Warnings: Oh, god. Rough sex that is slightly D/s-y, unprotected sex, facefucking, breathplay, comeplay (including a facial), rimming, some pretty serious overstimulation, and a very brief mention of spanking. (Also Harry is seventeen.)
Summary: The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up. (~8,700 words wtf)
A/N: Okay wow what. This started out as just a thing about Louis being completely overwhelmed by sex with Harry and just wanting EVERYTHING and being apologetic about it, and Harry being super accepting and responsive? And then it quickly turned into overstimulation. (Which I was actually meaning to write anyway soooo, FINE, brain, if that's what you want.) It's pretty fucking kinky so please heed the warnings. Title from 'Woozy' by Faithless.
Louis has never felt like this before in his entire life. It's coming up to eight months since he first met Harry, and he feels like he should be settling into it by now, getting used to the way Harry makes him feel, but it's like every day it gets more intense and he doesn't know how to handle it. He wonders if it's because he was never really attracted to anyone before Harry, not properly, and so it's like he's catching up on everything he missed, something like seven years of sexual frustration that he wasn't even aware of until Harry came into his life.
Because there were only girls before Harry, and they weren't—that wasn't—well, it wasn't this. He liked them a lot, thought he loved them at the time, but it always felt like something was missing and now it all makes sense. Now he understands why it was so awkward when he and Hannah had sex (the three whole times that they did) and why it never really got him hot, even though he was doing all the things he thought he was supposed to do and she definitely wasn't doing anything wrong. It was because he didn't want that, he wanted this, Harry, a boy, all flat chest and broad shoulders and deep voice and cock.
And it's so completely overwhelming, how much he wants it. He was never consciously denying himself anything, but that's what it feels like, like he was missing out on this for so long and now that he has it he just wants it all the time, and the thing is—he can have it. And it makes him light-headed, that, all the possibilities. Especially now that they're out of the X Factor house—the only thing they ever managed there was clumsy, fumbling handjobs in bathrooms. And it's not like that wasn't fantastic because god, it really was—Louis always got weak when Harry touched him, even got pins and needles in his extremities from it, ridiculously. And he wanted to wank Harry off all the time, addicted to it, dragging him off at inappropriate moments because he just needed to get his hands on him, and constantly apologising for how desperate he was even though Harry mostly just found it amusing.)
But now they're on the X Factor tour, and that means hotel rooms and privacy and freedom, and Louis just wants everything, doesn't know where to start. It actually scares him a little, though he won't admit it, because he just—he can't fight back this desire he has to make Harry just as overwhelmed as he is. To get him to the point where he's just a shaking wreck, breathless and feeling like he might faint. Because that's pretty much how Louis felt the first time Harry got him off, deft fingers working him over in the corner of the bathroom in the middle of the night, the two of them trying to keep quiet and Louis coming after probably just mere seconds. Harry had laughed, said it was okay, and—it's not like none of this fazes him but he doesn't quite get it. He's more experienced than Louis, has had more sex with more girls and messed around with the odd boy as well. And so even though he's fallen head over heels for Louis, the sex part isn't new to him. It's always exciting, it's not like he's ever bored by it, but it's not taking him over completely and making him feel like he's losing his mind.
The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up. He's so ashamed of it, tries to push the thoughts out of his mind, but he can't. Every time he's getting off, even if it's with Harry's palm wrapped tight around his cock, that's all he can think about—slapping Harry around a bit, getting violent, and it always makes him come so hard he sees stars.
When the tour starts, Louis holds back. He feels like he can't throw himself into this—like he threw himself into loving Harry, head first without looking back—because it's scary, overwhelming, and he doesn't know if he could get it under control if he let go. Harry teaches him how to suck him off, and that's good, that feels safe, but when Harry wants to return the favour, he just—he can't, and he tells Harry he's not ready even though that's not quite true, because he doesn't know how to explain the real reason. It's just, it's going to be too much, and he knows it. Every time he thinks about it, his brain just goes into overdrive and he imagines filling Harry's mouth right up and coming down his throat and it's not—it's not something he can handle in real life when the mere thought makes him feel woozy.
But after the first week Harry's starting to get kind of withdrawn, sensing that there's a problem, and one night in London he lets Louis know how he feels. Louis's sitting at the foot of the bed; Harry's already undressed him and now he's pulling off his own clothes, and Louis's waiting, thinking Harry's going to press in close so Louis can blow him like this—but then Harry drops to the floor instead. He prises Louis's knees apart and fits himself between them, looking up at him, and Louis's erection twitches and he turns away, can't look into Harry's pleading eyes.
"Please let me," Harry murmurs, nuzzling up to Louis's leg, "let me suck you off. I'll go really slow and I can stop if it's too much, I just—" he pauses, kissing Louis's inner thigh, and Louis feels his cock get even harder. "Just wanna feel you in my mouth so bad. Wanna taste you."
