like a bruise
pairing: ot5, harry styles/louis tomlinson/zayn malik/niall horan/liam payne
disclaimer: this isn’t real anywhere but my head
word count: 3,000 words
summary: louis liked the lipstick, and he's fairly certain he wasn't the only one.
notes: definitely nc-17
When Louis throws open the hotel door with a mad glint in his eye, there is hardly the reaction he was hoping for from the puddle of boys on the bed. Harry is propped between Niall’s legs, drowsy as Niall strokes absentminded fingers through his unruly hair, and Zayn and Liam are neat bundle of limbs, eyes riveted to whichever Bourne movie is currently flashing across the screen. Normally, Louis likes movie nights. His place is right in the middle, feet tangled with Harry’s, head flush against Liam’s chest. But tonight is different. Tonight, Louis is riled up, and he’s determined to bring his boys with him.
A chorus of curses are hurled at Louis as he flips on the lights, the sleepy foursome blinking angrily at him from the bed. “Turn it off, you tosser” Niall speaks up, but Louis grabs the remote from the bedside table and pauses the movie, unruffled by the even huffier remarks the action earns him. “Lads,” Louis smirks, reaching into his pocket, “let’s get dolled up.”
The lipsticks land on the comforter with a dull thud and Zayn just laughs, looking up at Louis through his absurdly dark eyelashes with a knowing expression. “You enjoyed that video shoot yesterday, huh?” He asks, but Louis refuses to blush, scanning Niall and Harry’s faces and seeing a similar, cheeky reaction, but settling on Liam, who won’t meet his eyes. “I wasn’t the only one,” Louis says, his voice laced with meaning, and when Liam doesn’t respond, Louis tucks a small hand under his chin and pulls his face up. “Come on Leemo, show us your phone background,” he says softly. Liam squirms away from his touch but Zayn’s too quick, hands sliding into Liam’s jeans and back out, phone clutched triumphantly in his long fingers.
And then there’s a moment of silence as Zayn surveys his winnings before it’s his turn to take Liam’s face in his hands, tilt it towards him gently. He doesn’t say anything, just climbs off the bed and picks up one of the lipsticks.
“Li, will you help me put this on?” he asks, a little shyly, and Liam looks like Christmas has come early. (Niall and Harry figure out quickly that the background of Liam’s phone is a still of Zayn from the ridiculous onesie shoot yesterday, his lips stained dark red from the lipstick they’d put on after finding it in the makeup room and deciding to have a little fun. Things make more sense now).
Liam’s hands are surprisingly steady as he traces the color onto Zayn’s lips, his own cheeks blushed deep pink. Louis doesn’t lose any time, tossing a bubblegum tube at Niall and Harry and putting bright red on his own mouth under careful surveillance in the mirror mounted on the wall. He pouts a little, pleased at the red against his burnished skin, eyeing the giggling Niall on the bed behind him as Harry swats his hands away and huffs “you’re making me smear it!” indignantly.
Louis isn’t really surprised that this is all playing out just like he had imagined it might that afternoon, because they’re a rather go-with-the-flow bunch. One of them has an idea and the instinct to do what the others are doing, to back each other up, to stay in the world the five of them are perpetually orbiting in by themselves, is so ingrained that there’s just never really a question. Louis likes this. He knows that if they ask him later he can pass it off as a goofy prank, a setup to take incriminating photos of each of them to be used as blackmail at a later date. And, after all, they were going along with it. Really, though, he’s just as bad as Liam. Something about the lipstick intrigues him, and he wants to explore it.
Harry hops off the bed muttering something about “blotting,” reemerging from the bathroom with a few squares of toilet paper to press carefully against Niall’s lips, now bright, bright pink against his pale skin. Harry is concentrating and Louis watches him unabashedly, his similarly colored bottom lip tucked between his front teeth and staining them pink as well. He glances up into the heat of Louis’ gaze, grinning widely, and Louis can’t help but smile back. He never can.
