i can act like a star, i can beg on my knees

by anditsonlyforthebrave

Summary:

Harry Styles is a jerk.

“It’s just a music video,” he said, like it didn’t matter.

“It’s just girls touching me,” he added, like that detail shouldn’t sting, like Louis wasn’t supposed to care that other people are going to touch him all over.

“And you’ll be there! Nothing bad can happen,” he promised, so sure of himself, like his presence would be enough, and like he’s going to act like a normal non-jealous person.

Well.

It is a music video. It is just a few girls in the studio, and they’re all pretty, and sexy and talented, and they’re touching him all over. And yes, Louis is there, sitting quietly on a chair  pretending not to feel a silly little fire in his stomach while he watches Harry in a pool, barely dressed, with hands all over him.

or

Harry has to shoot a music video, and Louis attends.

Notes:

• For dilfrry.

Whatever I said about not posting until the AHFF or the BLFF was a lie, clearly.

Loads of people read (and loved) the first part of this serie, and someone I just recently became moots with on twitter loved it so I decided to write a little sequel for her: Ken, you are a little ball of sunshine. You're funny, smart, and caring, and I already told you but I'm so happy I met you, so of course... I had to write this for you! Thank you so much for always checking up on me, and also thank you for giving me the whole music video idea. Also, please everyone go read her stuff because she is an incredible writer!

Very much like the first part of the series, this kind of smut is really not the usual stuff I write so please be kind. Also, I wrote half of this with a sliced hand so I'm sorry for any mistake. I think I tagged everything that needed to be tagged, but sorry if I missed anything.

Title from Barbie Girl by Aqua!

Love,
Simmi

Harry Styles is a jerk.

“It’s just a music video,” he said, like it didn’t matter.

“It’s just girls touching me,” he added, like that was a tiny detail, like Louis wasn’t supposed to care that other people are going to touch him all over.

“And you’ll be there! Nothing bad can happen,” he promised, so sure of himself, like his presence would be enough, and like he’s going to act like a normal non-jealous person.

Well.

It is a music video. It is just a few girls on set, and they’re all pretty, and sexy and talented, and they’re touching him everywhere. And yes, Louis is there, sitting quietly on a chair pretending not to feel a silly little fire in his stomach while he watches Harry in a pool, barely dressed, with hands all over him.

And it’s not like Harry cheated for real, like… That was just a silly moment in their relationship. It’s in the past because their lives are tangled together again: they live in their new house, they have a very cute dog, and they love each other. And also, Harry fucked him deep and hard on every surface of that house, so, yeah. They’re great.

Still, watching him, nothing feels right, and it’s not just the classic jealousy sting.

The song, of course, it’s amazing. That is not even a question. And yes, it’s about Louis. It always is. Louis has been his muse from the beginning, after all, and he is very proud of it. 

But watching the scene in front of him, watching those girls touch him, choreographed intimacy in full force, it just doesn’t land the way it should. Their hands don’t know him the way Louis does. Harry is just there, hands all over him, and it just doesn’t… It’s not making him sexy, it’s not giving justice to the song, it’s just not the way it’s supposed to be, because Harry always put so much effort in his art, in his music, and he knows for a fact that his man won’t be satisfied.

“And cut, ” the director calls, his voice echoing across the set, and everyone moves immediately. The dancers begin stepping out of the pool, dripping and way too sexy to be touching his man under the studio lights, and Harry’s assistant hands him a towel, and he grabs it without looking because his gaze is already fixed somewhere else.

Or, well, someone else. Because he’s already staring at Louis. 

Louis is still on the chair, pretending to look normal, legs crossed in a way that don’t reveal too much, and he hides behind his sunglasses, but Harry knows him. Still, he put his towel around his hips, and walks over, grinning like an idiot.

 Louis is so in love he’s actually embarrassed with himself. He’s also very proud of himself for pulling all of that , and because all of that makes him breakfast pretty much every morning. And eats him out. A lot. 

When Harry reaches him, he doesn’t say anything at first, he just places his hands gently on Louis’ thighs, still grinning as he leans over.

