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“This is my first live, so please be kind in the comments,” Harry says, squinting one eye, the live feed wobbling on Louis’ laptop screen as Harry apparently steadies his phone. He tugs on the collar of his well-worn t-shirt, then smooths a hand over the faded blue bee in the center, biting his lower lip. “Sorry. There are so many of you watching this. Hope I don't disappoint.”
As if he could. Louis sighs quietly, stretching out and getting comfortable on his couch. Sprawled on his side, legs curled up, he reaches for his laptop on the coffee table and taps the volume button to better hear Harry.
It’s probably creepy— No. It’s definitely creepy. Watching his downstairs neighbor’s Instagram live is so, so creepy. Not as creepy as watching all of his old reels or stories, though, and he’s been there, done that. Unfortunately, stopping doesn’t seem to be possible. He’s just too charming and enthralling. Louis can’t get enough.
“Some of you… Okay, a lot of you commented on my reel from the other day where I used my clothes steamer on my hair,” Harry says, picking up said small appliance and holding it up for all to see. “Some of you claimed I faked the results because of the edits when, in fact, I’m just long winded and I talk kind of slow. So I decided to do this live to not only prove that I’m not a liar, but to prove that you can do a steam refresh on curly hair.”
Louis bristles at the thought that anyone would call Harry a liar. Not that he knows him at all other than from obsessively watching him on Instagram. He wouldn’t even be doing that if not for his friend Krystal texting him weeks ago Isn’t this your downstairs neighbor? and sending him a link to Harry's page. He isn’t sure how she knew Harry lived in his building and hasn’t asked.
“Here we go,” Harry says as clouds of steam begin to spill from the little pink appliance in his hand, and he grins, raising his brows. “Be careful not to burn yourself ’cause it’s steam and steam’s hot, like boiling, so…” Harry trails off into quiet giggles, aiming the steam at his messy curls. He leans in closer to the camera, and says, “Watch.”
Of course, Louis watches. The individual curl closest to the camera seems to soften and lengthen a bit as it absorbs the moisture from the steam, and Louis smiles. Harry's just too cute.
“Shit!” Harry jerks back, setting the steamer down. “Burned my finger. Be careful, guys. I’m just gonna…” and instead of explaining what he’s going to do, Harry reaches back between his shoulders, grabs the fabric of his t-shirt, and yanks it over his head, leaving his chest bare. “Should’ve already taken that off ’cause I’m planning to wear something different today.”
Louis only half hears what Harry's saying, enthralled by his naked upper body, tattoos decorating his arms and shoulders and collarbones and chest and stomach, and his white briefs leave very little to the imagination.
Taking a deep breath, Louis cups his soft cock through his sweatpants. This isn’t the time to jerk off. Not that he’s never jerked off to thoughts of Harry before, but he hasn’t done it while watching him on Instagram. No, those thoughts are usually much dirtier, consisting of Harry on his knees for him or Harry spread out on his bed. His dick doesn’t seem to get the hint, however, thickening at his touch.
The steam Harry's carefully applying to his hair is turning his face pink and damp, and Louis can’t help but wonder if Harry might look a little like that underneath him. Or on top of him. Sweaty and flushed from the exertion of riding Louis’ cock instead of from styling his hair with a little pink clothes steamer.
Fuck.
Well, he’s already half-way hard, and he’s certainly alone, so with only a twinge of embarrassment, Louis gives in, shoving his hand inside his sweatpants and stroking himself while Harry steams his hair.
“I know steam doesn’t work for everyone, but look how it relaxes my curls,” Harry says, turning his back to the camera and shaking his hair. He looks over his shoulder and winks. “My friend Niall says some of you are watching me for reasons untoward.”
Louis snorts at Harry's choice of words, then moans at the thought that Harry knows what he’s doing right now. It’s an unflattering combination of sounds, but again, he’s alone, so he lets the embarrassment go and moans again, louder, tightening his grip on his dick.
“I’m going to let my hair settle for a bit while I apply my moisturizer and sunscreen,” Harry says, holding up a bottle with a hand behind it, but Louis hardly notices it. He’s too taken by Harry's look of concentration while he presses his finger down on the pump bottle, a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows when nothing comes out at first. God, he’s sexy even when he looks confused. Ridiculous.