“Niall,” Louis says, climbing onto the bed next to him and drawing a careful thumb down the side of his face. He pauses to hold him by the chin and leers at his rouged mouth, then continues with “who knew you dolled up so well? We’ll have to do this for you at MSG next week,” and Niall scrambles away from him chuckling “you’re daft, mate.”
“I don’t know,” Louis says, glancing around to where Liam and Zayn have finished putting lipstick on each other, Zayn smoothing a careful finger against the corners of Liam’s mouth. Liam looks especially lovely, his lush bottom lip a dark bruise of red, but Louis tries not to get too distracted. “Doesn’t Niall look pretty, lads? Should’t we make sure he wears this on stage?” and the others giggle as he crawls towards Niall on all fours, feline, until he’s pinned against the headboard, struggling wildly to escape the cage of Louis’ arms. “Pin his legs!” Louis commands, the others as he leans forward, breath hot against Niall’s neck. “The ladies won’t be able to resist,” he growls, “how could they with you all made up like this?” And then, high and breathy, “Nialler! Nialler let me kisssssss you! That’s what the Irish do, right?” And Louis smacks a wet, hot smooch against Niall’s cheek, pleased by the red outline print of his lips left behind, suddenly peppering Niall’s face with sweet little kisses until he’s absolutely covered in red.
“Are you gonna take that lying down, Ni?” Liam demands from where he’s rather hypocritically holding Niall’s legs down against the bed. “Do you want me to get him off you?”
And then there’s a glint in Niall’s eye. He looks at Louis, square on, and breathes “No, I think I’ve got this one,” before leaning forward and pressing his lips hot and soft against Louis’ scarlet mouth. Louis can hear the laughter die behind him as the kiss lasts longer than it should, much longer. Niall’s lips are surprisingly pliant and warm against him and the urge to open them, slip his tongue between them and taste the ridge of his teeth, immobilizes Louis in its intensity.
“Well,” Harry says after what feels like several eternities, “that’s simply not fair.” Never one to miss an opportunity, he pulls his soft cotton t-shirt over his head, not caring that he probably smears pink lipstick up the inside, and crawls closer to where Niall and Louis are breathing heavily. Zayn looks at Liam, shrugs. Liam looks unsure until the tips of Zayn’s fingers are warm against the small of his back, their reassuring touch seeming to trigger something in Liam. He leans down, quick as a whip, planting a red kiss against Zayn’s cheek and giggling at his bandmate’s startled reaction. “Liam’s getting feisty,” Niall comments from the bed, and Liam likes that, likes this feeling of being daring. So, he takes off his shirt, too.
The hotel bed is definitely not meant for five boys, especially not five wriggly, laughing boys, determined to cover each other in lipstick kisses, but fitting into small spaces is a specialty of theirs (couches, phonebooths, cars, once a single-person bathroom in a McDonald’s). They aren’t unfamiliar with stacking on top of one another, hips against hips and backs to chests and arms slung around shoulders to hold each other close, but something feels different tonight, charged. They’re in their underwear now, and it’s devolved into a full scale color war, torsos and thighs and necks marked in different colors of victory.
And then Harry gains the upper hand, pins Louis. Until this point, Lou has reigned supreme, marking everyone until they’re nearly covered in scarlet, looking like little wounds, like possession. But Harry gets him, and the others seize their chance, holding him down as Harry attacks his flushed body, leaving round pink markers across his chest and once, cheekily, around his left nipple.
“Come on, Harry,” Niall urges. “Tease him, get him back for all of us mate.”
So Harry does.
His mouth dips lower, lower and lower, a trail of markings across Louis’ strong abdomen, his breath warm against Louis’ briefs as he stains the fabric band bubblegum pink. Zayn’s hand is suddenly against his neck, guiding him. “Harry,” Louis tries to warn, feeling something blossoming through the pit of his stomach, but it comes out as a near whimper, low and raw, and Harry stills, his mouth dangerously close to Louis’ cock, semi hard and clearly visible to each of the other boys.
Harry looks up at him, though, and Louis meets his gaze with a rare blush, but Harry is undaunted. “Li,” he asks, not looking away, “can you fetch Louis’ lipstick? He’s running a little low.”
