Chapter Text
The faint glow of streetlights filtered through the curtains, painting soft streaks of amber across the cozy bedroom. Louis stirred slightly, his brow furrowing in his sleep before settling again, the quiet hum of the city outside lulling him. The world was still, but not quite silent—at least, not for Harry.
The door clicked shut with careful precision, and Harry stepped inside, his movements deliberate, his polished shoes barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. His tie hung loose around his neck, the crisp white shirt he'd worn all day crumpled and unbuttoned at the collar. His blazer, carelessly folded over one arm, dangled as his broad shoulders sank with visible exhaustion. Even in the soft light, Harry Styles looked every bit the formidable figure he was—England's most feared and revered barrister, the kind of man who silenced courtrooms with a raised brow and sliced through lies with a voice as sharp as a scalpel.
But none of that mattered now.
Harry's green eyes softened the moment they fell on Louis, curled up in bed with his feathered brown hair sticking out in all directions, his cheek pressed against the pillow. A light sleeper, Louis shifted slightly as Harry tiptoed closer, the bed creaking gently when Harry finally lowered himself onto the mattress.
Careful not to disturb him, Harry slipped off his shoes, then peeled off his tie and blazer, draping them over the nearby chair. His fingers moved to his shirt buttons but faltered halfway; the need to be near Louis outweighed the discomfort of the day's remnants. Harry eased onto his side and pressed his face into Louis's shoulder, burying himself in the comforting scent of warm linen and the faint trace of coffee—a scent that clung to Louis no matter how many times he showered.
Louis stirred, his body instinctively shifting to accommodate Harry's much larger frame. Despite being smaller, leaner, and outwardly softer, Louis's presence had a gravity Harry couldn't resist. An arm slipped around Harry's waist, tugging him closer, while Louis's other hand found its way to Harry's hair, his fingers threading through the curls in a slow, soothing motion.
"You're back late," Louis murmured, his voice low and scratchy with sleep. His blue eyes blinked open, locking onto Harry's, their gaze warm despite the hour.
Harry let out a soft sigh, his body sinking further into Louis's embrace. "Sorry. The case...ran over."
Louis hummed in understanding, his hand drifting to the small of Harry's back, untucking the now-creased shirt and scratching lightly at the tense muscles beneath. "You shouldn't work yourself to death, love."
Harry said nothing, but the way his shoulders relaxed spoke volumes. For all his rigidity and precision, Harry craved these moments of messy imperfection, the way Louis tugged him down from the pedestal the rest of the world seemed intent on keeping him on. He needed this—needed Louis.
It was an ironic sort of comfort, how someone as bubbly and chaotic as Louis could bring England's sharpest mind to his knees. Harry had built his reputation on control, on commanding a room with a glance or dismantling a witness's testimony with clinical precision. But here, tangled up in Louis's sheets and his touch, Harry unraveled. He wasn't the terrifying lawyer who kept murderers awake at night. He was just a man—Louis's man.
Louis's fingers moved deftly, brushing over Harry's spine, kneading gently where he found knots of tension. "You need to stop doing this to yourself," Louis whispered, his tone soft but firm. "You think I don't notice when you don't eat? When you don't sleep? You're no use to anyone if you fall apart, H."
"I know," Harry murmured, though his voice wavered, betraying the deep exhaustion in his bones. He pressed closer, curling around Louis, his strong arms tightening around the smaller man's waist as if to anchor himself. Louis didn't flinch at the desperation in the gesture; instead, he leaned into it, his lips brushing lightly against Harry's temple.
This was how they worked—what others might have called an odd pairing. Louis, with his perpetually untamed hair, flour-dusted shirts, and a laugh that could brighten the gloomiest of days. And Harry, with his polished shoes, immaculately pressed suits, and a gaze that could cut steel. To the outside world, they couldn't have been more different, their dynamic almost incomprehensible.
But here, in the quiet of their shared life, it made perfect sense. Harry, for all his strength and dominance in the courtroom, sought refuge in Louis's care. And Louis, who radiated softness and light, found an unshakable power in being the one Harry leaned on when no one else could.
"You're staying in tomorrow," Louis said suddenly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Harry huffed a quiet laugh, the sound muffled against Louis's shoulder. "You can't tell me what to do."
Louis grinned, his fingers tugging gently at Harry's hair. "Can't I? Don't forget who has the final say when it counts, darling." His voice dropped, a teasing edge that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
And just like that, Harry was silent, his lips quirking into a faint, almost shy smile as he nuzzled closer. He couldn't argue with that—not when it was the truth. For all his power, for all his dominance outside these walls, here, he surrendered willingly. Because if there was one thing Harry Styles knew, it was that Louis Tomlinson was the one person who could unmake him and put him back together again.
Harry burrowed impossibly closer, his broad frame curling inward as though trying to fold himself into Louis's smaller body. His lips brushed softly against Louis's shoulder, leaving a lingering kiss as he exhaled a deep, shuddering breath. Louis tightened his hold around him, his hand sweeping down Harry's back in a slow, soothing rhythm.
"You're alright, love," Louis murmured, his voice soft and grounding, the faint rasp of sleep still clinging to his words. His fingers drifted into Harry's curls, gently threading through them, tugging lightly in a way that always made Harry melt. "I've got you. Just breathe."
Harry let out a quiet hum in response, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles against Louis's skin. His long legs tangled with Louis's beneath the duvet, his larger frame somehow managing to fit perfectly against the man he'd so often called his safe place. Louis's hand, warm and steady, continued its path up and down his back, scratching gently at the base of his neck before returning to his shoulder blades. Harry's muscles, taut from endless hours at the office, slowly began to relax under Louis's touch.
"Oh, love," Louis whispered, the words so soft they were almost lost in the quiet room. Harry's body responded instantly—a faint shiver coursing through him as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Louis chuckled lightly, pressing another kiss to Harry's curls. "That's it. Let me take care of you."
It was moments like this that Louis treasured most, the stark contrast between the Harry Styles the world knew—the razor-sharp lawyer who could bring even the most formidable opponents to their knees—and the Harry in his arms now. Here, there were no suits, no cases, no expectations. Here, Harry was just his: vulnerable, open, and impossibly soft.
Louis kept whispering soft reassurances into Harry's ear, his words weaving a cocoon of safety. He stroked Harry's back with deliberate tenderness, each movement designed to pull Harry further away from the stress of his day. Gradually, the tension in Harry's body ebbed away entirely, replaced by the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as sleep claimed him.
Louis waited a moment longer, his hand stilling against Harry's back, before carefully slipping his arm free. He shifted just enough to look at Harry's face, softened in sleep. His sharp jawline, so often held in a tense, unyielding line, was slack now. His brows, usually furrowed with thought, rested peacefully, and his long lashes cast delicate shadows across his cheeks.
Louis's lips quirked into a fond smile. "Stubborn thing you are, Haz," he murmured under his breath. Gently, he brushed a curl away from Harry's forehead before slipping his hand to Harry's waist, his fingers deftly finding the buckle of Harry's belt. He worked slowly, careful not to wake him, and slid the belt free from the loops of his trousers with practiced ease. The soft thunk of the buckle hitting the floor was barely audible as Louis tossed it aside.
He turned his attention to Harry's shirt next, unfastening the remaining buttons one by one. The fabric parted to reveal a chest still faintly damp from the hours he'd spent in the suit. Louis's fingers brushed over the planes of Harry's torso, light and deliberate, as he eased the shirt open. He slid it off Harry's shoulders, letting it join the belt on the floor.
"There," Louis murmured, more to himself than to Harry, his hands trailing lightly across Harry's warm skin. "That's better." He pulled the duvet up to cover them both, cocooning Harry in its warmth. His hand resumed its place at Harry's back, scratching gently as his other arm wrapped securely around Harry's waist.
Louis's mind wandered briefly as he pressed a kiss to Harry's temple, thinking of the years that had brought them to this moment. Harry had been an enigma when they first met—polished and intimidating in a way that made Louis hesitate for the first time in his life. But there had been something about him, something that softened every time Harry walked into the café.
Louis could still remember the first reluctant smile Harry had given him, so fleeting he'd almost thought he imagined it. Day after day, that smile had lingered a little longer, until it became a part of their routine. Harry would step up to the counter, radiating power and precision, and Louis would disarm him with a ridiculous compliment or a cheeky grin. It had become their dance—a give-and-take that neither of them could resist.
It had taken eight long months of stolen glances and tentative conversations for Harry to finally ask him out, and that first date had been nothing short of memorable. Harry, for all his dominance in the courtroom, had been utterly disarmed when Louis had taken control that night. Louis had known it was a risk, flipping them over in Harry's own bed and guiding him through something so new and uncharted, but the trust in Harry's eyes had been undeniable.
And now, years later, that trust had only grown. For all his intensity and control outside these walls, Harry willingly gave every bit of himself to Louis when they were together. It wasn't something either of them had planned, but it worked. They worked.
Louis let out a soft sigh, his lips brushing against Harry's curls as he settled back against the pillow. "You're safe now, love," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll always take care of you."
Harry shifted slightly in his sleep, his arms tightening around Louis as though he'd heard him. Louis smiled again, pressing one last kiss to Harry's head before resting his cheek against the mess of curls.
"Goodnight, Haz," he murmured, his voice fading as sleep began to claim him.
⪻⪻⪼⪼
The courtroom was a stark, imposing space. High ceilings loomed overhead, ornate chandeliers casting sharp light that reflected off the polished mahogany benches. The air was thick with tension, the kind that coiled in the stomachs of every person present. Harry Styles stood tall at the center of it, a formidable presence that seemed to suck the air out of the room.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, his sharp green eyes flicked to the defendant, then back to the witness on the stand. His voice, low and cutting, filled the courtroom. "You testified that you arrived home at 9:47 p.m. the night of August 14th, yet here"—he held up a printed exhibit, his long fingers steady—"are timestamped messages from your phone showing you were at the intersection of Bromley and Finch at 10:13 p.m. Can you explain this inconsistency?"
The witness visibly paled. "I—I must have gotten the time wrong."
Harry's lips twitched into a tight, humorless smile. "You got the time wrong?" His voice was a blade, sharp and precise. He took a step forward, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure. "Or were you too preoccupied with wiping the blood from your hands after stabbing a man fourteen times in a dimly lit alley?" His words landed like punches, and the gallery collectively flinched.
The defense attorney shot to his feet. "Objection! Argumentative."
Harry turned, the motion deliberate, his jaw taut and commanding. "Withdrawn," he said, but his eyes never left the witness. "Let me rephrase. How do you account for your whereabouts between 9:47 and 10:13 p.m.?"
The witness stammered, their hands trembling as they gripped the edges of the stand. Harry allowed the silence to stretch, the weight of his presence bearing down on them like a predator circling its prey. He glanced briefly at the jury, his gaze ensuring their attention remained riveted on every word, every subtle shift in the narrative. This was his arena, and he wielded control like a weapon.
The stakes of the case were immense. A high-profile murder trial that had gripped the nation, the victim a beloved journalist whose reporting had exposed corruption at the highest levels. The defendant, a business mogul with too much money and too many secrets, had been charged with orchestrating the crime. It was the kind of case most lawyers would shy away from—too messy, too public, too risky.
But Harry Styles had never been most lawyers.
For weeks, Harry had worked tirelessly, poring over evidence until his eyes burned and his hands ached. He'd skipped meals, nights of sleep, and, most damningly, Louis's family dinner on Monday. The memory was a thorn in his side—Louis's hurt expression, the quiet "It's fine, Harry" that had carried anything but forgiveness. Since then, Louis had been punishing him in the one way Harry couldn't bear: withholding attention.
For five days, Louis had been pointedly distant. No soft kisses, no whispered words of encouragement, no nights spent lost in the intoxicating haze of their bedroom scenes. Harry ached for it. For him. And he knew he wouldn't get it until he came home tonight, got on his knees, and apologized properly. But first, he had to finish this damn case.
The clock on the courtroom wall read 4:57 p.m. Closing arguments were scheduled for Monday, and for the first time all week, Harry allowed himself a sliver of relief. He'd earned the rest of the evening. He'd earned the chance to see Louis—to fix things, to beg for forgiveness, and to lose himself in the one person who could strip away the weight of the world.
⪻⪼
The café hummed with the quiet buzz of conversation and the soft clatter of mugs against saucers. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden light over the cozy space. Louis moved behind the counter with practiced ease, his lean frame in perpetual motion as he poured cappuccinos and exchanged warm smiles with customers.
He handed a steaming latte to a regular and turned to wipe down the espresso machine, his mind only half-focused on the task. His thoughts kept drifting—to Harry, as they always did.
It had been a week since the fight. Monday's family dinner had been a disaster—or rather, it hadn't happened at all. Harry had promised to come, but work had swallowed him whole as usual, leaving Louis to explain his absence to his family. They'd been polite about it, but Louis knew what they were thinking. How much of your life is this man going to miss?