Louis holds back a groan at that, hands clenching, and he can't say no. His willpower has been weakening over the past few nights anyway, and maybe it won't be such a problem—it's not like he's unable to control himself, he's not an animal. But—Harry goes so slow, and it's like torture because it's so good, his mouth feels so good and yet all Louis wants is to shove in hard and make him choke and drool and—it's been hard enough fighting those thoughts anyway but now, with Harry kneeling between his legs and licking at his cock, it's impossible.
Harry stops after only a couple of minutes and looks up at him with concerned eyes. "What's wrong?" he asks, palms smoothing over Louis's quivering thighs.
"No, nothing, it's fine, it's—it's really good, carry on," Louis assures him, but he can't quite look at him as he says it because Harry's lips are bright and swollen, his mouth slack, and all Louis wants to do is shove his cock back in and fill Harry's throat up. He tenses, fingers pressing into the edge of the mattress.
"No, what is it?" Harry persists.
His voice is gentle and it sounds more hoarse than normal, and god, that's just from a few minutes of having Louis's dick in his mouth—Louis wants to know how he'd sound if he had his face fucked, if Louis could make him lose his voice entirely. He can't, of course, they've got a show tomorrow, but the thought sends a strange thrill through him as he imagines Harry showing up to soundcheck unable to speak, and only the two of them knowing why.
"Lou," Harry says, giving his thigh a slight squeeze, bringing Louis out of his reverie. "You can tell me. Am I not doing it the way you like?"
Louis squirms at the words; the way Harry's so eager to please him. "You're doing—you're doing it so good," he insists, because Harry is, and it feels unfair to want more, but he just can't fight this urge. "It's just..."
"Yeah?" Harry encourages. "Tell me."
"I just wanna make you choke on it," Louis mumbles, and it comes out all in a rush and he can't look Harry in the eye, and he squirms under Harry's hands, ashamed.
For a few seconds that feel like minutes, nothing happens, and then Louis dares a glance at Harry's face. Harry is smirking.
"Okay," he says simply, "you can do that."
"But—I—" Louis protests, still feeling like he needs to explain himself. "I don't, I don't wanna hurt you—" except he does, a little bit, only if Harry wants it and it's just a niggling thought at the very back of his mind but he does, "—it's just, it's all I can think about."
"That's okay," Harry assures him. "You can do it. I'll let you."
Louis groans involuntarily, hips jerking up like an instinct, and Harry responds to the movement, dropping his head low again and opening his mouth wide to let Louis push in. That soft slick heat envelops him again and he can feel arousal twisting frantically at the base of his spine with the knowledge that he can go further. Harry's just gone still, angling his throat just right and waiting, and Louis puts a tentative hand on the back of Harry's head and pushes him down a bit more. He feels Harry's throat muscles working, relaxing, letting Louis fit in deep, and it's so tight and hot but even better than that is the little sound of struggle Harry makes and the way his hands clutch out at Louis's hips.
God, Louis wants—he wants to hold Harry there 'til he feels suffocated and desperate for air, he wants to really fuck his mouth until he's gagging and gasping, he wants to force Harry down on his cock so hard that he cries from it. And it makes him feel so fucking guilty, because those urges just come out of nowhere and they're so strong they make his brain short-circuit but he loves Harry more than anything, he doesn't know why he wants to ruin him so much. It's been like this since the start—those first tentative fantasies while he wanked in the shower at the X Factor house, rapidly devolving into the kind of filth he didn't even know he had in him, a barrage of images that left him weak at the knees and shaking against the cold tiles. He found an outlet the only way he could, wrestling with Harry and hitting him in the balls sometimes under the pretence of boyish roughhousing, but—fuck, he wants so much more than that.
He lets Harry ease off, and Harry grins at him, his lips shining wet. "You can be rougher, if you want," he says, wrapping his hand around Louis's cock and stroking it at a slow, steady pace as he talks, which just gets Louis even more fired up. "I don't mind. Do you want to fuck my mouth?"
"Fuck," Louis whimpers, shutting his eyes because it's way too much to see Harry's face when he's offering himself like that.
Harry goes down again, taking Louis in and then staying still, leaving it up to Louis to take control. Louis whines, twisting his fingers through Harry's curls and taking a shaky breath as he shoves him down, harder this time, feeling Harry's throat constrict around him and then hitching his hips off the bed to press in all the way, until he can feel Harry's nose against his stomach. Louis keeps his eyes squeezed shut and pulls Harry up again, all the way off, lets him catch his breath for just a couple of seconds before pushing his cock back in. He holds Harry still and jerks his hips erratically, thrusting clumsily into Harry's mouth and feeling the head of his cock nudging the back of Harry's throat, and as soon as Harry starts making sounds he loses it, his body spasming as he comes deep and hears Harry spluttering, trying to swallow.
As soon as he manages to gather himself together again he looks down between his legs, and Harry is slumped there, pink-cheeked, his eyes teary and his lips looking obscenely plump and red. Louis can't cope with how fucking hot it is and how awful it makes him feel at the same time. Harry is coughing slightly, wiping his mouth, and he looks really young all of a sudden.
"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Louis says instantly, reaching out to pet at him, caressing his cheek and feeling how hot the skin is.
