperson?” Harry asks as he backs away, grinning all the while.
“I’m working, Harry,” Louis tells him again, eyebrows raised. “Go home.”
“Bye, Lou,” Harry says, waving as he turns and heads for the door.
His fastest and most productive shopping trip in years.
Harry wears his new green crewneck sweatshirt around his apartment all afternoon until he has to go to work, tugging on the collar so it rubs against his neck, covering it in his scent while he does the dishes and runs down to the laundry room to put his clothes in the dryer. He drapes the green sweatshirt over the back of his couch when he leaves for work, though he should wear it under his denim jacket. It’s fucking cold out.
“Hey, sorry I’m early,” Harry says the second Mitch opens the door at The Cherry Pit.
“Why?” Mitch asks as Harry slips past him inside.
“I need to talk to you,” Harry says, heading for the bar to pull the stools down.
“What’s going on?” Mitch asks, starting with the stools on the other end.
Harry takes a deep breath, but he needs the opinion of a male Omega, and Mitch is the only one he knows well enough who hopefully won’t be offended by anything he says. “There’s this guy. An Omega. For the last few months, we’ve been sleeping together. Like, a no strings, friends with benefits thing.”
“Really?” Mitch asks, sniffing the air like that’ll answer all his questions. “When?”
“Most recently, this morning,” Harry says, and his mind slips back a few hours to Louis on his belly in Harry's bed. He clears his throat, and touches his cheeks. They're warm and probably pink. “It’s pretty often. Like, at least a couple times a week, but, um… It’s not just that. He’s my neighbor.”
“The hot Omega neighbor?” Mitch gasps dramatically, and Harry rolls his eyes. “From move in day?”
“His name’s Louis, and he’s great, really. Just… Funny, sweet, caring, kind… I see the way he is with his friends, and when he thinks I’m not paying attention, the way he is with me. And he’s such a smartass, too, and like, really funny, and fun to be around, he’s a great person to just sit and kind of admire what he’s like, you know? But, um… We got into a fight before Christmas. It was really stupid, but like, I didn't see him for a week, I thought it was over, but now he’s back and he won’t talk to me.”
“And you had sex this morning,” Mitch says, tilting his head to the side as if he doesn’t quite believe it. “You guys have sex, like, fairly often. And he sleeps over at your place a lot?”
“Yeah, I gave him a key so he can—”
“He has a key to your place?” Mitch asks with a laugh. “What are you even asking me?”
“I’m asking you if you think I should keep trying to talk to him.” Huffing a breath through his nose, Harry leans back, running his hands through his hair. “He keeps putting off any conversation and I just… You think he might be into me?”
“Yeah, man, I think he might,” Mitch says with a wink. “But if he’s telling you he doesn’t want to talk at all…”
“It’s not that,” Harry says, giving his head a quick shake. “He keeps saying ‘later’ and I don’t know what to do.”
“Let him take the lead,” Mitch says, like it’s the only obvious solution. “You invited him here tonight, right?”
“I did, actually, um… I sort of invited him,” Harry says with a shrug. “He knows I’m going to be here. He’s supposed to be hanging out with his friend. I don’t know if he’ll come.”
“Tell him we’ve got champagne, noise makers, all that annoying New Year’s Eve shit,” Mitch continues, “Introduce me to him and I’ll talk you up.”
The Cherry Pit is pretty busy all night. Customers start coming in around three, and Harry's behind the bar, jean jacket still on over the bright red cherries on his black t-shirt. Sarah shows up a few hours in, and Mitch comes out of the office to work with Harry. As they get into the swing of things, Harry shucks his jacket, stuffing it into a cubby behind the bar, and quickly checking his phone, but Louis hasn’t texted or called.
New Year’s Eve is non-stop pouring glasses of bubbly and making martinis. Something about the holiday encourages people to drink out of flutes, coupes, and other long-stemmed glasses. Sweating despite his proximity to the front door that customers keep holding open, letting the cold air in, Harry busts his ass until around eight, and then there’s a lull between people leaving for late meals or to spend midnight somewhere else, before the rush of people into The Cherry Pit after dinner out and planning to ring in the new year with Harry and Mitch and Sarah, and the rest of the Pit’s customers.
That’s when Louis comes in.
