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The noise snaps Harry's eyes open, even as the suds from his shampoo slide down his nose. There's no other warning before the door to his shower flies open with a bang, and Harry's heart is in his teeth, body locking up with panic. Soap stings his eyes and he's cursing and there's someone in his shower and fuck fuck he flails blindly, grabs an arm and yanks, fear and adrenalin swirling together until he hears a familiar voice.
“Your face,” Louis says, laughing and pointing and wobbling a bit and-
Fucking Louis. Harry's heartbeat is thudding in both ears.
Louis seems absolutely delighted with himself, at least until he frowns abruptly and says, "Why is there a razor on the sink? You're a child. You have no hair to shave."
“Shit,” Harry breathes out, shaking a bit with the release of tension. Most of it leaves him in a whoosh, this intense drop from his initial fight-or-flight response, but he can't relax entirely. He can't relax around Louis in general, let alone when Louis is in the shower with him. "How did you- how did you even get in here?"
“Hey,” Louis says, scowling at where Harry’s still gripping his bicep tight. “Ow. Your hands are too big. Too grabby."
Harry lets go, but only for a moment. As soon as he does, Louis stumbles into him, snorting with laughter. Harry steadies him with both hands on his ribcage. "You're pissed."
“You’re starkers,” Louis points out, gleefully. He slaps an open palm on Harry's chest and then swishes it around, nose wrinkling. “Also, you're quite damp.”
“I’m having a shower,” Harry explains. “And you just scared the piss out of me.”
"That was the point!" Louis yells happily, voice reverberating against the tile. "You thought I was a murderer!"
"No," Harry says, because Louis is a twat. "You're too tiny to be proper scary."
Louis waves his hand in a lazy circle, makes a thbbbbt sound with his mouth. "Still scared you," he mumbles, grouchy.
Harry shivers and looks at the water sluicing down Louis's jeans. He's not sure how this even qualifies as a prank. Louis went out, got pissed, then snuck into Harry's shower. It's not hard to decipher his motivation. Especially when Louis keeps touching him, hands patting and pinching and slapping indiscriminately at Harry's skin.
Why Louis didn't just ring him up and say, Let's grab some alone time later, yeah? is a mystery to Harry. Along with nearly everything else about Louis and his choices.
Louis seems to quickly move on from annoyance to leering. "And what were we doing before this that required a shower?" he asks, suggestively. He mimics an exaggerated wanking motion, loosely curled fist swinging alarmingly close to Harry's bare cock.
Harry blinks, still not quite recovered from the surprise. He ducks his head under the water to rinse the shampoo from his hair before answering. "Went for a run," he says, shaking water from his hair so that it sprays Louis in the face.
Louis doesn't even seem to notice. He's either completely forgotten or not realized that he's standing in a running shower. His face is all boozy happiness, eyebrows waggling. "We certainly seem to enjoy exercising lately," he muses, tilting his head to the side. Harry's belly flips at the slow, appreciative once-over Louis gives him. "Still so scrawny though. All that time in the gym and you're built like a light pole." His fingers dance down, tracing Harry's abs.
Every touch lights Harry up a little more. He has to look away to avoid spelling it all out with his face, so he ducks his face back into the spray and wipes at it vigorously. Not two seconds pass before he sputters and jerks back, swallowing water when Louis gives him a vicious pinch on the bum.
Louis grins at him. "Your feet are funny; why do you stand like that?" He darts out a hand as if to grab the back of Harry's thigh, but Harry bats him away, mentally shakes it off.
Whenever he thinks he's finally got a handle on how to deal with Louis, Louis knocks him off-kilter and sends him reeling. It's irritating, really.
Louis laughs when Harry grabs him by the waist and shoves him around so that his back is pressed against the slick shower wall. Harry presses his forearm across Louis's chest to pin him there, then switches the shower from the fixed head to the hand-held, using it to get Louis wet from head to toe. "Rude," Louis sniffs after Harry's blocked his attempt to snatch the nozzle. "Attend to my washing," he declares imperiously, turning in a sloppy circle to make sure he's thoroughly soaked. "You are my butler."
