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1dkinkmeme
Kink Meme - Round 2
Round 2
IS CLOSED
ALL NEW PROMPTS MUST BE MADE IN
ROUND 3
delicious / flat view
READ THE RULES BEFORE POSTING
!!! if there is another scare like this recent one the meme will be closed again. we ask that you not openly link the meme on twitter or tumblr in order to contain the meme to livejournal. anyone seen posting links to it will be asked to take ( Read more... )
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Treat You Like You Want To Be Treated
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The thing is, Harry's never been very good at being horrible to people. Which has never been a problem, to be honest; he's a strong believer in treating people how you'd want to be treated yourself, and Harry doesn't think he'd much enjoy people treating him like shit. So it's never been difficult to smile and charm everyone he meets, even when he's feeling tired and overworked and stressed. No, even then, Harry can smile like a million dollars and say just the right thing to make a person feel special.
It's harder when people are being shitty with him, of course. Now, more than ever, when they meet so many people and not all of them are nice. Harry's not naive; he was never bullied at school or anything, but no one's universally popular and there were a few people who didn't like him and didn't bother to hide it, but Harry just took it in his stride, shrugged and moved on. He can still do that now, though it's not always as easy, because these people are older, or cooler, or people he wants to impress; but Harry's always been a little bit cocky and that usually buffers any upset he might feel.
Sometimes he can turn on the charm and win them over. It's not hard, because if there's one thing Harry Styles is good at, it's being charming, but there are times when it starts to feel like effort. More than once he's found himself thinking, quite uncharacteristically, that he'd just like to snap right back at the dickhead doing the lighting on a shoot, who mutters fucking poofters, prancing about, think they're all fucking that. It passes quickly, most of the time, but it's still there. He's not used to that.
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'Harry! Harry!' she squeaks, and he thinks, I'm right in front of you and I know my name, who else would you be speaking to? Spit it out.
'Hey,' he mumbles, smiling lazily around the white stick of his lolly. She makes another giggling, squeaking noise and her cheeks flush dark red. He marvels, because how does he do that? It never used to happen before all of this.
'Can you say hello to Eloise for me?' she breathes, standing fast even though there's going to be the beginnings of a teenage-girl-traffic-jam behind her in a matter of seconds.
'Hi Eloise,' he he says cheerfully, cracking out the grin, but still not taking the lolly out; his hands are still busy automatically holding the album sleeves still and skidding out his signature.
The girl bobs on her toes and breathes heavily, biting her lip. 'I love you,' she almost groans, like it's causing her pain, and Harry forces his forehead to stay smooth and not crease up in annoyance. It doesn't bother him, not usually, but something about her itches beneath his skin.
'I love you too,' he drawls, slipping another three album sleeves away to his left and into Zayn's hands. She gasps and her phone drops away from her face, down to her side, and she just stares.
'Move!' someone shouts, shoving at her and now Harry does frown, because it's fine to show concern, but she's shuffling along like a spindly little crab anyway.
'Louis! Louis!' He can still hear her voice down the line, high and so American, even though obviously all the girls here sound American. 'Can you say hello to Eloise?' he hears her chirp, as he smiles automatically at the next girl. He can't really hear Louis's hello, but he knows it anyway (Hello Eloise, thanks babe). 'I love you,' the girl shouts, but it's still in that weird groaning voice and it comes out obscenely orgasmic and Harry finds he has splinters of his lolly in his mouth, because he's cracked it with his back teeth.
'Love you too, babe,' Louis shouts out, laughing.
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Louis's not always that generous. Harry makes a conscious effort to be nice all the time. Easy-going, friendly, a bit of a lad, sure, but nothing threatening in that, right? Louis doesn't bother with that.
Harry has no illusions about Louis as a person; they've lived in each others' pockets for nearly two years now, first in the X Factor house, then at Harry's step-dad's bungalow, then in their own place and now on a tour bus, or sometimes in a hotel. And Harry could tell anyone for free that Louis made no secret of his slightly less, shall we say, pleasant nature from day one. He's not a horrible person, he's not necessarily cruel, he just doesn't have time for bullshit.
Harry suspects that's part of the reason they get on so well; in so many of the ways that count, they're complete opposites, but that works for them. It's how it works for all of them in the band, really; all their differences compliment each other more than their similarities. It wouldn't work in the same way if there were five Harrys, or five Nialls, or five Zayns. It certainly wouldn't work if there were five Louis'.