Harry moves one of his broad hands to rest against Louis’ kiss-bitten and heaving chest as Liam reapplies the color, his hand shaking this time as he watches it slick on. “That’s enough,” Louis mutters, but Harry says “not quite” and Liam keeps going, a small smile flashing across his face. “Not so worried about blotting now, are we?” Louis murmurs cheekily around Liam’s hand, but he likes this, likes Liam disobeying him, Harry being in charge.
“Would you like to kiss Louis, Li?” Harry asks, like he’s wondering the weather, and Liam just nods, fixated on the red bite of Louis’ mouth. “Won’t stop you,” Harry says, and Liam moves in. Louis hitches in a breath, Liam’s mouth hesitant but warm against him, his plush bottom lip itching to be tucked between Louis’ teeth. So Louis goes after it, not caring about smearing his lipstick, licking his way into Liam’s mouth and sliding his tongue across his gums as Liam moans into him. That’s a surprise - Louis wouldn’t have expected it, but he’s determined to make it happen again and again. It does, to his delight, as Louis nibbles and bites and licks and Liam returns it all with increased pressure and quiet, needy sounds in the back of his throat.
They pause to breathe, like surfacing from underwater, and Louis’s greeted with the sight of Harry mouthing against Zayn’s neck, head thrown back as Niall palms him through his briefs, a wet spot spreading across the front. The sight of it alone makes Louis’ back arch. Harry leaves faint traces of pink in his greedy path across Zayn’s neck; everyone’s lipstick has faded except for Louis’, and now Liam’s, still breathing heavily and with evidence of Louis smeared across his mouth.
“Clearly I was right about taking this to the stage,” Louis rasps, pleased with the arousal evident in his voice.
Zayn chokes out a laugh, and murmurs wryly “ah, but it’s still only partial nudity. Nothing NC-17 about this situation.”
“That could be fixed,” Harry suggests. And then, it is.
Liam and Harry are kissing, suddenly, Harry standing to move between Liams’s legs and holding his face between his hands, fingers spread wide. He likes to have a taste of whatever Louis has, and this is no different. Louis sits up, undeniably pleased with the direction this has all taken, widening his legs until he’s sitting flush up against Liam’s back and smiling at Liam’s jolt as Louis wraps a small hand around his cock. He’s hard, already, they all are, but Louis’ work makes him harder, the wet moans escaping from his mouth right into Harry’s, his back pressing Louis’ own leaking cock against his belly. Niall and Zayn have stretched out behind them, are laughing into each other’s crinkled eyes as Niall tries to stuff his fingers into Zayn’s mouth and they lazily jack each other off, and when Harry looks up from Liam’s mouth, Louis recognizes his expression, his total bliss, because a similar feeling is coiling its way through his blood like fireworks. God, he loves these boys.
Niall and Zayn are whispering about something, hands moving faster between them until they pause together, breathing raggedly, struggling to sit up. Niall’s cock is angry red, Zayn licking precome off his hand as they climb to their knees, eyes dark and heavy as their erections. “We have a proposal,” Niall says roughly, and Zayn adds “Harry, would you please lay down?”
Harry moves to obey without question, excitement and arousal rippling across the obscene muscles of his abdomen. He stretches himself out, long and lean, and it’s impossible not to admire him, his smooth skin and impressive cock dark against his belly.
Zayn rummages around on the floor and reappears with the lipsticks, handing one to Liam to put on Niall and taking Louis’ chin in his hand. Louis takes advantage of the situation, mouth pliant and accepting and belying his mischievous hands which are busy rolling Zayn’s balls in one palm and moving to thumb the wet tip.
By the time they’ve all reapplied, Harry is antsy with anticipation, clutching the sheets in an effort not to touch himself as he watches. “Do I get some?” He pleads, and Louis leans forward, brushing a finger across his parted lips. “You’re pretty enough without it, love,” he says. It’s true.
