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The far left corner fades into golden shadows, illuminated by several hanging electrical candle chandeliers. The tavern is an antique-style Irish pub settled by a calm river quay in Cornwall, England.
The dimly lit ambience casts a casual setting for drinking patrons. It is a boisterous separation from the bustle of the main dining room. There's gossip and laughter heard amongst the not-too-loud live music played by some travelling Rock band — 'A group of young 20-somethings from up-north in Birmingham…' Is what Louis was told.
This antique tavern is Louis’ favourite spot to sit with his whiskey and cola for hours on end, most Friday evenings after work.
He is by himself in a corner booth, straw gnawed by his teeth as he peruses his phone, scrolling through his Twitter feed.
The lead singer mumbles into the microphone after a brief moment of silence on stage, introducing the next song. It's a cover song Louis' never heard of before. But while he remains fixed on his phone, he nods along to the first introductory beat from the drums…
“Hey.”
The voice is masculine: deep and monotoned — familiar as it diverts Louis’ attention, he peers up from his iPhone. The curly-haired tavern manager, dressed in his usual dark navy button-up and black trousers, is holding a glass of crimson red wine; he places it to the left of Louis’ current half-consumed whiskey.
Louis beams with a grin, "Yes?"
Curly clears his throat, “If you look behind me, near the bar — there is a blonde woman dressed in red, with matching red lipstick, sitting with her two friends…?” He pauses, allowing Louis to glance behind him.
Louis immediately catches sight of the matching description.
The woman in question watches them both intently. She perks up with a flirtatious smile once she notices Louis’ gaze is on her.
Louis flicks back up at Curly.
“She thought you were handsome, and she wanted you to have this,” And then Curly reaches for Louis’ hand.
Louis extends his own to shake, but fumbles with the folded paper that slipped from Curly’s limp grip. He folds the note into his palm, leaning his back into the cushioned booth, his hands upon his lap.
His brow perks up. Flattered, and intrigued.
“Oh, really?”
He skims over the note, unravelling it. It’s a crumpled receipt for a dress from H&M (£25) - with a phone number and the name: ‘Angela’ written on the back in neat cursive.
Louis looks to the pub manager, smirking — sue him for being a little smug.
“What did you tell her?”
The curly bar manager’s eyes narrow on Louis, lips pouted.
“Should I have said something?”
Curly shoves his hands into his apron’s front pocket. He disappears behind the bar, refusing to look back at Louis.
Louis’ lips purse exaggeratively as he exhaled. His left hand folds into a loose fist — his right thumb rubbing over his left forefingers, fumbling with the golden jewellery he's wearing.
He glances towards the woman, now holding her drink. She tilts it up to cheer in his direction. She takes a sip, swallowing with a small smile before leaning to the left and whispering something to her friend.
Louis discards the straw, swallowing the remaining contents of whiskey in one final swig. The ice skews in the glass as he places it back onto the table — over the note — condensation melting away the black handwritten ink.
He digs for his wallet from his back jean pocket, opening it to pull a crisp £20 note. He collects the glass of red and moves towards Angela and her friends.
Angela doesn’t look back at him until he’s approached closer.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Angela nods at him, looking at the drink in his hand.
“Hey, I see you got my drink.” She looks at Louis’ face, grinning.
Louis nods, "I did. And thank you."
Then Louis holds up the glass of wine. He doesn't want to seem too forward in his approach, but he must say something! He is obnoxiously aware of the situation he's in, and it's a situation which he must not stall further.
"Unfortunately though, I cannot accept this. Not only am I very flattered, but you should know that I am gay…"
Angela's sanguine smile falters. Clean brunette powdered brows rise as her mouth drops to exhale through her confusion.
"Oh."
Then Louis exaggerates to show the three women his left hand to respectfully showcase the shiny gold band settled delicately at the base of his ring finger. "And, I also have a fiancé."
About to laugh, or maybe choke? — Angela covers her burgundy painted lips. "I'm so sorry!" Then she looks to her two friends with wide eyes, as they all begin to giggle.
