Chapter Text
It starts like any other night.
A movie half-watched, the dregs of their third beer sweating down the sides of mismatched coasters, and Harry’s socked feet rudely claiming Louis’ coffee table like he pays rent.
Louis flicks a popcorn kernel at his thigh. “You’re such a gobshite, move your feet.”
Harry gasps, clutching his chest like he’s been wounded. Louis snorts and takes a swig of his drink.
It’s easy like this, comfortable. They’ve been mates for years, and if Harry flirts like it’s muscle memory, Louis gives it back because that’s just their thing and has been since sixth form, when Harry realised he was gay and Louis realised he was annoying.
Harry leans back, stretch-limbed and lazy. “When’s the last time you got laid, anyway?”
Louis chokes slightly. “What?”
Harry grins. “You heard me.”
“I…” Louis shrugs, eyes on the telly. “Dunno. Few months.”
“Few?” Harry echoes. “Define few.”
Louis doesn’t answer fast enough.
“Oh my God, it’s been like six months, hasn’t it?” Harry’s voice is already rising, thrilled and theatrical. “Louis Tomlinson, Doncaster’s own shag champion, is in a drought.”
“Shag champion?!” Louis twists on the couch to glare at him, flushed. “Don’t be a dickhead.”
Harry’s eyes sparkle like he’s won something. “When was it? Christmas? You poor, horny bastard.”
Louis drags a pillow onto his lap, glaring. “I’m just over it. Tinder’s full of the same recycled bios and people who say ‘let’s vibe’ and have no bed frame. It’s grim.”
Harry pouts dramatically. “So you’re telling me you’ve got all this” he gestures broadly at Louis, “just sitting around unused?”
“Mate, shut up.” But Louis is laughing, even as his ears go pink. And maybe it’s the beer, or the way Harry’s looking at him, or how the teasing always seems to flirt just a bit too close to something else.
But then Harry says, voice lower now, casual but sharp-edged: “Y’know, if you’re that desperate, I am technically available.”
And Louis stares at him. Just stares. Because it’s a joke. It’s always a joke. Isn’t it?
Harry raises an eyebrow, the smirk still tugging at his mouth, but there’s something in his eyes now, calculated mischief, sure, but something quieter beneath. Testing the water. A toe dipped into the unknown.
Louis huffs out a laugh, awkward. “You offering to be my shag rebound?”
Harry shrugs. “I mean, if the options are me or another swipe-right disaster with a random and an acoustic guitar…”
Louis throws another popcorn kernel at him. It bounces off Harry’s forehead. “You wish, Styles.”
“Do I?” Harry leans back into the cushions, looking too smug for someone wearing mismatched socks. “I dunno, Lou. You flirt with me more than anyone else.”
“That’s because you’re easy to wind up.”
Harry grins. “And you’re easy, full stop.”
“Oi!”
They’re laughing again, the weird tension popping like a soap bubble, but something’s still lingering in the air, like smoke from a blown-out candle, impossible to ignore now that it’s been lit.
They settle into silence again. The movie plays on in the background, but neither of them are really watching it. Then Louis, softer now: “You’re not serious, are you?”
Harry doesn’t answer straight away. Just looks at him, then picks at the label on his beer bottle, eyes down. “I mean… if it came to it, I wouldn’t say no,” he says, finally.
Louis shifts in his seat, heart doing something weird, some uncoordinated kick-drum in his chest. “Right. Yeah. I just,” He laughs awkwardly. “That’s not really… my thing, innit?”
“No,” Harry says simply. “Didn’t think it was.”
Another beat. Louis clears his throat. “But like. If it was, hypothetically, wouldn’t that be weird? We’re mates.”
Harry finally looks at him again, and his voice is calm. He shrugs, “Only if we made it weird.”
Which, of course, Louis immediately does by blushing as he reaches for another beer.
They drop it after that, kind of. They watch the rest of the movie, but it’s different now. Harry’s foot brushes his under the blanket at one point and Louis doesn’t move away. When Harry laughs, Louis watches his mouth. When Louis gets up to grab more drinks, he catches Harry’s eyes on his ass.
And it’s not that Harry’s doing anything new, it’s that Louis is noticing. Noticing in that slow, creeping way where you’re not sure if something is changing or if it’s always been like this and you’re just finally seeing it.
The movie ends eventually. Credits roll. Neither of them moves to turn it off.
Louis’s foot is jittering under the blanket. He tries to act normal, leans forward, grabs his empty bottle, spins it lazily between his fingers like he’s totally fine and not spiraling.
Harry yawns and stretches, arms above his head, shirt riding up just a bit too far for Louis to ignore. He clears his throat. “So, about what you said earlier.”
Harry blinks. “Which bit?”
“You know. The…” Louis gestures vaguely, like that’ll help. “Offer.”
Harry’s lips twitch. “Ah. The charity shag.”
“Shut up.” Louis throws a cushion at him, which Harry catches with annoyingly good reflexes. “I just mean, you were taking the piss, right?”
Harry’s eyes glint, but his tone stays light. “Not really. But you seemed freaked out.”
“I wasn’t freaked out,” Louis lies, bold and shameless.
Harry hums. “No? You blushed so hard I thought your ears were gonna explode.”
“I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“You asked me if I was serious.”