His silver flecked hair is soft and windblown, and he lifts a hand to adjust the way it falls across his face the second he steps inside, eyes flickering to the bar, but not settling on Harry. Zayn’s with him, bleached blond hair sticking out of a red beanie, wearing a grey hoodie with a pair of baggy black jeans. He and Louis make a devastatingly handsome pair, but when Louis slips out of his oversized, puffy, yellow coat, it’s apparent that he decided to dress up tonight.
Instead of his usual too-big sweatshirt and sweatpants tucked into socks, he’s wearing a misty blue and white argyle sweater that makes his eyes look like the sky after a winter storm, and black jeans that cling to his thighs and send shivers through Harry's Alpha.
Slowly, Harry drinks him in, gaze meandering up Louis’ body, pausing on his hands, the only bare skin visible below his neck, and finally settling on the blue eyes staring back at him.
“Two vodka Red Bulls,” Louis says as he approaches the bar across from Harry, yellow coat dangling from his outstretched hand. “Is there a place I can put this?”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Harry mutters, but he takes the coat, stuffing it into the same cubby with his jean jacket. He stands back up and grabs a couple of rocks glasses, scooping them full of ice, refusing to state the obvious. “Can we talk?”
“Not now, babe,” Louis says, pointing at the bottle of vodka in Harry's hand. “Don’t be shy.”
Harry adds a little extra vodka to Louis’ drinks, then pops open a can of Red Bull, filling the glasses. “Are you planning to be here at midnight?”
“Haven’t decided,” Louis says, sipping his drink, sighing happily as soon as he swallows. “Zayn might want to leave.”
“You don’t have to leave with him,” Harry says, and Louis scoffs loudly. “Are you going to keep pretending nothing happened?”
“Harry, I said not now,” Louis snaps, taking his drinks and stalking away towards Zayn.
“That’s him?” Sarah asks, sidling up next to Harry behind the bar. Harry nods—of course Mitch filled her in about Louis—and she says, “And that’s your sweater.”
Flooded with pride, Harry nods, biting down on a smile. “My sweater, my jeans, my coat, my shoes…”
“You’re kidding,” Sarah says, staring into the mirror behind Harry. “He really is gorgeous.” Harry huffs out a little growl, and Sarah cocks an eyebrow. “You need to work things out with him.”
“He’s the one who won’t talk to me,” Harry practically hisses, but his complaint is lost in the shuffle as customers catch his eye and call out orders, waiting for their drinks.
Working on New Year’s Eve is always fun, always busy, and always surprising in one way or another, whether they run out of sparkling wine or champagne flutes, or a troupe of touring Rockettes wanders in just before midnight. Tonight, they’ve got plenty of champagne and plenty of glasses, and with no sign of any precision dancers high kicking their way to the bar, Harry ducks out for a quick break.
Louis isn’t talking to him. He’s barely looked at Harry all night except to catch him staring when a strange Alpha joined their table, and then Louis simply smirked and turned away.
“Back in a minute,” Harry says as he passes Sarah, leaving her and Mitch to handle the bar. He makes a stop in the employee restroom, taking a leak while he has the chance, then he steps out back into the alley.
“Hey,” Louis says, his voice hitting Harry's ears just before he catches Louis’ scent.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Louis!” Harry holds one hand to his heart and the other to his head, then he realizes how ridiculous he must look and drops his hands to hang at his sides. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m leaving,” Louis says, pulling Harry's puffy yellow coat tighter around him. “Wanted to say goodbye.”
“What d'you mean by leaving?” Harry asks, suddenly anxious, reaching for his yellow coat and bunching the fabric in his hands.
“Going home,” Louis says. He lets Harry manhandle him for a moment, snickering when Harry fits his cold hands into the inside pockets of the coat and attempts to burrow into Louis’ chest. “You want your coat?”
Harry shakes his head, standing up straight and tugging the coat’s collar tighter at Louis’ neck. “Rather you wear it. Be warm.”
“Don’t be too late tonight,” Louis says with a nod towards the end of the alley where it looks like Zayn is waiting with the same Alpha. He smells friendly enough, but Harry can’t stop his chest from rumbling.
“What does that mean?” Harry asks as Louis pulls free from Harry's grip. “Are you ever going to talk to me?”