“I asked you to sit here and look pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and a little bit too flirty, “not to look like a sin I have to pray off.”

Louis smirks, amused but unbothered, gently placing on top of Harry’s. “You’re getting me wet,” he says, still trying to sound unimpressed, glancing at the damp hand that is currently squeezing the skin of his thighs, “and by the way, everyone could see your junk when you walked out of the pool. You might want to hide that before I kill someone. I am too pretty to go to jail.”

Harry just chuckles, looking smug, “not my fault I’m gifted, snickerdoodle.” 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Louis’ head. The gesture is sweet, and it makes Louis genuinely smile, so much that he pulls Harry closer by his waist, so that he’s standing between his legs.

“So…” Harry pulls back slightly, eyes searching Louis’s face. “What do you think?”

Louis hesitates, because he doesn’t want to disappoint Harry, so he really does try to sound convincing. “It’s nice,” he offers with a smile, but Harry catches it. Of course he does.

“What’s wrong?”

Louis sighs, eyes finding the set one more: the water in the pool is shining under the lights, the dancers are chatting or stretching, stylists around them fixing their make up and it’s professional. Everyone has a job to do.

“It’s just…” Louis hums, just because he doesn’t know how to word it without sounding like a possessive freak, “they don’t touch you like they should” he settles for.

Harry’s eyes narrow, waiting for Louis to continue. 

“Their hands are on your chest, on your shoulders,” Louis explains, “but it doesn’t feel like they really touch you. It’s just… Off. Like it doesn’t fit the music.”

Harry is quiet for a minute, but then smiles brightly. “Because you’re the only one who knows how to touch me?” he asks, and it lands like a joke, but Louis knows that Harry really feels that way. 

“Well, I know how to make you come with the way I touch you. Would they be able to?”

Harry snorts, shaking his head, “you’re impossible,” he answers, but then he looks around. He takes in the whole set, the lights, the director talking to the crew, the dancers. And then, his eyes find Louis again.

"You know,” he then says casually, “you’d look extremely hot in those bodysuits.”

Louis snorts. “I always look hot, thank you very much, baby.”

Harry nods, “want to know what I think?”

Louis raises a brow. “You? Thinking? Can’t be good.”

Harry pouts at that, but Louis rolls his eyes and squeezes his hand. “Fine. What are you thinking, you manly man?”

Harry leans in close, voice dipping into something tender. “Be in the music video. Please?”

Louis blinks. That was not what he was expecting. Not even close.

He thought maybe Harry would crack a dirty joke, whisper something filthy about how the whole house they rented for the music video is going to be empty when the day ends, suggesting a little late-night fun after everyone packed up for the day. 

They’d done one music video together before, for Harry’s first solo album. Their record label made them really, because Louis was about to release his second album, he was about to headline stadiums, and they wanted to push Harry’s music a little: at the time, Louis was super annoyed because he was already doing his charity work with someone they picked to open for his tour, someone that he found extremely annoying. She only lasted for three dates before she got replaced, but still, he accepted to be featured on the song Harry wanted a collab on, and they shot the music video for it, and it was a hit.

It was also the best thing that he has ever done, because that song is what pulled them together: Harry was a baby singer, all shy because Louis was already famous, and because he had such a big personality. Still, that didn’t stop them.

But since then, they have decided on a rule. Careers are different, and they have to be separate.

Louis makes pop music: it’s catchy, loud, sometimes the lyrics are filthy and other times romantic. Harry, on the other hand, experiments: his music is very unpredictable.

Their careers work together but they never meet, and they have made it work: when one releases an album, the other one waits a few months before he releases something. When one of them is on tour, the other one isn’t so that they can be together. Louis is the social media type, Harry just lurks from his phone. It’s hard, sometimes, but it’s theirs.

The only way their careers intertwine is through awards shows, because it’s fun to go together.

“Really?” Louis asks, surprised, and Harry shrugs, like it’s obvious. “I mean, the song is about you.”

He smiles.