Louis hadn't been angry so much as disappointed. Harry was stubborn, cocky, and, quite frankly, a pain in the arse sometimes. But Louis loved him. And he knew Harry loved him, too, even if he had a spectacularly idiotic way of showing it at times. That's why Louis had held back—not in anger, but in discipline. Harry needed to learn that there were consequences to neglecting the people who cared about him.
Still, Louis wasn't heartless. He'd made sure Harry had what he needed to get through the week—leaving tea on the counter in the mornings, packing him lunches without little notes he usually tucked inside. He'd withheld what Harry truly craved: Louis's undivided attention. No lingering touches, no cuddles, and definitely no bedroom scenes. It was killing Harry, Louis knew. Harry was a brat like that, desperate for Louis's affection.
The bell above the café door jingled, pulling Louis from his thoughts. He greeted the customer with his signature grin, but his mind wandered again. He'd checked the clock earlier—Harry's courtroom session would be wrapping up at five. He'd mumbled something about coming home early this morning, though Louis had been too busy pretending to ignore him, his hand absently scratching behind their cat's ears in the kitchen.
Louis glanced at the time. 4:30 p.m. He dried his hands on a towel and turned to Rachel, his part-time employee. "Hey, Rach. Think you can handle closing tonight?"
Rachel looked up from the till, surprised. "You heading out early?"
Louis shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah. Got some things to take care of at home."
Rachel rolled her eyes but waved him off. "Go on, then. I've got it covered."
Louis grabbed his coat, slinging it over his shoulder as he stepped outside. The winter air was crisp, biting at his cheeks as he started the short walk home. His thoughts lingered on Harry, imagining the man's expression when he walked through the door tonight. Louis grinned to himself, the anticipation warming him against the chill.
The heavy double doors of the courtroom groaned as they swung open, the sound echoing down the grand corridor. Harry walked out with his team flanking him, his long stride confident and purposeful. The tension that had gripped the courtroom seemed to cling to him, the weight of the case pressing against his temples like a persistent headache. His green eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the faces of his colleagues as they fell into step beside him.
"That cross-examination was brutal," one of his junior associates, Anna, said, a mix of awe and trepidation in her voice. "You had him cornered the entire time."
Harry gave a curt nod, adjusting the lapels of his navy suit as they headed toward the building's exit. "He left too many openings," Harry said, his voice measured and low. "All I had to do was follow the trail of lies. The jury will see through him."
Another associate piped up, their tone tinged with nervous admiration. "Still, the stakes on this one... No one else would've taken this case, let alone handled it like you have."
Harry's lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it lacked warmth. "That's why they pay me the big bucks."
As they exited into the crisp evening air, the team began peeling off, offering Harry congratulatory remarks and well-wishes for the weekend. He nodded at each one, his responses clipped but polite, his mind already elsewhere. The black car waited at the curb, his driver stepping out to open the door, but Harry hesitated.
He slid his briefcase into the back seat but straightened before stepping in. "I'm walking tonight," he said, his tone brooking no argument. The driver blinked in surprise but quickly nodded. "Have a good evening, sir."
The streets of London stretched out before him, bustling with life. Harry loosened his tie, letting the cold air bite at his skin as he began to walk. His polished shoes clicked against the pavement, and for the first time all day, he let his thoughts wander.
Louis.
The name curled through his mind like a plea. He couldn't stop picturing those blue eyes narrowed in disappointment, the soft set of Louis's lips when he'd muttered, "It's fine, Harry," in a tone that meant the exact opposite. That moment had replayed in Harry's mind all week, a gnawing regret he couldn't shake. He'd been so stupid, so stubborn. Too much the arrogant lawyer, too little the devoted partner. And Louis, his Louis, had punished him in the way only Louis could—by withholding the one thing Harry craved above all else: Louis himself.
Harry clenched his jaw as he walked, his mind flicking through ways to make amends. He'd beg. He'd get on his knees and beg for Louis to take control, to forgive him. Harry could almost feel the burn of Louis's palm against his skin or the sharp sting of a belt if Louis chose to use it. Maybe he'd throw himself across the bed, offer the leather belt Harry wore so often at work, and plead for Louis to punish him properly. Anything—anything—to earn his affection again.
His train of thought broke as he passed a flower stall, the vibrant display of roses, lilies, and daisies catching his eye. Without a second thought, he stopped. The vendor, an older woman with kind eyes, looked surprised to see him, her gaze flickering over his towering frame and severe demeanour. "What can I get you, sir?"
Harry scanned the blooms. "Something...soft," he murmured. His fingers twitched toward a bouquet of white and yellow roses mixed with delicate greenery. "This one."
The vendor wrapped it quickly, handing it to him with a small smile. Harry didn't respond, his focus already shifting back to Louis. The image of himself—tall, intimidating Harry Styles, England's most terrifying lawyer—walking through central London with a bouquet of flowers was comical. But he didn't care. If it got Louis to look at him again, it would be worth it.
⪻⪼
The townhouse was quiet when Louis arrived home, the soft click of the front door echoing in the space. It was a blend of their worlds—Harry's pristine orderliness and Louis's lived-in charm. The walls were painted in calming tones of cream and gray, lined with sleek bookshelves filled with law texts and novels. But there were also mismatched throw pillows on the oversized sofa, a framed menu from their first date hanging in the kitchen, and the faint smell of fresh coffee lingering in the air.
Louis shrugged off his coat, hanging it neatly by the door. The cool air from outside still clung to his skin, but the warmth of the house embraced him as he stepped inside. Their cat, Nigel, padded up to him, his soft fur brushing against Louis's leg as he purred insistently.
"Hello, you," Louis said with a smile, bending to pick the cat up. Nigel curled into his arms, purring louder as Louis scratched under his chin. "Let's put the kettle on before Harry comes home, hmm?" He carried Nigel into the kitchen, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floors.
The kitchen was Louis's domain, a cozy space with jars of flour and sugar lined neatly on the counters and a handwritten recipe card stuck to the fridge with a magnet. He set Nigel on the counter, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper as he filled the kettle. "Think your dad's going to finally apologize tonight?" he mused aloud, glancing at the cat. Nigel blinked at him, his tail swishing.
Louis sighed, leaning back against the counter as the kettle began to boil. It had been a long week, for both of them. He knew Harry was exhausted from the case, but that didn't excuse the way he'd neglected their relationship. Still, Louis wasn't heartless. He'd left tea and food for Harry, small reminders that he cared, even if he was pointedly withholding the attention Harry craved.
Louis glanced at the clock. It was 5:15 p.m. now, and Harry had mumbled something about coming home early this morning, though Louis had barely acknowledged him at the time. His lips twitched into a small smile at the memory. Harry had looked almost pitiful, standing at the door with his shoes in hand, waiting for Louis to say something. But Louis had simply bent down to pet Nigel, pretending not to notice Harry's quiet attempts to gain his attention.
The kettle whistled, pulling Louis from his thoughts. He poured the hot water into a teapot and set it on the counter, adding two cups alongside it. His gaze flicked to the door, anticipation curling in his chest. He didn't know how Harry planned to apologize, but Louis was certain of one thing—tonight, Harry Styles would break.
Nigel purred contentedly, his sleek gray fur gleaming in the warm kitchen light as Louis scratched beneath his chin. "You're spoiled, you know that?" Louis muttered, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a soft smile. Nigel blinked up at him, utterly unbothered by the accusation. He stretched his paws out, brushing against the edge of the sugar jar on the counter, before curling back into himself like a prince surveying his domain.
Nigel had arrived almost a year ago, a surprise gift from one of Louis's favourite regulars—a sweet, elderly man also named Nigel, who had been coming to the café every morning since it opened. The kitten had been nestled in a small wicker basket with a red bow tied around it, his tiny meows barely audible over the café chatter. "He needs a good home," the man had said, eyes twinkling. Louis hadn't hesitated, but Harry... Harry had been another story.
Harry had hated the idea at first, listing every conceivable reason why pets were a terrible idea—fur everywhere, claw marks on the furniture, disruption to their routine. But Louis, clever and determined as ever, had waited until that evening. Three orgasms later, Harry had grudgingly agreed to let the kitten stay. Now, though, Harry was embarrassingly fond of Nigel, to the point of sneaking him bits of smoked salmon when he thought Louis wasn't looking.
Louis glanced at the clock on the wall. It was past five. The kettle hissed softly, steam curling from its spout, but Louis barely noticed, his attention flickering to the front door. Sure enough, moments later, he heard the faint jingle of keys in the lock, followed by the click of the door opening. The sound of Harry stepping inside reached him, the distinct weight of his polished shoes on the hardwood.
The scent of home hit Harry the moment he stepped through the door—cinnamon, faintly sweet pastries, and that warm, intangible something that was distinctly Louis. It should have been comforting, but tonight it only made the lump in Harry's throat grow thicker. He stood there for a moment, the bouquet of white and yellow roses clutched awkwardly in his hand, unsure of what to do.
Louis didn't turn around. Instead, he busied himself with pouring the tea, his posture deliberately casual. He could feel Harry's presence like a tangible force—could feel the way those piercing green eyes were boring into the side of his face. Louis knew without looking that Harry was standing awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, running a hand through his curls.
Harry cleared his throat after a moment, silently willing for Louis to at least acknowledge him. Louis heard the bouquet rustling faintly, and he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile as he stared down at the kettle. Still, he didn't respond.
Apologies weren't Harry's area of expertise. He could dismantle alibis, intimidate witnesses, and make entire courtrooms tremble with a single glance. But standing here now, bouquet in hand, he felt utterly out of his depth. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the flowers, but the words—his carefully planned apologies—stuck in his throat.
He turned his attention to Nigel instead, who was perched smugly on the counter as Louis scratched his head. Traitor, Harry thought. He ran a hand through his curls, trying to ground himself, but the silence dragged on. Finally, he spoke.
"Louis."
The single word cut through the air, carrying the commanding weight that had silenced countless judges and attorneys. But Louis, maddeningly unaffected as always, simply scratched Nigel's chin and murmured, "You hear something, Nigel?"
Harry's jaw clenched, his grip on the bouquet tightening. Louis moved with infuriating ease, pouring tea as if Harry wasn't standing there with his heart lodged in his throat. Finally, Louis turned around, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Harry's.
"Home early?" Louis said, his tone sarcastic but soft. "That's a surprise."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Louis was already walking toward him. He stopped just in front of Harry, his gaze dropping briefly to the bouquet. Harry's breath hitched as Louis plucked a single white rose from the arrangement, his fingers brushing against Harry's knuckles.
"White roses are for forgiveness," Louis said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Yet I haven't heard an apology."
Harry's usually fast mind scrambled for a response, but before he could speak, Louis lifted the flower, tucking it behind Harry's ear with deliberate care. Harry froze, his mouth agape. He knew he must look ridiculous—towering over Louis in his pristine navy suit, sharp jawline tense, his broad shoulders pulled taut with tension—all while a delicate white rose sat absurdly behind his ear.
Louis stepped back, taking in the sight with a faint smile that was equal parts amused and pleased. "Adorable," Louis muttered under his breath.
Harry scowled, his cheeks burning with a flush that he desperately hoped Louis wouldn't notice. He wanted to speak, to defend himself, but Louis interrupted him again.
"Drink your tea," Louis said, his voice carrying the same firm authority he used in their most private moments. "And when you're ready to apologize, you'll come to the bedroom and kneel." His tone softened, a teasing edge creeping into it. "Think about what you want to say first, love."
With that, Louis turned on his heel, heading for the stairs. He was halfway up when he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Oh, and put the flowers in a vase," he added. "Eat something sweet. You're going to need it. Bring up a bowl of ice too."
Harry stood rooted to the spot, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The command—kneel—echoed in his ears, sending a shiver down his spine that he quickly tamped down. His free hand came up to brush against the rose tucked behind his ear, his fingers lingering there for a moment. It was humiliating. It was infuriating. And it was Louis.
He watched as Louis disappeared up the stairs, leaving him alone in the kitchen. For a moment, Harry debated chasing after him, falling to his knees right then and there to beg for forgiveness. But he knew it would be pointless. Louis didn't want immediate gratification. He wanted Harry to earn his way back into his good graces.
With a heavy sigh, Harry set the bouquet on the counter and glanced at Nigel, who stared back at him with an unamused expression. "What are you looking at?" Harry muttered, reaching for a vase. The cat flicked his tail, clearly unimpressed.
As Harry arranged the flowers, his mind kept circling back to Louis's final instruction. A bowl of ice. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Temperature play had always been a favorite of his—an escape from the controlled, razor-sharp world he inhabited daily. His hands fumbled slightly as he placed the flowers in water, the anticipation thrumming through him like a live wire.
By the time he'd made his tea and grabbed the ice, his pulse was racing. Tonight, he thought, as he climbed the stairs, bouquet behind him and a bowl of ice in hand, he'd do whatever it took to earn Louis's forgiveness.