Louis jogs off down the alley, leaving Harry to shiver in the cold air.
“Where’s your O?” Mitch asks hours later, in the middle of the rush leading up to midnight. Everyone wants a drink to toast, and they’ve all decided at the same time that they can’t wait.
“He left,” Harry says, frowning and shaking his head. “And Louis isn’t my O.”
“No, man, I said there’s your O,” Mitch says, elbowing Harry hard, right in the ribs.
Harry sucks in a breath at the sharp pain, head jerking up just in time to see the hurt in Louis’ eyes. He opens his mouth to try to explain, but the crowd around the bar is dense and Louis is already pushing his way through the throng to the exit.
“Shit. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Harry says, throwing his hands in the air. “I can't follow him. Goddamn it.”
“He left?” Mitch asks, slipping past Harry to grab a beer from the cooler.
“Yeah, and I… I’ll deal with it later, I guess,” Harry says, unable to keep his annoyance from creeping into his tone. He forces a laugh and shakes his head. “Happy new year, Mitchell.”
“We’ll get you out of here early,” Mitch assures him, slapping him on the shoulder and getting back to work. “Sarah already asked her parents to keep the baby overnight. She’ll help me close. You go get your O.”
“He’s not mine,” Harry says again, and Mitch whacks him pretty hard in the arm.
“Shit like that is only going to get you in trouble, H,” Mitch says, talking to Harry under his breath while listening to a customer over-pronounce prosecco.
“We’ll, he’s not! I mean…” Harry grabs a bottle from the cooler and pours yet another glass of sparkling wine, taking the cash from the customer, and spinning around to tap in the order on the computer screen. He looks over at Mitch, willing him to understand. “I didn't expect him to hear me, and it’s not that I don’t want him to be mine, it’s just—”
“Go, Harry,” Sarah says, stepping behind the bar and waving him away from the drink he’s about to make. “Go find Louis and explain.”
“Can I finish?” Harry asks, adding a splash of cranberry juice to another glass of champagne. “There. Okay. I’ll go.”
“See you tomorrow for lunch,” Sarah says, swatting him on the ass when he walks by.
“God, it’s fucking cold, Louis,” Harry mutters, climbing the steps of their apartment building. Facing the door, Harry hunches his shoulders against the wind, sniffing the air and closing his eyes before he knocks. Slowly and silently, shivering, he counts to one hundred, then he knocks again, and counts again before turning around and going home.
Harry steps on the heels of his Adidas to get them off, leaving them by the front door, and pads through his apartment in his socks. It doesn’t occur to him until his jacket’s sliding off his arms that Louis could be there. In Harry's house.
The green sweatshirt is gone. It was definitely on the back of the couch when he left for work, and it’s not there now. It didn't fall down onto the couch or behind it.
Unless some other Omega smells spicy like raw honey and has a key to Harry's apartment, Louis has it.
Sniffing the air, Harry tosses his jean jacket onto the couch, and checks his bedroom. Louis’ scent isn’t strong; it smells like he was here, but only for a moment. Just long enough to take the sweatshirt. Harry's sock slips on something on the floor, and when he bends over to pick it up, he laughs through his nose. The wrapping from his new t-shirts. He flips on the light and finds his new boxer briefs are gone, too.
Still in his socks, jeans, and t-shirt, Harry grabs his empty basket and darts back outside and down the stairs to the laundry room. He opens the dryer to find it empty, and at first he thinks he must’ve forgotten which dryer he used, but they're all empty. And Harry growls.
Stomping his way to Louis’ apartment, annoyance tamping down his hurt feelings, Harry rubs his hands over his bare arms, but it doesn’t do much. He knocks loudly on the door, and calls out, “Louis! It’s fucking freezing out here!” Leaning in closer, Harry ducks his head, and says, “If you’re not going to let me in, will you just tell me so I don’t freeze to death waiting?”
The sound of a chain lock dropping is followed by the scrape of a metal slide lock, then the thunk of a deadbolt, and finally the click of the simple latch on the doorknob. Harry's still leaning against the door jamb when Louis opens the door just a few inches, enough for Harry to see his messy hair and familiar green crewneck sweatshirt.