Zayn smiles and murmurs, “Harry, lovely boy, we’ve got another plan for you. Shall I demonstrate?” And then he’s kneeling between the bow of Harry’s legs, head tucking down and mouth opening, plum colored lips stretching obscenely around Harry’s cock. Harry whimpers, back arching and toes curling cutely, clearly relieved by the contact and all at once just as worked up by the warm, wet heat of Zayn’s mouth. The boys are riveted, watching the deep purple spread against the flushed skin like a map of Zayn’s work.
“I’m close, Zayn I’m so close,” Harry nearly sobs, a hand tangling into Zayn’s silky black hair, but Zayn pulls off of him. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, crawling up to hold Harry’s head in his lap, sweep his damp locks away from his forehead. “But we didn’t doll these boys up for nothing.” He gestures to where Liam is standing, hand stroking himself slowly, and to where Niall and Louis are pressed together, Louis grinding into Niall’s hip as he works him over with flicks of his tiny wrist. “Who’s next?” Zayn asks, and Harry moans wetly as Liam climbs up into the vacancy between his legs.
“I’ve only done this once,” Liam offers apologetically, before leaning down and beginning to suck Harry eagerly, bobbing and licking in a nearly professional manner.
“It sure doesn’t feel like it, Li” Harry bites out, almost pushing Liam off of him as he hits the edge again. His cock looks like a bruise, almost, a mix of plum and the deep red Liam has smeared on, jerking and achingly hard. Louis goes next, makes an art of it, placing his lips carefully to make pretty red rings and then hollowing his cheeks out until Harry is writhing beneath him.
“Harry,” Louis breathes, interrupted by a muffled noise from Liam as Niall, apparently tired of waiting, kneels and practically inhales his thick cock, smearing it with pink quickly and vigorously. “Harry, can I try something?”
Harry moans in response, so Louis does. He crooks Harry’s legs, hooks them over his shoulders and moves down between them, planting his mouth carefully around the rim of muscle there and letting his tongue explore cautiously.
“Lou,” Harry breathes, turning his head in Zayn’s lap in ecstasy and coming face to face with Zayn’s own angry red cock. Louis pulls away, pleased by the obscene mark of red neatly framing Harry’s hole, watching as Harry opens his lips like a kitten, mouthing against Zayn in his best effort. Liam is panting Niall’s name, over and over, and the room stops breathing as he comes, orgasm rippling through his stomach and tensing his whole body as he comes into Niall’s mouth. Niall pulls off, wiping the back of his hand across his much less pink lips with a giggle, and as Liam pulls him into a hug, Louis leans back in, sucking and licking and dipping his tongue into Harry as the boy grinds back against him, desperate. Niall moves close, to watch, and Liam presses up against him, jerking him off as Harry grows wilder and wilder.
And then he’s over the edge, suddenly, the wet of Louis’ mouth and the overstimulation and excitement carrying him through, his purple and red and scarlet covered cock spasming right along with his thighs. Louis eats him through it, sucking and licking gently. Harry’s come is obscene, painting white across his color-scarred chest, and the sight of it sets Niall off. “Jesus, Harry!” he cries, and comes into Liam’s broad hand, his blonde hair flush with streaks of lipstick and thrown back into the curve of Liam’s neck.
“God, you’re lovely,” Zayn breathes, gazing down at a spent and teary eyed Harry, who looks like a canvas, a piece of obscene, raw, vibrant art they all have a part of. Louis joins him, kneeling across Harry’s torso, pulling Zayn into a kiss that is as much teeth and scraping and pain as it is warm and wet and delicious. They’re working their own cocks hard, and it doesn’t take much, Zayn first, coming both across Harry’s striped chest and Louis’ own belly as Niall grips his hips from behind, pressing bruises into the skin there under streaks of scarlet. And then Louis is gone, his orgasm ripped from him with a cry. It starts in his belly and radiates through him, sending him white-hot with something that feels an awful lot like unadulterated joy. He’s trembling but he’s still, out of breath but breathing easy, awash in love and lust and, well, a whole goddamn lot of lipstick.
This was one of his better ideas.