Louis frowns. “Because it was random! I didn’t mean I wanted it to be serious.”
Harry tilts his head, studying him. He’s still smiling, but it’s gentler now, more curious than teasing. “Right. Okay.”
Louis scratches the back of his neck. “Just wanted to be clear. That I’m not considering it.”
“Of course you’re not,” Harry says, with just enough amusement to drive Louis mental.
There’s a long pause.
Then: “You are, though, aren’t you?” Harry adds, soft but smug.
“I’m not!”
Harry raises both hands. “Hey, no judgment. If I’d gone six months without sex I’d probably consider shagging you, too.”
Louis lets out an incredulous sound. “Wow. That’s rich coming from the one who offered!”
“I’m a giver, Lou.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Harry grins and stretches again, totally unbothered. “Alright, shall I head off?”
Louis blinks. “What? Oh. Right, yeah. If you want.”
Harry stands, then turns back toward him, one hand braced on the back of the couch. “For the record,” he says, casual but pointed, “I wouldn’t have made it weird. If you had been considering it.”
A beat.
Harry’s grin sharpens. “Shame you’re not though. I give excellent head.” And then he’s gone, out the door, down the steps, into the night, while Louis is left sitting there, eyes wide and heart thumping.
**
The next day, Louis wakes up with the world’s most aggressive boner and a suspiciously vivid memory of Harry saying, “I give excellent head.”
He groans into his pillow. Not because he wants it, just because now it’s stuck in his head, replaying over and over.
He gets up, showers, makes coffee and tries to scroll his phone like a person who isn’t spiralling but the group chat lights up and ruins everything.
Niall: oi, who’s coming to Ed’s thing tonight?
Oli: what thing?
Niall: pub. 7pm. be there.
Harry: i’ll be there 😘
Louis stares at the screen. Harry hasn’t messaged him directly since last night. No cheeky follow-up, no “still thinking about my mouth?” text. Just that emoji, smug and innocent, while Louis replays their entire couch conversation on repeat.
He sits quietly for a moment before finally typing out a reply.
Louis: yeah i’m in.
Oli reacts with a thumbs up. Niall sends a gif of someone aggressively chugging a pint. Harry sends nothing, so Louis closes the chat and throws his phone onto the couch.
At the pub that night, the rest of the lads are already halfway through their second round when Louis arrives. He spots Harry immediately, curled into the corner of the booth, curls tied up, rings glittering under the warm lights, and of course he’s already laughing at something Niall’s saying like he didn’t ruin Louis’ entire brain chemistry twelve hours ago.
“Look who’s finally here,” Harry grins as Louis sits down. “You survive your hangover?”
Louis shrugs. “Wasn’t that bad.”
Harry sips his drink, eyeing him over the rim. “Didn’t seem like yourself when I left.”
Louis goes still. “What do you mean?”
Harry shrugs, all innocent-like. “Just thought you were acting weird. Must’ve been the beer.”
Louis forces a smile. “Yeah. Must’ve.”
Harry hums, clearly amused, but doesn’t push it.
They go back to chatting, but Louis is hyper-aware of every little thing, how close Harry’s knee gets under the table, the way he licks foam off his lip after a sip, the lazy rasp in his voice when he laughs. It’s fucking annoying, and it wasn’t annoying before, so Louis doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.
“Alright there, Lou?” Niall nudges him.
Louis blinks. “Yeah. Why?”
“You keep staring at your drink. Something wrong with it?”
Harry snorts into his pint and Louis kicks him under the table. “Piss off.”
Harry just smirks. “Still not considering it?”
Louis chokes on his beer, making Niall squint at them. “What?”
“Nothing,” Louis says too fast, but Harry winks at him and Louis decides he wants to die immediately.
The walk home to their apartment building is quiet, save for the occasional sound of their shoes scuffing the pavement and Louis’ internal screaming echoing off the walls of his skull.
When they reach his place, Harry glances over, casual as ever, “You want company?” he asks. “Couple more drinks, shit movie we won’t finish?”
It’s not unusual. It’s what they do. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Louis hesitates. “Yeah. Alright.”
Inside, Harry kicks his shoes off and flops dramatically onto the couch like he owns the place. “I’m gonna put something awful on,” he calls as Louis heads for the kitchen. “The shitter the better. I want low budget, high drama.”
“Sounds like your dating history,” Louis mutters, grabbing two beers.
Harry snorts. “That’s rich coming from Mr. I’m Over Tinder Because People Are Too Spiritual and Can’t Cook Pasta Properly.”
“Mate, it was uncooked. Crunchy.”
“Bet you still shagged her.”
Louis walks back in and tosses a beer at him, shrugging as he falls onto the couch.
“Saint Louis,” Harry teases, cracking it open. “What a gentleman.”
They settle in, something bad and loud playing in the background. Louis pretends to watch it. Harry actually does, or at least fakes it better.
After a while, Harry speaks again, voice light. “So, about our little chat last night.”
Louis tenses. “What about it?”
Harry doesn’t look over. “Just wondering if we’re pretending it didn’t happen or if I’m allowed to bring it up without you being weird.”
Louis scoffs. “I’m not being weird.” He stares at the screen, which is currently showing a man being chased by a goose with a knife. Very on-brand for the emotional tone. “You always this casual about offering to blow your mates?”