The bedroom was a study in contradictions, much like the two of them. On one side, Harry's influence was clear: sleek, modern furniture in dark wood and polished steel, the kind you'd find in a high-end interior design catalog. The bedframe, a minimalist design with clean lines, was a perfect fit for Harry's no-nonsense aesthetic. But then there was Louis—softening the edges with his messy, lived-in touches.
Plush throw pillows were scattered haphazardly across the bed, mismatched in texture and color but somehow working together. A woven blanket, frayed at the edges from overuse, was folded at the foot of the bed. On Harry's side of the room, there were neat stacks of case files and leather-bound books; on Louis's side, there were half-filled journals, a stray sock, and a mug with the faded words "But First, Coffee" emblazoned on the side.
The room smelled faintly of lavender, a scent Louis swore helped them sleep, and soft fairy lights draped over the headboard cast a warm, golden glow. It was their sanctuary, the one place where neither of them had to be anything but who they were.
Louis tossed his jumper onto the chair in the corner without a second thought, leaving himself in just his jeans. He padded over to the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he slid onto it. He picked up his mug of tea from the bedside table, taking a slow sip as he reached for the book he'd been reading.
The words on the page blurred almost immediately. Louis wasn't really focused on the story; his ears were tuned to the faint sounds drifting up from the kitchen. He could hear Harry murmuring to Nigel, the deep timbre of his voice softening as he spoke to the cat. There was the faint clink of ceramic as Harry drank his tea, and the sound of footsteps pacing back and forth as Harry completed the tasks Louis had assigned him.
Louis's lips curved into a knowing smile. He could picture Harry perfectly: still in his suit, the white rose undoubtedly tucked behind his ear, every bit the picture of England's most feared lawyer—and yet utterly undone by Louis's quiet, patient discipline.
He shifted slightly in bed, leaning back against the headboard as he flipped a page in his book. His gaze flicked briefly to the bedroom door, anticipating Harry's arrival. Good boy, Louis thought, his chest swelling with a mix of affection and authority.
Harry paused outside the bedroom door, his fingers tightening around the bowl of ice in his hands. His pulse pounded in his ears, every nerve alight with a mixture of humiliation, anticipation, and arousal. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before pushing the door open.
The sight that greeted him was enough to make his breath catch.
Louis was lying in bed, his lean, compact frame stretched out against the rumpled duvet. He was shirtless, the soft glow of the fairy lights highlighting the subtle definition of his torso. One hand held a mug of tea, the other resting lightly on an open book. His head was tilted just enough that the messy strands of his feathered brown hair caught the light, and his expression was relaxed, utterly unbothered.
Harry stepped inside, the faint creak of the floorboards announcing his presence. Louis didn't look up.
The flower tucked behind Harry's ear felt like it was burning a hole into his temple, a constant reminder of his position. His jaw clenched, his free hand flexing at his side as he stared at Louis, waiting for some acknowledgment. But Louis only flipped a page in his book, his attention seemingly elsewhere.
Harry cleared his throat. Nothing.
Harry exhaled sharply as he stared at Louis, his long legs stretching out as he flipped the page again. He looked entirely at ease, as though Harry wasn't standing there with humiliation burning under his skin. Slowly, Harry set the bowl of ice on the nightstand and glanced around the room. The rug Nigel had ruined last week was gone, leaving the hardwood floor exposed.
Harry's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. His trousers felt too tight, the ache in his groin making it harder to think. He could still feel the sting of Louis's indifference from earlier in the week, and it was maddening. His lawyer's mind rebelled, searching for loopholes, for ways to maintain his pride, but his body betrayed him. The need to submit, to let go, to earn Louis's forgiveness won out.
With a heavy sigh, Harry lowered himself to the floor, his knees pressing into the cold hardwood
The hardwood floor was cold against Harry's knees, the unforgiving surface biting into his skin even through the fabric of his trousers. His thighs burned slightly as they bore his weight, his back straight despite the ache that tugged at his shoulders. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curling and uncurling as he fought against the defiant voice in his head.
The flower behind his ear tickled his temple, a constant, maddening reminder of his humiliation. Harry's curls fell into his face, shadowing his sharp features, but even that couldn't hide the flush creeping up his neck. His trousers felt too tight, pressing against his growing arousal.
He wanted to look up, to meet Louis's gaze, but he didn't dare. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
Above him, he could hear the faint rustle of Louis shifting in bed, the sound of a page turning. Harry's jaw tightened. Louis wasn't even looking at him. The humiliation twisted in his stomach, but so did something else—something far more dangerous.
The minutes stretched into eternity. Harry's body ached, his neck straining from the angle, but he didn't move. His pride and submission warred within him, a constant battle that left his hands trembling slightly on his thighs.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harry cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly. "'M sorry," he whispered, the words barely audible.
Louis didn't respond immediately, his silence hanging heavy in the air. Harry's chest tightened, his pulse roaring in his ears. He stayed perfectly still, waiting for Louis's judgment.
Harry's chest tightened as the silence stretched unbearably long. He shifted slightly on his knees, the ache in his legs making itself known as his muscles throbbed from being in the same position for too long. His body screamed for relief, but he didn't dare move. Not until Louis told him to.
"'M sorry," Harry repeated, his voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of his own humiliation.
Louis didn't even glance up from the book. Instead, he hummed softly, as if Harry's apology were nothing more than background noise. The sound wasn't dismissive—not exactly—but it lacked the validation Harry craved. Louis's fingers turned another page, his eyes skimming the words as if the man kneeling before him wasn't England's most intimidating lawyer, reduced to begging for attention.
Heat rose to Harry's face, shame twisting in his gut, but it was accompanied by something else—something sharp and bratty that clawed its way to the surface. His hands curled into fists on his thighs, his fingernails digging into the fabric of his trousers as he fought the overwhelming need to snap.
He clenched his jaw, sucking in a shaky breath. "I said I'm sorry," he mumbled again, the words tumbling out quieter than he intended.
Louis's blue eyes flicked up at that, a single eyebrow raising in a slow arch. He closed the book deliberately, setting it down on the nightstand as he leaned forward slightly. His posture was casual, but there was a subtle authority in the way his head tilted, the way his gaze settled on Harry with laser-like precision.
"Louder," Louis said, his voice calm but firm.
Harry's breath hitched, his cheeks flaming. His curls fell into his face as he screwed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gather himself. When he opened them, the defiant brat in him won out. His green eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line before the words burst forth, sharp and venomous.
"I said I'm fucking sorry."
Louis's lips twitched, a smirk threatening to break through as he watched Harry unravel. He could practically see the war raging inside the other man—the bratty defiance clashing with the deep, undeniable need to submit. Harry was predictable in his unpredictability, and Louis had spent years learning how to navigate the layers of arrogance, vulnerability, and stubbornness that made up the man he loved.
But Louis wasn't going to make this easy.
"Not in that tone, you're not," Louis said evenly, his voice soft but dripping with authority. He tilted his head, his gaze trailing over Harry's tense shoulders, his clenched fists, the flush that had spread from his cheeks down his neck. "You missed dinner with Mum and Lottie, and this is how you want to apologize?"
Harry's lips parted, but whatever excuse or retort he had died on his tongue as Louis leaned back against the headboard, casual and composed.
"Stand up," Louis commanded, his voice cutting through the air. "Strip down to your underwear. Hand me your belt and lean over the bed."
Louis didn't miss the flicker of something in Harry's eyes—equal parts panic and relief. He waited, patient and calm, as Harry processed the order.
Harry's legs screamed in protest as he shifted, rising from his kneeling position. His knees wobbled slightly as they adjusted to the sudden weight, and a dull ache throbbed through his thighs. The friction of the movement sent a shock of sensation to his already half-hard cock, straining against the confines of his trousers.
He felt ridiculous. Embarrassed. Exposed.
The flower tucked behind his ear tickled his temple as he moved, and he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. His broad frame—draped in his perfectly tailored navy suit, his curls disheveled from running his hands through them, and the soft, absurd white rose Louis had placed there—only added to the humiliation.
Louis didn't say a word, but Harry could feel his eyes on him, heavy and unrelenting. He knew Louis was watching every move, waiting for him to obey. Slowly, Harry shrugged off his suit jacket, his fingers trembling slightly as he draped it over the chair in the corner. He risked a glance at Louis, who remained motionless on the bed, his arms crossed over his bare chest, the faintest hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he untucked his shirt. The fabric clung to him slightly, damp from the sweat that had gathered during the long courtroom session and his earlier anticipation. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, each one feeling like a monumental task under Louis's watchful gaze.
By the time his shirt hung open, Harry's hands were shaking. He slid it off his shoulders, letting it join his jacket on the chair, and reached for his belt. His heart pounded as he unbuckled it, the sound of the metal clasp sliding free echoing in the otherwise silent room.
He held the belt out to Louis, his hand trembling slightly. Louis reached out, his fingers brushing against Harry's as he took it. Then, without warning, Louis flipped Harry's wrist over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin on the inside.
"Step out of your trousers for me now, love," Louis said, his voice warm but commanding.
Harry nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers, pushing them down slowly until they pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of them, leaving himself standing in nothing but his underwear. The fabric did little to hide his growing arousal, and he shifted uncomfortably under Louis's gaze.
Louis took his time. He let his gaze linger, taking in every inch of Harry's flushed, trembling form. The flower behind Harry's ear was still in place, a stark contrast to the sharp lines of his jaw and the broad expanse of his chest.
God, he was gorgeous. And he was his.
Louis stood, moving with deliberate slowness as he approached Harry. The tension in the room was palpable, the charged air crackling as Louis stopped in front of him. Harry's green eyes darted to his, filled with a mix of defiance and vulnerability that made Louis's chest tighten.
He reached up, his fingers brushing against Harry's cheek before tangling in his curls. The kiss that followed was fierce, claiming, and utterly consuming. Harry whimpered softly against Louis's lips, his hands gripping Louis's bare shoulders as their tongues met in a heated dance.
When Louis finally pulled back, Harry was panting, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Louis smirked, his thumb brushing over Harry's swollen bottom lip.
"Pretty boy," Louis murmured. "Now, lean over the bed like I told you."
The duvet was soft under Harry's trembling hands as he braced himself against the bed, the room quiet save for his own uneven breaths. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, his body already thrumming with anticipation. The sensation of the fabric brushing against his bare skin was maddening, the friction a cruel tease against his arousal.
He could feel the weight of Louis's gaze behind him, unwavering and heavy, as if his boyfriend was silently dissecting every inch of him. Harry shifted slightly, his fingers curling into the duvet, fighting the desperate urge to grind himself against the mattress. That would be pathetic. Like an animal in heat.
Instead, he forced himself to stay still, his broad shoulders taut, his back arched just enough to present himself as Louis liked. His boxers clung to him, stretched tight across the curve of his arse and doing little to hide the evidence of his growing need. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and Harry swallowed hard, willing his heart to stop racing.
Behind him, Louis's movements were deliberate, the faint creak of the floorboards as he stepped closer filling the room. Harry didn't dare look back; he kept his gaze fixed on the bed in front of him, focusing on the soft golden glow of the fairy lights above.
"Good," Louis murmured, his voice calm and steady. "You look lovely like this, love. So pretty ready to take what you deserve."
Harry's breath hitched, and his body tensed instinctively. The anticipation was unbearable, a knot tightening in his stomach. He felt the whisper of leather across his lower back as Louis brushed the belt against him, teasing, before lifting it away.
The first strike landed with a sharp crack, and Harry gasped, his muscles jerking involuntarily. Heat bloomed across his skin, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent a shiver down his spine.
"I want you to count and apologize," Louis said, his tone firm but not unkind. "If you don't, we start from the top. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded quickly, his curls bouncing slightly.
"I need to hear you, love," Louis pressed, his voice taking on a harder edge.
"Yes," Harry said hurriedly, his voice thick. "Yes, I understand."
"Do you know your colour system?" Louis asked, his tone softening slightly.
Harry swallowed, nodding again. He knew it by heart, but Louis was nothing if not thorough—responsible, who always ensured Harry's limits were respected. "Green means I'm fine, continue. Yellow means slow down. Red means stop."
Louis hummed approvingly. "Good. And your colour now?"
"Green," Harry replied, his voice stronger this time.
"Good."
The second spank came harder than the first, and Harry's head dropped forward, his forehead pressing into the duvet as he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Two," he managed, his voice muffled. "I'm sorry, Lou."
Louis didn't respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between them. The pause only heightened Harry's awareness of his position—bent over the bed, his arousal throbbing and leaking against the confines of his boxers, the humiliation of being spanked like this making his skin prickle.
Louis stood behind Harry, his hand steady on the belt as he observed every shift and tremble of his boyfriend's body. The faint sheen of sweat on Harry's broad shoulders caught the light, his curls damp and falling into his face. He was a sight, all sharp edges softened by submission, his body rigid but yearning.
Louis let the moment linger, savouring the way Harry squirmed slightly under his gaze. He could see the tension in Harry's muscles, the way he gripped the duvet so tightly his knuckles turned white. But Louis knew his boy—knew the bratty lawyer who would rather bite his tongue than admit he needed this.