“And you’re a singer,” Harry continues, “but you make my blood boil when you grind against people in your music videos. Because, you know,” he pauses, lips quirking up, “you’re mine. ”

Louis shakes his head, but Harry keeps going. “And you dance like a fairy,” he says, “A dirty, sexy and gorgeous fairy.”

Louis huffs, “God, you’re annoying.”

“But you love me,” Harry grins.

“Unfortunately,” Louis replies, “and unfortunately for those girls they will all lose their jobs in a minute.”

“YES!” Harry cheers, and then grabs his face to kiss him, “I’ll make sure they get paid anyways, I promise.”

And honestly, it should be easy.

Harry is Harry Styles: chart-topper, heartthrob, walking Gucci advert. Louis is Louis Tomlinson: platinum records, sold-out arenas, pop prince(ss) with a fanbase that could set the world on fire in seconds if he tweeted a picture that hints to a new album.

Plus, they’re a couple. People love them.

So really, having Louis in the music video should be a no-brainer. A PR dream.

Their separate management teams should be practically throwing rose petals at the idea. The director should light up like fireworks on the 4th of July. There should be confetti and champagne and people congratulating them because they came up with the idea.

Instead? It’s blood.

Harry’s manager immediately becomes a pain in the ass, more than he normally is. He starts talking saying things like “this doesn’t align with what we discussed,” as if anyone cares about plans when Louis Tomlinson offers himself to help.

Louis’ own manager isn’t much better. She tilts her head, sighs about a thousand times before she ends up saying that he can’t just be letting people use him as a prop for a music video. As if.

The director groans like someone just told him he’s about to die. He rubs his temples, muttering about having to reshoot everything, like it’s Louis’s fault for not showing up sooner. 

The dancer, though, they’re happy as soon as they realise they will be getting paid anyways.

But the rest of them? They moan. And moan. And moan. About scheduling, budget, about creative vision.

Soon enough, though, they all give up, because Louis is annoying. Louis loves to argue. He’s the kind of person that annoyingly smiles while dismantling every belief you ever had. The kind of annoying person that has receipts, screenshots, and he is so, so stubborn. 

And in this case, he flashes a text message that Harry’s manager sent to Harry almost five years ago now, that states that Louis Tomlinson is great, has a loyal fanbase and it could boost your album. Then, he pulls out a message from his own manager that says please can you look at the proposal for the Vogue cover? They’d like a picture of you and Harry together. 

So yeah, he doesn’t yell. He just won’t shut up, and by the time he says “well, actually” for the tenth time, they all start to fold and give up. One by one, they sigh and the director scribbles something on a piece of paper.

Harry grins like a child that just got told school is cancelled for the rest of term, and squeezes his hand, hardly believing this is the person that he loves, and that he loves him back. When they met, Harry was all long legs and couldn’t talk to Louis looking him straight in the face. He was a mess, because Louis has always been majestic, someone to look at from afar. Intimidating, not afraid to speak his mind and then… And then, just as they finished recording their song and he knew no one outside of the booth could listen, Louis glanced at him and said “so, are you taking me out for dinner or not?”

They never made it to that dinner, because when Harry saw him in the dress he decided to wear for the occasion he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, but he would never change the way things started between them.

And that’s how they end up there, a week later, in the middle of a pool, in between lights and people that chat away about stuff that Louis barely understands because he’s just there to look sexy and grope his boyfriend.

Harry’s in his boxers, soaked from head to toe, standing in the pool, all broad shoulders and tattoos and strong arms. And Louis? Louis is in a sheer bodysuit that leaves nothing to the imagination in a way that makes Harry struggle to be professional and in a way that made him decide that no one that was not strictly necessary really did not need to be there. Louis in that outfit? That’s not something Harry needed to share with anyone.

Because yes, they’re both possessive freaks. 

And then, they start, and halfway through, Harry realizes that Louis was right, because it works.

It’s perfect, and not just because of the way the set was built, or the song, but because it feels real: maybe it’s because they’re together, maybe it’s because they can’t stop touching each other in their everyday life, or maybe it’s because they have nasty, nasty sex pretty much every day. Whatever it is, it shows, it feels raw in the way Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, in the way his hands roam over Harry’s chest, in the way his lips brush Harry’s neck in a way no dancer could. 