"It's okay," Harry rasps instantly. "You can do that, let's do that some more. I mean, not now, just—sometime. Whenever." He coughs again, and then croaks out, "Maybe always?"
Louis laughs and it sort of bubbles up out of him, relief and joy and amusement all at once. He heaves Harry up onto the bed beside him, noticing how hard he is, his cock all fat and red and so wet at the tip it's dripping. God, he's getting off on this too.
"Thank you," he says, and then again, muttering it like a mantra before he takes Harry's erection between his lips. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you."
They quickly learn that it can be even better, that if Harry lies on the bed and Louis straddles his chest he can have even more control and get a good look at Harry's face at the same time. He'll press in close, his knees nudging up into Harry's armpits, and it feels so fucking good just to loom over him like that, to stare down at Harry's watchful, eager face gazing back up at him. Louis likes to drag it out, rubbing his cock over Harry's face, skimming it over his lips and not giving him a proper chance to taste it, just getting his cheeks shining with pre-come and teasing him. He likes how Harry tries to get it into his mouth, parting his lips wide, impatient as Louis just nudges the head against Harry's cheekbone or swipes it over his jawline.
"Lou," Harry groans sometimes when he really can't wait any longer, "please, just, give it to me—"
Louis likes to cut off his begging by shoving his dick between Harry's lips mid-sentence, sliding in deep and filling his mouth right up, watching closely as Harry gets used to it, his cheeks hollowing as he swallows around him and breathes out carefully through his nose. Louis doesn't ever really give him much time; he can tease for a while but as soon as he feels Harry's mouth around him, so hot and tight, he can't really resist any longer and his hips start to pump back and forth as he thrusts his cock in and out of Harry's mouth, just letting go.
The first time they did it like this, Harry kept touching him, reaching up to hold onto him at his hips and his waist, and Louis knew he wasn't really trying to control his thrusts but it felt like he was, and immediately he felt the urge to shove Harry's hands away. He tugged them off his hips a little pathetically, just holding onto them, trying to resist, and Harry pulled off his cock.
"You want to hold me down?" he asked, and Louis nodded, breathless and unable to speak, and pinned Harry's wrists to the bed, nudging his cock back into his waiting mouth.
Harry hasn't tried to touch him since then but Louis still holds him down sometimes anyway, just because it makes it so much better to know that Harry can't move, just has to lie there and take whatever Louis gives him. Even when his chin is smeared with saliva and his eyes are streaming tears and his throat is aching, he takes it, loves it, and it kills Louis because it just makes him want more. Every time Harry allows him something it's like it just opens up more options, instead of satiating the need like Louis thinks it should.
Once, after a particularly good show in Ireland, they're both a little reckless, still high on adrenaline, and Louis has been waiting for this all night, waiting for the moment their hotel room door shut behind them so he could get Harry spread out on the bed for him and mess him up. And it doesn't feel like enough somehow, even though it's better than anything Louis's ever felt it's just—he wants more, all the time. Harry makes him crazy.
"I want—can I—fuck," Louis babbles now, easing his cock out of Harry's mouth and squirming when Harry flicks his tongue out to tease at it, wanting it back inside. "Haz, this is gonna sound weird—"
"That's okay," says Harry, "you know me, I like weird." His voice is in that lazy stage, before it gets properly wrecked, when it just sounds a little bit rougher than usual and he sort of slurs and drawls because he's so turned on, dazed with it.
Louis stammers, still unable to get the words out. He can't say it how it sounds in his mind, I want it so you can't breathe, I want you gasping and panicking 'til I let you. "Can I, like, hold your nose? While I—just for a few seconds, not for, not for too long."
He feels Harry squirm beneath him. "Just for a few seconds, yeah?" he repeats, biting his lip.
"Yeah, I won't go too far, I promise, I just—" Louis's voice cracks, he feels hysterical and giddy with lust and so fucking bewildered by it all. "Harry," he says desperately, and it sounds almost scared, "fuck, I really want it, I don't know why."
"It's okay," says Harry immediately, soothing, and his voice calms Louis a little. His eyes look so dark, almost all pupil, and Louis can't help but start wondering if he can make them go entirely black if he cuts off Harry's air completely. "I trust you," Harry tells him. "I'll—I'll pinch your leg if I freak out, okay? Like this." He reaches up and nips the skin of Louis's thigh between his thumb and forefinger, and Louis jumps at the pain, laughing, a little dizzy with everything.
"Yeah, okay, good," Louis nods, "do that right away, if it's too much, okay?"
Harry nods back at him, slow and deliberate, and then opens his mouth wide again, waiting, and Louis whimpers, trying to gather himself together and not just come all over Harry's face, and—oh god, he wants that, too, wants to splatter Harry with it and get him all messy. He wonders if Harry would let him.
"Lou, c'mon," Harry urges, and Louis snaps back, feeding his cock back into Harry's mouth and letting it glide steadily deeper and deeper. He tenses up, trying so hard not to come yet. He threads his fingers through Harry's hair, stroking at his scalp, and with his other hand reaches out and pinches Harry's nose, not too tightly but enough to shut off his air supply. He counts the seconds, staring fixedly down at Harry's face—one, two, threefourfive—and lets go, pulling his cock back out again to let Harry speak.