The third strike landed with precision, and Harry's sharp intake of breath was music to Louis's ears.
"Three," Harry gasped, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, Louis."
Louis reached forward, threading his fingers through Harry's damp curls and giving a sharp tug. Harry's head snapped up, his flushed, tear-streaked face exposed. Louis leaned closer, his lips brushing against Harry's ear as he spoke, his voice low and commanding.
"I want to hear you," Louis growled.
Harry's jaw clenched, his green eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and need. He let out a shaky breath, his defiance cracking under the weight of Louis's authority.
The fourth strike came, harder this time, and Harry's cry was louder, more desperate. His body jolted forward slightly, his arousal grinding against the duvet despite his earlier resolve not to.
"Four," Harry whimpered, his voice breaking. "I'm s-sorry, Lou."
Louis let the belt fall to his side for a moment, his free hand trailing over the heated skin of Harry's arse, soothing the sting with gentle strokes. He could feel the tremors running through Harry's body, the way his breaths came in short, uneven bursts.
"You're doing so well, love," Louis murmured, his tone softer now. "So so perfect for me."
Harry let out a shaky nod, his body visibly relaxing under Louis's touch.
The fifth strike landed, and Louis immediately noticed the shift. Harry's tone changed, the defiance melting away into something breathier, more pliant.
"Fi-five," Harry rasped, tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Lou."
Louis stepped closer, his hand sliding up Harry's back to rest between his shoulder blades, grounding him. He waited, watching carefully as Harry's body adjusted to the rhythm. The small gasps, the trembling thighs, the way Harry's hips subtly rocked against the bed—it was all a cry for attention, for the care Louis had been withholding all week.
"Colour?" Louis asked, his voice gentle but firm.
"Green," Harry croaked, his voice barely audible.
"Good," Louis hummed, brushing a kiss against the nape of Harry's neck. He let his fingers linger there for a moment before raising the belt again, landing the sixth.
Harry's entire body felt like a live wire. His nerves buzzed, every inch of his skin hypersensitive to the air, the tension, and the scorching heat radiating from his welted arse. The seventh strike had left him trembling, his thighs straining to keep still as he panted into the duvet. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.
The room smelled of sweat and faintly of the leather belt that Louis had been wielding, and Harry could hear the blood rushing in his ears, a deep, pounding rhythm that matched the relentless throb of arousal in his briefs. His cock was leaking, pressing insistently against the fabric.
But the sharp sting of the belt wasn't what drove him mad the most—it was the waiting. The moments in between, where the pain ebbed just enough for his mind to spiral. Every second Louis delayed, every quiet hum or slow, deliberate movement, only made the need claw at Harry's insides.
Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he shifted slightly against the bed. The movement sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him as the friction against his cock built dangerously close to unbearable. His eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping free and trailing hot down his cheeks as he whimpered softly into the mattress. He couldn't take it anymore. The humiliation, the pain, the maddening tease of Louis's gaze boring into his back—it was all too much, and yet, it was perfect.
The sound of Louis moving behind him pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. Harry barely registered the clink of the ice bowl until a soft, cold sensation ghosted over the heated welts on his skin.
His entire body jerked, a gasp ripping from his throat.
The coolness spread across his arse, Louis's breath fanning over the marks with deliberate care. The contrast was intoxicating, and Harry bit down on his bottom lip, trying to stifle the pathetic whimper that bubbled up. He buried his face into the duvet, his fingers clutching desperately at the fabric as Louis's lips pressed soft, cold kisses through his boxers.
"Shit," Harry mumbled, his voice muffled. He arched instinctively, his back bowing as he tried to press closer to Louis's touch, the tension in his muscles melting under the soothing chill.
And then Louis's mouth—cold and wet from the ice—dragged a bold, deliberate stripe over one of the freshest welts.
Harry's head snapped up, his breath catching in a choked cry. "Louis—fuck!"
Louis smirked against Harry's skin, the sharp cry of his name sending a bolt of satisfaction through him. He pulled back slightly, his tongue flicking out to catch the last taste of salt and heat from Harry's skin. The sight before him was nothing short of intoxicating: Harry, England's most feared lawyer, reduced to a trembling, gasping mess.
His broad shoulders quaked with every breath, his back gleaming with sweat as he arched desperately for more. His curls clung damply to his forehead, and his green eyes—blown wide and glassy with need—peeked over his shoulder, locking onto Louis with a desperation that sent a thrill through Louis's chest.
"Look at you," Louis murmured, his voice dripping with a mix of fondness and authority. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the edge of Harry's briefs, pulling the fabric up slightly to expose more of the welted skin beneath. "You're stunning like this, love. Taking it so well."
Harry whimpered, his lips parted as his breath hitched. His face was flushed, his tears streaking down his cheeks as his hands fisted in the duvet again.
The next move was deliberate, calculated. Louis leaned forward, holding Harry's gaze as he dragged his tongue in another slow, cold stripe over the raised mark. Harry's entire body jerked, a guttural groan tearing from his throat.
"Louis!"
The sound of his name, raw and desperate, was everything. Louis chuckled softly, sitting back on his heels as he let the moment settle. Harry was trembling, his entire body taut with need, and Louis's own arousal throbbed at the sight.
But this wasn't about him—not yet.
"Five more," Louis said, his tone soothing but firm. He reached for the belt, the leather warm from his hand. "And then I'll take care of you. Yeah?"
Harry nodded frantically, his curls bouncing as he turned his face back into the duvet.
Louis's words washed over him, and Harry moaned softly, his body trembling as he buried his face into the mattress. Five more. He could do five more.
But fuck, he wasn't sure if he'd survive it.
His arousal was unbearable now, the heat pooling low in his stomach as he shifted his hips slightly, chasing even the faintest bit of friction. The leather belt's promise of pain mingled with the soothing chill of Louis's earlier touch, leaving Harry balanced on a knife's edge.
The eighth strike landed, and Harry's entire body jolted as though struck by lightning. The belt bit into his bare skin, sharp and hot, the sound of the crack reverberating through the room like a thunderclap. His breath hitched, his chest heaving as the pain bloomed, radiating outward until it mingled with the aching throb of his arousal.
"Eight," Harry gasped, the word hitching on a sob. "'M sorry, L-Louis."
His voice shook, barely more than a whisper, as his hands gripped the duvet tighter, his knuckles white. He buried his face in the mattress, the fabric warm and damp from the sweat dripping down his temples. His curls clung to his forehead, sticking to his flushed skin, and he whimpered softly, every nerve in his body screaming for more.
Louis's hand, warm and firm, smoothed over the fresh welt, and Harry let out a low, shaky moan. The touch was grounding, soothing, but it wasn't enough. It never was.
When Louis's hand slipped lower, brushing against the sensitive skin between Harry's thighs, Harry's hips jerked instinctively. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a shockwave through him, the ache in his cock intensifying as Louis's fingers grazed the damp fabric of his briefs.
"Want me to get you off?" Louis murmured, his voice soft and teasing, but the words cut through Harry like a blade. "Rubbing yourself against the duvet like some needy thing,"
Harry whimpered again, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he rocked forward slightly, seeking more of Louis's touch. His cheeks burned with humiliation at Louis's words—because it was true. He was pathetic. Reduced to a sweaty, needy mess, writhing and rutting like he couldn't help himself.
"You love it, don't you?" Louis continued, his fingers tracing the edge of Harry's briefs. "Love the pain. Love getting lost in your own head like this."
"Yes," Harry choked out, his voice muffled against the bed.
But then Louis's hand was gone.
Harry's head snapped up, his wide, blown-out eyes darting back over his shoulder as he let out a frustrated cry. "No—please—"
Louis didn't respond. Instead, the belt came down twice in quick succession, the sharp cracks of leather against skin echoing through the room.
"N-nine," Harry sobbed, his voice breaking as his body shook. "I'm sorry, p-please Louis."
The tenth strike landed harder, and Harry let out a desperate, guttural moan, his knees trembling as he struggled to hold himself up. "Ten," he whimpered, his tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Lou."
Louis watched as Harry crumbled beneath him, trembling and sobbing, the defiance and resistance that had lingered earlier now entirely gone. His boyfriend's broad shoulders heaved with every ragged breath, his curls sticking to his damp skin, his entire body flushed and glistening with sweat.
Perfect, Louis thought, his chest swelling with pride and affection.
He reached for the bowl of ice, his movements calm and deliberate as Harry panted heavily into the duvet, completely at his mercy. Taking two ice cubes between his fingers, Louis leaned over Harry, letting the cold water drip onto Harry's overheated back before placing the cubes against the rigid muscles between his shoulder blades.
Harry let out a strangled cry, his entire body jolting at the icy sensation. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whimpered, his hands clawing at the duvet as he arched involuntarily.
"Stop squirming," Louis ordered, his voice firm but not unkind. He pressed one hand lightly against Harry's lower back, holding him in place as the ice began to melt against his skin. "You keep them on your back for the last two, or you won't cum tonight. Understood?"
Harry froze immediately, his body stiffening as he processed Louis's words. The desperation in his green eyes as he looked back at Louis was almost heartbreaking.
"Yes," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "Yes, I understand."
"You're fucking amazing Haz," Louis murmured, running his hand soothingly down Harry's spine before picking up the belt again.
The ice burned against his skin, cold and biting in a way that made Harry shudder. The contrast to the heat radiating from his welted arse was overwhelming, sending sharp spikes of sensation through his body that left him gasping.
His cock throbbed painfully, leaking against the fabric of his briefs, and he clenched his fists tighter in the duvet to keep from moving again, grinding down against the bed. He couldn't afford another punishment. He was too close—too fucking close—and the thought of Louis denying him release now was unbearable.
The blood pounded in his ears, loud and insistent, matching the erratic rhythm of his heart. His body trembled with the effort of staying still, the tension in his muscles mounting as he arched his back slightly, presenting himself for the next strike.
He didn't have to wait long.
The belt came down again, and Harry cried out, his entire body jerking as the sharp pain sliced through him. The ice on his back shifted slightly, the cold water trailing down his spine, and he bit down on his lip, hard enough to sting.
"Eleven," he rasped, his voice raw. "P-please Lou, I'm — fuck — 'm sorry."
Another strike landed, the hardest yet, and Harry sobbed openly, his tears soaking into the duvet. His thighs shook as he clenched them together, desperate for even the faintest bit of relief.
"Twelve," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry—so sorry, Lou."
Louis set the belt down carefully, his eyes fixed on Harry's trembling form. The ice cubes had melted almost entirely, leaving cold trails of water dripping down Harry's flushed back muscles. He reached out, his hand steady as he brushed a damp curl from Harry's face, his thumb tracing the tear tracks on Harry's cheek.
"So good for me, love," Louis said softly, his voice warm and full of affection. "You took that so well."
Harry let out a shaky sob, his entire body sagging against the bed as the tension bled out of him.
Louis stepped closer, his gaze softening as he took in the state of Harry: flushed, sweaty, and trembling, his body a mix of exhaustion and arousal. The tears streaking Harry's face made his green eyes even brighter, glassy and blown wide with submission. His curls were a mess, damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, and the faint tremor in his shoulders told Louis just how deeply Harry had fallen into subspace.
"Come here, love," Louis murmured, his voice low and tender. He reached out, wrapping an arm around Harry's chest to gently guide him up from where he had been draped over the bed. Harry let out a soft whimper as he moved, his legs wobbling beneath him, but he followed Louis's guidance without resistance.
Louis helped him lie back on the bed, propping pillows under his shoulders to elevate him slightly. The second Harry's welted skin touched the duvet, he whined pitifully, his hips shifting as if to escape the pressure. Louis pressed a calming hand to Harry's chest, soothing him with quiet murmurs.
"Shh, you're alright," Louis said, leaning down to kiss Harry's forehead, his lips lingering against the damp skin. He peppered more kisses across Harry's face—his tear-streaked cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples. "You were so good for me. So perfect."
Harry let out a choked noise, his chest heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing. Louis smiled softly, brushing his fingers through Harry's curls. "Took everything so well, love. I'm so proud of you."
Carefully, Louis hooked his fingers into the waistband of Harry's ruined boxers. The fabric was damp, clinging to Harry's arousal, and as Louis slid them down, Harry let out a shaky whimper. His cock sprang free, flushed an angry red and glistening with arousal. Louis couldn't help the low hum of approval that escaped his throat as he tossed the boxers aside.
"Look at you," Louis murmured, his hand ghosting over the curve of Harry's hip. He leaned down, inspecting the marks he'd left behind. The welts were vibrant, some raised and slightly shiny, others darkening into deeper shades of red. He knew Harry would love them, would spend the next few days inspecting them in the mirror, running his fingers over the marks and reliving the moment.
"You're going to feel these tomorrow," Louis said, his voice soft but teasing as his thumb brushed over the edge of one welt. "Every time you sit down in court, you're going to remember who you belong to."
Harry's head was spinning. His entire body felt like it was on fire, the remnants of pain mingling with the aching need that thrummed through his veins. The cool air of the room hit his sensitive length, and he let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking involuntarily.
