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The thing is that Louis always looks good. Always. Even when he’s not trying. Maybe especially when he’s not trying, like when he’s sweaty and covered in mud from a football match. People might say that Harry’s a little biased seeing as he’s, well, dating Louis. Harry would say that people who don’t agree are blind.
The point of the matter is that Louis always looks good, but Harry thinks he might look best when he’s sleep-soft and hunched over a mug of tea. The sun coming through the kitchen windows highlights the riot of bedhead Louis is sporting as he leans back against the kitchen counter in worn trackies, slung low on his hips.
It’s there that Harry’s eyes get stuck. He can just make out the heft of Louis’ morning wood through the fabric of his sweatpants and it’s making his mouth water.
“Bit early for you to be staring that hard, don’t you think, love?”
Harry startles, snapped from his reverie by the sleep worn rasp of Louis’ voice. He grins, completely unapologetic.
“Just admiring the view,” Harry quips.
Louis hums and takes another sip of tea before he raises a challenging eyebrow at Harry.
“Just going to admire all day then? Or are you planning on doing something about it?”
Harry gapes at Louis for a moment before standing up so fast he almost knocks his chair over. His hands clench and unclench in anticipation before he crosses the few short steps between them. Toe to toe, Harry steals a fleeting kiss, barely more than a wet, tea scented press of lips, before he’s sinking to his knees in front Louis and burying his face in the crotch of his sweats.
He draws in a deep breath through his nose, huffing as he inhales the faint scent of laundry detergent, sleep sweat, musk, and Louis . It’s a smell he can’t get enough of at the best of times.
Harry remembers the first time Louis had called him out on it and the hot curl of shame that had flared in his belly. He’d been convinced that Louis would, at best, think it was weird or, at worst, break up with him. He’d been completely unprepared for Louis to guide his face back to where it had been pressed to Louis’ throat and tell him that it was okay.
Now, Harry’s practically shameless about it. Louis’ easy acceptance and encouragement has effectively gotten rid of any embarrassment Harry might still be harboring over this particular kink.
Louis threads his fingers, still warm from holding his mug, through Harry’s curls and pulls Harry’s face in more firmly against the front of his sweats. Harry moans helplessly, rolling his head just to feel the tug on his scalp as he pants, hot and openmouthed, against the ridge of Louis’ clothed erection.
Louis’ fingers relax and Harry shuffles on his knees excitedly, repositioning himself to peel Louis’ sweats down with eager fingers. He moans again when he discovers that Louis is going commando under his sweats. The fabric only makes it halfway down Louis’ thighs before Harry’s taking Louis practically down to the root, nearly choking himself with his own eagerness.
The hand on his head maintains a gentle, steady pressure, letting Harry lead as he sucks Louis, swirling his tongue around the head and pressing under the frenulum before sliding his mouth along the shaft.
Harry can feel the drool slipping from the corners of his mouth and over his chin. Louis’ cock isn’t the longest Harry’s ever had, but it’s thick , and Harry flushes at the thought of how he must look with his lips stretched thin around its girth. He looks up from under his lashes at Louis to gauge his expression and whines when he discovers Louis’ still sipping his tea, looking cool as a cucumber. If it wasn’t for Louis’ blown irises or the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his hand in Harry’s hair, Harry might think he was completely unaffected.
Louis just raises his eyebrows at Harry’s whining.
“Sorry, am I not paying you enough attention?” Louis asks, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Have to suck me better than that, babe.”
Harry can feel a flush spreading over his cheeks. He can do better, Louis knows he can do better, and it’s the hint of a challenge in Louis’ voice that has Harry doubling his enthusiasm and pulling out every trick he knows to impress Louis.
When Louis speaks again, it’s with a tremor in his voice that Harry can’t help but be proud of.
“ ‘f you get me off before I finish my tea, I’ll let you fuck me, yeah? Think you can do that for Daddy? Want to get all up in there, don’t you, know you do, baby, fuck .”
Harry can’t stifle the helpless moan that spills out of his throat at the image Louis’ painting. If he was enthusiastic before, now he’s almost frantic as he takes Louis as far back into his throat as he can before pulling back to suck and swirl his tongue over the fat tip. His fingers work the shaft expertly as he slurps the head obscenely, letting the outline press against his cheek.
Sloppy kisses make a trail from the tip to Louis’ balls and by the time Harry’s trying to wrap his mouth around his sack, Louis’ set his mug down in favor of wrapping both of his hands in Harry’s hair, giving up any pretense of tea drinking.
The fists in Harry’s curls are everything he’s been waiting for since he dropped to his knees. His mouth is already slack when Louis directs it back over his cock.
“Tap my hip if you need to safeword out,” Louis says through gritted teeth and Harry has just enough time to hum in understanding before his throat is being fucked.
The first time they’d done this, Harry had been unprepared for how into it he’d been. He’d assumed that Louis would get the most out of the experience, considering he was the one fucking Harry’s throat. But the complete feeling of being owned, both by the steady thrusts into his mouth and the pressure of Louis’ hands holding him in place nearly had Harry coming in his pants. It’s been the same every time since.
Harry’s choking and tearing up but tries valiantly to keep his eyes open so he can look up, so that Louis can see exactly how punch drunk on his dick he is. He knows that the way Louis’ hips stutter has just as much to do with the wet suck of his mouth as the way his damp eyelashes cling to his cheek.
Louis’ intense stare has Harry swallowing automatically, the hot clutch of his throat fluttering around Louis’ cock in a way that has him swearing and spilling down his throat, holding Harry’s face down till his vision starts to spot. Harry has to grind the heel of his hand against his own cock to keep from painting the inside of his pants white.
Harry pulls back once Louis’ fingers have gone slack, coughing as the hands in his hair turn gentle, twisting to cradle his jaw. Louis’ knows better than to ask if Harry’s okay, he trusts Harry to have safeworded out if it was too much, so the hands cupping Harry’s face are appreciative instead of worried.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Harry says, more of a whisper really, throat raw and voice hoarse from having his face fucked. He can’t help but lean forward to nuzzle against the cut of Louis’ hip where his shirt has ridden up.
Louis gently pushes Harry’s face away and Harry can’t help but make a disgruntled noise and look up in confusion as Louis steps away. Louis pushes his sweats down from where they were bunched around his thighs, leaving them to fall to the floor and be kicked away.
Harry is still crouched on the floor, brow furrowed in confusion as Louis starts to leave the kitchen, completely naked from the waist down, hips swinging.
“Lou?”
Louis halts and turns to look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised imperiously.
”Said you could fuck me, didn’t I? Don’t want to do it out here, Hazza, honestly,” Louis teases before turning to walk away again, ass swaying almost hypnotically, leaving Harry to scramble after him.
When Louis calls, Harry, well, comes, usually in more ways than one. It’s in Harry’s best interests not to keep him waiting.