"Okay?" he asks breathily.
"Yeah," Harry says and his voice sounds raw, "longer."
"Okay. Fuck. Okay." Louis does it again, fills up Harry's mouth and then pinches his nose shut again, watching as Harry's face goes redder and his eyes go wider—he forces himself to count but he feels dizzy, Harry's throat an insistent hot press surrounding his cock and the power of controlling him like this making him weak. He gets to the point where he's sure Harry is going to grab at him and panic, and then lets go and pulls out in an instant, and Harry is wheezing and panting, choking as he tries to draw air in too quickly.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Harry manages, looking wild, "yeah, it's—I like it, do it again."
"God," Louis moans. "Are you sure?"
"I'll pinch you if it's too much, I promise, just do it, please."
Louis is sweating, trembling; his hands shake as he takes a hold of his erection again and guides it between Harry's lips. He can't cope with this, but he wants it so fucking bad and god, so does Harry, and it's not like he's ever been able to deny him anything. He takes Harry's nose again, holds it more tightly this time, and counts. He approaches fifteen seconds, and Harry's eyes are beginning to water and he's kicking at the mattress like he's trying to resist pinching Louis and see how far he can push himself. Louis can't stand it, he lets go and withdraws and Harry is gasping and sputtering and his eyes are dark and he looks so fucking hot like that.
"Yeah," Harry's answer is barely audible and Louis realises how stupid they're being, how irresponsible—they've got a show tomorrow and Harry might have his voice back by then but it's definitely not going to sound as good as normal, and usually Harry would be really stressed about something like that but it's like he just doesn't seem to care right now.
"You look so good, Haz, I'm gonna come," Louis forces out, fingers skimming over the length of his cock, so wet with Harry's saliva. He's so close it's tingling in all of his nerves; he's right on the edge. "Fuck, sorry, please say no if—but—I want to come on your face, can I?" The words come out in a jumbled rush and his orgasm is so near he doesn't even care how embarrassing it is to say them out loud.
Harry is too weak to speak but his nod is eager, vehement, and it only takes that and two quick tugs before Louis is toppling over the edge, orgasm flooding through him, his come splashing out over Harry's face and onto his tongue. The sight of it is almost too much, Harry's pink cheeks dripping with it and that satisfied look in his eyes—and then Harry swipes a finger over his skin and dips it into his mouth, and that's definitely too much.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Louis mumbles, collapsing on the bed beside him and burying his face in Harry's shoulder. Harry's skin actually feels cool against his and he realises he must be blushing, hard, his cheeks burning up with it. He gulps. "You're going to kill me."
Harry just chuckles hoarsely, and pulls him close.
Harry brought some lube on tour, ostensibly just for handjobs but Louis always kind of wondered if he was expecting it to be used for something else one day, if they were ever going to go that far. And as things escalate he can't get the thought out of his mind. It always used to be something he only thought about vaguely, partly because it freaked him out a little and partly because it excited him too much. But Harry's breaking down all his walls and now he can't stop thinking about it. When he brings Harry off now sometimes he'll drag his fingers down behind his balls, brush them briefly over his hole, curious and wanting to touch but trying to make it seem accidental.
And then, eventually, Harry drags it out of him. It's one of their nights off and they've just been lazing around the hotel all evening—Louis's lying in bed reading a magazine, only wearing a pair of pyjama trousers and his glasses, and Harry's just padded out of the bathroom, naked.
"So what do you want to do tonight?" he asks, towelling off his hair and then flinging the towel over the back of a chair. "I mean, sex-wise," he clarifies, goofily.
Louis puts down his magazine, laughing, but actually it makes him a little nervous that Harry's asking. They don't do that anymore, they've just kind of fallen into this routine of messy, violent blowjobs, but now it seems like Harry wants something more, or wants Louis to admit that he wants something more.
Louis gives him a little bemused shrug, but Harry just looks at him. It feels like he knows Louis too well, and it makes Louis uncomfortable so he tries to joke and act casual. "Oh, I dunno, how about me shoving my dick in your mouth 'til you can't breathe?" He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shrugging again offhandedly. "You know, the usual."
Harry does laugh at that, a ridiculous little bark like he was caught off guard by the dirty talk. But he calms down quickly, clambering onto the bed and tugging Louis in close so he's tucked in against Harry's side. He reaches out to interlace their fingers and leave their linked hands resting on his bare stomach. "You don't want anything else?"
It feels like he's giving Louis a chance to admit something and Louis tries not to blush at all the ideas going through his head. "I dunno," he says in a small voice.
Harry shifts, pulling his knees up and spreading his legs a little, and then lifts their hands and brings them lower, brushing past his cock. Louis's fingers skim over the tight ring of muscle and he does blush, then, realising he hasn't been as subtle as he was hoping. He laughs, embarrassed, and Harry does too but it's gentle, he's not laughing at him.
"Say it, it's okay," he says, turning to press a kiss to the side of Louis's head.