“Are you going to let me in?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, stepping back and swinging the door open. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“I didn't mean for you to follow me tonight,” Louis says, waving both hands in the general direction of The Cherry Pit. “I came back up there to surprise you, um, and to ring in the new year with you, and tell you that I wanted to talk tonight. After you got off work.”
“I’m off,” Harry says, rubbing his arms again, cold despite the hope bubbling in his heart. It’s warm in Louis’ apartment, but the chill he’s been feeling all day is hard to shake. “And you took my new clothes.”
“Yeah…” Louis pinches the fabric of the green sweatshirt and pulls it away from his body, letting it go and letting it fall back around him. He catches the corner of his lower lip between his teeth, and tilts his head, and says, “You want this back?”
“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Louis, and admits, “I bought it for you.”
“If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have stolen your new underwear,” Louis says, stepping closer to Harry and threatening his resolve.
“I tried to tell you. I…” Without thinking, Harry reaches for Louis, wanting to soothe them both, scent the room, hold him tight and bury his face in the crook of his neck. He settles for bunching the cozy fabric of Louis’ green sweatshirt in his hands, fists at Louis’ waist. The warm, soft skin of Louis’ stomach is close enough to touch, but Harry refrains, meeting Louis’ stare as he speaks, “On your birthday, only I didn't know it was your birthday, I tried to tell you that I wanted more with you, and you told me it was your birthday, and you wanted to fuck.”
“I was drunk,” Louis says, face going pale beneath his blush. One touch is all it takes for Harry to loosen his grip on Louis’ sweatshirt, but Louis stops him from pulling away completely, slipping his hands into both of Harry's. “I didn't know what you were saying. Just knew I wanted you.”
“Are we going to talk about it?” Harry asks, unsure how else to broach the subject when Louis isn’t running away.
“Yeah, that’s what we’re doing,” Louis says with a quiet snort. He tugs on their linked hands, and Harry stumbles forward, but rights himself as Louis begins to walk backwards further into his apartment.
“Okay, smartass,” Harry says. He looks around Louis’ place, really taking it in for the first time. Louis’ apartment is the mirror image of his own, a square space where everything that should be to the left is to the right and vice versa. His couch is dark blue, low and wide, with Harry's quilt thrown across the camelback curve. “That’s my quilt.”
Squeezing Harry's hands, Louis lifts them up and over his shoulders, letting go and leaving Harry's forearms hovering in the air to either side of Louis’ neck for a split second before Harry gives into gravity.
“Duh,” Louis says, and Harry huffs a laugh through his nose.
“Didn't expect a duh.” Heart thumping in his chest, Harry chances a smile, and asks, “When?”
Louis hums, resting his palms on Harry's chest, rubbing his thumbs back and forth. “It started with a t-shirt. In August.”
“August?” Harry asks, searching his memory. “Before we…”
“Before we slept together, yes,” Louis says. “One of your shirts wound up in my laundry. I figure you left it in the washer or the dryer, and I didn't notice and just dumped my clothes on top.”
“Did you know it was mine?” Harry asks, inching closer and cupping the back of Louis’ neck. He shakes his head, and Harry drags his thumb through the hair at Louis’ nape.
“It was like a week later I realized it was your shirt,” Louis admits, attempting to turn his head, but Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ neck, stopping him. Looking at Harry through his eyelashes, Louis says, “I’m trying to tell you.”
“Then tell me,” Harry says, leaning in and running the tip of nose along the side of Louis’ neck, breathing in his scent, relaxing a little at how settled Louis smells.
“I kept the shirt under my pillow,” Louis says, and Harry lifts his head to watch him speak. He blinks slowly, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and slides his hands down Harry's chest and over his stomach. Harry gasps, muscles flexing away from Louis’ touch, but the corners of Louis’ mouth quirk upward. He slips his hands under Harry's t-shirt, and for once, they're not cold. They aren’t as warm as Harry’d like, but it’s hard to care when Louis draws circles over Harry's hips with his thumbs.
“Stop trying to turn me on,” Harry says, tugging the collar of the sweatshirt to the side and nipping at the curve where Louis’ neck meets his shoulder.
Louis grunts and grumbles, but he stills his hands. “I figured it out the next time I did laundry. I– I have enough clothes that I can stretch it– use two machines, if they're open, and wash my clothes, like, twice a month.”
“Louis,” Harry says, pulling back a little, unable to contain his grimace.