Getting into a rhythm, Louis jerks himself a little faster, the idea that he might not finish himself before Harry finishes his live spurring him on. Aiming the moisturizer high on his cheekbone, Harry presses and presses until the little bottle finally deposits a dollop of white cream directly onto Harry's face. Louis’ cock kicks at the sight, precome spurting when Harry turns his head and squirts more onto his other cheek. The lotion isn’t thick enough to stay put, so when Harry tips his head back slightly to pump some onto his forehead, the drops on his cheeks begin to slide down, inspiring a litany of images to flash inside Louis’ mind.
When Harry sets the bottle down, he giggles and says, “Not the first time I’ve had cream all over my face.”
Louis dies a little at that, cock throbbing in his hand. He reaches down to cup his balls, watching as Harry gently spreads the moisturizer around, fingertips rubbing circles on his skin, wondering if Harry might like to get messy, picturing him with Louis’ come on his face, rubbing it in and humming the way he is now, like it feels good, like he loves it.
Harry waves his hands at his face, fanning himself, then leaning in to smile at the camera. “Just going to apply some sunscreen, then I’ll show you how I smooth out any frizzies in my hair.”
It’s just as terrible and wonderful watching Harry apply sunscreen. Maybe more so because he uses more of it. Little dollops of white dot his face and drip until he rubs them in. Louis picks up the pace, jacking off faster, chasing his climax while Harry is off to the side, washing his hands off-camera. Fuck. He needs to finish before Harry.
Closing his eyes, Louis pictures Harry there with him, kneeling on the floor in front of his couch, taking Louis’ dick into his mouth, those pink, plush lips stretched around him. Louis would rake his hand through Harry's curls, messing them up, tangling his fingers in them, using them to pull Harry closer, to hold him in place while he fucked into his wet, waiting mouth.
Heat coiling in his belly, Louis works a hand over his cock, faster and faster, stomach muscles tightening as his orgasm hits, come spurting into his fist, into his sweatpants. Chest heaving, Louis wipes his hand on his shirt, then pulls it off the same way Harry had, doing a half-assed job of cleaning himself up before tossing it to the floor with a sigh.
This can’t become a habit. He has to stop watching Harry. He’ll just delete his Instagram account. It’s not like he uses it anyway. As he comes down, Louis settles back on his couch, watching Harry shake another bottle.
“Shit. This one’s empty,” Harry says, frowning at the camera. “I’ve got another curl cream in the shower. Let me just grab that.” Resting a hand on his stomach, Louis’ eyes follow Harry's movements on his laptop screen while Harry continues narrating his actions, “This other cream is more like a leave-in conditioner, but it’ll do the job just fine.”
Harry pulls back his polka dot shower curtain, stepping in and reaching up for a bottle. He then steps back, and like he’s performing in a slapstick comedy, Harry’s back foot slides out from under him and he shouts, “Oh, no!” as his legs go in opposite directions, sending him first into a split and then down, out of view of the camera, presumably onto the floor.
“Shit!” Harry yells just as Louis says the same, sitting up on his couch, the urge to help, to save Harry, sending him to his feet.
“Oh my god,” Louis says, and he starts for the door, then stops, dropping back down onto his couch.
He can’t go running downstairs to Harry's apartment. Harry's probably fine. He’s athletic. He runs. He lifts weights. He does pilates and yoga.
Louis shakes his head. He shouldn’t know any of that. So with bated breath, Louis waits.
“Okay, so…” Harry calls from off-screen. “I just busted my ass on Instagram live. And, um… I think I can get up.” There’s a shuffling sound, followed by a whine that does not pique Louis’ interest, then a moan that definitely does. “Nope. No. I threw my back out. Fuck.”
“Fuck,” Louis groans, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“So… um…” Harry clears his throat, and calls out, “Louis?”
“Yeah?” Louis answers before he can think, then his eyes go wide, mouth falling open. Harry must have a previously unmentioned roommate named Louis. In his one-bedroom apartment.
“Louis from upstairs? The firefighter?” Harry clarifies, and Louis’ stomach plummets. “I, um… I know you’re watching.”
“What is happening? What is happening? What is happening?” Louis asks his empty living room, entire body trembling. Harry can’t know he’s watching. That’s not possible.