Louis shrugs with his own chuckle, “It’s okay." There’s no harm being done. How could they have noticed? Yes, he is sporting his engagement band, but in the soft glow of the room, perhaps they couldn’t see. They were too busy admiring his good looks—
"Now obviously, I can’t accept this. But please, allow me to pay you for it.” Louis says, exposing the folded £20 note in his left hand.
“No-no, it's okay.” Angela shakes her head, smiling. “Accept it as a token of your handsome good looks. Your fiancé is very lucky."
Louis hums out a chirpy 'yeah' through his wide smile. "He’s over there.”
The three ladies witness where Louis gestures the wine glass. By the right side of the dark tavern’s dining room, he aims it towards the bar.
His sweetheart Curly is already watching them where he is standing at the till, brows furrowed — and as soon as they all look over, he promptly looks down at the cash monitor, lips stressed to a pout.
“Damn, and we thought he was handsome as well,” Angela looks to the blonde sitting opposite to herself, she laughs. “There goes your chance, Naomi.”
Huh. Louis is unsure what to say to that but chuckles along anyway.
The friend next to her looks at Louis, pointing to Angela, “Angie can be a bit forward after she’s had too much to drink. I’m sorry if we’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay…” There’s no harm being done. Then he raises the glass of red up. “Well, thank you for this. Have a good night.”
Louis nods to them before turning towards the bar, glancing at the glass in hand. He doesn’t favour wine. It has an acquired, warm taste Louis prefers not to drink at all.
“Hey Lou,” it’s Niall, standing at the bar preparing a cocktail in a metal flask, shaking it with ice. He smirks, “Heard you got a freebie?”
Louis laughs, shaking his head with a tut. He leaves the wine glass on the black beermat.
“Yeah. Bit of a strange one. Poor luck for me though, I don’t drink wine. Is there anywhere to pour this out? I don’t want it.”
Niall shrugs, grabbing a clean martini glass for the cosmopolitan he’s preparing.
“Just leave it there, mate. I’ll deal with it.” Niall tells him while pouring the zesty cranberry, baby pink liquor from the shaker into the chilled martini glass. “Oi, if you're lookin' for Haz, he's in the back office. You’re right to go back there.”
Louis nods, tapping the folded £20 note onto the bar surface. He prefers to stay within the public quarters of the tavern, but the furrowed pout he noticed his fiancé wearing exerted a sense of his discontentment which Louis has to brave and soothe away.
He decides that he will. He reaches for his wallet again to secure his £20 note back.
“Thanks, Ni.”
“Good luck, mate.” Niall winks, placing the cocktail on the table and ringing the bell for the waitress to come over and take it to the appropriate table.
* * *
Towards the end of the staff’s narrow tunnel, the office door is closed on the left.
Louis knocks twice. He cannot hear over the cluttered noise of crockery dishes and the chefs spieling out directions within the kitchen next door, so Louis opens the door, peaking inside.
“Baby?”
He sees the back of Curly standing at his desk, depositing money into sandwich bags from the till. Pale and slender fingers are flicking through the £20 notes. He doesn’t look at Louis as he murmurs through his quick-count of cash.
He places four notes back into the till and the twelve into a sandwich bag.
Louis closes the door behind himself. The manager’s office filters to silence. He approaches, securing his hands onto each shoulder, cradling Curly from behind.
He leans closer, rising on his tiptoes to nuzzle his bearded chin along the back of his sweetheart’s neck.
“Talk to me. Please?” Louis pleads, his thumbs rub into his boy’s shoulders in circular motions.
Curly flicks up the metal slat, collecting the stack of 50s from the till.
“Are you okay?”
Curly starts counting louder than before, his fingers expertly flicking through the notes.
“Harry.”
“I’m counting, Lewis. 5, 6…”
Harry continues to count before portioning the amount — two 50s back into the till, seven in the sandwich bag.