“Don’t judge, Harry,” Louis snaps, pinching the soft skin at Harry's waistband.
“I’m not…” Harry clamps his hands down on Louis’ and the pinching stops. He loosens his grip, and Louis goes back to tracing circles over Harry's skin. “I’m not judging,” Harry insists, tilting his head, holding Louis’ gaze. “I…Is… Is that why you took my clothes?”
Sputtering a laugh, Louis ducks his head, and says, “Nope.”
“Just making sure,” Harry says, giggling quietly and running his hands up Louis’ arms. “I could, um… like, if I’m already doing my laundry, I could do yours, too.”
“You don’t have to do my chores for me, Harry,” Louis says, rolling his eyes and taking a step back.
“I’m not– I’m saying, I want to take care of you, Lou, I want– I want to do your laundry.” Harry looks around Louis’ apartment again, and heads for the couch. When Louis sits beside him, facing forward, not looking at him, Harry pushes up off his seat, spins around, and straddles Louis’ lap, knees bracketing the thighs Harry dreams about. “Look at me, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis lifts his chin. “I want to cook for you because I like cooking and I know you hate it. I want to do your laundry because it’s doing something for you– To take care of you.”
“Fine,” Louis says, crossing his arms in the space between them.
Shifting his weight, Harry leans back, crossing his arms, too. “Fine?”
“Can I finish telling you?” Louis asks, and Harry feels his eyebrows climb his forehead. He forgot. He nods, and Louis says, “I went down there to put my clothes in the washer, and your clothes were in the dryer. I could smell you. Your scent. Underneath the laundry detergent, I could smell you, and I knew instantly it was the same Alpha. Before I walked through the door, I knew, and it took me a few seconds to figure out, you know, with the dryer, so I waited. You smelled different the day I moved in. When you were helping me, I mean.”
“I’d been at this rock climbing place with a bunch of other Alphas, like, unintentionally. I went with my friend Niall, and then I came home, and you were trying to convince Zayn to carry your couch,” Harry says, uncrossing his arms and reaching past Louis’ head to rest his hands on the curved back of the couch. “Sorry if I smelled bad. I hadn’t planned ahead to meet the man of my dreams in the parking lot of my apartment complex.”
“Man of your dreams?” Louis snorts, glancing over Harry's shoulder, probably at his bedroom door, and what’s hidden behind it.
“Omega of my dreams,” Harry says with a little shrug. “Man of my dreams. And my nightmares.”
“Shut up,” Louis says. He tips his chin up and smiles, reaching for Harry's messy hair, tucking it behind his ear, then running the backs of his knuckles over the curve of Harry's jaw. “You didn't smell bad, it was just a mess of scents.”
“And then you stole my t-shirt,” Harry says, grinning at Louis and leaning down to smell the blend of their scents on the green sweatshirt.
“Actually, that night I stole your sweatpants,” Louis says with a quick nod. Frowning, Harry sits up again, and Louis continues, “I didn't even think about it. Just opened the dryer, grabbed the first soft thing I touched, shut the dryer again, and started it back up. I hid your pants in my laundry basket, like, two seconds before you showed up to get your clothes.”
“I remember,” Harry says with a quiet laugh, tracing the shell of Louis’ ear with the edge of his thumb. “I told you there was probably plenty of time left on my dryer if you wanted to use it.”
“And then you left, and I hurried to stuff my clothes in the washer and ran upstairs to hide your sweatpants under my pillow,” Louis says, and Harry smiles, shaking his head.
“And, what? Two weeks later you asked me to fuck you?” Harry laughs at Louis’ immediate frown, and recites, “‘No strings. We’re not dating. Don’t fall in love with me. If you bite me and bond me, I’ll cut your dick off and shove it down your throat.’ That’s what you said to me.”
“You’re the one who agreed,” Louis says. “And things were different then.”
“Clearly,” Harry says with a pointed look back over his shoulder at Louis’ bedroom door. He turns back to face Louis, and finds him worriedly chewing the inside of his cheek. Cradling Louis’ face in his hands, Harry rubs his thumbs over Louis’ scruff until he stops. “Have you just been taking things one at a time?”
“I mean, yeah, sort of,” Louis says, licking his lips and looking away. “Couple of times, I used my key while you were at work and took a few things.”