Louis's hands were everywhere—soothing, grounding, worshiping. The kisses across his face made Harry's chest tighten, a lump forming in his throat as he fought back another sob. He felt vulnerable in the best way, completely exposed under Louis's care.
When Louis leaned down, trailing kisses along Harry's chest, Harry's breathing hitched. His nipples, already sensitive, peaked under the faint brush of Louis's lips, and Harry whimpered, his hands clutching at the sheets. Louis's mouth was warm and soft, but it left a burning trail as he kissed lower, over Harry's stomach and the faint line of hair leading to his aching length.
Harry's breath came in shallow pants, his chest heaving as he tried to hold still. Every nerve in his body was alight, and the anticipation was unbearable. He needed—fuck, he needed Louis to do something.
"You've earned your release," Louis murmured against Harry's skin, his lips brushing over the base of Harry's length. "Want my mouth or my hand, love?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Louis's tongue darted out, swiping over the head of his cock to catch the bead of precome that had gathered there.
Harry let out a sharp, guttural cry, his back arching off the bed as his hands scrambled to grip the sheets.
"Fuck—Louis—"
Louis pulled back, smirking as he watched Harry writhe. His cock twitched, flushed and leaking, as Harry turned pleading, tear-filled eyes toward him. "Please," Harry whimpered, his voice cracking. "Please, Lou—your mouth, need it. Please."
Louis had always loved this side of Harry—the vulnerable, desperate part of him that only Louis ever got to see. Harry's green eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were wide and glassy, glimmering with unshed tears as he stared up at Louis with unguarded need. His lips were red and parted, and his cheeks were flushed, streaked with drying tears.
"Look at you," Louis murmured, his voice low and warm. He reached out, brushing his thumb over Harry's bottom lip. "England's most terrifying lawyer, reduced to begging for my mouth."
Harry let out a soft whimper, his hips shifting restlessly as he arched toward Louis.
"Please," Harry whispered again, his voice shaky.
Louis hummed, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Harry's inner thigh, dangerously close to where Harry was throbbing for attention. "Alright, love," Louis said softly, his lips brushing against Harry's skin.
Harry felt like his body was on fire, every nerve alive and screaming, every inch of him raw and needy. His cock was impossibly hard, flushed an angry red and leaking onto his stomach, throbbing in time with his racing heart. He felt like he could break apart at the seams, every pulse of arousal blurring into the lingering sting on his welted skin.
His chest heaved as he panted, the sound of his own ragged breaths loud in the quiet room. His hands clutched at the sheets beneath him, damp with sweat, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to grab at Louis's hair and force his release. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.
He wanted—needed—Louis to give it to him.
"Please," Harry whimpered again, his voice cracked and trembling. His head lolled against the pillow, his curls sticking to his damp skin. His blown-out eyes blinked up at Louis, who hovered over him like salvation itself.
"You've earned this, yeah?" Louis murmured, his voice low and soothing. His warm breath ghosted over the sensitive head of Harry's cock, and Harry twitched beneath him, a strangled moan tearing from his throat.
Louis's lips brushed against the tip, soft and teasing, and Harry nearly came from the faint touch alone. "Let go whenever you want," Louis said, his words a gentle promise.
And then Louis's mouth enveloped him.
Harry cried out, his hips bucking instinctively as Louis's warm, wet heat took him in. The sensation was overwhelming, white-hot pleasure sparking through him as Louis's tongue swirled over his slit, teasing and tasting.
"Fuck—Louis—" Harry babbled, his words dissolving into incoherent noises as Louis's head bobbed, taking him deeper with every stroke. His hands scrabbled at the sheets, desperate for purchase, as his back arched off the bed. His toes curled, the muscles in his thighs trembling with the effort of holding back, though he knew it was futile.
The vibrations of Louis humming around him, low and pleased, sent shockwaves through his entire body. The pressure built impossibly fast, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to crash over him.
"Can't—fuck, I can't—" Harry gasped, his voice breaking as his entire body tensed. And then it hit him.
The orgasm tore through him like an earthquake, his entire body convulsing as he spilled into Louis's mouth with a choked scream. Stars burst behind his eyelids, the edges of his vision darkening as wave after wave of pleasure wracked him. He was sure he blacked out for a moment, his mind going blank as his body gave in completely.
Louis didn't let up, his lips sealed tight around Harry's cock as he worked him through his release. Harry's cries were loud, desperate, and full of unrestrained vulnerability—sounds that were for Louis and Louis alone.
The taste of Harry was familiar, sweet and salty and so distinctly Harry that Louis savored every drop, humming softly as he swallowed load after load. His tongue moved with practiced precision, teasing the sensitive underside of Harry's cock.
Harry's body shook beneath him, his thighs trembling uncontrollably, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Louis could feel every tremor, every jolt of aftershocks as Harry's hips twitched, his cock oversensitive and throbbing.
When Harry finally went still, his body melting into the mattress like he'd been bonelessly undone, Louis released him with a soft, wet pop. He licked his lips, tasting the remnants of Harry's release, and smiled at the sight before him.
Harry was wrecked.
His eyes were half-lidded, glassy and unfocused, his tear-streaked face flushed and glistening with sweat. His chest rose and fell in uneven pants, his curls a damp, unruly mess against the pillow.
But Louis wasn't done—not yet.
Louis leaned up, planting a soft kiss against Harry's trembling stomach, and then another on his ribs. He worked his way upward, his lips brushing over Harry's flushed skin in a trail of gentle affection. By the time he reached Harry's face, Harry's lips were parted, his breath hitching with every soft touch.
"You did so well," Louis murmured, his voice warm and full of pride. He pressed a kiss to Harry's hairline, his fingers brushing through the damp curls. "Took everything I gave you, love. So proud of you."
Harry's head turned slightly, his glassy green eyes blinking up at Louis as a soft hum escaped his throat. His lips twitched into a faint, dazed smile, and Louis's chest swelled with affection.
"Louis," Harry whispered, his voice slurred and barely audible.
"I'm here," Louis said, his tone steady as he cupped Harry's cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over the tear tracks. "I've got you, love. You're safe."
Harry felt weightless, his entire body floating in the warm haze of subspace. His mind was quiet, blissfully empty, except for one thought that played on a loop: Louis, Louis, Louis.
The kisses Louis pressed to his skin grounded him, each one a gentle reminder that he was cared for, cherished. The words of praise fell over him like a blanket, wrapping him in warmth and comfort as he blinked up at Louis through heavy eyelids.
"Lou," Harry murmured again, his voice soft and full of reverence.
Louis smiled down at him, his blue eyes shining with care as he ran his fingers through Harry's curls. "I'm here, Haz. Always."
Harry's chest tightened, his lips curving into a weak smile as he let himself sink further into Louis's touch. This—this was everything he'd needed.
Louis exhaled a shaky breath as he sat back, his thighs brushing against Harry's where they sprawled over the bed. His own arousal throbbed relentlessly, a constant, aching reminder of the way Harry had cried and trembled beneath him earlier. The way Harry's body had shuddered, helpless and blissed-out, had sent bolts of heat directly to Louis's cock.
But Harry's needs always came first.
Louis pressed the heel of his palm against his clothed erection, grinding down slightly as a sharp hiss escaped through his teeth. The friction of his jeans was maddening, only adding fuel to the fire, but he ignored it. Instead, his focus remained on Harry, who was sprawled out across the bed in a dazed, post-release haze.
Harry's green eyes were half-lidded, his flushed chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. His curls clung damply to his forehead, and the faintest traces of tears lingered on his cheeks, drying into silvery streaks. Louis reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, dropping two ice cubes from the bowl into the glass.
He chuckled softly to himself as he handed the water to Harry, the same ice cubes flashing in his mind—how he'd held them in his mouth, letting them kiss against Harry's welted skin earlier.
"Drink, love," Louis said softly, holding the glass to Harry's lips.
Harry blinked up at him, rolling his eyes faintly but taking the glass anyway. He raised it to his lips, his throat working as he swallowed. Louis watched the bob of Harry's Adam's apple, the way his shoulders relaxed further with each sip.
The glass clinked gently as Harry set it down, his voice scratchy as he murmured, "You used the same ice cubes, didn't you?"
Louis grinned, leaning down to brush a kiss over Harry's temple. "Course I did."
Harry groaned softly but smiled, his lips quirking into a lazy curve as he sank further into the bed.
Louis turned toward the bedside drawer, tugging it open and rummaging for the numbing cream he kept stocked for nights like this. His body tensed as his hard cock pressed against the tight denim of his jeans, and he bit back another groan as he retrieved the tube.
When Louis shifted back toward Harry, he noticed the way his boyfriend pouted slightly, reaching out as if to pull him back into his arms. "Grumbling already?" Louis teased, pecking Harry's cheek. "Let me take care of you first, yeah?"
Harry let out a soft whine as Louis moved out of reach, his arms falling uselessly to the bed. His body felt heavy, like every muscle had turned to jelly after the intensity of his orgasm. His skin was still buzzing, every nerve alight as aftershocks rippled through him in waves.
He turned his head slightly, his glassy eyes following Louis's movements. The dim light cast golden shadows over Louis's bare chest, highlighting the lean, toned muscles that flexed as he crawled down the bed toward him. Harry's gaze caught on the faint sheen of sweat on Louis's skin, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead as he settled between Harry's legs.
Louis squeezed a small dollop of cream onto his fingertips, and Harry's breath hitched as the cool gel met his welted skin.
"Shit," Harry hissed, his hips twitching slightly as the sensation shot through him.
"Easy, love," Louis murmured, his voice low and soothing as his hands worked carefully.
The touch was firm but gentle, Louis's fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes as he rubbed the cream into the raised welts. The sting of contact was sharp at first, but it quickly melted into a soothing numbness, easing the heat and tension in Harry's skin.
Harry's lips parted in a soft gasp as Louis leaned up, pressing quick, tender kisses to his mouth at the most intense moments. The kisses muffled Harry's whimpers, grounding him with warmth and affection even as Louis worked over the most sensitive marks.
"You're doing so well," Louis murmured against Harry's lips, his tone full of quiet praise. "Just a bit more, love."
Harry's fingers twitched, curling slightly as he blinked up at Louis, his mind still hazy but slowly clearing. The comfort of Louis's touch, the soft hum of his voice, and the careful way he moved—it all tethered Harry back to reality, one piece at a time.
Harry hummed, leaning into Louis's kisses. His own body still felt heavy, his limbs sluggish, but a warm glow spread through him as he basked in Louis's presence.
He felt safe. Cared for. Home.
Louis could feel Harry relaxing under his touch, the tension draining from his muscles as the numbing cream worked its magic. He finished with slow, deliberate movements, wiping the excess onto the edge of the duvet without a second thought.
Normally, Harry would have scolded him for that. But now, spent and dazed, Harry simply hummed softly, his green eyes fluttering open and closed.
"Come here," Harry murmured, his voice quiet but insistent.
The bed was warm and soft, and Harry felt like he was floating. His muscles were loose and heavy, his body still thrumming faintly from the numbing cream Louis had worked so carefully into his skin. The ache in his arse had dulled to a pleasant tingle, the welts humming with a reminder of every strike that had made him cry, tremble, and finally let go.
But Harry was Harry—bratty to the core, even when he was well and truly spent.
He wiggled slightly, adjusting his position, and smirked when his hip pressed directly against Louis's hard-on. A faint hiss escaped Louis's lips, and Harry bit his own to suppress the giggle bubbling up.
"Haz," Louis grumbled, his hand falling to Harry's hip. His fingers gripped lightly, a warning, but there was no real heat behind it.
Harry feigned innocence, blinking up at Louis with wide, glassy eyes. "What?" he asked, his tone teasing as he wriggled again, deliberately grinding against Louis's cock through the tight denim of his jeans.
Louis groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as his fingers tightened on Harry's hip. "Clearly, you haven't learned your lesson."
"I have!" Harry protested, his grin giving him away. He arched slightly, rolling his hips more deliberately this time, earning a low growl from Louis. "Promise, Lou."
"Uh-huh," Louis muttered, his voice dry. "And yet, here you are, being a menace."
Harry giggled, his laughter soft and breathy, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Louis's mouth. "Let me blow you off," he murmured, his voice dropping into a lower, sultry tone.
Louis turned his head, capturing Harry's lips in a firm kiss that was both affectionate and chastising. When he pulled back, his blue eyes locked onto Harry's, and Harry could see the determination there—the steady resolve that meant Louis wasn't going to budge.
"No," Louis said simply, his tone brooking no argument.
Harry huffed, pouting slightly, but Louis ignored him. Instead, Louis cupped the back of Harry's head, his fingers threading through the damp curls. "You just took twelve strikes, Haz. And then you came so hard you blacked out. You're not doing anything else tonight."
Harry whined softly, his pout deepening, but Louis just smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against Harry's temple.
Louis knew Harry too well. He could see the wheels turning in his boyfriend's head, the stubborn bratty determination to push his limits. But Louis wasn't having it—not tonight.