Harry shrugs. “Only the pretty ones.”
Louis lets out a broken laugh, almost despite himself, but he still doesn’t look at Harry, which, frankly, only makes it more obvious.
Harry’s still watching the side of his face, gaze lazy, drink resting on his thigh. “Y’know,” he says, tone light, “if you were actually curious, I could show you.”
Louis snorts, tense and defensive. “Show me what, your fucking ego?”
Harry chuckles. “That too. But mostly my excellent technique.”
Louis shakes his head. “Jesus.”
Harry shifts slightly, turns toward him. “I just don’t get what you’re so afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid,” Louis snaps, then immediately grimaces at his own volume.
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Okay. So what is it, then? Not into guys?”
Louis exhales through his nose. “I’ve never been with one.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Louis doesn’t answer and Harry lets the silence stretch. Then he moves, slow and intentional. His hand drifts over, resting casually on Louis’ thigh. Not high. Not low. Just there.
Louis stiffens but doesn’t stop him and Harry’s fingers slide up, slow and deliberate, toward the button of Louis’ jeans. Louis finally looks at him and Harry’s already looking back. Calm and focused. A flicker of something daring behind his lashes.
He undoes the button and Louis almost stops breathing. The only sound in the room is the terrible movie and the sudden thunder of his own heartbeat. “Harry,” he says, hoarse. “What are you doing?”
Harry bites his lip, just slightly, but the eye contact doesn’t break. The zipper comes down with a soft metallic sigh. Louis swallows, jaw clenched, arms tense against the cushions. His voice is quiet, steady. “Just proving a point.”
Louis blinks, lips parted, like he might speak again, but no words come out as Harry reaches in, fingers brushing the waistband of Louis’ briefs, and that’s when Louis finally moves. Not to stop him, but to cover his eyes with both hands, like he can’t believe he’s letting this happen.
But he doesn’t stop it.
Harry’s mouth twitches at the sight of Louis covering his face like he’s watching a horror movie and not about to get the blowjob of his life, but he doesn’t tease. He doesn’t say a word.
Instead, he leans in.
Louis flinches slightly when Harry’s fingers dip past the waistband, but he still doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t say no. Just breathes harder, his whole body tight and braced like he’s about to be struck by lightning.
Harry’s hand curls around him, warm and sure, and pulls him out. Louis lets out a quiet, strangled noise behind his hands, “Fuck,” he mutters. “Oh my fucking God.”
Harry strokes him once, slow, testing, and Louis twitches under the touch. Already half-hard, the tension of the night simmering just under his skin. Every nerve seems to light up with it.
Harry sinks to his knees between Louis’ legs without ceremony. No flourish. No theatrics. Just a purposeful sort of stillness, like he’s been here before, like he knows what this does.
Then, without looking away from Louis’s face (or rather, the way his arms are clamped over it), Harry leans forward and wraps his mouth around him.
Louis lets out a sound that’s more air than voice. A low, broken “Jesus Christ.”
Harry hums low in his throat, lips soft and warm, tongue flicking along the underside as he begins to bob his head slowly, keeping it light at first, teasing. His hand stays at the base, thumb circling gently, guiding the rhythm.
Louis drops his head back against the couch with a thud, hands still covering his face. He looks like he’s trying to vanish into the upholstery. “What the fuck,” he breathes.
Harry doesn’t stop, he just slides lower, lips snug around him, cheek hollowed with the effort. Louis jerks slightly. His thighs tense under Harry’s hands. “I’m letting you,” Louis swallows hard. “You’re actually doing this, fuck.”
Louis whimpers. He actually whimpers, and then immediately scolds himself for it. “No. Nope. That was not, Jesus. This is so wrong.”
But his hips lift slightly.
Harry’s other hand presses gently to his thigh, grounding him. His mouth works him expertly, tongue flicking under the tip, lips tight, each motion purposeful and smooth, a rhythm that feels both practiced and intimate.
Louis makes a choked sound, “Oh my God.” But he still hasn’t looked. He’s still hiding behind his hands, jaw slack, breath coming fast and uneven.
Harry doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop, not when Louis is melting under him, not when his own name just slipped out of Louis’ mouth in a breathless, unthinking whimper.
And when Louis finally gasps, “Harry—,” voice all wrecked and stunned, Harry smiles around him and sinks deeper.
Louis is falling apart. And it’s so much worse because Harry’s barely making a sound, just the wet, obscene slide of his mouth, the soft drag of lips and tongue and the quiet pop when he pulls off just enough to tease the head before swallowing him back down again.
Louis is desperate, fully overwhelmed, “I can’t believe you’re actually, Jesus Christ, Harry.”
His hands are still over his face. He can’t look. Can’t see what’s happening because if he sees it, he’ll never come back from it. It’ll be burned into his brain forever, and he’s not sure if he wants that or if it terrifies him. “Fuck,” he pants, hips lifting helplessly when Harry takes him deeper.
Harry’s hands are warm and steady, one resting against Louis’ thigh, the other still wrapped around the base of him, keeping him from thrusting too far, too fast. He controls the pace, patient and focused, dragging pleasure out like it’s a game.