It’s sexy. It’s pure chemistry, and as they shoot outside of the pool and Louis dances around him, he does it in a way that makes Harry think he’s doing it because he wants it to be perfect for Harry, for his career, for his song.

By the time the director yells, “and cut!”, the little shit has a satisfied grin on his face like he hasn’t spent a whole meeting moaning about creative decisions and stuff that clearly doesn’t matter anymore.

Harry’s still holding him, arms locked tight around Louis’ waist. “You can put me down now, you know?” Louis teases, legs still comfortably wrapped around Harry. The man smirks and then leans in, voice low and dirty against his lips. “I’m hard, baby,” he confesses, smirking, “you’re so fucking sexy.” 

Louis throws his head back with a laugh. “Everyone’s eyes are going to fall straight onto your giant cock the second you put me down.”

He groans like he’s the one suffering.

“You have no shame,” Harry smirks, “and stop looking at me like that before I make you take it. I will fuck you in front of everyone. I’d love them to see the way I make you scream,” his eyes have that possessive light in them, “and every single person here that was looking at you will know who you belong to.”

Louis doesn’t deny it. He just kisses him in a way that’s very inappropriate for a work environment, but when they pull apart and their assistants hand them towels, he goes back to reality. 

They don’t even actually see the video, that’s for tomorrow.

“Lou?” his manager calls out, “shower's upstairs, if you want to sort yourself out here. Your stuff is upstairs. The set is all Harry’s until tomorrow night.”

Louis looks at Harry, then at his assistant, and then at Harry’s again.

“Are they dismantling the place tonight?”

“No,” she answers, but then he sees the smirk on his face and sighs, “Louis, do you have any idea of the damage control we had to do after your little Grammy’s adventure?”

Louis pouts, “you love to remind me,” he answers, “I’ll let him gag me?”

She rolls his eyes, “wait an hour,” she gives up, and then points her finger at Harry, “and you better gag him for real, because I am not paying anyone off anymore.”

Harry laughs, “yes, boss.”

They say their goodbyes, running inside the house they rented out to shoot the video, Harry walking behind him. “Did she really have to pay someone?”

“Apparently, and these are the words that came out of her mouth, you made me scream I was chased by a bear, a lion and a man with a chainsaw. All together.”

Harry laughs, kissing his neck, “and I do it in the best way,” he whispers. They walk upstairs, trying to find the bathroom, and before they do, they pass through a bedroom. 

Louis stops mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with that dangerous little smile — the one that always means trouble.

“I think we should fuck,” he says sweetly, like he’s suggesting they order takeout. “I’m still open from this morning, and I’m very horny.”

Harry raises a brow, lips twitching. “Snickerdoodle, don’t threaten me with a go—”

But he doesn’t get to finish, because Louis is already sinking to his knees.

He does as gracefully as ever, hands on Harry’s thighs for balance, looking up with a smile that makes his throat go dry.

“Can I suck you off?” Louis asks politely, like he’s asking for help with dinner rather than asking for his man’s cock down his throat.

Harry snorts, amused, but he doesn’t move. He just looks down, and Louis knows. He knows he has to beg for it, because it makes his man proud to be his man, and that’s all he really wants. 

“I’ll suck you so good,” he says, voice needy. “Please. I’ll make you come so hard. Just let me. Just say yes. ”

He leans in, using one hand to make the towel around Harry’s waist drop, and nuzzling lightly against the front of Harry’s boxers, mouthing at the seam.

Harry is already hardening under the fabric. His hand finds Louis’s hair like they belong there.

“Take it out,” he orders.

That’s all it takes.

Louis is on him in seconds: he lowers the boxers in a swift movement, lips finding the exposed skin.

Harry is smug, and he doesn’t care that there are dozens of people downstairs, doesn’t care that they’re in a hallway of a house that isn’t theirs, that anyone could turn the corner and see Louis on his knees.