“I mean, I hope you’re watching,” Harry continues, though that doesn’t settle Louis’ stomach at all. “And, um… I know you’re a firefighter. So, um… Can you come save me? ’Cause I can’t get up. Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”
“I’m coming!” Louis says, hopping off the couch and running out of his apartment. Shirtless, barefoot, with drying come in his pants, Louis is off to save the day.
As he rushes out of his apartment, Harry's voice catches Louis’ ear, “So there’s this hot older guy Louis who lives upstairs. He’s a firefighter? And I know he watches my reels and stories, but…”
It doesn't occur to Louis until he’s already run down the stairs that he’s indecently dressed, but by that time he’s at Harry's door. He knocks because it would be rude to bust the door down without first letting Harry know he’s arrived. And maybe Harry made it to his feet in the twenty-eight seconds it took Louis to race to his apartment.
There’s a quiet, muffled response to Louis’ knocking, and taking that as evidence that Harry has not, in fact, gotten off the bathroom floor, Louis rams a shoulder into the door. The locks on his own apartment aren’t of the highest quality, and he ought to be embarrassed at the number of times he’s jimmied his own door open, but his impulse in this instance isn’t finesse. Adrenaline fueled desperation has him throwing his weight against the door, but it doesn’t budge.
Taking a deep breath, he squats down to look at the doorknob, and because he might as well, he tries it. It opens.
“Harry?” Louis calls into the familiar apartment. The identical floor plan lets him find his way instinctively, and he shakes off the vague notion that he’s intruding, that the apartment is familiar because he creeps on Harry's Instagram. Louis stops short in front of the bathroom door. It doesn’t feel right to open it without permission.
“Louis? Is that…” Harry trails off when Louis knocks on the bathroom door. “Umm… Hello?”
“Harry? Can I come in?” Louis asks, wincing at the desperation in his tone.
“Please,” Harry says, and Louis does.
He’s at Harry's side in a flash, on his knees, searching Harry's bright green eyes for signs of a concussion, pressing two fingers to the side of Harry's neck to check his pulse. Up close he’s even more beautiful than Louis would’ve thought possible, and he takes in Harry's long legs stretched out on the tile floor, his briefs barely containing what appears to be an almost comically large cock, his naked stomach and chest smooth except for a sprinkling of hair between his biteable nipples, his pink, kissable lips—the lower one caught between his adorable teeth, and his curls a disarrayed halo on the tile floor.
“What happened?” Louis asks the obvious question.
Counting Harry's heartbeat, Louis glances at his watch, jerking his hand away from Harry's neck when he sees a drying smear of come on his unwashed hand.
“I, um… I fell.” Harry giggles quietly and squeezes his eyes shut. “Oops.”
Harry's soft laugh and obvious embarrassment are enough to bring Louis back to earth. He breathes, exhaling slowly, and lifts his clean hand, wiggling his fingers as he says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Harry says, blinking up at Louis. “So you were watching my live. Oh shit! My live! It’s still—” Starting to sit up, Harry winces and lays back down. “Fuck.”
“It’s still going,” Louis finishes Harry's thought and looks behind him at the phone calmly recording everything.
“Can you stop it?” Harry asks, pointing at the phone. “Or give it to me? That might be better.”
Louis snatches the phone and tripod off the counter, handing it to Harry who rights it, smiles at it, and says, “Promise I’m okay everyone. But I’m going to end the live now while my hero Louis helps me off the floor.”
“Okay?” Louis asks when Harry sets the phone on the floor beside him.
“I have a bad back, that’s why I’m stuck here.” Harry sucks in a breath, and says, “You’re prettier up close.”
“Did you hit your head?” Louis asks, trying not to frown because it only emphasizes the wrinkles in his forehead that his sister keeps suggesting he get Botoxed.
“No, I sort of dropped onto my ass and flopped onto my back,” Harry says, and Louis nods, getting to his feet. “I didn't land that hard.”
“Just going to wash my hands,” Louis says, cringing at his reflection as he scrubs. His messy salt and pepper hair, his flushed chest, and the grey sweatpants barely hanging onto his hips don’t exactly scream I’m here to rescue you! “Normally I’d have gloves on. Or clothes.”
“Can’t say the same,” Harry says, sounding a little wistful. “Can’t say I mind, either.”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?” Louis asks, though it’s not the first time he’s gotten that from someone he’s saved from a burning building or loaded into a waiting ambulance. Usually, he lets them flirt while he behaves like a professional, smiling indulgently if the situation calls for it, for instance, if he’s dealing with an elderly lady who reminds him of his grandmother. This is the first time he’s wanted it, and the first time he’s asked to be sure.