Louis doesn’t stand a chance. His whole body is taut, trembling, every muscle strung tight as a bowstring. And Harry is humming around him now, low and content, like he’s enjoying this. Like it’s fun for him. Like Louis isn’t halfway to losing his entire identity over it. “I can’t,” Louis gasps. “I shouldn’t… this is fucking mental.”
But he’s not stopping it. He’s not even trying to stop it.
He’s leaking into Harry’s mouth, panting into his hands, groaning words that don’t even make sense anymore. And Harry just keeps going, slow and so fucking thorough, tongue pressing just right, lips tight and warm and so fucking good.
Then Harry changes the angle just slightly, tilts his head, and Louis breaks. His hand jerks off his face and slaps over his own mouth as if he can somehow silence himself, but it’s too late.
He’s gone. Coming with a shocked, guttural sound, his hips stuttering, body curling in on itself as Harry holds him steady and takes it all.
Takes everything.
It’s the best orgasm he’s had, maybe ever, and it was with Harry’s mouth around him, and he still doesn’t know what to do with that.
He slumps back against the couch, boneless and stunned, blinking up at the ceiling. Harry finally pulls off, slow and soft, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t say anything. Just glances up, lips pink and shining, cheeks flushed, and eyes so damn smug.
Louis finally looks at him, still breathless and dazed. “What the fuck,” he whispers.
Harry grins. “Told you.”
Louis groans and drags both hands back over his face. Harry laughs and settles back on the floor, chin resting on Louis’ knee, “So…” he says slowly. “Still not considering it?”
Louis huffs out a weak, wrecked laugh but doesn’t answer. Because if he opens his mouth right now, he might say yes. And that’s a very different kind of problem.
Across the room, the telly keeps playing something ridiculous, explosions and bad acting, but neither of them’s looked at it in ages. Louis glances down at Harry, still kneeling between his legs, and lets out a shaky exhale, “You look fucking pleased with yourself.”
Harry shifts slightly, tugs his sleeves down. He looks calm. Collected. Only the pink at the tips of his ears gives him away. “I did warn you,” he says with a small shrug.
Louis huffs, a short bitter laugh that sounds more like disbelief than humour. He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back against the couch, eyes staring at the ceiling like maybe it’ll open up and answer all the questions he hasn’t figured out how to ask.
Harry doesn’t move, but his voice softens. “Hey…”
Louis doesn’t reply. He just breathes, shallow and quiet. Harry watches him for a beat, then tries again, a little more carefully. “Lou, it’s… it’s okay if you liked it.”
Louis doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look at him.
Harry presses on. “I’m not trying to fuck with your head. I swear. I just…” He pauses, swallows. “You seemed like you needed something. And I wanted to help.”
Louis lets out a breath through his nose. The tiniest flicker of something passes over his face, guilt, maybe, or confusion. Or both. He doesn’t speak so Harry waits a second longer, then quietly asks, “Do you want me to go?”
Louis shakes his head.
Harry nods slowly. He’s careful not to push. “Alright.”
But Louis still looks closed off. Arms crossed now, legs curled slightly away. The tension’s coiled up inside him again, not explosive like before, just… simmering. Like he doesn’t know where to put himself. Like he doesn’t know who the fuck he is anymore.
Harry finally shifts. Stands slowly, brushing his hands on his thighs, and instead of heading for the door or back to his usual spot on the floor, he steps forward and sinks down on the coffee table across from Louis.
They’re eye-level now. Close.
Harry leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice quiet. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Louis blinks. “I don’t know,” he says, barely above a whisper.
Harry nods. Waits.
Louis swallows hard, still staring past him, like if he meets Harry’s eyes the truth will punch him in the face. “I can’t believe I just… let you do that.”
Harry doesn’t react. Doesn’t take it personally. Just sits still, calm and open, his voice soft. “Why?”
Louis shrugs one shoulder. “Because I’m not…” He cuts off, jaw tight. “I don’t do that.”
“I know.”
Louis finally looks at him, eyes full of something almost like panic. “So why the fuck did I let you?”
Harry holds his gaze. “Maybe because it was me.”
Louis doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink. He just stares, like that answer cracked something inside him and he doesn’t know how to patch it up.
“I’m not saying it has to mean anything,” Harry adds gently. “You don’t owe me anything, Lou. I don’t expect anything.”
Louis runs a hand over his mouth. His voice is raw. “It does mean something.”
Harry tilts his head.
Louis breathes. “And that’s what’s fucking me up.”
Silence again, thick and still and heavy.
Harry leans back slightly, giving him space. “You don’t have to figure it out right now,” he says. “Or ever, if you don’t want to.”
Louis rubs his eyes with both hands, then drags them down his face with a groan. “You’re being so fucking nice. It’s making it so much worse.”
Harry laughs, quiet and tired. “Sorry, mate. I’ll be a dick about it next time.”
Louis looks at him for a long moment. Then huffs again, a small shake of his head, barely there. “I don’t know what just happened,” he says.
Harry nods. “That’s okay.”
Louis blows out another breath, arms tightening around himself. But he doesn’t pull away. And when Harry reaches forward, resting his fingers gently on Louis’s knee, just a touch, just a reminder that he’s here, Louis doesn’t flinch.
He just sits there, shaken and quiet, trying to remember how to breathe in this new version of his life.
**
Louis has been doing an absolutely incredible job pretending that Harry’s mouth wasn’t ever anywhere near his dick.
