Though I Have Closed Myself as Fingers - One Direction
Fandom: One Direction RPS
Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,500
Summary: There are reasons Harry's never slept with Louis. He's just having trouble remembering what they are.
Notes: Thanks to everyone who looked this over for me and assured me it wasn't terrible. Extra special thanks to naughtyelf and ohohstarryeyed for making sure the boys sound British. <3 Cross posted at AO3.
Fucking Louis is a terrible idea. Harry knows this, but he’s having a little trouble remembering why with Louis’ thighs straddling his lap and Louis’ teeth biting into the tendon in his neck.
“Lou,” Harry says.
He puts his hands on Louis’ backside and squeezes. It’s something he’s done a thousand times in the form of pats and slaps and playful grabs -- but never like this -- never with this kind of intent.
He doesn’t even really mean it that way now. He means to lift Louis off of him - to put him down on the sofa and cuddle him until the rush of alcohol and adrenaline runs out and he passes out in a pliant mess against Harry’s shoulder. Louis is a handsy and affectionate drunk. It never means anything and Harry knows this - knows how dangerous it is to think anything different.
“Lou,” he tries again.
Louis kisses his way up Harry’s neck and smiles, hands fisted at Harry’s side and fingers twisted around the material of Harry’s thin t-shirt.
“Take this off,” Louis says as he pulls up on Harry’s shirt.
Harry takes his hands off Louis’ bum reluctantly and stills Louis’ hands.
“This is a really bad idea,” Harry says.
Louis laughs - head thrown back and thighs squeezing where they’re wrapped around Harry’s waist. He leans in and buries his head in Harry’s neck, his shoulders still shaking slightly.
“You’ve been taking lessons from Liam,” Louis says. “Captain sensible.”
Louis’ lips graze against Harry’s pulse point as he speaks, and Harry’s heart picks up speed pushing his blood faster through his veins.
The problem is Harry’s not sensible at all. Harry usually barrels into everything without thinking about the consequences. He probably would have done something about his feelings years ago - all of 16 and so foolish when it came to Louis - if he’d thought for one moment that Louis felt a fraction of what Harry feels for him.
Louis is complicated though. Harry’s been trying to figure him out since they first met. Sometimes there’s so much going on with him on the surface that Harry forgets Louis sometimes uses it to hide what’s underneath. Louis can be vain and insecure, bold and shy, or sweet and cruel all in the same breath.
“Tell me you won’t regret this tomorrow,” Harry says.
“I won’t regret this tomorrow,” Louis answers.
Harry already regrets it. It rises to the surface slowly, like a bruise on damaged skin, and squeezes around his chest until he can hardly breathe. He pulls Louis down and kisses him.
“You’re so fit,” Louis says as they break apart, punctuating the thought with a role of his hips.
Harry’s done pretending this isn’t happening. He wants Louis so badly that he’s willing to deal with the aftermath. He’s willing to do anything to have Louis’ skin under his palms -- to keep kissing half-breathless and laughing into one another’s mouths.
“Take this off,” Harry says.
Louis leans back and pulls his jumper off. His hair is always sticking up anyway, but the collar catches around his head and makes everything worse.
Harry pushes Louis’ fringe off his forehead and lets his fingers trail down along his jaw and neck. He rubs his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip and shivers when Louis licks and bites down on it.
“You too,” Louis says.
Harry puts his palm on Louis’ chest where it’s heaving. Louis is struggling for breath -- his skin is flushed -- and every part of him looks so good that Harry doesn’t know where to begin.
Louis pulls at the hem of Harry’s shirt until Harry reluctantly takes his hands off of Louis and puts them in the air for Louis to remove his shirt.
Louis presses against him chest-to-chest and snakes his hand down to Harry’s belt buckle, undoing it with fingers far too dexterous for how drunk Louis is.
“I want you,” Louis says.
He sounds as desperate as Harry feels.
Harry runs his hands over the smooth skin of Louis’ back - lets his fingers slide over muscle and bone until his hands come to rest on Louis’ hips. He leans his head back against the couch and counts to ten while he looks at the chandelier hanging over their heads.
Louis makes quick work of his trousers - unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping them just enough to squeeze his hand into the tight space between their bodies.
Harry bucks up into his grip, desperate and needy, and he’s afraid to look at Louis because he doesn’t want Louis to see how much he wants this.
“Haz,” Louis says. “Please.”
Harry doesn’t want it like this. He wants to be able to taste and touch and take his time about it. He doesn’t want this rush to the finish that Louis seems to be intent on.
“Just - not like this,” Harry says.
He wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist and pulls it out of his trousers, ignoring Louis’ frustrated whine.
Harry stands up with Louis’ legs still wrapped around his waist and Harry’s hand on Louis’ backside for support. It almost makes him happy they didn’t do this when they were younger. Harry has grown a lot in the past two years. He’s taller than Louis now. His body is stronger.