"I want," Louis says, and then inhales sharply and tries again. "I want to...put my fingers in you." Just saying it is like some kind of rush, making the desire stronger. "Like, god. I really really want to put my fingers in you."
Harry smiles at him. "I've done it before," he says quietly, "to myself, I mean. So—you can, if you want. It feels good."
Louis bites his lip and then spits out, "Fuck."
Harry produces the lube and Louis doesn't hesitate, slicking up his fingers right away, the urgency overriding his nerves. He's clumsy, spilling the liquid over his whole hand, and when he reaches down between Harry's legs again, past his half-hard cock, and feels that quiver of muscle against the tip of his finger—he really can't hold back.
"Go slow, okay?" Harry murmurs, and Louis nods and is glad for the reminder, because as soon as he pushes inside and feels how impossibly tight Harry is around him, hot and smooth, he just wants more. He tries to ease his finger in slow and thrust with it gently but he's so eager. It's so strange but so exciting to feel Harry like this, from inside, to crook his finger a little and watch the way Harry's legs quiver and his hole clenches around him.
He thinks he should ask Harry if he's doing this right, but all he wants is to add another finger, stretch Harry out some more. "Can I—?"
"Yeah," says Harry breathily, and he's shifting on the bed, bringing his hips down to meet the movements of Louis's finger. Usually Louis would want to hold him still, maybe, but it's so hot that he likes this, wants it. Louis wonders if Harry would be that eager for his cock, if he'd bring himself down to it, fuck himself on it, and he feels himself getting harder and has to push the thought out of his mind so he can concentrate.
He eases his finger out and then tucks two of them back in, twisting them, marvelling at the way it feels. He wants to see, so he slips out and settles himself between Harry's legs. Usually he's embarrassed to wear his glasses during sex but right now he's glad to have them on because it means he can get a nice, clear look. Harry is fully hard, erection straining against his stomach, flushed and thick, and Louis bites his lip, seeing how much he must really like this. He dips his fingers back in and it feels easier now, like he's already opening Harry up, and watching the way they disappear inside him is so fucking hot he can't deal with it. He makes a weak little sound in the back of his throat—even when things are this good, he still wants more, it's like he'll never be satisfied and it doesn't make sense because Harry gives him so much, so fucking much.
"You can—another one, if you want," Harry says and god, it's like he's reading Louis's mind. Louis fits a third finger in, all of them up to the knuckle and pressed in close beside each other, overlapping in the impossible tightness. He stretches them out and has to reach down into his trousers and take his own cock in his hand, squeezing it, suddenly overcome with the desire to fuck Harry. And it's not just about how amazing that tightness would feel around his cock, it's about stretching Harry wide for him, making him moan for it, pounding into him so hard he's sore tomorrow.
"Fuck," he hisses. It still doesn't feel like they're ready for it, but he wants it so bad right now it's making his head spin. He keeps at it with his fingers, fucking Harry with them, but already it's not enough anymore. "Haz, I need to," he says, and his voice sounds so shaky; he almost doesn't even sound like himself, "can I—shit, I want to fuck you."
He hoped they'd do that eventually but it was always such a distant thought. He didn't think they'd fall into it so soon, figured they'd build up to it gradually. But then, nothing has ever been gradual between them.
"God, I'm glad you said that," Harry groans. "Yes. Please, yes."
There's no time to really think about it, to get properly anxious; it's like they're just going on instinct now, giving their bodies what they need. Louis pulls his fingers out and Harry makes a little sound like he's empty and it makes something in Louis burn and ache, and he wants so desperately to fill Harry back up, split him open. He yanks off his pyjama trousers and reaches for the lube again, getting his cock wet with it, his hands shaky. It's clumsy, the whole thing is; their limbs knock against each other as Louis fits himself between Harry's legs.
Louis's fingers are slippery around himself as he tries to press the head of his cock to Harry's hole and when he pushes forwards it's too fast; he slides in halfway and Harry gasps sharply. Louis pulls back instantly, stammering apologies, trying to get a grip.
"It's okay," Harry says, and he's breathing hard, "just—slower, this time."
Louis presses in again, opens him back up so slow, inching in 'til he's deep and they're flush against each other, Harry's arse cradled against his hips, and it's—god, it's like nothing else. It's better than he could have imagined if he'd ever let himself, and he's reeling from it, nestled deep inside Harry, feeling the hot pulse of him all around.
"Um," croaks Harry. "Wow."
Louis can't even speak; he can only nod. He kisses Harry, trying to slow things down, get used to the feeling of this, but Harry is hungry and persistent, licking into his mouth and canting his hips, starting to rock against Louis like he's encouraging him to move. And once Louis starts it's like he can't stop—the friction is overwhelming and Harry's reactions are even better. He's knocked back with the force of each thrust until the bedsprings are actually creaking, and Louis's hips are slamming up against him and Harry's eyes are fluttering closed and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip in a useless attempt to stop himself from moaning. His legs are wrapped around Louis, and Louis thinks he can feel his toes curling against his back. It's so good, so good, Louis can't believe anything could ever be this good, and he comes before he has a chance to really savour any of it, so dazed he doesn't think to pull out first.