Either way, the point is, usually Louis would be the one to crush his lolly between his molars, not Harry.
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Harry lifts his hips and shoves his hand deep in his pocket, searching around his wallet and phone to find the round lump of his second lolly. Unwrapping it and tossing the cellophane on the floor without thought, he shoves it into his mouth and stares unseeingly at the blueish screen.
'What's up?' grunts Louis from his right, reaching out a hand to shove none-too-gently at his shoulder. Usually, by this point, Harry would have shuffled around a great deal until he was somehow sprawled out over or around the other boy's legs, his body relaxed and his eyes drooping. Tonight, he's all hunched shoulders, scowling eyebrows and legs pressed tight together in a long crossed line out into the middle of the room. Louis thinks he looks like one long, exasperated exclamation mark.
'Nothing,' he mumbles, but his voice is catching and tense, not the usual lazy drawl Louis instinctively hears when he pauses during a signing.
'Liar,' Louis says, his voice calm, and he lets it drop, because while most of the time Harry's more open than Lindsay Lohan's legs, if he wants to be he can turn into a clam. Instead, he reaches over and tugs the lolly out of Harry's mouth, bringing it up to his own and curling his tongue around it to draw it in. Harry watches him for a moment and Louis tries to work out if he can see resentment or irritation, but there's a weird kind of passive acceptance there instead. 'You weren't even sucking it properly,' Louis says, muffled around the sweet.
'You'd know,' Niall pipes up from the sofa opposite, where he's a mass of skinny limbs in pale denim and pale grey cotton, before he lets out his own special giggle-snort. This starts them all off, as Zayn groans and drops his head into his palm, Liam rolls his eyes, smirking, and Louis pulls a face of extreme indignation, whilst also pushing the ball of the lolly out into his cheek.
Harry starts to crack a smile and then laughs, loudly, normally and shakes his head. Louis relaxes slightly and reaches over to tug at his arms until Harry's splayed out in his lap, head resting back on his shoulder in his stupid pink bobble hat.
'There we go,' Louis murmurs and Harry's aware that his voice is too low and quiet for the other's to hear and for some reason he finds his cheeks feeling hot and his stomach twisting painfully, like he's about to be sick.
'Buy me a bumper pack of lollies tomorrow,' he mutters, wrapping one arm around Louis's bent thigh and shoving his other hand up his own t-shirt to rest against the warm skin of his stomach, like a comforter. Louis just snorts softly and doesn't reply, but Harry doesn't really care if he gets them or not, it's just something to say, to take his mind of the fact that for the first time ever, he feels aware of their proximity.
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They're still driving when Harry wakes up the next morning. He's dribbled all over his pillow in his sleep, a sure sign he was both sleeping deeply and also snoring heavily, and his mouth tastes sour and thick. His mattress moves gently beneath him and he shakes off the usual nausea of motion-sickness, as he buries his face in the dry half of his pillow and ignores the fact that he's half-hard. He doesn't like getting off when he's just woken up; it makes him feel fuzzier and less awake than he did before. Instead, he listens carefully for any sound of the other guys.
Niall breathes deep and long when he's asleep, and Harry can hear that, as he's opposite him. Zayn moves around a lot in his sleep and Harry can hear him, above Niall, shifting to and fro every few seconds. Liam makes no sound at all, but he's not very quiet when he's actually up and about, so Harry assumes he's asleep too. Louis he can hear, talking on his phone in the kitchenette. He breathes deeply a few times and then slowly sits up, grabbing his own phone from beside his pillow and swinging his legs out of the bunk, dropping down to the floor with a soft thump.
Louis's leaning against the counter, where the microwave is, a mug of tea in one hand and his phone in the other up against his ear. He's still in his pyjamas, but he looks relatively awake, so Harry thinks he's been up for a while. His phone says it's only 9.30am.
Nodding to Louis, he drops a teabag into a chipped mug and boils the kettle as he spoons in sugar and gets the milk out ready, half trying not to listen to the conversation and half trying to understand it at the same time. He knows it's Eleanor, after all; she stays up late back home, sometimes, so that she can speak to Louis in the mornings.