Harry walks them down the hall to his bedroom. Louis kisses him the entire way and Harry’s trousers are starting to slide down -- unbuckled and unzipped as they are.
They crash into the wall and Harry presses Louis against it, grinds their hips together, and soaks up all of Louis’ desperate little noises until he thinks he might come in his pants if he doesn’t get them to a bed soon.
Harry moves again. He takes the last few steps into his bedroom and drops Louis on the edge of the bed. Harry’s trousers are barely hanging onto his hips now, so it only takes a shimmy to have them sliding off. He kicks out of them and goes for his pants next.
Louis hasn’t moved from where Harry dropped him. He’s watching Harry undress which would normally be hot, but Harry’s so wound up, so desperate for it that he doesn’t want to wait for Louis to get naked.
“Lou, take your trousers off,” Harry says.
Louis doesn’t waste any more time. He lies back on the bed and goes for his zip sliding his trousers and his pants off in one fluid motion. Harry watches the arch of his back and
the way his thumbs hook into the maroon material of his pants. Harry is more turned on by it than he should be.
Louis kicks his feet free and looks up at Harry through his lashes. Harry can’t tell if he’s purposely trying to be coy, or if it’s the alcohol making him look like he is, but either way it works.
Harry climbs on the bed and pushes his way between Louis’ legs. Louis’ stomach muscles jump and his cock twitches, smearing precome across his stomach. Harry leans over and licks it off. His tongue drags across the head of Louis’ dick and Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hair.
Harry’s good at this. He likes sex and he likes bodies and people and all the things they can do with and to one another. He likes Louis most of all.
He sucks Louis until he’s almost choking on it. He swallows around the head over and over until he’s sure his voice will sound bruised and raw tomorrow.
“I’m gonna-“Louis warns.
Harry wants him to. He wants it. He wants to taste Louis across his tongue, to swallow him down, to gasp for breath around the length of him still inside Harry’s mouth.
Louis comes down from his orgasm like a stone thrown into the sea. He’s boneless and heavy against the bed but all Harry has to do is put a hand on his own cock and look at the sprawl of Louis’ body to get himself there. He comes all over Louis’ stomach and then drops down on top of him - holding him down like a paperweight holds down a letter it doesn’t want to lose.
Louis’ hand threads through Harry’s hair and they fall asleep like that, wrapped around one another like paper and stone.
The sun wakes him a few hours later. It streams brightly through the window to warm the skin on his back. There’s no slow rise to consciousness. There are no foggy half-memories to muddle through. Harry is instantly and painfully aware of where he is and what he did and just exactly what it means that he has also woken up painfully alone.
Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,500
Summary: There are reasons Harry's never slept with Louis. He's just having trouble remembering what they are.
Notes: Thanks to everyone who looked this over for me and assured me it wasn't terrible. Extra special thanks to naughtyelf and ohohstarryeyed for making sure the boys sound British. <3 Cross posted at AO3.
Fucking Louis is a terrible idea. Harry knows this, but he’s having a little trouble remembering why with Louis’ thighs straddling his lap and Louis’ teeth biting into the tendon in his neck.
“Lou,” Harry says.
He puts his hands on Louis’ backside and squeezes. It’s something he’s done a thousand times in the form of pats and slaps and playful grabs -- but never like this -- never with this kind of intent.
He doesn’t even really mean it that way now. He means to lift Louis off of him - to put him down on the sofa and cuddle him until the rush of alcohol and adrenaline runs out and he passes out in a pliant mess against Harry’s shoulder. Louis is a handsy and affectionate drunk. It never means anything and Harry knows this - knows how dangerous it is to think anything different.
“Lou,” he tries again.
Louis kisses his way up Harry’s neck and smiles, hands fisted at Harry’s side and fingers twisted around the material of Harry’s thin t-shirt.
“Take this off,” Louis says as he pulls up on Harry’s shirt.
Harry takes his hands off Louis’ bum reluctantly and stills Louis’ hands.
“This is a really bad idea,” Harry says.
Louis laughs - head thrown back and thighs squeezing where they’re wrapped around Harry’s waist. He leans in and buries his head in Harry’s neck, his shoulders still shaking slightly.
“You’ve been taking lessons from Liam,” Louis says. “Captain sensible.”
Louis’ lips graze against Harry’s pulse point as he speaks, and Harry’s heart picks up speed pushing his blood faster through his veins.
The problem is Harry’s not sensible at all. Harry usually barrels into everything without thinking about the consequences. He probably would have done something about his feelings years ago - all of 16 and so foolish when it came to Louis - if he’d thought for one moment that Louis felt a fraction of what Harry feels for him.
Louis is complicated though. Harry’s been trying to figure him out since they first met. Sometimes there’s so much going on with him on the surface that Harry forgets Louis sometimes uses it to hide what’s underneath. Louis can be vain and insecure, bold and shy, or sweet and cruel all in the same breath.
“Tell me you won’t regret this tomorrow,” Harry says.
“I won’t regret this tomorrow,” Louis answers.