He preens a bit, even when Harry sprays him directly in the face. His jeans sag down with the weight of the water, clinging precariously to the swell of his bum, which he wiggles at Harry. Just the sight of it sends a spark of heat zinging through Harry's body. He reaches out a hand and moves the misshapen material of Louis's white vest out of the way, wanting to see the skin low on Louis's back, right where the curve of his arse flares out.
"It's a good thing you're in this band," Louis slurs pointedly. "You'd be a shit manservant."
Harry doesn't even bother answering. His focus has changed. He grabs at the stretched out hem of Louis's vest and yanks it up. Louis's arms get caught in the dripping material, thwarting Harry's attempt to strip it off. He peers at Harry then, smile still curling his lips. "Bit presumptuous, mate," he says. "A lady does prefer to be asked."
Harry ignores him, tugging instead at the shoulders of the drenched vest, pulling the shirt down and off in one harsh tug. Louis bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, and yes. Harry knew he'd been reading Louis right. Louis meets his eyes then, hands dropping to the top of his jeans, scratching lazily at the curve of his own hip. Harry knocks Louis's hands away, tugging roughly at the denim until it's pooled at his shins. Louis isn't wearing underwear.
There's a difference between feeling Louis warm and soft in the dark and seeing Louis naked and impossibly curvy, like no boy or man Harry's ever touched. Harry wants to touch him now, all over. He wants to press his nose to the soft swell of Louis's belly, wants to run his fingers up the inside of Louis's arms, wants to get his mouth-
He wants to get his mouth everywhere.
He kneels down and gives Louis a sharp swat on the hip, nudging him to step out of his jeans. The wet material makes a muffled thwap when Louis kicks it to the corner of the shower. Louis curls a hand around the base of his own cock, slapping it against Harry's nose.
Harry has half a mind to slap him right back, but instead he opens his mouth, tries to catch it with his tongue. Louis is both ridiculously pissed and massively immature but he's waving his dick in Harry's face. Harry's not going to pass that up. He shifts a bit, steadies Louis's hand with his own so he can suck the tip of Louis's cock into his mouth.
"Oh," Louis says quietly, like he's surprised. He slides a hand down into Harry's hair, water streaming from his fingers where he curls them against Harry's skull. "Why does everything end in sex with you, Hazza?"
Harry closes his eyes and sucks, feeling the weight of Louis against his tongue as his cock fattens up in Harry's mouth. He can feel Louis's wrist brushing the curve of one ear, can hear how Louis's voice falters before he says, "One track mind, you. Bit weird, innit?"
Harry slides both hands around to grip Louis low on his hips, fingertips stretching to cup his arse. He looks up at Louis then, eyes fluttering in the shower mist, making sure that Louis is watching as he bobs down, taking him in deeper.
"Not such a terrible manservant, perhaps," Louis says with a shuddery breath. He strokes Harry's face gently, pushing Harry's dripping hair off to the side. "A bit far away, though. Suppo- oh," he stutters, hips jerking forward, making Harry choke around him. "Suppose you could start with my feet and work your way up from there." Louis's hand shakes as he reaches for the soap, but he keeps a firm grip on it as he hands it to Harry.
Harry blinks at him before pulling off, releasing Louis's dick with a slurp. He doesn't even have time to ask what Louis means before Louis is shaking the miniature bar of soap at him and saying, "Go on, then. Bathe me."
Harry stares at him, half wanting to shove him and laugh. But then he considers the permission Louis is giving him, the way Louis is using other words to say touch me.
So he takes the bar of soap, rubs it in his hands until they're slippery and sudsy. He does start with Louis's feet, lifting each one to wash between his toes, to rinse off his arches and his ankles. He moves on to Louis's calves and shins, swirling soapy fingers in the hair there. Then his knees, front and back, where Louis jerks, ticklish.