Louis doesn’t waste time. Harry’s cock is already heavy in his palm, half-hard and thickening fast, and Louis licks his lips as Harry looks down, one hand still in Louis’s hair, holding him in place. “You acted like you owned the place downstairs," he murmurs, “if only they could see how desperate you are for my cock.”

Louis nods without hesitation, tongue flicking out to run a slow stripe from base to tip, breathing in the manly scent. “Always,” he whines “Always yours.”

Harry hums in approval. “Then open that pretty mouth.”

Louis obeys instantly, lips parting and instantly finding the tip of Harry’s cock.

“Good boy,” Harry murmurs. The way he says it makes Louis whine happily around him, as he sinks down slowly. He takes his time, not just because Harry is huge, but because he wants to please him.

Harry groans softly, hand tightening in Louis’s hair as the warmth of his mouth closes around him.

“Look at you,” he mutters, staring down at the way Louis’s lips stretch, “on your knees for me. In someone else’s hallway. Just so I’ll use your mouth like a whore.”

Louis moans around him, the sound vibrating through Harry’s cock, and Harry’s hips jerk forward.

“Hands behind your back,” Harry orders. 

Louis obeys instantly, folding his hands behind him, posture straightening. It makes him look even more obscene, cock-drunk, like he’s just a mouth to use; Harry cups his jaw with his free hand, holding him steady as he begins to thrust slowly into his mouth, drool already at the corner of his mouth, lips stretched, eyes glassy, trying not to gag.

“You love being my little cocksleeve, don’t you?” he groans, “you just want to be used, and you fucking love it.”

Harry presses deeper, still as he watches Louis choke around him, but still taking him like he was born to be throat-fucked.

“Fuck, yes. You’re going to make me come just like this, aren’t you?”

Louis bobs his head as best he can. His lips are red and swollen, spit dripping down his chin. He’s rock hard in his bodysuit, hands still behind his back, and he won’t move until Harry tells him to. 

Harry finally moves again: he thrusts deep into Louis’s mouth, not caring how much Louis can take because he knows he loves it. He doesn’t move, he stays still like he belongs there, throat working around Harry’s cock, spit dripping down his chin.

It’s obscene and Harry can’t stop looking at him, with a mixture of I love you and I want to destroy you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, “drooling all over yourself just to swallow my cum.”

Louis moans around him, loud and needy, and Harry’s hips jerks forward one more time, his orgasm building up.

“You’re gonna take it,” he growls, fingers tightening in Louis’s hair as he holds his head still. “You’re not gonna spit, you’re not gonna pull off. You’re gonna swallow every drop.”

Louis nods as best he can, desperate, mouth stretched, and really, that’s all Harry needs because he lets out a guttural groan, head tipping back as he comes, spilling down Louis’s throat in hot pulses.

Louis moans again, swallowing everything just as Harry ordered, his cock twitching in his mouth.

“God, you really are a whore” Harry exhales, hips slowly drawing back, “you love choking on my cock, don’t you?”

Louis nods. Harry helps him up, then drags him in the room, slamming it behind them. He grabs Louis’ hips to stop him from moving. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he whispers, “you’re getting out of this bodysuit while I watch, and then you’re getting on all fours on that bed.”

Louis obeys, fast, and he finds himself presenting for Harry on the bed in seconds: face-down on the mattress, naked, panting, sweaty.

He hears Harry laugh behind him. “God,” he says, “you’re pathetic. Can’t wait to get fucked, can you?”

Louis doesn’t answer.

“Pathetic,” Harry says again, “just want me to use your cunt, don’t you?”

He palms Louis’s ass, squeezing, spreading him open with both hands, watching the way his hole is still open from that morning. Louis moans, already leaking against the sheets.

“Say it,” Harry orders. “Tell me what you want.”

Louis turns his head, cheek pressed to the bed. “I want your mouth,” he breathes, “on my hole. Please, Harry. I need it so bad—”

“And what does that make you?”

“A whore,” Louis whines, “I’m your whore.”

Harry drops to his knees behind him, spreading Louis’ thighs. He stares for a second because Louis is so beautiful. He's already pink and twitching and perfect.

And then he spits on his hole.