Harry takes himself in hand right away, pulling desperately on his cock until he's coming too, within seconds, and they're hot and wet and sticking to each other, breathing like they've been winded. Louis's glasses have actually steamed up and he takes them off so he can see Harry's face better. He blinks, his eyes adjusting, and Harry looks at him.
"Fuck," he says weakly, and Louis rarely hears him swear like that so this must be serious.
Louis still hasn't found his voice, just nods again, settling back on his knees and looking down at Harry, at that tiny tight hole that's now flushed and shining, and he can't help but reach out and touch it again, feel the way it tenses up against his finger.
Harry squirms, moans out, "God, Lou. You're filthy."
Louis draws back instantly, ashamed. He didn't realise that was something people maybe don't do, but he can see the way Harry's clenching, and god, Louis's come is inside him and he can't—he can't just pretend that didn't happen, can he?
"Sorry," he mumbles, flopping down on the bed beside Harry, his cheeks going pink.
"No, it's—I didn't mean it like that," Harry says, reaching out to pull him closer. His voice is gruff, low. "I like it. I love you."
Louis's resulting smile is so sudden and wide that it makes his cheeks ache. "I love you too," he says, and snuggles into him, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, but right now it doesn't feel like it ever will.
Louis can't really say he's surprised that things only get more intense from then on. They just can't stop doing it now that they know how fucking good it is, and Louis finds it hard to keep his urges locked up now that they've gone this far. And the thing is, if Harry didn't want this, Louis's sure he'd have been able to get it under control, but Harry likes it just as much as he does. Half the time he even seems to like it more. And it's like he's encouraging Louis, egging him on, pushing him to go further when he hesitates.
So Louis is rough, almost always, fucking Harry so hard that he aches for a while afterwards, has to sit down gingerly. They try different positions and they both find they like doggystyle best, because that way Louis can tangle his fingers in Harry's hair and pull, or he can slap at his arse until it's angry-red and hot, or he can hold both of Harry's arms behind his back, one hand wrapped around his wrists and Harry vulnerable, his face against the mattress and his arse in the air. Sometimes Louis will press his face down hard, so he struggles to breathe, and sometimes he'll reach around to wrap his fingers round Harry's throat, squeezing just a little until Harry's gasping. He likes to lean right over him and bite, nipping at the skin of his shoulders, leaving marks in careful places that will be covered by his shirts.
Some of the hotels have mirrors in just the right place for them to watch themselves, and there's something about that that really gets Louis off. He's not a vain person at all, but it's hot to watch himself throwing Harry around like that, and he likes the way they look together, because—because he's so scrawny, really, and it's not like Harry's that much bigger or taller than him but, there's something about watching himself fucking another boy that makes heat curl in his belly. He's so slight and sometimes he thinks he looks almost girly, with the soft swish of his hair and his petite body, and it gets him hot to see the way he can hold Harry down and make him do what he wants.
The whole thing is pretty much mindblowing, basically, and Louis wonders how he's even managing to go about the rest of his life when this is happening every night, how he can hold conversations and do interviews and stand there in front of giant crowds when sometimes it feels like everybody must know. Sometimes they can't help but smirk at each other and Louis thinks the others must see it and know why. They probably hear them through the walls at night anyway and he's just glad it's not the kind of thing anyone would ever bring up, because he thinks he'd probably die of shame. Harry is making him feel a lot less awful about it all, but even so, it's embarrassing to want and need this so badly, to feel like he's just barely keeping a lid on it throughout the day.
The strange part is that there's still a part of him that feels like it's not enough. He doesn't understand how that can be, at first, because surely he can't need anything more when Harry's practically giving him everything. But then he realises maybe it's just that he wants more of what they have, wants it all the time, wants it never to end. The realisation comes at an unfortunate time—just before they're about to quit hotels for a while and sleep in the tourbus for the next week of shows. The tourbus is basically the exact opposite of private, even worse than the X Factor house, and Louis doesn't know how they're going to survive. Their last hotel night, it hits him—he and Harry fuck and then clean up and as Louis's lying there beside him trying to get to sleep he realises he wants to go again. And maybe again after that. And they've never done that, maybe because once a night has been overwhelming enough so far, but now Louis thinks this is what he needs, to go over and over until they physically can't anymore. Maybe then he'll finally feel settled instead of like he's going to crawl out of his skin all the time.
But Harry is already asleep, always exhausted after sex while Louis's still buzzing with energy, and then for seven whole nights there's nothing. They manage to sneak off to the occasional room with a lock on the door for a quick handjob or blowjob but it feels so risky now, they've grown used to the safety of hotels. It feels like the old days again, only so much worse because now they know exactly what they're missing. Harry gets kind of distant with everyone else, and Louis gets irritable, and everybody's a little confused and uneasy about the sudden tension because there never used to be any real problem with the close proximity before.