Louis doesn’t react to the name. His feet relax flat on the ground. He has done nothing wrong — it’s just Harry who gets inexcusably jealous sometimes.
The only sound heard is Harry’s fingers scattering through the coins, now counting silently in his head.
The manager’s walkie-talkie is to the left of the desk.
It’s Veronica Malik’s aggravated voice coming through.
‘Oi. I’m on my break — who the fuck ate some of my satay chicken?’
Niall’s reply is straight away — in a sing-song tone through the portable intercom.
‘It wasn’t me. Da-na-na.’
‘Well, it was someone — may as well fess up because I’m going to find out who.’
Niall’s tone is deep as a practised attempt to mimic the iconic line of Liam Neeson’s role in the Taken film.
‘Veronica, I will look for you. I will find you. And I will kill you.’
‘Stop trying to be funny, Horan. I will resort to murder if I have to.’
Louis hears Harry snort.
(When will Niall Horan and Veronica Malik confess their obvious infatuation for one another and start dating? Their constant flirty chemistry is beyond ridiculous at this point).
Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulders once before dropping his palms to his hips.
“You all must have a lot of fun 'round here?”
Harry shrugs. His focus is occupied with the money he’s counting. But yes, they do have fun here. Harry loves his job.
When Harry is finished, he moves away from Louis to circle the desk. The bag of money in his hand as he bends down, he glances back to see Louis watching him.
“Don’t look.”
Louis snorts out a laugh.
“I’m serious, Lou — don’t look.”
Louis tuts but listens, looking down with his palm covering his eyes.
The sound of electronic digits being pressed into the heavy-duty locker followed.
After a clunk of metal locks shut, Harry speaks. “And before you ask again — I’m fine.”
Louis drops his hand and looks back at Harry.
Harry straightens up from his crouched position, facing Louis with his arms folded over his chest. “I watched you walk over to her. What did you say?”
Louis shrugs. “Just that I’m engaged to be married to a man.”
Harry snorts, fumbling with his own golden band on his left ring finger. “Is that all?”
“Pretty much…” Then Louis quirks into a smile, flashing his eyebrows. “Why? Were you jealous?”
Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, of course not.”
“You sure?”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
Harry was jealous. The younger man could try to deny it, but he couldn’t hide it. His Louis knows him all too well.
And he has no reason to be jealous.
Because this is about the unreciprocated flirtatious behaviour between Louis Tomlinson and a woman.
Louis is gay — very, very gay.
A beautiful woman has never been a threat to Louis or Harry.
Otherwise, beyond a healthy friendship, most women weren’t worth a second glance. Surely Harry should understand that by now?
Harry can sometimes be a little delusional about the reality of situations when he’s worked up into an immediate fuss. He relieves his arms and moves around the desk, sulking past Louis towards the office door.
Louis shifts on his feet, his gaze following Harry, who flicks the door lock.
Harry returns to Louis.
“I wasn’t jealous.”
Louis decides to nod. He’s willing to let it slide for now. He still doesn’t believe him, but it’s not worth extending it any longer…
“Alright, baby.”
Louis places a right hand on Harry’s neck, bringing him in close to press a kiss on his lips. He only meant for a delicate peck, but Harry insisted on more.
Both hands grab Louis’ waist, pulling him closer as they relax into a haste embrace.
Harry gropes the backside of Louis’ jeans, squeezing intensely at the round cheeks. He opens his mouth further, relieving himself with a soft moan. He nips on Louis’ bottom lip, tilting his head back — his green eyes softened, his brows knot together.
“I wanna go down on you.”
Louis’ eyes widened. “Now?”
Only Harry can be so direct and yet equally passionate and seductive at the same time. The younger man doesn’t hesitate, his right hand focused on Louis, groping firmly at his thick jean-covered junk.
“Why not?”
Harry’s brow quivers, his mouth perking to a mischievous grin.
Louis hums, stroking his thumb along Harry’s chin, eyes following his brief movement before glancing into the piercing gaze of pale green.
“Well, if you want my cock in your mouth, baby — who am I to say no to you?”