“How did I not notice?” Harry asks, more to himself than to Louis, and not for the first time in the last few weeks.
“I don’t fucking know, Harry!” Louis barks a laugh, throwing his head back, and Harry has to restrain himself from leaning down to mouth harshly at the line where Louis’ beard fades away. “I thought you’d realize right away, but then I talked to my sister, and she said maybe you had a lot of clothes, so it’d take longer.”
“Four months, though?” Harry wiggles a little on Louis’ lap, and Louis grabs hold of his hips, stilling him.
“Like I said, I thought you’d figure it out,” Louis says, giving Harry's waist a squeeze. “I thought a few weeks max, but then you didn't, and suddenly it’d been two months and I was falling in love with you, and—”
“Lou,” Harry interrupts, giving into his urge, and sucking a kiss to Louis’ neck. “I love you, too.”
“I know that now,” Louis says with a loud scoff, but he tips his head to let Harry have his way, melting into the back of the couch with Harry's next kiss. “But in October, I thought I was going to have to pack up and leave town the second you caught on that I was taking your clothes. I really thought you’d be angry.”
“And then I just kept… not noticing,” Harry says, huffing a laugh through his nose. “Can I scent you?”
“Yeah, baby, go ahead,” Louis says. He cups the back of Harry's neck, holding him in place, and Harry lets go, his scent filling the space between them first, then the air around them. Louis’ honey and strawberry spills into the swirl, and Harry sits up with a smile.
“I don’t know what I thought,” Harry says, because he’s gone over and over the last few months in his mind. “I knew I couldn’t find stuff, but, like, I had clothes to wear to work, and underwear, and a couple of pairs of sweatpants. I guess I didn't really need the rest. I didn't feel like it was missing, though. Maybe my Alpha knew it was you. Maybe I somehow knew my hoodies were being put to good use.”
“I got mad around Thanksgiving ’cause you asked what I was doing for Christmas, but you didn't mention my birthday, and I– I knew you didn't know, but I assumed it was because you didn't care enough to find out, which was stupid, but I– I wanted to push you to do something.”
“And you went with brazenly stealing my clothes right in front of me,” Harry says, and Louis shrugs.
“It still took you weeks!” Louis smacks him right in the center of his chest, and Harry grunts.
“I didn't want to upset you,” Harry insists, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I thought you were doing it accidentally. Or maybe you were fucking with me, and I didn't want to give you the satisfaction. And then it was your birthday, only you didn't tell me it was your birthday until it was too late for me to get you anything.”
“So you busted into my apartment uninvited…” Louis trails off, smoothing his hands over the fabric of Harry's t-shirt, tracing the line of his pecs. “And screamed at me.”
“I didn't scream, I—” Harry stops when Louis cocks an eyebrow, and sighs. “Okay, I screamed, but it was a good scream. A surprised scream? Excited?” Louis manages to look even less impressed, and Harry says, “I didn't mean to yell, but to be fair, you yelled right back, and then you threw me out and refused to talk to me for a week.”
“It was a shitty week,” Louis says, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him close, burying his face in the warmth of Harry's chest.
“It was,” Harry easily agrees, circling his arms around Louis' shoulders. “But I didn't bust into your apartment uninvited. The door was open. And I—”
“I was waiting for Zayn,” Louis says.
“I don’t care,” Harry grumbles into Louis’ ear. “I came here that night to tell you that I wanted to know your birthday. I want to know about your childhood. I want to know your history, Lou. I want to know all about you. I wanted to tell you all that, and wound up freaking out about your nest instead.”
“To be fair,” Louis starts, dragging out the words at first. “It was probably a shock to you to find most of your wardrobe woven into a nest as big as a queen size bed.”
“It was,” Harry admits. “And I know that I… I shouldn’t’ve come into your apartment that night. I know that was wrong, and I promise I never meant to scare you or anything, but… I thought we were done. Thought I was going to have to buy all new clothes.”
Louis swats his side, and says, “I needed space. Needed to clear my head. And then I had to work, and I decided I had to come up with a plan to sort of demonstrate, you know, my feelings.”
“And that’s what tonight was about?” Harry asks, tugging on the sleeve of his brand new sweatshirt. “Dressed head to toe in my clothes? Taking my brand new underwear? My quilt? Leaving me with nothing clean to wear?”