"You know I don't like that, you're not supposed to tickle me, Hazza, you promised." He gives Harry's face a semi-gentle slap, a reprimand and a reminder. "You promised two years ago that you'd never do it on purpose, I remember it. I remember every word." He blinks down at Harry then, expression softening. "I remember everything. Bit inconvenient, really."
The affliction of memory is something Harry knows they share, but Louis doesn't often own up to. Louis doesn't avert his eyes when Harry looks up at him, though, and something about that makes Harry's throat tighten. He slides his hands up, a slow caress from Louis's knees to the top of his thighs.
"Your hands still feel nice. You've changed your cologne though, did you know? I don't like it. I like the old one better, when you were sixteen and just wore that, that cheap stuff. It was better that way."
His thighs are thick and strong and sensitive and Harry can't help but nuzzle at the curve of muscle there, can't help but spend some extra time at the place where Louis's legs end and his arse begins.
He's not ashamed of how hard he is, not when he sees Louis in the same state, dick gone stiff and flushed as Harry slides a slick hand up the crease of his arse. When Harry slides a soapy finger up inside of him, Louis goes tactile, sliding his hands along the wall of the shower. He leans a bit, giving Harry easier access. "This how you treat all those girls, then? Just dive right in?"
Harry's been focused on the feel of Louis, ignoring his increasingly twatty rambling, but that gets his attention. He narrows his eyes. Louis knows better. "Just the ones who are really gagging for it," he says, pressing a second finger in deep, maybe a little rougher than he should be. He shrugs as Louis squirms on his hand. "Seems rude to make them wait."
Louis scowls down at him, even as he pushes his arse out for more. Harry watches him intently, can't look away from where his index and middle fingers fuck into Louis, how Louis rocks back onto his hand, chasing the feeling. He slides his fingers out, pulls at the rim of Louis's hole, pink and slippery and ready for more.
"You used to be so sweet," Louis says, going breathless when Harry presses back in with both fingers at once. "You're so- you're such a tool now, stupid. Stupid boxing and jewelry and legs."
Harry frowns. He wants to make Louis lose his capacity for speech, both to put an end to the nasty commentary and to finally, finally have Louis's full and undivided attention. Harry's not sure how long this moment can stretch, how much more of Louis he can have before Louis is pulling away again, but he wants Louis to beg for him. He fumbles for the shower head with his free hand and then slips his fingers out of Louis's arsehole, rinses him off. All he can think about is getting Louis out of the shower and onto the bed as quickly as possible.
"Poor form, butler," Louis says, swatting at Harry when Harry grabs his waist and hoists him up. "The judges have deducted points from your performance."
Harry hauls him out of the shower, not bothering to turn off the water, and drops Louis face-down on the bed. They're both soaked, hair dripping and fingers sliding on skin. Louis moves as if to get to his knees, but Harry leans over, covers Louis's body with his own, pushes him back down. There's something thrilling about how Louis just goes, just lets Harry arrange Louis the way he wants. He reminds himself that Louis is pissed, that on any other day this wouldn't even be happening. Louis wouldn't even be talking to him, probably.
It makes him angry for a moment, makes him frown down at the line of Louis's body. He reaches down, circles his hands around Louis's thin wrists, presses them into the sheets, right near his shoulders. "Stay," he says, voice harsh and firm, and Louis breathes out, shuddery. Louis under him is strong and weak, muscles bunched at his arms and shoulders, back narrow and delicate. He seems smaller than he used to be, littler like this, curled up and on display and waiting for Harry. Harry drops down on top of him, blanketing Louis's body with his own, now so much longer and broader. It feels good. Feels like he can do anything he wants.
He hunches up, lets his hips settle against Louis's arse. Shifts so that his cock is snugged up between Louis's legs. Smiles when he feels Louis open his knees a little wider so that Harry can press up further. "That's it," Harry whispers into Louis's hair.