Louis keeps himself going with the reminder that once they reach Brighton things can go back to how they used to be for a while, and—god, he's itching for it, sometimes the urge to fuck Harry is so strong he actually has to get away from him for a while 'til he calms down. It's still so strange to him, so new to feel that urge at all, to want someone this desperately. Everything has just happened so fast and he doesn't understand how anyone could have had feelings like this throughout all of their teenage years without just spontaneously combusting from it all—though maybe the reason it's so intense for Louis is because it built up to bursting point over the years like lava in a volcano.
When they finally get to that hotel in Brighton Louis doesn't want to waste any time, but Harry insists that they shower first, wash all the sweat of the show off them. Louis can't keep his hands off him and Harry has to keep telling him to wait 'til they're in bed and Louis is baffled by his willpower, wondering how he can want to drag this out when they've been waiting for what feels like so long already.
It does make it feel better, though, when they're finally in bed and Louis is finally inside of him. He thought they'd be frantic, tearing at each other, but they're oddly calm about it—face to face because they need to look at each other. Harry comes too fast and Louis can't even bring himself to be too disappointed because it feels like it's been so long since he's been able to appreciate the way Harry looks when he orgasms from having Louis inside him. He'll never get enough of it. Harry writhes and jerks beneath him, and his face screws up, eyebrows drawn tightly together, forehead crinkling and lips opening in a gasp. The pleasure is always so obvious on his face that it's like Louis can feel the orgasm too.
"Fuck," Louis murmurs, watching Harry closely and seeing his muscles slowly relaxing and that blissed-out smile spreading across his face. "You look so gorgeous. I just wanna make you come forever."
Harry doesn't say anything, still coming down, and Louis slips out, deciding that actually, he's really not ready for this to be over. It's been a week and they have a lot to catch up on, and they've got all night. He pulls away, sitting back on the balls of his feet and stroking two fingers gently over Harry's hole to see his reaction. Harry just smiles, out of it, and Louis's fingers nudge inside, sliding deep, slick and easy. Harry makes a small noise then, almost like a whine, and Louis wonders how it feels, if he's oversensitive from just being fucked.
"Does it hurt?" he asks.
Harry tries to shake his head but it's like he doesn't have the energy. "N-no..."
Louis gently begins to work his fingers in and out, and strokes at him incessantly, finding that he can scissor his fingers a little inside Harry, his hole still stretched from Louis's cock. Harry moans, his hips rolling in tiny circles like he can't figure out if he wants to squirm away from the touch or towards it.
"Is it okay?" Louis checks, finding his reactions difficult to read.
"Mmm," Harry moans weakly, "but—intense."
Louis slides a third finger in, experimentally, watching Harry's face and seeing how he tips his head back and points his chin up to the ceiling, making a long drawn-out almost painful sound in his throat. He keeps squirming and Louis slams a hand down on his left hip to keep him still, holding him steady as he keeps his fingers plunging in and out. Harry tries to twist and buck helplessly against him, and Louis's eyes follow his body, his cock still hard against his belly like it wasn't even given a chance to go down, the heaving of his chest, the inverted V of his jaw, his head thrown back and his hair rubbing itself into tangles against the pillows.
He wants to add a fourth finger, but he's not sure he dares, and he's fighting the urge to duck his head and lick around where his fingers are, where they disappear inside Harry, tuck his tongue inside too. It makes him feel so perverted, but god, Harry just does this to him, makes him want things that never would have crossed his mind in a million years otherwise. He's slowing, hesitating, thinking about it, and Harry notices, looking down at him.
He smiles as he meets Louis's eyes. "You look like you want to eat me," he says softly.
"Can I?" Louis blurts.
"I mean—fuck," Louis swears, wishing he hadn't said it, what if this is where Harry draws the line? "Like—my tongue, inside? I just thought—"
"Oh, wow," Harry interrupts, looking stunned. "You want to?"
"Only if you want me to," says Louis, trying not to blush at the fact that they're actually discussing this, considering it.
"I really want you to," Harry says, firm and sure, and Louis can't cope with how willing Harry always is. It's so much better that he's not just doing things because Louis wants to, that he's just as hungry for it as Louis is even if he can hide it better and he's less ashamed.
Louis turns Harry over onto his front, hitching him up so he's on his hands and knees, because he's not sure he can actually have Harry watching him while he does this. He leans in, licks over Harry's hole, tongue flat and soft, and Harry's elbows immediately give out and he slips down onto his forearms, groaning. The reaction is about twelve times better than Louis was expecting and it urges him on; he points his tongue and pokes at Harry with it, licking him open, and Harry whines pathetically, nudging back against Louis's face for more. Louis reaches around and feels Harry's cock, rock hard and achingly hot against Louis's palm, and it's the slightest touch but Harry jerks like it's an electric shock, crying out when Louis grasps it tightly and works at him with his tongue at the same time. It feels so good to make him react like that, feels right, and Louis curls his tongue hot and firm and insistent, pumping Harry's cock relentlessly, stroking his thumb hard over the tip even though he knows it'll probably hurt a little.
Harry comes again suddenly, with a yelp and a spasm, his body going so taut and tense as he spills a single hot splash over Louis's fist. Louis draws back, swearing, and—god, he needs to be back inside Harry right now, heat swirling in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he just made Harry come twice, that he's rapidly reducing him to a total whimpering mess. He wants to get there, get to the point where Harry couldn't form a sentence if his life depended on it, where all that matters to him is Louis's cock and fingers and tongue.