“Yes?” Harry frowns and a little line appears between his eyebrows, then he pouts, and says, “You’re hot. And half-naked.” Lowering himself to his knees again, Louis leans over, watching Harry's pupils. “I don’t have a concussion.”
Trying to maintain some composure despite the drying mess in his pants, Louis avoids looking at all of Harry's bare skin and asks, “What about your legs?”
“Nice, yeah?” Harry grins and winks, and Louis nods before he can think not to. “Thanks.”
“Can you move them?” Louis asks, forcing himself to look at Harry's long, tan legs through the lens of his EMT and firefighter training while Harry wiggles, then lifts his legs one at a time, bringing his knees to his chest and moaning loudly. “Harry?”
“That feels so good,” Harry says, stretching his legs out on the floor. “Sorry, but that stretch felt amazing. I think I can get up now.”
“Really?” Louis lays a hand on Harry's bare chest, right between the pecs he’s dreamed about. “Let me help you.”
With Louis’ assistance, Harry rolls onto his side, and pushes himself up to sit. Then, moving to squat behind Harry, Louis hooks his hands under Harry's arms and helps him to his feet. Louis stands there with his chest pressed to Harry's back, his hands tight to Harry's sides, while Harry tests his balance.
“You okay?” Louis asks, voice catching. He clears his throat, and says, “Dizzy? Lightheaded?”
“No,” Harry whispers, shaking his head.
“How’s your back feel?” Louis asks, sliding his hands down to Harry's hips and putting some space between them.
“Good,” Harry says, but he hasn’t moved at all, so Louis drops his hands and steps back, taking a second to admire Harry's cute little ass in his tighty whities.
“Let me walk you around to be sure,” Louis says, moving to stand at Harry's side. At Harry's nod, Louis slips an arm around his waist, and guides him to walk out of the bathroom. He seems fine, so Louis lets him go, only for Harry to stop midstride, the muscles of his back shifting as he straightens his posture, then slowly turns around.
“I think you should keep walking me around, you know, just to be safe,” Harry suggests, tucking his lower lip between his teeth.
“Tempting,” Louis says, looking Harry's mostly naked body up and down. “But I think you’re okay. Should probably put some ice on any sore spots. You have an ice pack?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, and it’s clear with how quickly he moves to the kitchen that he’s fine. He pulls a bunny shaped ice pack from his freezer, holding it up for Louis to see, then he presses it to the curve of his ass. “Might need some help with this.”
Louis barks a laugh, scrubbing a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “You’re pretty shameless, aren’t you?”
Pouting dramatically, Harry tips his head to the side and asks, “Don’t you like it?”
“I do,” Louis says with a slow nod.
“I should, um… Thank you! Oh my god, I forgot to say thanks for helping me,” Harry says, waving the bunny ice pack at Louis, then setting it on the kitchen counter. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Louis.”
“You’re welcome,” Louis says, his cheeks heating now that the adrenaline is subsiding. He’d managed to forget what led up to the rescue, and the humiliation at being caught watching Harry on Instagram flares in his chest, choking him up. He closes his eyes and swallows, and says, “I should go.”
“Wait, um…” Harry reaches for him, grabbing Louis’ arm and giving it a squeeze. “You should let me take you out to dinner as a, um, thank you.”
“I— I don’t know,” Louis says, as if this isn’t a dream come true.
“Please?” Harry clasps his hands in front of his bare chest, lifting up on his toes, and begging, “Please? Please? Please? I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach you for weeks and I—”
“You have?” Louis asks, incredulous at the idea that Harry's actually interested in him.
“I tried stalking your Insta, but you never post! All I have is your tagged posts, and I think those are your sisters? But I—”
“You stalked my Instagram?” Louis asks, voice a little squeaky.
“I mean, fair’s fair,” Harry says, propping his hands on his hips, and Louis can’t help the embarrassment that flushes up his neck. “Let me take you out to dinner. Tonight.”
“Fine,” Louis says, like it’s a chore to say yes to Harry when Harry's smile and shining eyes make him want to spend the rest of his days saying yes to anything Harry asks of him. “Can I shower first?”
Still grinning like he’s won something, Harry shrugs, and says, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”