So he shifted gears, his voice softening as he asked, "How was the ice?"
Temperature play had been an unexpected discovery they had made two years ago.
Harry blinked at him, his pout faltering as his thoughts shifted to the scene. "Cold," Harry mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly at the memory. "But it was good. I—I liked it. Especially when you used your mouth."
Louis chuckled, brushing his fingers through Harry's curls. "Of course you did," he teased, his tone warm. "You always like my mouth."
Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as his expression turned more serious. He looked up at Louis, his green eyes bright and clear now, the haze of subspace lifting.
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Louis tilted his head, his fingers still moving gently through Harry's curls. "For what, love?"
"For missing dinner on Monday," Harry said, his cheeks flushing deeper. "For being a dickhead about it. I should've apologized that night, but I didn't. And I've been an arse all week."
Louis smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's forehead. "You have," he said, his tone teasing but fond.
Harry groaned, burying his face against Louis's chest. "The belt was well deserved," he mumbled against Louis's skin, his words slightly muffled. "And the cold shoulder... That was torture, Lou. Worse than the belt."
"I know," Louis said softly, his fingers trailing lightly down Harry's back. "But you needed to learn, love. And you did."
Harry let out a soft hum, his body relaxing completely against Louis. He rested his head on Louis's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he drew aimless patterns on Louis's skin with his fingertips.
"Love you," Harry murmured, his voice slurred with exhaustion.
"Love you too, Haz," Louis replied, his voice just as soft.
Harry closed his eyes, a lazy smile curving his lips as he let himself drift in the comfort of Louis's embrace. The earlier tension between them felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the warm, steady glow of affection and care.
Louis pressed another kiss to Harry's hairline, his chest tightening as he looked down at his boyfriend curled into his side. Harry was all soft edges now, his earlier bratty energy completely spent.
He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, noting the time. The numbing cream would have done its job by now, and while Harry was comfortable now, Louis knew from experience that the ache in his muscles would return without proper care.
"Haz," Louis murmured, his hand still gently stroking through Harry's curls. "Let's get you into a bath, yeah? The cream's set in enough."
Harry groaned softly, tightening his hold around Louis's waist. "Don't wanna move," he mumbled, his voice muffled against Louis's chest.
Louis chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly over the back of Harry's neck. "I know, love. But you'll feel better after."
With a bit of coaxing, Louis managed to ease Harry off him, sitting up and running a hand through his own hair. His jeans were still some what tight, he'd have to run himself a cold shower after bathing Harry, the friction from earlier only making his arousal more persistent, but he ignored it as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Harry grumbled at the loss of contact, his pout returning as he watched Louis move.
"Lou?"
"Yeah Haz?"
"Thank you."
Chapter 2: Lou Please (Bonus Chapter)
Summary:
where the horny-est fanship on the internet explore tempterature play for the first time a prelogue to the first chapter if you will.
Notes:
LOOK AT ME GIVING U DIFFERENT MANIPS also i both wanted to explore temperature play and because LARRY IN ITALY. thats it. JUST ICE, WAX, AND LARRY IN ITALY. (i love the manip- yes yk exactly which one im referring to u horny freaks)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis had always loved the sight of Harry walking into their townhouse after a day in court. There was something so magnetic about him, all sharp lines and coiled tension, his suit perfectly tailored to his broad frame, his green eyes stormy with focus. But that night, Harry looked particularly strained.
Harry dropped his briefcase by the door with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders as he unbuttoned his jacket. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, and Louis could practically see the weight of the day pressing down on him.
"Tough one?" Louis asked gently, coming up behind Harry and resting his hands on his boyfriend's shoulders.
"Brutal," Harry muttered, leaning back into Louis's touch. His shoulders dropped slightly as Louis kneaded at the knots beneath his palms, but the tension didn't fully leave him. "My back is killing me."
"Come on," Louis said, tugging at Harry's hand with a soft smile. "Let see what we're working with."
He led Harry to the bedroom, where the golden glow of the bedside lamps cast a soothing warmth over the space. Harry sat on the edge of the bed as Louis rummaged through the bedside drawer, eventually pulling out a bottle of warming massage cream.
"Shirt off," Louis ordered, his voice light but firm.
Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. "Bossy tonight, are we?"
"Always," Louis quipped, his grin widening.
Harry shrugged out of his shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the lean muscles that Louis knew every inch of by heart. He lay down on his stomach, his arms folded under his head, and let out a contented sigh as Louis straddled his hips.
Louis warmed the cream between his palms before pressing them to Harry's back. The reaction was immediate—Harry hissed softly, his body tensing under the unexpected heat.
"Too much?" Louis asked, pausing.
"No," Harry said quickly, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Feels... good. Really good."
Louis smiled, his hands gliding over Harry's back in slow, deliberate strokes. The cream spread easily, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in its wake, and Louis could feel the tension in Harry's muscles melting away under his touch.
But then something shifted.
Harry's breathing deepened, and his hips shifted slightly against the mattress. Louis paused, his hands stilling on Harry's back as he leaned down to press a kiss to his shoulder. "You alright, love?"
Harry turned his head slightly, his green eyes hazy with arousal. "More than alright," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
Louis smirked, his lips brushing against Harry's ear. "Turned on, are we?"
Harry let out a breathy laugh, his cheeks flushing. "Apparently."
Harry let out a low groan as Louis's strong hands pressed into his back, working over a particularly stubborn knot just below his shoulder blade. He was lying on his stomach on their bed, the soft, clean sheets bunched under him as he rested his head on his folded arms. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of lavender and spice from the massage oil filled the air.
Louis was straddling his waist, his weight steady and grounding, and Harry could feel the heat of Louis's jean clad thighs brushing barely at his hipbone where his dress pants had ridden down slightly. It wasn't their first massage—not by a long shot—but tonight felt... different.
The warm massage oil had been a casual purchase, something Louis had picked up on a whim during one of his runs to the boutique shops near their townhouse. Harry hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now, though, as Louis worked it into his skin, Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to think of anything else.
The oil wasn't just warm—it was hot, a slow, spreading heat that seeped into his muscles and seemed to radiate outward. It wasn't painful, but it was intense, a sharp contrast to Louis's slow, deliberate movements.
Harry groaned again, a low, guttural sound, and shifted slightly beneath Louis. His hips pressed into the mattress, and he froze, his breath hitching as he became abruptly aware of the growing heat in another part of his body.
"Lou?" Harry asked, his voice muffled against his arm.
"Yeah?" Louis replied, his tone calm as he kneaded the tension from Harry's lower back.
"Are massage oils meant to burn?" Harry's voice cracked slightly, and he flushed, though Louis couldn't see his face.
Louis paused, his hands stilling on Harry's back. "A little bit," he said after a moment. "They're meant to help with knots. Why? Does it hurt?"
Harry let out a nervous laugh. "No, it doesn't hurt. It's just—" He hesitated, his cheeks heating further. "I've got a hard-on."
There was a beat of silence, and then Harry felt Louis shift slightly above him. "Is that from my hands," Louis asked, his voice taking on a teasing edge, "or from the heat?"
"You've given me massages before, but it didn't feel like this," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Louis chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Oh," he said, a smirk evident in his tone. "Want to try something new tonight?"
Louis's mind was already spinning with possibilities. Harry, the world's most intimidating lawyer, undone by a bottle of warming massage oil? It was too good to be true.
He resumed his movements, his hands gliding over Harry's back in slow, deliberate strokes. The oil was hot beneath his palms, and he could feel Harry's body responding to the intensity—his muscles twitching, his breath hitching, and the faint, almost imperceptible way he pressed his hips into the mattress.
Louis smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to the nape of Harry's neck. "Want you on your back for this," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Is that alright? I want to see your face when we're trying something new."
Harry's breath hitched, and he nodded quickly, his voice trembling as he replied, "Yeah, okay."
Louis sat back, giving Harry room to twist himself around. When Harry settled onto his back, Louis's gaze immediately dropped to the tent in Harry's pants, his arousal obvious and straining against the fabric.
Louis's smirk widened, his blue eyes flicking up to meet Harry's flushed face. "Look at you," he teased, his voice a low drawl.
Harry's cock twitched at that, and he let out a breathless, "Yes, please."
Harry felt exposed in the best way as he lay on his back, his green eyes fixed on Louis. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and the heat from the massage oil still lingered on his skin, mingling with the arousal that thrummed through his veins.
Louis took the bottle of oil and poured a small amount into his hand, warming it between his palms as he watched Harry with a sharp, focused intensity.
"Do you know your colors, Haz?" Louis asked, his tone soft but steady.
Harry nodded, his voice trembling slightly as he recited, "Green means I'm fine, yellow means slow down, red means stop."
"Perfect love," Louis murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's forehead.
The first touch of Louis's hand against his chest made Harry gasp. The oil was hot, almost searing, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. Louis's fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, spreading the heat over Harry's skin and teasing the sensitive peaks of his nipples.
Harry's breath hitched as Louis's thumbs rolled over his nipples, the sharp, tingling sensation sending a bolt of arousal straight to his cock. He let out a low, broken moan, his hips rolling upward instinctively.
"Fuck, Lou," Harry gasped, his voice trembling.
Louis chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk. "You're so sensitive," he murmured, his thumbs pinching Harry's nipples lightly.
The sudden spike of pain made Harry cry out, his back arching off the bed as his cock twitched again, leaking steadily against the fabric of his pants.
"God, you're such a whore for extremes," Louis teased, his voice dripping with affection.
Harry whimpered, his head falling back against the pillow as he clutched at the sheets. "Please," he whispered, his voice cracked and desperate.
Louis watched Harry intently, his blue eyes scanning every inch of his boyfriend's flushed, trembling body. Harry was falling apart beneath him, his composure crumbling with every brush of Louis's fingers.
Louis pinched Harry's nipple again, watching the way Harry's cock jerked in response, and smirked. "You like that, don't you?"
Harry let out a choked moan, his hips rolling upward as he nodded frantically.
"Lou," Harry whimpered, his green eyes glassy and pleading.
The heat was everywhere—radiating from Louis's hands, spreading through the massage oil, and pooling deep in Harry's belly. Every brush of Louis's fingers felt amplified, searing, as they glided over his sweat-damp skin, working the hot oil into every dip and curve of his body.
Harry's breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling as Louis's hands pressed firmly against his abs. The slick warmth of the oil made each stroke impossibly smooth, and Harry whimpered softly when Louis's fingers grazed the edge of the swallow tattoos just below his collarbones.
"Lou," Harry mumbled, his voice slurred and trembling.
Louis didn't answer. Instead, he shifted lower, his weight settling between Harry's thighs as his hands trailed down to the butterfly tattoo stretched across Harry's diaphragm. Harry's body twitched beneath him, the combination of the oil's heat and Louis's firm touch making him shiver despite the warmth of the room.
When Louis's hands reached the laurel branches just above Harry's waistband, Harry let out a choked whimper, his hips bucking slightly as his cock twitched in response. The waistband of his suit trousers felt unbearably tight now, the damp fabric clinging to his arousal, and Harry's fingers curled into the sheets beneath him, desperate for relief.
Then Louis pressed his thigh between Harry's legs, and Harry swore he saw stars.
The rough denim of Louis's jeans rubbed against his clothed cock, the friction unbearable in the best way. Harry gasped, his head falling back against the pillow as he instinctively ground down against Louis's thigh. The oil, the heat, the roughness—it was all too much, too good, and Harry couldn't stop himself.
He rutted against Louis shamelessly, his hips moving in frantic, desperate rolls as soft, broken whimpers fell from his lips. "Lou—oh, fuck—Lou."
Louis smirked above him, his hands still trailing over Harry's chest, the oil slick on his skin making every movement glide like liquid fire. "You're so sensitive," Louis murmured, his voice low and teasing.
Harry whimpered, his green eyes fluttering closed as he pressed harder against Louis's thigh, the pressure sending shocks of pleasure through his entire body. He was so close—too close.
"Think you can cum untouched?" Louis asked, his tone playful but challenging.
Harry's eyes snapped open, wide and glassy as he stared up at Louis. That was a big ask—even for him. But with the way his body was trembling, his cock leaking steadily against the damp fabric of his trousers, he knew it wasn't impossible.
"I—yeah," Harry stammered, nodding frantically. "Yeah, I can. Please, Lou."
Louis grinned, pressing his thigh harder against Harry's cock, the friction deliciously rough. Harry moaned loudly, his hips bucking uncontrollably as the dampness of his arousal seeped through the layers of fabric onto Louis's jeans.
Louis couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Harry fall apart beneath him. His boyfriend—usually so poised, so in control—was reduced to a writhing, whimpering mess, his flushed face and trembling body a testament to just how far he'd slipped into subspace.
Harry's green eyes were wide and unfocused, his lips parted as breathy moans spilled out in quick succession. His chest glistened with sweat and oil, his nipples hard and aching from Louis's earlier teasing. Louis's hands ghosted over Harry's skin, leaving slick trails of heat as they moved lower, just brushing the waistband of Harry's trousers.