The grasp on Louis’ waist forces him backwards, pressing against the edge of the desk.
Their lips are soft and needy.
Louis is already twitching in Harry’s squeezing grip, growing harder within the tight jean fabric. His moan is wavered, mumbled against his sweetheart’s lips.
Harry pulls away, his determined gaze following his fingers that reach beneath the hem of Louis’ shirt, fumbling with the button and zip of Louis’ jeans.
Louis laces his fingers into Harry’s hair while his sweetheart relaxes on his knees, forcing the jean fabric to pool at Louis’ ankles.
“One of the girls fancied you, by the way. They were bummed when I told them you were already mine.”
Louis beams at the immediate smile that relaxed over his sweetheart’s face when he stares up at him.
“Only yours?”
Louis rubs soothing circles into his sweetheart’s scalp.
“All mine, baby.”
Harry’s fingers slip into the waistband of Louis’ boxer briefs. He delicately tugs at the hidden, half-erect naked length, exposing the light pink head at the band of Louis’ briefs. His practised fingers trail beneath the elastic material to reach fully for both of Louis’ ass cheeks — his firm grip clenching into the perfectly rounded muscle.
Green eyes peer up at Louis as he leans closer to his pelvis.
Harry’s mascara-coated eyelashes flutter closed, his licked lips parting at the uncircumcised head. With a steady and synchronised motion, his palms guide the boxer briefs down Louis’ thighs, exposing more of Louis’ hardening cock directly into his wet mouth.
Louis bites down on his bottom lip, tugging on Harry’s curls — croaking out a shallow groan.
The material of his underwear collects into the bunched-up jeans at his ankles.
Harry’s right middle finger and thumb connect to a ring at the base of Louis’ cock, his greedy mouth collecting more of his fiancé’s length. His left-hand trails up Louis’ hairy calf, past his knee and further up his thigh, following the delicate swell of his bare right ass cheek, fingers kneading into the tensed glutenous muscle. His whole right hand wraps around Louis’ cock. Green eyes flutter up at Louis’ face — his wide and damp tongue curves around the width of Louis, gliding up.
The wet slick of his tongue, drooling in circles and then over the slit of his fiancé’s cock head.
Louis’ squinting gaze relaxes on him. He gathers comfort with taut tugs on his sweetheart’s curls.
“Fuck, baby…” Louis growls another moan. “That feels so good.”
The wet vibration of Harry’s hum for praise guides him into the temptation as he lowers further, his mouth engulfing the length of his fiancé deeper into his throat.
Louis hisses into another moan, his eyes rolling back, fingers draped into his sweetheart’s soft and recently conditioned curls — supporting the crown as Harry’s mouth parts, bobbing up and down, his groped hand smoothly gliding, twisting into the wet, glistening state.
Harry’s palm slaps up against Louis’ bare cheek, kneading his fingers lower to the back of Louis’ thigh, his eyes blinking shut.
The soothing caress of his sweetheart’s tongue drooling into a consistent rhythm. A pressured suction collapses Louis’ backside against the edge of the desk, groaning into his sealed mouth, blocked by his locked teeth, eyes rolled back as Harry lifts off with a ‘pop’.
A drool of spit drips from his sweetheart’s pursed lips, leaking onto his strained tip; Harry's trained right-hand slides up. His thumb swipes over, gliding some of the drool down. He licks over his lips, peering upwards, blinking at Louis.
“Would you like me to keep going, Daddy?”
Harry's brows rise, his mouth curving to a grin.
Louis bucks his hips into Harry’s jerking, drooled hand, cursing at the light squeeze his sweetheart offered him in turn. His left hand taps against Harry’s right cheek. A lusting temptation to take that cheeky — fucking — dimpled grin off his sweetheart’s — fucking — face.
“Always after my praise…” Louis hisses, “Aren’t you, darling?”
Harry is a sensual and thoughtful lover who thrives on constant positive affirmations from his partner.
The more Louis feeds him verbally, the further Harry will go to please him.