Truly award-worthy. The mental gymnastics? Gold medal. The way he’s kept things chill with Harry, hasn’t said a word, hasn’t even looked at his mouth too long since that night? Legendary.
Sure, Harry’s been a little different, quieter, softer around him, like he’s waiting for Louis to do something, but Louis has handled it by simply… not. He’s buried it like nuclear waste and gone on with his life. Mostly.
Until tonight.
He’s out with Niall. Nothing fancy. Just a pub. Few beers. Football on in the background. Niall talking absolute bollocks about someone he matched with on Hinge who listed “vibing” as a hobby. Louis is listening. Kind of. He’s also very much not.
He’s swirling the dregs of his pint and nodding along, but his brain’s drifting again. To that night. To the way Harry didn’t hesitate. The way Louis came so fast it was almost embarrassing. The way Harry looked up at him after, like—
“Earth to Louis.”
Louis blinks. “Huh?”
“I said, are you alright?” Niall squints at him. “You’ve been off in La La Land since we got here. You in love or something?”
Louis snorts. “Yeah. With my own hand.”
Niall grins, slouching back in his chair. “Don’t knock it. Hand’s never let me down.”
Louis takes a sip, then shrugs. “Could be worse. Could be getting head from your best mate.”
He says it like it’s nothing and then immediately regrets everything. Niall coughs mid-drink, explodes, really, beer spraying onto the table as he chokes. “What the fuck?” he wheezes, wiping his mouth. “You what?”
Louis freezes.
Niall stares at him, eyes wide. “Did you just say what I think you did?”
Louis stares into his pint like it’s a portal to another dimension. “Please forget I said that.”
“Absolutely not! You don’t get to just casually drop ‘I let Harry suck my dick’ and move on like it’s a weather report.”
Louis winces. “Jesus, keep your voice down.”
“Why?! You’re the one confessing sexual secrets in a public venue!”
Louis groans and slumps forward on the table, burying his face in his arms. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“You did say it though!”
Louis lifts his head just enough to glare. “It was a one-time thing.”
Niall’s eyebrows are halfway to his hairline. “With Harry?!”
Louis nods once, slow and pained.
Niall leans in, incredulous. “And you’re just fine? Like, you just went about your life after that?”
Louis shrugs helplessly. “I’m fucking trying to.”
Niall lets out a high-pitched little laugh, sitting back and scrubbing a hand down his face. “Oh my God. This is.. this is huge. This is, like… life plot twist shit.”
“It’s really not,” Louis mutters.
Niall shakes his head. “Mate. You let your gay best friend go down on you and then pretended it didn’t happen? That’s some premium denial right there. That’s Oscar-worthy repression.”
Louis glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “I didn’t know where to file it, alright? My brain just panicked.”
Niall blinks. “Was it bad?”
Louis’s mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “No,” he says finally, voice small. “It was… actually incredible.”
Niall stares at him for a long moment. “Jesus Christ.”
Louis finishes the last of his drink in one go. And Niall, bless him, just flags down the bartender. Because clearly, many more drinks will be required.
Niall is wheezing. Like, fully doubled over in the pub booth, tears in his eyes, absolutely losing his mind while Louis scowls into the scratched-up tabletop like he might actually bite it.
“You,” Niall gasps. “You sat there with your little straight face and let Harry fucking Styles suck you off like it was a favour?!”
Louis kicks him under the table. “Can you fucking not?”
“Oh my God.” Niall clutches his chest, laughing harder. “Is this real life? Did I get hit by a bus on the way here and now I’m in some weird gay purgatory where you, the most aggressively heterosexual man I know, casually receive oral sex from your best mate and then just go to bed like it’s a cup of tea?!”
Louis groans, rubbing both hands over his face. “It’s not funny, Niall.”
“It’s hilarious!”
“I’m panicking!”
“That’s why it’s so funny!”
Niall finally calms down enough to breathe, wiping his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Sorry. Sorry. I know I’m being a dick. But, fuck’s sake, Lou. You can’t just drop that on me like it’s nothing.”
Louis leans back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I didn’t mean to say it.”
“But you did. And now you have to explain, because I’m not sleeping until I know every detail.”
Louis glares at him. “There are no details.”
Niall raises a brow.
Louis sighs. “We were hanging out. Drinking. Bit of banter, I said something about not getting laid, he joked about giving great head..”
“Oh my God.”
“and then he just… did it.”
Niall stares at him, slack-jawed. “Just like that?”
“Well, not, just like that,” Louis mutters, cheeks burning. “He asked. Sort of. I didn’t stop him.”
Niall stares harder. “You let him undo your pants?!”
“I didn’t think he actually would! And then his mouth was,” Louis waves his hands around vaguely, then drops them with a groan. “It happened, alright? It happened. And I’ve been trying to forget ever since.”
Niall blinks. “Why?”
“Because I’m straight!”
“Lou.”
“I am!”
“You are not,” Niall says, pointing a chip at him. “You are, at minimum, dick-flexible.”
Louis drops his forehead onto the table with a thud. “Kill me.”
Niall leans in, voice a little gentler now. “Look, I’m not judging you. I’m just, shocked. You’ve known him forever, and you’ve never looked at him like that?”
Louis hesitates. Then mumbles, “Not on purpose.”