"You're a fucking sight, Haz," Louis murmured, his voice dripping with affection and amusement.
Harry didn't respond—he couldn't. He was too far gone, grinding against Louis's thigh with reckless abandon, his cock twitching against the soaked fabric of his trousers.
Louis pressed harder, letting Harry rut against him, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "So needy. Look at you, fucking yourself on my thigh like this. You love it, don't you?"
Harry moaned in response, his head rolling to the side as his hips stuttered.
Louis's hands moved back up to Harry's chest, his thumbs finding the stiff peaks of Harry's nipples. He pinched them lightly, rolling them between his fingers to test Harry's reaction.
The response was immediate. Harry's entire body jerked, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as his cock twitched violently against Louis's thigh.
"You're so close," Louis murmured, his voice low and soothing. He pinched Harry's nipples again, harder this time, and watched as Harry arched off the bed, his lips forming a silent scream.
"Lou—I—oh, fuck—" Harry stammered, his words dissolving into incoherent noises.
Louis grinned, his free hand trailing down to rest against the dampness of Harry's trousers, right over his cock. He applied just enough pressure to make Harry gasp, his hips jerking helplessly as he rode the edge of release.
"Let go, love," Louis whispered, his voice full of command.
The words hit Harry like a match to gasoline.
The moment Louis's hand pressed against his cock, Harry shattered.
His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, his entire body locking up as a loud, desperate cry escaped his lips. "Louis!"
His hips bucked wildly, grinding against Louis's thigh as wave after wave of pleasure tore through him. The friction of the damp fabric, the heat of the oil, and the firm press of Louis's hand—it was all too much. His cock pulsed, spilling into his trousers and soaking through the layers as his entire body trembled violently.
Harry barely registered Louis's voice—low and teasing—as it washed over him. "Oh no," Louis said, smirking as he traced his fingers over the wet patch spreading across Harry's trousers. "Would you look at that? Ruined your trousers, haven't you?"
Harry didn't care. He couldn't. His mind was blank, his body shaking as he rode out the most intense orgasm he'd ever experienced. Every nerve in his body felt alive, raw and buzzing, as the aftershocks rippled through him.
When Louis's hand pressed against his cock again, Harry let out a broken whimper, the added friction dragging out his release until he was utterly spent.
Louis leaned back slightly, his hand still resting against the damp fabric of Harry's trousers as he watched his boyfriend fall apart. Harry was trembling, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his green eyes glassy and unfocused as he tried to come down from the high.
"You're incredible," Louis murmured, his voice soft as he pressed a kiss to Harry's temple. "So fucking beautiful like this."
Harry was a picture of ruin.
His flushed chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, his curls plastered damply to his forehead, and his green eyes—glassier than Louis had ever seen—fluttered half-closed as if even keeping them open required too much effort. His entire body was trembling faintly, oversensitive and utterly spent, his torso still glistening with the lavender-scented massage oil that had pushed him into one of the most intense orgasms Louis had ever witnessed.
Louis leaned over, pressing a tender kiss to Harry's temple, his fingers brushing a stray curl from Harry's forehead. "You're incredible," Louis murmured, his voice soft and full of awe. He let his lips linger for a moment before pulling back, his blue eyes scanning every inch of Harry's trembling form.
"Came untouched, did you?" Louis mused, his lips curling into a small, affectionate smirk. He reached down to trace his fingertips lightly over Harry's cheekbone, his touch grounding. "For me. God, you're so fucking pretty, Haz."
Harry's lips twitched into a faint, lazy smile, though he let out a small whimper, his body arching slightly as the sticky, damp fabric of his trousers shifted against him. Louis's gaze dropped, his smirk softening as he noticed the way Harry was wriggling uncomfortably.
"Alright, love," Louis said gently, his hands moving to Harry's waistband. "Let's get you sorted."
Harry let out a soft hum of agreement, too spent to do much else as Louis's fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and boxers. The fabric clung uncomfortably to his skin, damp and sticky from his release, and the thought of being free of it was almost enough to make him sigh in relief.
The cold air hit his skin as Louis slid the garments down his legs, and Harry let out a faint whimper, his hips shifting involuntarily. His body was still hypersensitive, every nerve alight, and the sudden chill made him shiver.
"Shh, you're alright," Louis murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's happy trail, the soft hairs leading down from his navel. The touch was so tender, so full of reassurance, that Harry felt his chest tighten with affection.
The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of sweat and the lingering tang of his release. Harry's torso still gleamed under the dim light of the room, the massage oil catching on the sharp lines of his muscles and the ink of his tattoos.
"Perfect, aren't you?" Louis mused, his tone warm and full of admiration.
Harry flushed, the heat rising to his cheeks as Louis's words washed over him. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as Louis reached over to the bedside drawer. The faint sound of rummaging filled the quiet room, and then Louis was back, holding a clean pair of boxers.
"Let's get these on you," Louis said softly, his hands careful and deliberate as he slipped the fresh boxers up Harry's legs and over his hips. He smoothed the waistband into place, his fingers lingering briefly against Harry's skin. "There we are."
Louis sat back on his heels for a moment, taking in the sight of Harry now that he was cleaned up and covered. The clean boxers clung to his hips, framing the faint lines of the laurel tattoo, and his flushed, sweat-slicked skin still bore the glow of post-orgasmic bliss.
But Louis wasn't done—not yet.
He shifted closer, his hands moving to rest gently on Harry's chest. "Let's bring you back, love," he murmured, his thumbs tracing slow, grounding circles over Harry's skin.
Harry's green eyes blinked open, still glassy but more focused now as he met Louis's gaze.
"You still with me, Haz?" Louis asked softly, his voice laced with care.
Harry nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Yeah. Just... floating a bit."
"That's alright," Louis said, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's forehead. "You did so well. Let me bring you back slowly, yeah?"
Harry hummed in agreement, his hands twitching slightly as Louis continued to soothe him.
Harry felt like he was floating, his body light and untethered as Louis's hands worked over his chest. The soft, grounding circles were a steady anchor, pulling him back from the haze of subspace and into the warmth of Louis's presence.
"You're incredible," Louis said again, his voice warm as his fingers traced the curve of Harry's shoulder. "You know that, right?"
Harry let out a soft laugh, the sound breathy and uneven. "You've said that, like, three times now."
"And I'll say it three more," Louis teased, grinning down at him.
The two of them fell into a quiet rhythm, the tension easing from Harry's muscles as Louis continued to soothe him. By the time Harry was fully present again, his smile was brighter, his green eyes clearer, and he let out a contented sigh as he rested his head against the pillow.
"So," Harry said, his voice soft but teasing. "We've officially added massage oil to the list."
Louis chuckled, his hands stilling on Harry's chest. "Yeah, I'd say so."
Harry grinned, his fingers brushing lightly against Louis's wrist. "And cumming untouched," he added, his cheeks flushing faintly.
"Impressive, wasn't it?" Louis said, his smirk returning.
Harry rolled his eyes, though the lazy smile on his face betrayed his amusement. Harry huffed, though he didn't argue, instead letting out a soft laugh as he stretched slightly.
Louis shifted off the bed, moving to grab a towel to wipe the lingering oil from his hands. As he returned, he noticed Harry glancing down at the discarded trousers on the floor, his nose wrinkling slightly in distaste.
"Well," Harry said, his tone dry. "We're going shopping tomorrow."
"I almost forgot about them." Louis raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "Nice pair of Tommy Hilfiger trousers they were,"
"Course you forgot about it." Harry shot him a pointed look, "You can't keep ruining my suit trousers, designer is bloody expensive Lou,"
"You're the richest lawyer in England love, but fine," Louis snorted, tossing the towel aside before settling back onto the bed beside Harry. "My treat."
Harry rolled his eyes again, but before he could respond, Louis added, "Might even buy you some lace panties and a skirt if you keep ruining your trousers, Haz."
Harry's face went crimson in an instant, his green eyes widening as he sputtered, "Louis!"
Louis grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Don't tell me..."
"Louis!" Harry interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.
"For another time," Louis said, his smirk widening as his mind wandered to the thought of Harry in lace beneath his suit.
Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands, but Louis simply leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth. "You're perfect, you know that?"
Harry peeked at him from between his fingers, his cheeks still flushed, but his lips curved into a small, bashful smile. "Shut up."
"Never," Louis replied, settling beside him with a grin.
The next morning, Louis had been unsurprised—but deeply amused—to find that Harry had already ordered massage candles on his way to court.
◍◍◍
The yacht rocked gently with the waves, the Italian coastline a distant blur on the horizon. Harry stretched out on the cushioned deck chair, his sunglasses perched on his nose and a cocktail sweating in the summer heat beside him. He should have felt completely at ease, but Louis—mischievous, infuriating Louis—had been eyeing him all afternoon.
Louis was lounging nearby, his toned body glistening with sunscreen as he leaned back in his own chair, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. Harry had learned to be wary of that smirk. The sun was relentless, blazing high in the cloudless sky and turning the deck of their yacht into a private oven. The Italian coastline shimmered in the distance, a picture-perfect backdrop, but Harry's focus had narrowed to one thing: Louis.
"You're staring," Harry said, not looking up from the book in his lap.
"Am I?" Louis replied, his tone light and teasing.
"Yes," Harry said, closing the book and fixing Louis with a pointed look.
Louis shrugged, unapologetic. "Can't help it. You look good."
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
Louis stood, sauntering over to the cooler near Harry's chair. He rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out an ice cube, holding it up with a wicked grin. "Oh, I'm not trying to flatter you," Louis said, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing lilt that made Harry's stomach flip.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Nothing," Louis replied innocently, though his expression was anything but.
Before Harry could react, Louis dropped the ice cube into the waistband of Harry's swim trunks.
The reaction was instant. Harry yelped, his hips jerking as the icy sensation hit his heated skin. "Bloody hell, Louis!"
But then Louis froze, his smirk faltering as Harry let out a low, unexpected moan.
"Well," Louis said slowly, his eyebrows raising. "Didn't expect that."
Harry glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the blush spreading across his cheeks. "Shut up."
"Not a chance," Louis said, grinning as he straddled Harry's lap. He reached down, his fingers trailing over Harry's abdomen before tugging at the waistband of his swim trunks. "I think we've just discovered something fun."
The man was perched on the edge of Harry's deck chair now, his bare chest gleaming with sunscreen, his hair messy and golden in the sunlight. He had that look—the one that sent shivers down Harry's spine even in the sweltering heat. Mischievous, knowing, and just a little bit dangerous.
Harry had barely recovered from the ice cube Louis had dropped into his swim trunks. The initial shock of the cold had made him yelp, his body jerking instinctively—but then, the unexpected sensation had settled into something else entirely. The contrast between the scorching heat on his skin and the biting cold inside his trunks had sent a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.
And Louis? Oh, Louis had noticed.
"You moaned," Louis said now, his lips curving into a wicked grin. He leaned closer, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
Harry flushed, the heat in his face having nothing to do with the sun. "Did not," he muttered, though the breathless edge in his voice betrayed him.
Louis's grin widened. "Oh, you absolutely did."
Harry squirmed, the remnants of the ice cube still teasing against his skin as it melted. His hips bucked slightly, seeking relief, but the fabric of his swim trunks only made the sensation worse. He let out a frustrated noise, his hands gripping the edges of the chair.
"Don't move," Louis murmured, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone that made Harry's stomach flip, "Colour?"
Harry froze instantly, his body reacting to Louis's authority before his mind could catch up. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and his cock throbbed painfully against the cold, wet fabric of his swim trunks, "Green."
The air between them seemed to stretch, thick with an almost unbearable tension. Louis didn't immediately respond, his gaze lingering on Harry, sharp and intense. He could see the raw need etched in every line of Harry's body, the way his chest rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched as if they were desperate to reach out and touch. Louis took his time, letting the silence simmer.
He let his gaze trail slowly down Harry's body, lingering over the way Harry's hips moved, the obvious strain in the fit of his trunks. Harry's breath hitched, a shudder running through him, and he couldn't stop the small, frustrated whine that escaped his lips.
"Please," Harry whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, Lou—do something."
Louis chuckled softly, shaking his head. "So needy," he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's temple. "What do you want, love?"
Harry whined, his hips shifting again despite Louis's earlier command. "More," he begged, his voice cracking slightly. "I want—fuck, I want you to use the ice."
Louis couldn't help but smirk as he watched Harry unravel beneath him. His boyfriend—England's most feared lawyer, always sharp and in control—was now squirming and begging like a desperate, needy mess.
And God, Louis loved every second of it.
He reached into the cooler beside him, pulling out another ice cube and holding it up to the sunlight. The crystal-clear surface caught the light, glinting like a jewel, and Louis turned his attention back to Harry, who was watching him with wide, pleading green eyes.
"You're sure about this?" Louis asked, his tone light but with an underlying seriousness. Even now, when Harry was trembling with arousal, Louis was careful—always making sure Harry's needs and boundaries came first.