"Gonna fuck you again," he manages to force out, closing in behind Harry and rubbing the head of his cock over his hole. He's so wet that it pushes in easy, and Harry shudders all over, whining weakly and there's an edge to it that gives Louis pause. "Too much?"
"Yeah—" Harry pants out, but then quickly he adds, "no—" breathing heavy, throat raw, "no, I don't know, just—"
Louis stays still, just the tip of his cock tucked inside, and Harry makes a frustrated sort of growling sound and pushes back against him, sudden and forceful and getting Louis in all the way. He needs it, wants it, even if he's not sure he can handle it, and that thought is almost too much for Louis. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and starts to fuck Harry again, sinking into the slick heat and trying to keep in control, but his hips snap and buck and Harry is a crumpled heap in front of him, back arched, cheek pressed into the sheets and eyes shut, his body being rocked by each thrust and he's just taking it.
Louis reaches out to touch where their bodies meet, and before he even really knows what he's doing, he's pushing a finger inside, along the length of his cock, slowing his thrusts to fit it in, impossibly tight. Harry grabs at fistfuls of the bedding, pulling the undersheet free from the mattress with the force of his sudden yank, a shudder wracking his body.
"Fuck," he spits, and he's nodding helplessly like that's all he can do to tell Louis this is okay.
Louis stretches at him, wants to make this last but can't, not with the sight of his finger knuckle-deep inside Harry, the feel of it against his cock, the way Harry's allowing it—wanting it—even though he just came twice. Louis leans down over him and bites at his shoulder, teeth sinking in as he comes, and Harry makes a noise that's barely even a sound at all, so weak. Louis loses himself in it for a moment, and when he regains his senses enough to withdraw, pull out, Harry slumps onto the bed and rolls over and—god, he fucking spreads his legs and looks down at Louis with dazed expectance, like he thinks Louis is going to do more. Like he wants him to.
Louis is still high from his orgasm and he can barely think, feeling oversensitised just looking down at Harry lying there all sprawled out for him; he can't imagine how Harry feels. He slides a tentative finger inside him, more out of curiosity than anything, feels how wet he is inside and moans. Harry's hips jolt weakly, almost involuntarily. He's red-faced and glassy-eyed and it's just so fucking easy for Louis to let a second and third finger glide in. Harry is saying his name over and over even as his voice begins to give out, "Lou, Lou, fuck, Lou," and Louis has to do it, has to ease that fourth finger in. Harry writhes against the bed, twisting helplessly and grinding down against Louis's hand, and this time when he comes—thrashing frantically—it's almost dry, the tiniest drip dribbling from his cock. He starts to scream but the sound gets cut out, sudden, like someone snipping through a wire.
It's like it drags the very last bit of life right out of him, he goes utterly limp then. Once Louis's drawn his fingers back out and wiped them against the sheets he lies down next to him, pulls him into a hug even though they're both overheating and the prolonged physical contact is almost unbearable. There are tear tracks on Harry's cheeks and he still hasn't caught his breath yet, panting, rasping and ragged, and Louis panics a little at the sight of him. He wanted to ruin him like this but it's a little scary actually seeing it.
"I'm—I'm sorry," Louis says gently, leaning in and kissing away the tear marks. He laughs nervously. "I got—kinda carried away, was that—?"
"The best thing in the world?" Harry interrupts, practically having to choke the words out.
Louis grins. Relief floods through him. "Well, that wasn't what I was gonna say, but—"
"But it's what you were thinking," Harry cuts him off again. His tone is light and teasing even though his voice is grating, gravelly. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is why you've been like...climbing the walls all this time. You just wanted to reduce me to a quivering heap."
"Maybe," says Louis slyly, because yeah, that's about right, and he actually feels so much calmer already. Usually after they fuck he's still raring to go, buzzing from it, hyper, and he has to go find something to do while Harry sleeps it off, but right now he feels—sleepy and satisfied and relaxed, like he should.
"I don't know if I've mentioned this, but you're kind of a freak, you know," Harry says. It's gentle, Louis knows he isn't judging him. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds, coughing a little.
"You really—you liked all that?" Louis has to check.
Harry grins at him. "Well, I mean, I did feel like I might actually die a few times, but yeah," he admits.
And Louis just laughs, because that seems pretty fair to him. That's basically how he's felt all this time, for the whole time he's known Harry, so—yeah, he's all right with that. Maybe now, finally, they're even, and Louis has got this out of his system.
Harry licks his dry lips and runs his fingers back through the hair that's plastered to his forehead, and Louis watches him quietly, taking in the way his pink tongue rolls over his bottom lip and his long squared fingers tangle in his curls. He got it out of his system, Louis tells himself again, he won't need this all the time now, won't be so crazy for it. But then Harry notices him watching, looks at him with a lazy smirk and a twinkle in his eye like maybe he'd be ready to go again if they rest for a little while first, and—Louis feels another stab of arousal right away.