'You could come out next week,' Louis's muttering, his eyes looking down at his socked feet. Harry fidgets, wondering whether he should make some toast; the kettle takes forever to boil. 'I know, but we could do something, I'm not busy all the time.' This isn't really true, Harry thinks wryly, and he hides his smirk behind a bush of rumpled, curly hair, tapping his fingertips along the counter. 'Well, I miss you, I want to see you,' Louis says and his voice is more insistent now, moving away from convincing and into forceful.
Harry pours the boiled water over his teabag, watches as the water slowly turns mahogany brown. He likes to steep his tea, leaving the teabag in for up to five or six minutes, when it's so strong you can taste the tannins for hours afterwards. He stirs idly, dripping in a small amount of milk and then shoving the bottle back in the fridge.
'We can at least spend the night together,' Louis murmurs and his voice has dropped an octave, which is unusual and not something Harry hears very often. His toes curl and he feels strangely voyeuristic, like he shouldn't be there; he debates walking out and back to his bunk, pretending to change his t-shirt or something. Anything. 'Yeah? I'd like that,' Louis continues, his tone ever-huskier. Harry purses his lips.
He's not a prude. Far, far from it. He hasn't counted how many women he's slept with, because he thinks that would probably be weird, but he's got a hunch he's into the mid-twenties by now; more than Louis, anyway. There's something different about sex with someone you're with, though, Harry thinks; he doesn't know, because he's never slept with one person for a long stretch of time. Before this, he'd had his girlfriend back home, but they'd barely popped their cherries before Harry was off, off and away.
Sex with women is good, though. And Harry is good at it, without being too cocky. It messes with his niceness a little bit, though, because he's not very good at "humping and dumping", as Zayn likes to put it (Zayn is very good at that part). So he draws it out with some texts and some repeat performances and then they both mutually agree that he travels too much for this to go any further and usually, by this point, it's their decision and not his. It all works out rather well.
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'Sorry,' he mouths silently. Louis just shrugs carelessly.
'Babe, gonna have to go back to my bed at this rate,' Louis continues, as though Harry really isn't there. 'Yeah, I know, it's late, you should get some sleep.' Harry frowns down at his dark, stewed tea, thinking it's a weird conversation and why didn't Louis take it back up to his bunk much earlier than this? Also, what was Eleanor doing winding him up like that and then just hanging up? Harry doesn't know why, but he feels like, if it were him (and why would it be, Harry, you don't sit on the phone to him getting him sexually frustrated when you're apart, do you?) he would feel some kind of obligation to finish the job off.
He cuts that train of thought short, putting it down to the muzziness of his morning brain.
Louis hangs up.
'Tease,' he grumbles. Harry raises an eyebrow at him in question, as though he has no idea what they were talking about. As though he can't see Louis's erection in his peripheral vision. 'She's coming over next week though, I think, so I can finally get off with something other than my bloody hand.'
Harry sips from his tea nonchalantly and smiles sagely, as though this is completely comfortable. It should be, he thinks in confusion; they've been friends long enough and they've talked about sex and wanking before, but there's something off here that he can't quite place. Then there's the fact that he can suddenly see, in his mind's eye, Louis in the bunk above him working his cock and - fuck, it really is too early for this.
'What is wrong with you at the moment, Hazza?' Louis breaks in through his thoughts, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a frown. Harry just sighs unhappily, wishing he could answer. 'Anyone would think you were the one with blue balls from your girlfriend being back in England,' Louis continues, his face lifting again into cheeky smile as he moves forward to crowd into Harry's space.
At least, Harry thinks, he doesn't squirm away or blush. He can still do this normally.
'Well, I haven't ... in a while,' he mumbles, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Louis eyes him speculatively. 'What, with a girl, yeah?' he asks, pretty much rhetorically, but Harry suddenly frowns deeply and looks worried. 'What, Jesus, not at all?'
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'Well, no wonder you're acting funny, mate, that can't be good for your health,' laughs Louis, moving to the side and out of Harry's breathing space, to throw an arm around his shoulders, rubbing his bicep comfortingly.
'Probably not,' Harry agrees, slouching even more than usual. 'I've been getting really ...' he begins and then he bites his bottom lip, worrying at it with his front teeth. Louis waits patiently, though, because he's long gotten used to the pace of Harry's speech, which can be like waiting for the Ice Age to end sometimes. 'I've been getting really angry,' he finishes, finally.