Niall exhales, shaking his head in amazement. “Man. No wonder you’ve been weird lately.”
“I haven’t been weird.”
“You’ve been so weird. You kept defending his outfit choices like he’d pay you for it.”
Louis groans again, louder this time.
“Mate,” Niall says softly, nudging his arm. “Did it… mean something to you?”
Louis doesn’t answer at first. Then, in the smallest voice imaginable, he mutters, “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
Niall raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t smile now.
“Okay,” he says simply. “So maybe don’t shove it in a box this time.”
Louis finally lifts his head. “What if I don’t know what I want?”
Niall shrugs. “Then talk to him.”
Louis looks physically pained. “Talk to him? About the fact that I spontaneously allowed him to put my dick in his mouth and now I think about it during work meetings?!”
“Yes!” Niall slaps the table. “Because clearly ignoring it is not going well for you.”
They’re halfway through another round when the door chimes.
Louis doesn’t even register it at first, too busy trying to explain that no, he hasn’t been fantasising, he’s just had some lingering imagery, thanks, and Niall’s got this smug little smile plastered on his face like he’s watching a rom-com he already knows the ending to.
But then Niall’s eyes flick over Louis’s shoulder, and his smirk widens into something truly evil, “Oh perfect,” he murmurs.
“What?”
Louis turns and immediately wants to melt through the floorboards.
Harry’s just walked in, a hoodie half-zipped over his work shirt, curls a bit messy, eyes scanning the pub as he heads toward the counter. He looks casual. Relaxed.
And Louis wants to die. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “I can’t do this. I can’t.. why is he here?”
“It’s a pub, mate,” Niall says, gleeful. “People come here. Sometimes even the ones who’ve seen your orgasm face.”
Louis nearly chokes on his pint. “Shut up.”
But then Harry spots them. Smiles. And starts walking over.
Louis immediately sits up straighter, crossing his arms so tightly he might dislocate something. He tries to school his expression into something normal, friendly, casual, very not thinking about your mouth on me, but his eyes flick to Harry’s lips before he can stop himself.
Shit.
Harry reaches the table, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t know you two were here.”
Niall grins like he’s holding in the entire plot of a fanfiction. “Just catching up.”
“Nice.” Harry’s eyes flick between them, lingering on Louis for a beat. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Louis says quickly. “Fine. Totally normal. You?”
Harry blinks. “Uh. Yeah.”
Niall is now actually biting the inside of his cheek, doing a terrible job hiding the gleeful tension radiating off his entire body.
Harry frowns slightly. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Niall says too fast. “Just chatting. About… things.”
Louis shoots him a look that could strip paint.
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Right.”
The silence stretches. Niall’s eyes flick from Louis to Harry. Then back again. He clears his throat and takes a dramatic sip of his drink.
Louis groans quietly, drags a hand over his face, then finally exhales and turns to Harry. “You getting food?”
“Yeah, just grabbing something to take home.”
Louis nods, fidgeting with his empty glass. Then, after a second: “Do you… wanna walk back together?”
Harry looks at him, startled, but only for a moment. Then his expression softens. “Yeah,” he says. “Alright.”
Niall is positively vibrating in his seat.
“Great,” Louis says, standing way too fast and knocking the underside of the table with his knee. “Brilliant.”
Harry smiles again, still watching him. “I’ll just go pay.” He turns and heads to the bar.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Niall practically lunges across the table. “You’re welcome.”
Louis glares. “Shut your whole face.”
“Admit it, I saved you. You’d still be sitting here in gay denial land if I hadn’t made you talk about it.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Sure you do. Now go walk home with your blowjob buddy and talk about your feelings.”
Louis flips him off. But he’s already turning toward the bar, nerves fizzing, pulse skittering, and this deep, low ache in his chest that says he wants to talk. Even if he still doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to say.
They walk in silence for a bit, shoes scuffing against the pavement, the evening cool and still.
Louis keeps fiddling with his fingers inside his jacket pocket, brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve a maths equation he didn’t study for. Harry walks next to him, quiet but calm, until he finally exhales softly and breaks the silence. “Look,” he says gently, “I think I definitely crossed a line.”
Louis doesn’t stop walking, but he goes tense beside him.
Harry goes on. “It was fun in the moment. I definitely enjoyed it. And I think you did too. But I feel like I’ve totally ruined our dynamic and… I’m really sorry.”
Louis huffs out a breath, somewhere between frustration and guilt. “It wasn’t all you, though, was it?”
Harry glances over. Louis still isn’t looking at him. “I let it happen,” Louis mutters, finally. “Didn’t exactly shove you off.”
Harry gives a small, humourless smile. “Still.”
They reach the corner of their street and pause at the curb. The soft glow of streetlights spills across the path, throwing long shadows. Louis kicks at a pebble, then glances sideways. “Do you wanna come hang for a bit?”
Harry blinks. “Are you sure?”
Louis hesitates, just a flicker, then nods. “Yeah. We’re still best mates, right?”
Harry looks at him for a long moment. Something warm flickers behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”
In Louis’ flat, the tension’s quieter now, tucked away under the hum of the TV and the rustle of takeaway wrappers. They’re spread out on the couch, eating straight from the containers, drinks sweating on the coffee table.
It feels familiar. But definitely not the same.