Louis lets out a gasp, body tensing, but he still presses back. Harry decides not to torture his boyfriend further, and he dives in, tongue flat and licking on his hole. He tastes him slowly, gets him wet with spit and tongue and Louis just sobs.

“Fuck, Harry—oh my God —”

“Louder,” Harry growls, licking him again, then again, then circling his hole with slow, lazy flicks. “Want everyone to hear what a stupid little cock slut you are.”

Louis moans, loud and wrecked. “Right there, fuck—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

Harry grips his thighs harder, digging his fingers into the soft flesh as he tongues deeper, pushing in and fucking him open with his mouth, his spit wetting his face and Louis’ hole.  He moans into him, and Louis almost screams. He bites his lip to try and be quiet, but he can’t.

“You love this,” Harry murmurs, voice muffled by Louis, “love being open. Your cunt is begging for me, isn’t it?”

Louis nods, tears on his cheeks. “Yes, yes, fuck—Harry, your mouth—”

Harry hums again and pushes his tongue deeper, grinding his face against him, fucking him with it.

“I’m—Harry, I’m gonna— please, give me your cock, please, please—” Louis sobs, his cock leaking against the sheets. Harry pulls back just enough to spit again, watching it drip down just to lick it back up.

“Come for me baby,” he says, “let me hear you.”

Louis’ whole body shakes, his voice cracks into a sob as he comes all over the bedsheets, is hole fluttering around Harry’s tongue as he licks him through it until Louis comes down from his high, panting.

“Fuck, snickerdoodle,” he says, “I love you so fucking much.”

Louis nods, “you ruin me every single fucking time,” he moans, “and we didn’t even get to the main event.”

Harry grins, leaving a kiss at the bottom of his spine. “Up for more?”

Louis whines, his face still hidden in the pillow, “I didn’t let you face fuck me just for you to go home and have your stupid avocado salad for dinner.”

Harry barks out a laugh, “don’t you want to bring this somewhere else? Maybe our own bed?”

Louis shakes his head, and Harry watches him slowly turn around so that he’s on his back. He towers over him, and he takes the sight in: he’s naked, on a bed that doesn’t belong to him, looking at Harry with his blue, blue eyes, looking ethereal. His small cock is soft now, still wet, his cheeks flushed, his hair damp with sweat.

Harry leans down and leaves a wet kiss on the center of his chest, right over his heart. Then again, lower this time, trailing kisses over his sternum, tongue dragging slowly across flushed skin. He sucks a bruise just beneath one nipple, making Louis gasp, then does it again on the other side, just because.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Harry murmurs, tongue flicking lazily against a nipple before sucking it into his mouth, “all messy and mine.”

Louis arches his back up, whining. “Harry, baby, please —”

Harry looks up at him from where he’s kissing his chest, eyes full of love and something else. Always something else when Louis is involved. “Think you can take more?”

“I can,” Louis moans, “please, I want it. Want you, your cock, baby, I—”

Harry kisses him then. It’s hard, messy, wet, and when they pull apart there’s a string of saliva between them, and Louis sighs, opening his mouth.

“Filthy, filthy boy,” Harry smirks, “you love when I spit on you so much that you’re chasing it.”

“I do,” Louis moans, “I love everything you give me, I’d do anything for you, I’d—”

Harry’s fingers find his mouth quickly, forcing it open. “Want to act like a whore?” he asks, “you’ll be treated like one.”

He spits on him. Once, twice, both landing in his mouth, fingers setting him free only then, and Louis can’t help it, he moans because the thing is… He loves it. He loves when Harry claims him, when he marks him, when he owns him, because, and Harry knows, it’s the only time he’s able to let go.

“You’re going to ride me,” he says then, “want to see you fuck yourself on my cock like a stupid little fuck toy.”

Louis makes a soft noise, but nods. “Yes. Please, I— Yes.”

They move around quickly, Harry’s back against the headboard, eyes dark. His cock is leaking, big and hard between his thighs, and he wraps a hand around it, watching Louis straddle his legs slowly. 

“You want this?” he asks, thumbing the tip of his cock. Louis nods again, "yes," he says, biting his bottom lips, “it’s so big. So thick. I want— I want it. Want to be full.”