Louis eyes him up and down curiously. 'What do you mean?' he asks, but it's not harsh, it's surprisingly gentle. He can be, when he wants, which Harry likes.
'Like, yesterday, right ... this girl, a fan, she was just getting on my nerves and, like ... she'd not done anything wrong. She wasn't even that annoying, not like I know you think some of them can be.' Harry bites down on his lip again when he's done, unconsciously leaning closer into Louis's body warmth.
'Well, you're not going to like all of them all of the time, Haz. I know they're our fans, and they're great, but it's going to be a bit much sometimes, you know? It's okay not to want to hug them all and shower them with your legendary loving,' Louis finishes, jokingly, trying to lift Harry's mood. He doesn't like it when Harry's like this; it's not right, or usual, for him to be down and sullen.
Harry nods, but he's clearly not convinced. 'I just ... I know. But I don't know what to do about it. And I don't know how to deal with feeling that ... angry.'
'You don't have to be nice,' Louis reasons, watching Harry drink cautiously from his now lukewarm tea. He makes a face and places it down on the counter, crossing his arms across his middle.
'I'm not like you, I can't be ... ' and he leaves it unsaid, because there's no nice way of putting it. Louis doesn't really seem to care though, if his bland expression is anything to go by.
'Hazza, I think you need to chill out a bit more, okay? You need to do two things.' Harry looks over at him, his expression a little sceptical. 'One, you need to have a really good wank,' Louis begins, a dirty smirk spreading across his face and he's pleased to see Harry try and keep one from twitching his lips as well. 'Secondly, you need to learn to vent. You need to start swearing more, getting mad when you start to feel mad, rather than letting it build up. Rather like the probably epic amount in your balls.'
Harry chokes on a laugh at this. 'You're such a dick,' he gasps, shaking his head.
Louis grins widely and looks towards the door, where a comatose-looking Zayn has appeared. 'Speaking of dicks ...' he trails off and Harry laughs again, the knot in his stomach slightly unwound.
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The best thing, he thinks, is to ignore it. When the time comes, he thinks hopefully, he will come.
The second piece of advice is difficult to follow for entirely different reasons. At first, there's no reason to; his black mood lifts as they drive into Nashville and he feels like a weight is gone and he's charming and funny and grinning at everyone they meet. He almost forgets about New York entirely.
Louis, however, is a different story. Eleanor doesn't come out the week after his and Harry's conversation and he starts to get bitchy. No one notices at first, because it's short, sharp moments that are easily forgotten. But then Harry's sitting next to him at a signing and he's beaming at a pretty blonde girl, late teens he thinks, a bit plumper than he'd like, but not bad - and Louis is just glowering. In front of him, in contrast, is a fifteen year old girl, more than plump, with quite bad acne and frizzy ginger hair. Harry kisses his blonde on the back of the hand and earns himself a breathy giggle (should be a turn-on, he thinks vaguely), before turning his eyes down to the young redhead, who he and Louis now get to share until she moves.
'Louis, hi!' she's giggling, clutching something soft and velvety in her arms. She's clearly a fan of Louis more than him, which is fine, because Harry gets enough stick for being "too popular".
'Hi,' Louis says and his voice is flat, his eyes averted from her and down to the Yearbook edition in front of him. Harry nudges him with his knee.
'What have you got for him?' Harry asks kindly, taking Louis's arm forcefully and shoving it out to receive.
The girl flushes and bounces on her toes to come up over the table top. 'I made it myself,' she says shyly, pushing it across. Louis takes it at least, though his grasp is careless and heavy; it's some sort of carrot-teddy. A soft, stuffed carrot.
Harry laughs and grins down at her. 'That's so good!' he says brightly, reaching out and squeezing her hand. She looks like she might die. He turns to Louis, expecting a bright white smile against tanned skin, but he's looking down at it in boredom and perhaps a little derisively.
'Amazing.' He draws the word out, almost unbearably sarcastic, and Harry makes sure he shows no reaction himself, just smiles more, as though Louis is being honest. The girl, however, looks mortified. 'Do you know,' Louis continues and Harry hopes they move this girl on now, but for some reason the whole line is held up because fucking Niall is exclaiming over a giant bloody shamrock and Zayn's posing for a picture for someone else.
'What?' she asks, unsure but excited, her cheeks (pockmarked, thinks Harry unfairly and guiltily, because his own skin isn't exactly clear as a summer sky) pinked and her eyes shining.