“I wanted you to come here,” Louis says softly. “I wanted to talk to you and I wanted to do it here because I want to show you what– what you mean to me.”
Head tipped to the side, Harry pouts a little, and says, “Show me?”
“Get up,” Louis says, smacking Harry's bum until he climbs backwards off the couch, then grabbing Harry’s hand and using his hold to haul himself to his feet. He keeps a tight grip on Harry's hand, pulling him towards the bedroom door. “Come see my nest.”
“Oh…” Harry follows right behind him, running his palms up and down Louis’ biceps when he hesitates to turn the knob.
“I didn't put your new shirts and stuff in,” Louis says, opening the door wide to reveal the queen size bed pushed into the corner of the room and the neatly woven nest of Harry's and Louis’ clothes and linens, heathered jersey and bamboo sheets and white cotton t-shirts are layered with corduroy flares and fluffy knit sweaters.
Harry's never seen a nest up close before. The combined scent of their laundry—some of it clean, some of it dirty, but most of it worn just long enough to pick up their pheromones—is intoxicating, and Harry steps closer without thinking.
“Sorry,” Harry says when he notices what he’s doing.
“No, it’s okay,” Louis says, caressing the back of Harry's arm with his knuckles. “It’s a nest for us both. Just… If you want to get in, you should be on the outside, so I can—”
“Put your back to the wall. I know,” Harry says, inching closer to the bed and their nest. “I can get in? Does that mean you want to be with me?”
“Harry, are you seriously asking me that?” Louis asks, giving Harry a gentle shove. “I told you I love you, like, two minutes ago. I just said this is our nest. And I let everyone in that bar tonight smell you on me. I want you to be my Alpha.”
A loud purr rumbles out of Harry, and his cheeks flush hot when Louis looks at him appraisingly. Finding his words, Harry says, “Want to be your Alpha. Want you to be my Omega.”
“Want you to fuck me in our nest,” Louis says, and Harry tries to keep control, but it’s hard when Louis is touching him, cradling Harry's cheek, and pulling him in for a kiss. Harry whines against Louis’ lips, and Louis fumbles for Harry's fly, undoing the button and bypassing the zipper, pushing his jeans down. “Clothes off. Come on.”
Keeping their lips connected, Harry gets free of his jeans, and shoves Louis’ sweatpants down his legs, but then they have to part. Reaching behind his head, Harry grabs the back of his t-shirt and yanks it off, kicking his jeans away while he struggles to free Louis from his sweatshirt. Finally naked, Harry stands there in awe as Louis climbs onto his bed, kneeling there in the middle of their nest, stroking his cock, waiting for Harry to join him.
Harry carefully crawls into the nest, reaching for Louis’ arm because it’s the closest part of him, touching his elbow, his forearm, his fingers, laughing when Louis shoves a hand into the wall of the nest and comes back with condoms and lube.
“Did you work those into the weaving or…” Harry chuckles as Louis blushes, shaking his head. “So gorgeous, Lou. Do you want to lay down?”
Nodding, Louis does just that, but on his back, not his front. He bends his knees, and plants his feet, and reaches out for Harry who’s just trying to breathe.
“Face to face?” Harry squeaks out the question, the furthest thing from his Alpha timbre.
“Don’t care if you can see how much I love it,” Louis says, skimming a hand over his chest. He toys with his nipples, drawing Harry's eye, and Harry dives forward, giggling as he goes, mouth landing in the vicinity of Louis’ chest.
Darting his tongue out to taste Louis’ skin, Harry hums, leaving wet kisses in his wake. He licks over Louis’ nipple, flicking it and biting it when Louis moans encouragingly. Settling so his weight is mostly to one side, Harry fits a hand between their bodies, tickling Louis’ stomach and making him lurch and snicker until he slips further down and brushes against his hard cock. Harry takes it in hand, giving it a squeeze, but letting go, not wanting Louis to get too worked up.
Lifting his head, Harry crawls up, searching out Louis’ mouth, licking inside and kissing him messily while he swipes two fingers through the slick between Louis’ cheeks. Something about the smell of their arousal and the soft nest surrounding them has Harry on edge, and he wants nothing more than to bury himself deep in Louis’ body. He makes himself hold off, slipping two fingers past Louis’ rim at the same time he slides back down Louis’ body.