Harry already regrets it. It rises to the surface slowly, like a bruise on damaged skin, and squeezes around his chest until he can hardly breathe. He pulls Louis down and kisses him.
“You’re so fit,” Louis says as they break apart, punctuating the thought with a role of his hips.
Harry’s done pretending this isn’t happening. He wants Louis so badly that he’s willing to deal with the aftermath. He’s willing to do anything to have Louis’ skin under his palms -- to keep kissing half-breathless and laughing into one another’s mouths.
“Take this off,” Harry says.
Louis leans back and pulls his jumper off. His hair is always sticking up anyway, but the collar catches around his head and makes everything worse.
Harry pushes Louis’ fringe off his forehead and lets his fingers trail down along his jaw and neck. He rubs his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip and shivers when Louis licks and bites down on it.
“You too,” Louis says.
Harry puts his palm on Louis’ chest where it’s heaving. Louis is struggling for breath -- his skin is flushed -- and every part of him looks so good that Harry doesn’t know where to begin.
Louis pulls at the hem of Harry’s shirt until Harry reluctantly takes his hands off of Louis and puts them in the air for Louis to remove his shirt.
Louis presses against him chest-to-chest and snakes his hand down to Harry’s belt buckle, undoing it with fingers far too dexterous for how drunk Louis is.
“I want you,” Louis says.
He sounds as desperate as Harry feels.
Harry runs his hands over the smooth skin of Louis’ back - lets his fingers slide over muscle and bone until his hands come to rest on Louis’ hips. He leans his head back against the couch and counts to ten while he looks at the chandelier hanging over their heads.
Louis makes quick work of his trousers - unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping them just enough to squeeze his hand into the tight space between their bodies.
Harry bucks up into his grip, desperate and needy, and he’s afraid to look at Louis because he doesn’t want Louis to see how much he wants this.
“Haz,” Louis says. “Please.”
Harry doesn’t want it like this. He wants to be able to taste and touch and take his time about it. He doesn’t want this rush to the finish that Louis seems to be intent on.
“Just - not like this,” Harry says.
He wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist and pulls it out of his trousers, ignoring Louis’ frustrated whine.
Harry stands up with Louis’ legs still wrapped around his waist and Harry’s hand on Louis’ backside for support. It almost makes him happy they didn’t do this when they were younger. Harry has grown a lot in the past two years. He’s taller than Louis now. His body is stronger.
Harry walks them down the hall to his bedroom. Louis kisses him the entire way and Harry’s trousers are starting to slide down -- unbuckled and unzipped as they are.
They crash into the wall and Harry presses Louis against it, grinds their hips together, and soaks up all of Louis’ desperate little noises until he thinks he might come in his pants if he doesn’t get them to a bed soon.
Harry moves again. He takes the last few steps into his bedroom and drops Louis on the edge of the bed. Harry’s trousers are barely hanging onto his hips now, so it only takes a shimmy to have them sliding off. He kicks out of them and goes for his pants next.
Louis hasn’t moved from where Harry dropped him. He’s watching Harry undress which would normally be hot, but Harry’s so wound up, so desperate for it that he doesn’t want to wait for Louis to get naked.
“Lou, take your trousers off,” Harry says.
Louis doesn’t waste any more time. He lies back on the bed and goes for his zip sliding his trousers and his pants off in one fluid motion. Harry watches the arch of his back and
the way his thumbs hook into the maroon material of his pants. Harry is more turned on by it than he should be.
Louis kicks his feet free and looks up at Harry through his lashes. Harry can’t tell if he’s purposely trying to be coy, or if it’s the alcohol making him look like he is, but either way it works.
Harry climbs on the bed and pushes his way between Louis’ legs. Louis’ stomach muscles jump and his cock twitches, smearing precome across his stomach. Harry leans over and licks it off. His tongue drags across the head of Louis’ dick and Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hair.
Harry’s good at this. He likes sex and he likes bodies and people and all the things they can do with and to one another. He likes Louis most of all.
He sucks Louis until he’s almost choking on it. He swallows around the head over and over until he’s sure his voice will sound bruised and raw tomorrow.
“I’m gonna-“Louis warns.
Harry wants him to. He wants it. He wants to taste Louis across his tongue, to swallow him down, to gasp for breath around the length of him still inside Harry’s mouth.
Louis comes down from his orgasm like a stone thrown into the sea. He’s boneless and heavy against the bed but all Harry has to do is put a hand on his own cock and look at the sprawl of Louis’ body to get himself there. He comes all over Louis’ stomach and then drops down on top of him - holding him down like a paperweight holds down a letter it doesn’t want to lose.
Louis’ hand threads through Harry’s hair and they fall asleep like that, wrapped around one another like paper and stone.
The sun wakes him a few hours later. It streams brightly through the window to warm the skin on his back. There’s no slow rise to consciousness. There are no foggy half-memories to muddle through. Harry is instantly and painfully aware of where he is and what he did and just exactly what it means that he has also woken up painfully alone.