Harry doesn’t hesitate to lean into him, opening his mouth.
Louis’ hold scoops securely back into Harry’s hair, holding his sweetheart still as he begins to thrust. His length sank further. The underside of his foreskin glided against Harry’s drooling flat tongue, his tip brushing against the back of his strangled throat.
“I fuckin’ love your mouth — ugh — your sinful fucking mouth!”
A rough crackle of wet croaks erupts from Harry, choking at the fast length breaking into his throat.
Louis groans, pulling on Harry’s curls as he bucks outward.
“Your mouth is made for me, baby. Only me.”
Harry gasps as his mouth is forcefully released off Louis, licking his lips. His fingers grasp around his fiancé’s cock head, where it collected most of his spit, his hand jerks further in needy haste, applying light pressure as he glances up, licking over his lips again — smiling at the sound of his fiancé’s aroused and unfiltered affirmations. Please, Daddy — will you tell me more?
With growling moans muffled by Louis’ sealed lip-bitten mouth, Harry takes over with a practised vengeance.
Indeed, Louis Tomlinson did not give in to the prospect of an unfamiliar, daring and flirtatious woman. But Harry Styles still wants to remind his beloved fiancé why he is better off without her…
No one is capable of caring for Louis Tomlinson better than Harry Styles.
His left pointed index and middle finger draw into his mouth, sloppy, rubbing against his drooling tongue, slicking them up.
Harry arches his neck, leaning his face deeper between Louis’ thighs.
Louis’ hands still gripped to the back of his sweetheart’s head for stable support. He folds his torso, hoisting himself for easier access.
Harry's fingers slip out from his lips, his tongue poking to caress along the tight, sensitive skin of Louis’ aroused scrotum. His jerking grip lacks the haste rhythm, but two drooling fingers reach behind, gliding between his fiancé’s crack, lightly circling at the rim as his tongue soothes over his neatly trimmed balls.
Louis moans, bucking his hips up. The motion of his sweetheart’s hand ceases as his tongue guides up the uncircumcised, straining length.
In perfect synchronicity — the wet flavour of Harry’s mouth, spoiling Louis with needy suction, his fingers dig into Louis’ clenched hole.
“Oh— fuck!”
Louis hopes the loud crowd of staff and dining patrons cannot hear them right now…
As Harry’s mouth bobs up and down, two slicked fingers curve in quick thrusts deeper into Louis’ hole.
“Yes, baby…”
Louis groans, eyes blinking down at Harry. His grip is fierce, pulling on the curly strands as he bucks his hips into the wet friction and against the sinful, penetrative thrusts.
He stumbled into an intoxicated and sensitive mess.
With every withdrawal of his hips backing up, Harry’s slicked fingers sink deeper, penetrating against the warm sense of his prostate.
Then his length was greeted with an intense, pressured suction when he bucks forward. At the forefront, his sweetheart’s swollen lips bobbed at the strained head — Harry's other hand, still coaxing its spell, grasping and twisting and gliding up his slicked, hardened state.
Louis hisses a muffled groan, trying to keep himself as silent as possible, which proved difficult because his sinfully compassionate is Harry refusing to take it easy… Does he even care if they get caught?
(Not that Louis can find it within himself to care right now…)
“Keep going, baby — shit — I’m so fucking close.”
A fiery blast was erupting into a sunken pit in his stomach.
Louis blinks down, moaning, tugging his scrunched grip through the curls, tilting Harry’s face back slightly as he sinks himself forward.
Harry blinked his eyes open. His usual pale, forest-green doe eyes had since darkened to a vibrant mossy green — his manicured brows flashing up as he breathed out a gargled groan, peering with a mischievous wink at Louis.
The older man hisses, securing Harry’s head to still against his fastened thrusts.
“You love having my big cock in your mouth — don’t you, baby? You love it when I fuck into your perfect and pretty little mouth…”
Louis forces his eyes closed because he cannot bear to look at the sweet sensuality of his talented and endearing fiancé.