Louis is wet and warm everywhere, and Harry has to rut into him a few times before he can do anything else. "You miss this," Louis says conversationally, and Harry nods into his back, even though he suspects Louis is talking to himself. He pushes himself up, kisses the jut of Louis's shoulder blades, mouths at the dip between them. He takes his time licking down the curve of Louis's back, tongue swirling at the arch of his spine. Louis arches under him, impatient.
"Wake me when you do something interesting," Louis complains, and Harry spanks him, hard and fast, without even thinking about it. It's just one slap, but it makes Louis gasp loudly, and everything seems to change. Everything's always about Louis: what Louis wants, when Louis wants it. Harry holds him still, watching as the skin on Louis's bum turns pink, then red in the shape of Harry's hand. It makes something hot and ugly lurch inside of him.
"Stay," Harry says again, and even he can hear the frustration building in his voice.
Louis shivers, but keeps his mouth shut, for once. Harry sits back, cups the round of Louis's arse and lifts, spreading him open. He doesn't do anything but look for a long moment. Then he ducks down and pushes his head and shoulders closer.
"H-hey, what're you... H?" Harry nuzzles in close, letting his nose dip into the crease of Louis's arse. "Are you gonna- oh," Tongue darting out, tasting. "Oh- okay, okay."
Louis lifts his hips helpfully, making it even easier for Harry to open him wide and get his mouth right where he wants it, close enough to run his tongue down the cleft right to the center, where Louis is hottest. He kisses at Louis there, feels Louis clench and soften against his lips.
It's so private, something they don't even talk about. Louis is so sensitive here, loves having his arse played with but hates that he does, won't ever ask for it or even admit it. The taboo of it gets Harry riled up fast. He gets a hand around himself and feels how wet he's gone, precome leaking messily onto his fingers. He gets off on this, gets off on the taste and smell of Louis, gets off on how Louis loves this. He pushes his face in closer, flattens his tongue for a few broad licks that make Louis whine and slap the pillows.
Harry holds him open, presses his tongue deep, finds that searing heat, the place where the strong muscle softens and smoothes out, goes plush like a mouth. Harry uses his lips, kisses his hole the way he always wants to kiss Louis's mouth: wide open, tongue dabbing in and in, little teasing fucks.
Louis's lower back arches crudely, his arse moving back and forth. Working for more. Harry touches one finger down, along the plump, dark patch underneath, and then he leans low, shoves Louis's thighs open wider, out of the way and puts his mouth on that sensitive skin. Sucks.
"Christ, Hazza," Louis breathes out, goes down on one shoulder. Harry can't see, but he can feel it when he starts to wank. His thighs go all tense and he starts rocking. Harry can hear it, this slap-slap-slap. He's all drippy from what Harry's doing to him, wet enough to make his hand sound slick while he's fisting his own dick.
"No! Don't- don't you fucking stop," Louis grumps when Harry pulls his mouth away long enough to get the tip of his thumb inside, pulling Louis's hole open.
So Harry goes down again, suckles at his perineum, teethes it. Mouths up and eats him out. All wet and deep, tongue aching from the work. His pucker keeps softening, then tightening again. Keeps fisting up on Harry's tongue and then loosening. Harry tickles the rim with just the tip, swirling, circling. Dipping in.
Louis's shaking now, wild, going at himself with a quick fist. "Stop teasing. I'm ready," Louis grits out. "I'm ready. Just fuck me." His voice is shaky, tight, like he's trying not to come.
"Not gonna," Harry whispers against his hole, watches it twitch at his hot breath.
"What?" he whines and Harry sucks a finger for a second, puts it to Louis's hole. Licks around it while he reaches his other hand, takes a light, quivering clasp of Louis's bollocks.
They're so warm and tight. Harry shivers with arousal, presses his finger deep inside. He hunches down, fucks his own hips up into nothing, dick bobbing fat and heavy in the air.
"Not like this," Harry murmurs, leaning in to lick around his finger. He wants to, is the thing. He wants to just pull up and slip inside, ride into Louis and feel him bear down when he comes. God all he wants is to feel Louis's arse wringing at him like a swallowing throat and he could. Louis is all but begging for it, but-
Louis jostles him then, scrabbling up and turning over so that he's on his back, looking up at Harry. His knees fall open and both hands are between his legs, one wrapped around his dick, and the other tracing down under his sac. "Okay, c'mon," he says, eyes fixed on Harry's cock.