'I don't think I will ever get sick of carrots,' he drones, his face still horribly emotionless and his hand clasping the carrot carelessly up by his ear, as though he's about to chuck it behind him without even looking where it ends up. Harry really hopes he doesn't.
'Move along!' one of the security men roars and the girl, looking bewildered that what she had hoped would be an incredible show of dedication and knowledge, is edged along to Zayn, who glances up and smiles politely and calls her "babe", but it's not what she wanted.
Harry keeps signing, keeps beaming, keeps his eye on Louis when he can.
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'Treated who like what?' asks Louis vaguely, his attention on his phone as they walk up the deserted hotel corridor towards their rooms. Zayn, Niall and Liam peel off along the way, until it's just the two of them.
'The girl at the signing. Who made you the carrot thing,' Harry reminds him, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking hunched over and dawdling. Louis can't walk fast and text at the same time.
'Dunno which one you're talking about,' Louis says, pressing send and frowning down at his screen intently.
Harry itches at his thighs through the thin inners of his pockets and sighs deeply, wishing this was easier. 'You do,' he insists. 'The redhead, quite young.'
Louis stops now and his face scrunches up thoughtfully. 'The ginger with the acne?' he asks finally.
Harry makes a frustrated noise, but nods anyway, because he doesn't want to make this about more than it already is. 'She made it for you and -'
'And what?' asks Louis, stopping now. They're outside their rooms, opposite each other, and he's not looking at his phone anymore but straight at Harry. It's almost agressive.
'And ...' trails Harry, not knowing what he was going to say next. 'And she put a lot of effort in, because she likes you. And you treated her like shit.'
Louis looks at him thoughtfully. 'Is this about you and your weird not being mean to people thing again?' he asks and Harry rolls his eyes.
'No, this is about you and you're nasty being mean to people thing,' he says, folding his arms over his chest defensively.
'Right. Okay. Well I don't care, I'm sick of pretending to love shitty carrot-based presents. It's lazy.' Louis yawns widely, his jaw cracking, and Harry feels at a loss for words. 'Was that all?' He sounds bored and for some reason it's this that stings.
'Yeah,' mutters Harry quietly, turning on his heel and quickly unlocking his door, slipping inside and shutting it quietly.
He strips his clothes off straight away, feeling hot and itchy and sweaty, before wandering into the bathroom and turning on the shower. The steam slowly fills the room and he breathes deeply, letting it fill his lungs and loosen them up. He's still tense, but this helps, and when he steps under the pounding hot stream of water, thundering down his back and easing the steadily growing pain there, he lets his mind wander without any particular direction.
Usually, he'd think about home, wondering what his mum might be doing, how his sister is, what his friends are up to ... tonight, he can't get the image of Louis's condescending sneer out of his mind. He frowns, his eyes shut tight against the barrage of water, and tries to think about what they're doing tomorrow. Rehearsals. He considers singing. He can't get Louis's sarcastic tone out of his head. He hums loudly, starts to sing some Kings of Leon. Stops. He's tense, all over again.
Scrubbing viciously at his hair with the shampoo, Harry then decides he doesn't need to think of anything else, he just needs to stay thinking of that one moment, because ... well, he can sense other thoughts creeping up on him. Thoughts he most definitely doesn't like. Thoughts which are, he realises fretfully, making him very, very hard.
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Well, it all falls apart then, really.
He'd forgotten how good it feels, to touch yourself there, to feel that sweet arousal coiling in your belly like heat from a fire. It's almost unbearable, he thinks, the sick twisting and the tensing of his stomach, but he loves it, had forgotten how much he enjoyed this. It doesn't really matter, now, that he's squeezing his cock almost too tightly and imagining Louis whispering filth in his ear, nasty, derogatory things and maybe ... maybe about other people too.
He whines, low in his throat, head tipping back and hitting the tiles with a dull clunk as his hand works faster, punishingly fast and hard, but it's the best he's felt in a long, long time.
'Fuck,' he groans and it's a tight sound, hitching at the end as his free hand scrapes judderingly up his thigh, leaving red marks that sting under the hot water. 'L-' he starts and he can't finish it, can't quite voice out loud exactly what he's imagining right now. It's worse, because in so many ways he doesn't know what he wants. There's something, something to do with the way he didn't care about her feelings, looked down on her like she'd - what? disappointed him? And then outside the room, when he looked at Harry as though to say, you think you can tell me what to do? You can't. Harry knows he can't, though, knows when it comes down to it, it's Louis's word as rule.