“Then fucking take it.”

Louis reaches back and lines them up, hole still slick and open from everything that brought them there. He sinks down slowly, inch by inch, gasping at the stretch. Harry just watches him at first, their eyes locked, until Louis is fully seated in his lap, thighs shaking.

“You look so pretty on my cock,” he says, “should keep you like this all the time, just for my very own entertainment.”

“Yes, yes—please” Louis whispers, body trembling.

“You belong to me, snickerdoodle.”

Louis nods, but it’s not enough for Harry. It’s never enough. “Who do you belong to, baby?”

“You,” Louis moans, “you’re so deep, baby— it’s stretching me, you’re filling me up so well, I—”

“Good boy,” Harry praises, voice low, “move now.”

Louis obeys instantly, lifting his hips and dropping down again, movements unsteady at first. He bites his lip, moaning every time he sinks down, hole clenching around Harry’s cock, because he Harry is right: he belongs on top of him, with him, to him. 

Harry lets him struggle, lets him find rhythm on his own. He just watches with his hands behind his head, cock buried deep in Louis’s tight hole.

“Look at you,” he growls. “Fucking yourself on my cock like it’s all you’re good for.”

“It is,” Louis gasps. “I’m yours, I’m only good for this— I’m just—”

“A whore,” Harry smirks, “but only for me, because you’re mine.”

He sits up then, one hand wrapping around Louis’ throat, not tight. His hand is just there, claiming him, as he finally thrusts up once, hard, knocking the air from Louis’s lungs.

“Say that you’re mine, baby” he commands, lips brushing Louis’s ear.

“I’m yours,” Louis whines, voice high and desperate. “Just— want to make you feel good, Harry, please.”

“You always do,” Harry grunts, thrusting again, meeting Louis halfway now, taking control of the rhythm. “You take me so well, ride so fucking beautiful, baby.”

Louis is moaning loudly now, each bounce of his hips growing more frantic, crying with need, and want, and love.

“Gonna come again,” he sobs. “Please—please, let me. I need it.”

Harry grabs his hips, slamming him down harder, faster. “Love watching you lose it, baby,” he growls, “you look so beautiful, so mine.”

Louis shakes, body tired for the effort, tears welling in his eyes. “Harry, I’m trying— need to come, please.”

Harry slows the pace down just enough to lean in and kiss Louis’s chest, licking the sweat from his skin, then sucking a bruise right over his nipple. Louis moans, untouched cock so hard it aches.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Harry whispers against his skin. “Taking me so deep, being so good. You wanna come, pretty thing?”

“Yes, Harry, please—”

Harry slaps his ass hard, then starts thrusting up into him again, deep and hard and Louis just breaks: he comes with a scream, his legs shaking, spilling across Harry’s stomach. His hole clenches around Harry, and Harry curses as he slams into him one more time and follows, coming deep inside his beautiful, beautiful Louis with a deep growl.

They collapse together, Louis boneless in Harry’s lap, both of them shaking and breathless.

Harry doesn’t pull out: he wraps his arms around him, kissing his head, murmuring praising words until Louis moves slightly.

“Colour?”

Louis snorts, “you’re a prick,” he moans, “I think we should record us fuck like rabbits so I can put your manly, manly growls in one of my songs.”

“And he’s back,” Harry jokes, moving slowly so that he can pull out without hurting, “nap?”

“Harry?”

“I—” he tries, “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he bites his bottom lip, then smiles, “now we can nap. And thank you for having the best cock in the universe."

They wake up a few hours later, and it’s the middle of the night. Louis is the first one to open the door, and when he does, a piece of paper falls on the floor.

Stop underestimating NDAs!
My Christmas bonus is going to be extra juicy.

Love,
Your manager

P.S.
I didn’t know people could make those sounds.

Harry snorts, and Louis rolls his eyes.

And maybe normal people can’t make certain sounds, but normal people don’t get to have a Harry.

That works out for everyone.

Notes:

Barbie Girl is a real hit in this household.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of songs fics