He looks so fucking hungry for it that Harry has to grab his own dick, give it a few slow pumps. He's not going to fuck Louis while he's drunk. He's not. But wants to make Louis cream himself, wants to see Louis covered in it.
"Yeah, God," Louis bites out, barely blinking. His arm is moving jack-rabbit fast, wanking himself furiously. His dick looks hot and flushed, too hard. "You're so-" He lifts his head, neck straining. "Let me see you. Christ."
Harry groans and squeezes himself a couple of times. He remembers when this is what they used to do, when it was all they could do, wank in front of each other, desperate to see before they dared touch. Louis was subtler back then, sneaking looks, eyes darting back and forth. Harry remembers how every glance lit him up, made him feel like he was going to shoot off before he even got started. He remembers wanting Louis to look at him all the time. It feels exactly the same now, maybe even more intense because he's missed it so much.
Harry lets go, lets his dick bob in the air for a moment, giving Louis a clear view. Louis's eyes go wide, and then he keens, dropping his head back onto a pillow. "Oh god, you're fucking big-"
Harry knows he's bigger than he used to be back then, bigger than Louis now. There's a shameful, immature part of him that thrills at that fact, smug at how Louis's eyes go wide when he sees it, how Louis has to go slow to take him all in now. Sometimes, when Louis is being particularly shitty to him, Harry will remind himself that he's bigger, that Louis is probably jealous, but right now Louis just looks hot and desperate, like if he doesn't get Harry's dick in him he'll cry. Harry presses in close, leans over Louis's shaking body, holds himself up on one hand so that he can grip his own cock in the other. He gets up close, close enough that he can feel how Louis's breath shudders in tempo with his arm. He angles the head of his cock down, slides it where Louis is still slick and wet from the shower and Harry's tongue. He's not going to put it in. Just- it just feels good like this.
"Do it," Louis whines. "Go on."
Harry shakes his head, damp hair sticking to his face.
"Fuck, please," Louis begs, and it nearly makes Harry lose it, makes him shove roughly against Louis's arsehole, wet head snagging at his slick rim. Louis's knees jump up, opening himself up more, like he can force Harry inside. The shift of Louis's hot skin against him makes Harry's cock drool, precome tapping onto Louis's arse with every jerky shift of his hips. "Need- yeah," Louis grits out, fist blurring on his swollen dick.
"No," Harry rasps, because they're not going to talk about what they need. Not now. He slides up, gets a hand around himself and starts stroking fast and tight. "Wanna watch you come." Louis grunts. Their fists knock together. "Then I'm gonna do it to you. Cover you in it."
He's shameless at how much he wants it, desperate to see Louis dripping with his come. Louis wants it too, Harry can tell by how Louis's arms and belly tighten up at the suggestion. But Louis is drunk. Harry has no excuse.
"You loved it when I licked you out," Harry says, panting. It's the closest he's gotten to saying those things they shouldn't, but it's true and it's making him crazy. Louis wants him, wants more of Harry than he'll ever admit when he's sober. "So greedy for me-"
Uhnnn, Louis whines. Hot spurts of come shoot up his belly, catching Harry on the knuckles. It makes his head drop, hanging down between his shoulders so he can watch, see how Louis pets gingerly around the head, circling the slit while a few more dribbles slide down fingers.
It makes Harry's mouth water, makes him want to suck Louis's pretty hands in his mouth, suck all of Louis's come onto his tongue. "Perfect," Harry chokes out, cheeks burning with how obvious he is. Dumb, lovesick boy who never got over it.