Louis leans back with a sigh, one leg bent up under him, and grabs his beer, taking a long sip before stealing a glance at Harry.
Harry’s watching the screen, idly poking at a spring roll, clearly trying not to be too aware of Louis beside him.
Louis swallows, glances back at the TV, then shifts again. His voice comes out quieter than he means it to, “I’m definitely… considering it now.”
Harry looks over. “Considering what?”
Louis doesn’t meet his eyes. Just shrugs and fiddles with his beer label. “This whole… thing.”
A pause. Then, carefully, “With me?”
Louis lets out a humourless laugh. “No, with Greg from the kebab shop.”
Harry chuckles softly, but it fades quickly. “You don’t have to say anything to make me feel better,” he says gently.
“I’m not,” Louis replies, finally turning his head to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it. I still don’t know what it means. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t… thought about it.”
Harry holds his gaze for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”
The light from the telly flickers over his cheekbones, casting gold and shadow. His lips are parted slightly, breath soft, like he’s on the verge of saying something else but he doesn’t.
And Louis just sits there, watching him. Thinking about that night. Harry on his knees, how his mouth felt, how easy it was to let go with him. And now Harry’s sitting right here, looking at him like he’s still that safe place, still ready to give, if Louis just asks.
Louis’s eyes flick down to Harry’s mouth and it lingers there. He lets out a breath before mumbling, “Fuck this.”
He surges forward, grabbing Harry by the collar and pressing their lips together hard.
Harry gasps into the kiss, startled, but immediately responds, hands flying up to Louis’s shoulders, mouth opening under the pressure, eager and hot and hungry. The takeaway containers are knocked sideways as Louis crawls into his lap, straddling him on the couch without breaking the kiss.
It’s frantic. Messy. The sound of mouths and breathing and clothes shifting fills the room.
Harry’s hands slide up under Louis’s shirt, tugging at it impatiently, and Louis yanks it off over his head in one go, flinging it somewhere blindly. He barely lets Harry catch a breath before diving back in, kissing down his jaw, over the soft skin beneath his ear, then lower, along his throat, his collarbone.
Harry moans, head falling back against the couch. “Lou, what.. what’s happening?”
Louis doesn’t answer. Just scoops him up in one motion, gripping under his thighs as Harry instinctively wraps his legs around his waist. They stumble down the hall like that, kissing in stops and starts, bumping into the doorframe as Louis hauls him into the bedroom.
He lowers Harry onto the mattress, bodies tangled, heat blooming between them.
Shirts gone. Jeans next.
Louis kisses across Harry’s chest, lips dragging over his sternum, his stomach, his sides. Harry’s panting, fingers threading through Louis’s hair, legs spread beneath him like he can’t not give in.
Louis looks up once, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling fast, and Harry’s lips part in surprise at the look in his eyes. There’s hunger, sure. But there’s something almost worshipful, too.
Louis hooks his fingers in Harry’s waistband and yanks it down, leaving him bare. Then he shoves off his own. He’s rock hard already.
Harry watches with wide eyes as Louis opens the bedside drawer and pulls out a condom. His whole body arches when Louis leans back down and kisses him again, slow now, but still intense.
Harry gasps between kisses. “Do you.. do you know what you’re doing?”
Louis huffs out a breathless laugh against his mouth. “Not a fucking clue.”
Harry starts whimpering and trembling beneath him, hips lifting as Louis rolls the condom on and settles between his legs. There’s no overthinking it. No talking it to death.
Louis just lines himself up, breath shaking, one hand on Harry’s thigh, the other braced by his head. And he pushes in.
Harry gasps, high and desperate, head falling back against the pillow. Louis groans low and deep in his throat, gripping his hip now, trying to breathe as the heat swallows him whole.
He goes slow, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside, until their bodies are pressed together and Harry’s clinging to him like he’ll panic and float away.
“Jesus Christ,” Louis breathes.
Harry’s eyes are blown wide, lips parted, face flushed. “Fuck, Lou.”
Louis starts to move and it’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s needy. Sharp, frantic thrusts and moans caught in open mouths. Harry wraps his legs around him tighter, arms clutching at his back, gasping against his throat. “Harder. I want you to fuck me harder,” Harry pants, voice cracked.
Louis groans and gives it to him, deep and relentless, chasing the high like he’s possessed. Their bodies slam together, sweat slick between them. He presses his face into Harry’s neck. “God, you feel so fucking good.”
Harry moans, louder now, no shame in it at all. “Don’t stop.”
Louis grabs under his thigh, pulling him even closer, changing the angle and Harry cries out, hands scrabbling at the sheets, his whole body arched off the bed. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come,” He gasps and Louis kisses him hard, muffling the sound as Harry comes between them, shaking and breathless.
Louis follows not long after, buried deep, grinding through it, groaning into Harry’s neck as the orgasm hits him like a freight train.
They collapse in a sweaty heap, chest to chest, still breathing like they ran miles and miles.
The silence after is heavy, but not overly uncomfortable as Louis pulls out gently, tying off the condom and tossing it into the bin before flopping onto his back beside Harry.
They’re lying side by side now, the air in the room thick and warm. The kind of silence that settles after something earth-shifting. Their skin is cooling, breath slowly evening out, but neither of them moves, not even to pull the sheet higher.