He constricts, tightening against the fingers curving into him, humping back into it. His sweetheart managed to poke against his prostate with every penetrative structure of his slicked and slender fingers.
“Ah— Harry, fuckin’ hell, I—”
The tip of his cock brushed against the blocked walls of Harry’s throat, breaking his sweetheart into a loud and wet, strangled choke.
The muscles in his thighs and calves tense at the lusted, overwhelming throw—stabling with all his might to stay upright.
Harry’s watery eyes blinked closed as his overstimulated fiancé locked himself deep into his mouth — the tip of his tongue following the obstructed and strained flinching length — licking in short and minimal strokes at the base, easing his partner through his climax.
Harry doesn’t sputter at the warmth that filters into his opened mouth. His fiancé — sensitive and flinching — cradled against his tongue, his release pooling in thick streams.
Louis hisses through fierce breaths. His hips flinch as Harry pulls his fingers out. “Bloody hell.”
The force of Louis’ remaining strength is just enough to help raise Harry upright.
Harry stumbles to find his sudden stance, he had been kneeling in the same position for a long while.
The pool of warm cum, a flavour so tangy but delightful to Harry, had swallowed down his oesophagus in one gulp. Perfect timing for Louis to consume his worn mouth with his own.
When they part, Louis exhales with one elongated breath. He collapses into an immediate relaxation. His grip softens in his sweetheart’s curls, combing down to rest by either ear. The pads of his thumb soothe over Harry’s heated and flushed cheeks.
“I don’t know if we have time — but would you like me to take care of you now, baby?”
Harry closes his eyes, nodding with a shameless and lusting need to be touched. Yes. Yes! Please take care of me, Daddy.
Louis aims for the secured tie of his sweetheart’s bartending apron.
Before he can even succeed — on the desk to the right of Louis, is a robotic crackle amplifying from the walkie-talkie. It’s Veronica. Again.
‘H? We have a dine-in customer complaining — they’ve asked to speak with you.’
Noooooo! Harry wants to fucking scream, burying his face into his sweaty palms.
Louis’ exhaled breath lapses into a soft chuckle, his right palm trailing Harry’s clothed spine. He pecks the warm skin of his sweetheart’s forehead.
Unfortunately, Harry is the only manager working on shift tonight. And he is currently locked inside his office with swollen lips — his throat swallowed, full of his fiancé’s cum — and a raging hard-on, stuffed and untouched in his pants…
He sighs, a little shaky, reaching for the walkie-talkie on his desk. His thumb pressed on the button to engage the microphone, bringing it to his mouth.
“I’ll be right out…” Then Harry looks at Louis and whines. “I should probably go deal with that.”
Louis nods, leaning forward to press a delicate kiss upon Harry’s frowning mouth — a soothing promise that he will take care of his Curly later…
Harry situates himself with his apron — his hardened bulge still straining in his work trousers.
Louis watches him. His poor sweetheart didn’t think any of this through…
The apron does a decent job covering it, though — if no one stares at it long enough.
And other than Louis Tomlinson, no one should be looking down there anyway…
“You know I love having you here, Boo — but you don’t have to stay.” Harry tells Louis, “You can meet me back at our flat if you want?”
Harry adores the moments when Louis has time to visit him at work. He holds comfort in having his fiancé nearby. But he doesn’t want Louis to feel obliged to stay, with little to do while he is occupied with his managerial duties until closing…
“I don’t mind, babe. I like to keep an eye on you — to make sure nothing happens,” Then Louis flashes his eyebrows, teasing. “Besides, I want to make sure no one tries flirting with you, or buying you drinks.”
Harry rolls his eyes, raising his middle finger at him.
Louis laughs, grabbing a firm hold of the fist that flipped him off, unfazed.
“I don’t know, baby. I think, jealousy looks quite good on you.”
Harry sighs because they’ve discussed this already!
“I wasn’t jealous, Lou.”
Louis tuts with a light-hearted chuckle. Okay, sweetheart — if you say so…