Louis lifts his head up, presses his forehead against Harry's shoulder so he can watch Harry come, both of them breathing hard, watching hungrily as Harry's cock pushes up against Louis's, bigger and fatter, especially now that Louis has come. "C'mon, love," Louis says, voice no more than a whisper, eyes going glassy. He reaches up with his come-slick hand and touches Harry's face, sticky finger pressing into Harry's flushed cheek. "So pretty," Louis murmurs, a little slow, like he's surprised. "Always so lovely for me."
"Shit," Harry sobs, and then it's rushing through him, pulsing and hot. He bites his lip as he loses it, tossing come up Louis's body with every flick of his wrist.
"Shhh," Louis murmurs as he pets lazily at Harry's arm. "There, there."
Harry digs his nose into the side of Louis's throat, breathing harshly. His heart is kicking at his ribs, pounding hard, and he feels overwhelmed, like he might cry.
Louis's hand is in his hair, stroking it slowly, slowly, until it stops, just holds there. He makes sleepy mouth noises when Harry lifts up to look at him, but Louis's eyes are already closed.
Louis is starfished on the messy bed, damp sheets tangled around one of his ankles. He's covered in come, stripes of it spattered up to his left nipple, dots of it drying on his hip. He looks sated and peaceful, and why shouldn't he? He's gotten everything he wanted.
Harry struggles to sit up, feels like he's coming awake from a bizarre dream. Louis's fingers slip out of his hair, and his eyes flutter open, half-awake. "C'mon, babe," he slurs, patting at the mattress next to him.
Harry blinks at him, watches him doze off again. He thinks about curling around Louis, about pretending they still do that, if only for one night. He looks at the cut of Louis's jaw, sharp and stubbled, and the soft skin underneath it. If he thought there was any chance that he'd wake up with Louis still there, he'd stay.
Instead, he scrubs a hand through his hair, messy and knotted where it's started to dry. He shuffles into the bathroom and finds Louis's sopping mess of clothes, fishes his cardkey out of his wallet.
Minutes later, Harry is slipping into the clean, freshly-made bed in Louis's hotel room.
Harry's up early the next morning, goes for an early run and meets Liam down in the lounge for breakfast. Liam's cheerful as ever, and Harry smiles right back at him, feeling relaxed like he hasn't in several days. They sit together, Harry scrolling through his phone and Liam watching the TV in the corner as they eat fruit and oatmeal. It's companionable. Harry likes Liam, likes it even more that it would piss Louis off so much to see them together.
Liam's phone rattles on the table, breaking the soothing breakfast noises of spoons clinking against china. He picks it up and snorts, chokes a little on his oatmeal when he reads the text.
Harry looks up at him, grins at how Liam's whole face is lit up with laughter. "What?" he asks, curious.
"Hang on," Liam says, giggling a little as he types back, and then flicks his phone on, opting to make a call instead.
"Zayn," Liam says, laughter barely contained in his voice. "What did you do?" He waits a beat. "Last night?"
Harry waves the server down for more hot water to refresh their tea, and stirs his porridge while Liam listens to whatever Zayn is saying.
"I've just had a text from Tommo," Liam says, and Harry goes quiet, fighting to keep his own face neutral. "He's just woken up, says the clothes he was wearing last night are in a puddle? And his bags are missing."
Harry's face splits open in a huge grin. He can't help it.
"What, like he decided to take a bath with his clothes on?" Liam says, looking confused, but smiling back at Harry like, haha this is so Louis, isn't it? "I dunno, mate. Just that he's texting me saying he has no clothes. Were you very pissed?" Another few beats. "All right. I'll bring him some of mine. Cheers."
Liam ends the call just as Harry is standing, hoisting his bag up onto his shoulders. "What an idiot," Liam says, shaking his head. "He's lost his kit. I'll phone Niall. He'll know what happened."
Harry laughs, then, just lets it bubble out of him. "Nah," Harry says, fishing the hotel room key out of his back pocket. "You'll find his bag in there," he says, tossing the key on the table.
Liam raises his eyebrows for a moment as Harry's words sink in. He points at Harry. "You-?"
Harry winks and grins, and turns to leave. "See you on the bus," he says over his shoulder.