With his free hand, Harry pushes Louis’ leg, hand flat against the back of his thigh, spreading him open and dipping in, licking at the wetness gathered along his crack, plastering his pubes to his skin. Sweet strawberries and spicy raw honey and heady vanilla, and Harry tastes it all. The scent of Louis only makes the taste richer, and Harry wants it all, fucking Louis with his fingers and licking up the mess until Louis is writhing above him.
“Harry, baby, come on,” Louis says, tangling his fingers in Harry's curls and tugging. “Need your knot.”
“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, lips brushing against the slippery skin of Louis’ ass. He licks out one more time, replacing his fingers with his tongue, and fucking it into the tight heat of Louis’ hole. Louis clenches down, and Harry smiles, sitting up and crawling forward, wiping his mouth on his bare shoulder and smiling down at Louis. “Like this?”
“Like this,” Louis repeats with a nod, holding the backs of his thighs, keeping his legs spread wide.
Harry ducks his head, unable to keep his gaze steady on Louis’ face while he rolls on the condom, and nudges the head of his cock against Louis’ rim. He sucks air in through his teeth, and pushes inside, holding his breath as he adjusts to the sheath of Louis’ body and Louis adjusts to the fullness of Harry's dick.
Nodding once, Louis links his hands behind Harry's neck, and Harry begins to thrust, slowly at first. It’s overwhelming being face to face with Louis like this, surrounded by their nest, their scent, and knowing Louis feels the same. Harry could shoot off like a rocket with a ten second countdown, but he maintains control, fucking Louis with steady strokes, pressing his knot up against Louis’ rim but not inside.
With a grunt, Louis throws his head back, reaching down and grabbing Harry's ass, squeezing both cheeks. “Fuck me like you mean it, baby.”
“I’ll come,” Harry says, shaking his head and keeping his measured pace. “I’ll knot the second it’s inside.”
Bucking beneath Harry, Louis fucks himself on Harry's cock, taking him deeper until the swelling knot at the base pops past his rim, then he gasps, and his body clutches at Harry's cock. Harry picks up the pace, hurrying to dick Louis like he deserves before his knot’s too big to fit, pounding into him, Louis’ legs bouncing as Harry bends him almost in half. He leans down, crashing into Louis’ lips, panting into his mouth.
“Fuck– Fuck– Give it to me!” Louis wraps his arms and legs around Harry, clinging to him as he fucks Louis faster and harder until his knot swells, and Harry's orgasm surges like a tidal wave.
Trembling as it rolls through him, Harry reaches for Louis’ cock, only to find it spent and dripping. He lets himself go, tired from holding Louis open, and from holding himself up, and Louis groans beneath him.
“You’re squishing me, Alpha,” Louis mumbles, mouth pressed to Harry's neck.
“Can’t pull out yet,” Harry says, and he doesn’t want to pull out at all.
“Not that.” Louis thrashes around until Harry pushes up a little and looks down at him. “Roll us over so I’m on top.”
“Oh…” Harry nods, and with Louis holding onto him, he fits his arms around Louis and rolls until he’s on his back, and Louis settles on top of him, head on Harry's shoulder, squeezing his knot. “God, Omega, that’s so good.”
Nuzzling Harry's neck, Louis says, “Love hearing that.”
“It’ll go down soon,” Harry promises, canting his hips and fucking into Louis a few more times, smiling proudly when Louis moans and lets him, riding him as well as he can, spent and sated and smelling content.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Louis says, kissing the side of Harry’ neck. He wriggles around, then finds a blanket somewhere in the nest, pulling it up and over them. “I’m going to take a nap.”
“A nap?” Harry asks, hiding his grin in Louis’ hair. “Thought you’d want off my knot.”
Louis shakes his head, beard scratching Harry's skin. “Never want off your knot. Keep me full of it all the time. Just…” He yawns, and his breath is warm on Harry's neck. “Just let me take a nap.”
“Louis, it’s New Year’s Eve,” Harry reminds him just as a roar travels up from the street, fireworks whistling and popping. “It’s midnight.”
“Ending one year and starting another right where I want to be,” Louis says, squirming a bit and turning his head to press a kiss to Harry's cheek.