He comes, though, when he thinks of Louis taking his lolly and whispering low in his ear, 'There we go.'
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Knocking on the door stops him.
'Haz?' comes Louis's voice, clear and brash, and Harry shivers. He doesn't consider not opening the door, though, slopes over and swings it open, smiling involuntarily at the sight of Louis on the other side.
'Come in,' he yawns, grabbing his friend's hand and dragging him inside, slamming the door closed with his foot.
'Look, I just came to say,' Louis begins, having clearly decided on a speech. Harry doesn't much care to hear it. He pulls Louis down on the bed, noting that he's also in pyjamas, which is good, because it means he won't be leaving the room for any reason. 'Haz? Harry, can you listen, this is important,' Louis says sternly, even as Harry pushes him back onto the bed and climbs over him to settle comfortably on the other side.
'What's it about?' asks Harry lazily, stretching out like a cat and then curling back up again, throwing his limbs sloppily about Louis's own and burying his nose in Louis's neck. They haven't done this in a while, Louis thinks wistfully; it used to be close like this all the time, and then something changed.
'I wanted to apologise,' Louis re-starts, remembering where he'd been.
'No. Don't. My fault,' Harry mumbles into his neck, breath hot and Louis's stomach ties itself up.
'What? No, it wasn't -' Louis starts to protest, but then Harry's rolling away from him and sitting up and frowning. It's weird, Louis thinks, how he looks like he's waking up from something.
'Can we not argue? Not my fault, not your fault, let's leave it at that, yeah? You can treat people however you want, it's none of my business.' Harry starts to bite at the back of his finger, looking down at Louis with soft, droopy eyes he hasn't seen in a long time. It's the only reason he relents.
'Okay. Yeah. But I can't treat you like that, okay? You should remind me of that. Just because I'm tense and in a bad mood, doesn't mean I can take it out on you,' Louis says, more like he's lecturing himself than talking to Harry. He's relieved when Harry's limbs wrap back around him and he can just feel the textured skin of his lips against his neck.
'Can treat me any way you like, Lou,' Harry breathes and Louis tries, desperately hard, not to freeze at that. Tries desperately hard not to think about the connotations which Harry wouldn't - can't - mean.
'I - no,' Louis mutters, strained and wishing he'd brought his phone in with him and maybe he could have called El, hidden in Harry's bathroom for fifteen minutes.
Harry just huffs, though, because he's pretty much asleep. Louis doesn't get to sleep for a while, mostly because his cock's harder than it's been in what might be years.
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It turns out to be easier than he thinks.
He wasn't really trying, or at least not consciously; subconsciously, he probably knew exactly what he was doing all along.
It's the lollies that do it. Harry gets given another bag, when they first arrive in Australia, and almost immediately starts sucking away on them. Except he doesn't suck, thinks Louis, watching him from across the hotel room, while he's meant to be doing an interview and Harry's waiting for his next one to come up. He just holds it in his mouth, thinks Louis, while at the same time saying I'm the messiest, I never clean up after myself (point one to Louis in Australia Innuendo Stakes). Then he remembers when he took the lolly out of Harry's mouth and that look.
'It's amazing, I love Australia,' he says, smiling confidently at the middle-aged woman in front of him, who's clearly thinking this is what it's all about?, which is fine. Louis couldn't really care less what people think of him, doesn't care if they think he's shit or ugly. They're not everyone and they're not important.
'And what's your favourite thing about the Australian girls?' asks the woman slyly. Louis almost doesn't hear, because he's choking on his own saliva as Harry pulls the lolly from his mouth and his tongue trails out briefly behind it.
'I have a girlfriend,' he says hastily and too loudly, reminding himself as well as the interviewer, who winks and laughs.
'You seem like the faithful type,' she says, sounding sincere, but Louis feels like he's about to burn up with shame. Still, he smiles and nods, and says something like 'I love her,' even though he's starting to think he doesn't mean it.
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Right, so, that's what I have so far and the rest will be up in the next day or so, promise. Please let me know what you think - this is my first 1D fanfiction -blushes-
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especially harry being all cuddly and loose after a wank and louis wanting it back and laksjdlasjkd can't wait for more! :D
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