Louis stares into the nothingness of the darkness. Then, out of the quiet, Harry murmurs, voice dry, “You just had sex with your best mate.”
Louis groans immediately, flinging his arm across his face. “Thanks for the recap. Any other headlines you wanna throw at me while I’m emotionally vulnerable and painfully naked?”
Harry smirks and turns on his side, elbow propping him up. “Just saying. Kinda a big development.”
“Yeah, I know,” Louis grumbles. “Wasn’t exactly part of the plan, alright?”
“No?” Harry quirks a brow. “What was the plan, Lou?”
Louis sighs, dragging his hand down his face. “I was just gonna talk to you about it. About… I dunno. What it all meant. Or didn’t mean. Clear the air or some shit.”
Harry watches him, expression unreadable.
Then Louis glances over, more serious now. “Are you freaking out?”
Harry tilts his head, considering. “Not really.”
Louis raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“I mean…” Harry flops onto his back again, voice casual but not careless. “You’ve probably thrown yourself into a full-blown sexuality spiral, and I might’ve just risked the most important friendship of my entire life, but,” he turns to grin at Louis, “It was probably the best sex I’ve ever had, so, it is what it is.”
Louis stares at him for a second. Then snorts. “You’re such a dickhead.” Then, shaking his head as he rubs at his eyes again. “How does this keep happening?”
Harry shrugs, eyes flicking down to Louis’s bare chest before sliding up to meet his gaze again. “Maybe we’re just really bad at boundaries.”
“Mm,” Louis hums, tilting his head to the side. “Or maybe you’re just extremely persuasive.”
Harry leans in, slow and deliberate, pressing a soft kiss just under his jaw. “I am known for my excellent communication skills,” he murmurs, lips brushing warm against Louis’s neck.
Louis breathes in sharply. “That what we’re calling it now?”
Harry kisses a little lower, just above his collarbone. “I prefer to think of it as… giving the people what they want.”
Louis huffs, trying to keep his voice even. “And what exactly do you think I want?”
Harry smirks against his skin, teeth grazing lightly. “You want a replay.”
Louis shivers. “Do I?”
“Could’ve sworn I heard you say, ‘what the fuck just happened,’” Harry says, slowly rolling on top of him, “but maybe you meant, ‘let’s do that again, but slower.’”
Louis laughs, actually laughs, full and genuine, but the sound catches when Harry kisses down the centre of his chest, the heat between them reigniting. “I’m gonna hate myself in the morning,” Louis mutters.
Harry lifts his head just enough to meet his eyes, “You won’t,” he says softly. “I promise.”
And Louis doesn’t answer. Because Harry’s kissing his way lower, and whatever he was going to say dissolves into a gasp.
**
Louis wakes up too fast. His heart is pounding out of his chest, his skin is clammy and his mouth is as dry as the Sahara desert.
Something is wrong. But he’s not sure what. His brain is doing cartwheels and every nerve ending is screaming ‘what the fuck did you do??’
And then he feels the warmth next to him. The leg draped across his thigh. The soft, steady breathing against his neck.
Harry. Naked. They’re both naked.
Louis blinks at the ceiling, “Oh my god, we fucked,” he says flatly.
A soft groan from beside him. Then Harry’s sleepy, muffled voice, “Morning to you too, Lou.”
Louis turns his head sharply. Harry’s still half-asleep, one eye cracked open, a ridiculous smile tugging at his lips. He looks smug. He looks cozy. He looks like a boy who absolutely did not just blow up his best friendship with his mouth and dick.
“We fucked, Harry.” Louis repeats, more insistently this time.
Harry finally opens both eyes. “Yeah, man. Twice.” He stretches lazily, muscles shifting under the sheets. “Well, two and a half, if you count that little thing you did with your—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Louis growls, burying his face in the pillow.
Harry laughs, loud and unapologetic. “Alright, alright. Jeez. Someone woke up on the panicked side of the bed.”
“I should be panicked!” Louis mumbles into cotton. “We were supposed to talk. That’s what last night was for. Talking. Not, not—” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Harry’s body. “This.”
Harry raises a brow. “Look, in my defence, I was totally up for a chat. You’re the one who climbed on top of me like some sort of horny koala.”
Louis groans louder. “Oh my God.”
Harry grins, reaching out to gently flick his shoulder. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. I was very into it. 10/10 would let you climb me again.”
Louis peeks out from under the pillow, face flushed. “You’re making jokes?”
Harry rolls onto his back with a smirk, eyes still barely open. “Bit hard to take anything seriously when you’re yelling about it at eight in the morning looking fit as fuck”
Louis gapes. “Don’t compliment me right now, I’m having a full mental breakdown.” He smacks Harry with the pillow.
Harry laughs again, then goes quiet for a second, just watching him. “You okay?”
Louis hesitates. His heart’s still racing, but it seems to be slowing. The panic is softening around the edges. “I think so,” he admits. “Just… can’t believe it actually happened.”
Harry shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed pretty committed.”
Louis gives him a sharp look. “You done?”
“Never.” Harry grins. “You were very persuasive last night. I was just a willing participant.”
Louis rolls his eyes but can’t quite stop his lips from twitching. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
“I bet you’ll be back for more.” Harry leans in, grinning wickedly and Louis shoves him again, but this time, they’re both smiling.