"Yes," Harry breathed, nodding rapidly. "Fuck, yes. Please."
Louis hummed in approval, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's lips—a brief, teasing brush of warmth before he pulled back. He pressed the ice cube against Harry's laurel tattoo, tracing the inked branches on his hip with slow, deliberate precision.
Harry's reaction was immediate. His body arched off the chair, a strangled moan tearing from his throat as the icy cold trailed over his burning-hot skin. "Shit—Louis—"
Louis grinned, his free hand pressing gently against Harry's chest to hold him in place. "Stay still for me, pretty boy," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Let see how much you can take."
Harry bit down on his bottom lip, trying to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape as Louis dragged the ice cube lower. The cold left a tingling trail in its wake, sending shivers across his overheated skin. His cock twitched, straining painfully against the confines of his wet swim trunks.
"Fuck, Lou," Harry gasped, his fingers clenching the sides of the chair. "It's so—"
"Good?" Louis asked, his tone smug.
Harry nodded frantically, his breath hitching as the ice cube dipped lower, brushing just above the waistband of his trunks. The sensation was maddening, the contrast of hot and cold making his entire body tremble, Louis's hands hooked onto the waistband of Harry's trunks, removing them swiftly.
Louis leaned down, and Harry nearly lost his mind.
The first thing he noticed was Louis's breath—cool and sharp from the ice he held in his mouth. Louis exhaled slowly, letting the cold air fan over Harry's inner thigh, and Harry whimpered, his hips jerking upward.
"Christ—" Harry mumbled, his head falling back against the chair.
Louis chuckled, the sound low and warm, before pressing his cold lips against Harry's thigh. The temperature difference made Harry gasp, his entire body shuddering as Louis kissed his way upward, closer and closer to where Harry needed him most.
"Patience," Louis murmured, his tone laced with amusement.
Louis took his time, savouring the way Harry writhed beneath him. His boyfriend was a vision—his chest heaving with every gasping breath, his cheeks flushed a deep red, and his green eyes glassy with desperation.
The ice cube in Louis's hand had melted to half its size, leaving rivulets of cold water trailing down Harry's skin. Louis traced the cube over Harry's other hip, dipping lower this time, under Harry's navel just above his flushed tip.
Harry let out a choked moan, his thighs trembling as Louis leaned down again, pressing another kiss to the sensitive skin just above his knee.
"Please," Harry whimpered, his voice cracking. "Please, Lou—don't tease."
Louis smirked, his free hand, cold and soft brushing over Harry's other thigh as he let the ice cube dip even lower, brushing against the base of Harry's cock.
The ice was everywhere—cruel, shocking, and so impossibly good. Harry couldn't stop trembling, his body hypersensitive to every brush of cold against his burning-hot skin. The sun blazed down on him, the heat searing against his chest and thighs, but Louis—Louis—was the storm, a cold contrast that sent shivers through Harry's entire body.
The ice trailed over his cock, the chill biting against the flushed, aching length, and Harry cried out, his head falling back against the cushioned chair. His fingers gripped the edges of the wooden deck chair so tightly his knuckles turned white, his breath escaping in shallow, uneven gasps.
"Louis," Harry whimpered, his voice cracking. His chest heaved, his skin slick with sweat that dripped down his temples and collarbones. Every nerve in his body screamed for release, for Louis to take him over the edge.
But Louis wasn't giving in—not yet.
The ice cube slid along his length, dragging over the prominent vein on the underside with agonizing slowness. The sensation was overwhelming, a sharp contrast of freezing cold against the throbbing heat of his arousal, and Harry bucked his hips involuntarily, chasing more of the unbearable pleasure.
"Stay still, sweetheart," Louis murmured, his tone firm but laced with amusement.
Harry tried—God, he tried—but his body wouldn't obey. His hips twitched, his thighs trembling as the ice cube brushed against the head of his cock, smearing the precome that dripped relentlessly from the tip.
"Fuck—Louis, please," Harry gasped, his voice hoarse.
When Louis pressed the ice directly to his sensitive tip, Harry almost lost it. A strangled moan tore from his throat, his entire body jolting as his toes curled and his muscles tensed.
"L-Louis, I'm going to—Louis, Lou, Lou!"
The words spilled out of him, frantic and desperate, as his head rolled to the side, exposing the sharp line of his jaw. His green eyes were glassy and unfocused, his lips parted and trembling as he fought the overwhelming need to let go.
But he couldn't. Not without permission.
Harry was completely in subspace now, his mind quiet and pliant, his entire existence centered on Louis. His control—his pride, his ego, his everything—was given freely to the man kneeling between his legs.
Louis's lips curled into a smirk as he watched Harry come undone beneath him. It wasn't often that Harry slipped this deeply into subspace, but when he did, it was breathtaking.
Harry, England's most intimidating lawyer, the man who could silence an entire courtroom with a single glance, was trembling and whimpering like a leaf caught in the wind. His green eyes were hazy, tears glistening at the corners as his chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. His flushed, freckled skin was slick with sweat, every inch of him radiating heat, and Louis couldn't help but marvel at the sight.
"Can't hold it, can you?" Louis teased, his voice low and soft as he trailed the ice cube up Harry's length again. He paused at the tip, letting the cold bite into the sensitive head, before dragging it back down with deliberate slowness, "Beg for it love, I want to hear you beg."
Harry sobbed, his hips jerking despite Louis's earlier command. His cock twitched against the ice, leaking steadily, and Louis's own arousal throbbed painfully at the sight.
"Too good," Harry stammered, his voice high and broken. "L-Lou, n-need to c-cum—please—Louis, please."
Louis hummed softly, his free hand sliding down to curl around the base of Harry's cock. His fingers were cold from holding the ice, and Harry's entire body jolted at the sensation.
"You're so close, aren't you?" Louis murmured, his tone both soothing and teasing. He pressed his thumb against the thick vein on the underside of Harry's flushed cock, rubbing gentle circles as he continued to trace the ice cube along Harry's length, "God, you're so fucking pretty,"
Harry's only response was a choked, incoherent moan.
Louis smirked, leaning forward to press a kiss to Harry's hipbone, the ice still gliding over the slick, flushed skin of his cock. "Alright, love," Louis murmured, his voice soft but commanding. "Let go for me, yeah?"
The words were like a switch flipping in Harry's mind.
Louis shifted, swallowing the melting ice cube that had been in his mouth, leaving a lingering chill behind. Then, before Harry could even process what was happening, Louis's mouth descended on his cock.
The cold, wet heat was all-consuming, and Harry shattered.
His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, violent and all-encompassing, his entire body locking up as a scream tore from his throat. "Louis!"
Stars exploded behind his eyes, his vision going white as his cock pulsed in Louis's mouth. His hips jerked helplessly, his thighs trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, each one more intense than the last.
It was too much—too good—his entire body shivering as the cold in Louis's mouth heightened every sensation. Harry sobbed, his fingers clawing at the chair as he rode out the most intense orgasm of his life.
Louis held Harry steady, one hand gripping his hip as the other worked over the base of his cock, milking him through every pulse of his release. He swallowed every drop, the taste salty and sweet, uniquely Harry.
Harry's cries filled the air, desperate and raw, and Louis felt a surge of pride knowing he was the one who had reduced Harry to this trembling, incoherent state.
When Harry's body finally went slack, Louis pulled back slowly, his lips glistening as he licked the head of Harry's cock one last time. Harry let out a faint whimper, his chest heaving as his green eyes blinked open, hazy and unfocused.
Harry's body was utterly spent. Every muscle felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry, and his chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths as he tried to pull himself back from the edge. The sun bore down on him, hot and heavy, but it was nothing compared to the lingering fire in his veins, the molten ache of overstimulation still thrumming beneath his skin.
He blinked slowly, his vision clearing as he stared up at the cloudless sky. His head lolled to the side, and there was Louis—his Louis—leaning over him with that maddeningly soft smile that made Harry's heart twist in his chest.
"Hi," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked.
"Hi, sunshine," Louis replied, his voice warm with amusement. He reached out, brushing a damp curl from Harry's forehead, and Harry shivered despite the heat.
Harry let out a soft, contented sigh, but it quickly turned into a whimper as Louis reached for the waistband of his swim trunks. The fabric dragged over his sensitive cock, and Harry's hips jerked involuntarily, a breathless, "Lou—too much," tumbling from his lips.
"Sorry, love," Louis murmured, though the glint in his blue eyes said he wasn't entirely sorry. He eased the trunks back into place, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long against Harry's hip before pulling away.
The sensation sent another wave of overstimulation zipping up Harry's spine, and he bit down on his bottom lip, a whine escaping despite his best efforts. His green eyes fluttered shut as he tried to catch his breath, but the soft press of Louis's lips against his cheek pulled him back.
Louis knew Harry's limits like the back of his hand. He knew when to push, when to pull back, and when to simply sit back and bask in the aftermath of Harry's unraveling. And God, was Harry beautiful right now—flushed and sweaty, his curls damp and sticking to his forehead, his lips swollen and parted as he struggled to regulate his breathing.
Louis resisted the urge to press his palm against the bulge in Harry's trunks, knowing full well that Harry's pain kink might make him enjoy the overstimulation. But this wasn't the time for that—not now.
Instead, Louis leaned down, his lips brushing over Harry's cheekbone in a featherlight kiss. He peppered kisses across Harry's face, his mouth brushing over every freckle, every tear-streaked line, until Harry let out a soft, breathy laugh.
"Still with me?" Louis murmured against Harry's temple.
Harry hummed, his head turning slightly to nuzzle into Louis's touch. "Yeah. Barely."
Louis chuckled, his hand smoothing over Harry's chest in slow, grounding circles. He could feel the steady thrum of Harry's heart beneath his palm, a rhythm that matched the calm that was settling over both of them now.
"You're amazing, you know that?" Louis said softly, his lips grazing the edge of Harry's jaw.
Harry snorted, though the lazy smile spreading across his face betrayed his pleasure at the praise. "You're not too bad yourself."
Harry let himself sink into the warmth of Louis's touch, the gentle kisses and soft praise wrapping around him like a blanket. He felt grounded now, his mind clearing from the haze of subspace, though his body still hummed with the aftereffects of their scene.
"You okay?" Louis asked, his hand trailing down to rest on Harry's hip.
"Better than okay," Harry murmured, his voice still scratchy. He opened his eyes, meeting Louis's steady gaze. "That was... Fuck, Lou. That was new."
Louis raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a small smirk. "New good or new bad?"
Harry rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual sharpness. "Good. So good."
Louis hummed, clearly pleased with the answer. "Thought you might like it," he said, his tone teasing.
"Like it?" Harry scoffed, his cheeks flushing. "I loved it."
Louis's smirk widened, though he bit down on it to keep from looking too smug. He ran his fingers gently through Harry's curls, his nails scraping lightly against Harry's scalp. "You slipped under so fast," Louis mused, his tone laced with curiosity.
Harry hummed in agreement, his eyes drifting closed again under Louis's soothing touch. "I don't know... Something about the heat and the cold and the way you—" He broke off, his cheeks darkening.
Louis tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more tender. "The way I what, love?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. "The way you took control," he admitted, his voice quiet. "It was different. Intense. In a good way."
Louis smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry's forehead. "You were incredible," he said softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along Harry's hip. "Watching you like that... Fuck, Haz. I don't think I've ever seen you let go like that before."
Harry's cheeks flushed deeper, but he smiled, his fingers brushing lightly over Louis's arm. "It's only 'cause of you, Lou," he said simply.
Louis's chest tightened, and he leaned down to kiss Harry again, this time slower, deeper, and full of the love that swelled between them.
Harry melted into the kiss, his body relaxing completely under Louis's touch. The conversation had settled something in him, a confirmation of trust and safety that made his heart feel full.
When Louis pulled back, Harry let out a soft hum of contentment, his green eyes shining as he looked up at him. "We're doing that again," he said, his voice firm despite the exhaustion that lingered in his tone.
Louis chuckled, brushing his fingers over Harry's cheek. "Thought you might say that."
Harry grinned, his hand reaching up to tangle in Louis's hair. "Next time, I'll make you squirm," he teased, though his words lacked their usual bite.
"Looking forward to it," Louis replied, his voice warm.
The two of them lay there for a moment longer, the sound of the waves lapping against the yacht filling the air as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Harry closed his eyes, his head resting against Louis's chest, and let the steady rhythm of Louis's breathing lull him into a peaceful calm.
Notes:
A/N: DONT YOU DARE TELL ME I DONT FEED YALL!!!
I GAVE YALL A BONUS CHAPTERRRRRR
(i personally really just wanted to explore temperature play?)TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT pleaseee
also I KEPT DEBATING ABOUT WRITING THE WORD SHAFT??? BECAUSE I KEPT USING COCK AND shaft just gave me the ick? 💀💀lmao not me oversharing deadass
LarryLower92 on Chapter 1 Wed 23 Apr 2025 01:40PM UTC
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