igrab
in
grabi_hands
♡ All Things Bright and Beautiful • Harry/Louis
All Things Bright and Beautiful
Harry/Louis
• 1,700 words
• this is for aimmyarrowshigh (i'd say 'of course' but i don't want it to ever get worn out, i will write for her forever)
• rated NC-17
There was something to be said for coming home.
Harry knew they wouldn't have this kind of privacy again soon; he knew that, he wanted to take advantage of it. He'd been so... worn out lately from pretending, from trying to not look and not touch and all of this was killing him, he just - wanted his friend back. With touching. And kissing. And mutual orgasms.
And something in Louis' face tonight had said that he'd have another chance.
Not the bit where he'd smiled ear to ear, or given him that low, heated look as he was sprawled on the couch and knowing, knowing what he did to Harry's frazzled nerves - no. It was when that girl made a pass at him, and Louis looked like he could actually commit murder.
It was an incredibly sexy look. Harry... yes, all right, he'd been bothered by the whole thing, but it was easy to forget about every time he looked over and saw Louis, absolutely consumed with anger on his behalf. With jealousy, lurking like a beautiful little demon under the surface.
Yes, tonight. Tonight was the night. And there was something to be said about coming home.
Harry slid out of his clothes like they were water; dragged a hand through his hair, licked his lips. He heard Louis come in, kick the door closed, drop his keys in the tray and pull off his jacket in short, aggravated bursts.
"Christ, Harry, already?"
No, that wouldn't do at all. He couldn't be allowed to turn that anger on Harry, not when it was for him, all for him, like the most wonderful of birthday gifts. No. Harry wouldn't let it. He peered over his shoulder with one of his best smiles to date - the one that was perfectly angelic on his lips and teeth, but hungry and hot in his eyes. He smouldered. "You don't seem to like it when others nab a freebie," he purred, soft enough that Louis could pretend he hadn't heard it - but he did, his eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest.
"What- that isn't-"
"You know I've only eyes for you," Harry pressed on in a teasing whisper, insistent, and he finally turned full around and prowled, backing the lanky boy up against the countertop.
"And Caroline," Louis spit out, obligatory, but there was no acid in it. He knew why Harry fancied her; and Harry knew that Louis knew. She was a distraction, nothing more. She was a particularly drama-stirring consolation prize, and if people could focus on her, they wouldn't see how much Harry was hurting. He wouldn't see it, either. No pain, just sordid romance. No Louis. No Eleanor.
But then he had to come home.
"Harry," Louis said desperately, and wove a hand into Harry's curls, which was the exact opposite of what he probably intended to do and spoke volumes more than the pained tone of his voice. His eyebrows, too, were talking. All bunched in the middle like when he sang, like any time he felt any real sort of emotion.
"Tell me you want me," Harry murmured, his own voice thick and desperate. "Please. I don't want anyone but you."
And fuck, but it was the truth. The real truth, the stupid truth, the truth that Harry and Louis both had been alternately hurtling towards and running panic-stircken away from. Flinging themselves on whoever would have them, so they didn't fling themselves at each other.
But it wasn't about the sex, and they had realized, if it couldn't be about the sex, it couldn't be about anything. All or nothing. All Larry Stylinson, or two boys, desperately lonely.
Louis' fingers tightened in Harry's hair and he yanked him in, crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss.
Harry made a shocked noise into it - shocked, because of how good it felt, after all this time. So good, so perfect, so thin and hot and Louis kissed like he did everything else - gave it 110%, poured his heart and soul and lifeblood into it until Harry was shaking and digging his palms into the edge of the counter and trying not to grind on him, trying, because he wanted Louis to want this enough to take control.
Louis gasped for breath. "Harry, I--"
He tried to kiss him again, his fingers white-knuckled, but Louis yanked on his hair and held him back.
"Harry. Listen to me."
He drew in a deep breath. Wet his lips. Listened.
"I, Louis Tomlinson, am in love with you," he said, steady and pure, and oh god how it made Harry's heart ache, ache and ache and ache to finally hear it like this - no jokes, no tease, just simple and serious like he really, really meant it. "But I really have doubts sometimes, about, k'now. You."
Harry blinked once. Twice. Slowly, a third time.
"I--"
"Whether you even love me at all, really."
Harry couldn't breathe. He almost laughed, right there, and that would've been terrible but he couldn't breathe, so he supposed that was just as well. He swallowed - let his forehead drop to Louis' shoulder before he spoke, cracked and broken.
"How could you think that? I love you more than air."
And with his voice whisper-quiet and more real than anything either of them had ever had, it was all that needed to be said. Because nothing mattered anymore - not Caroline, or Eleanor; not their past lives or the future or Simon Cowell or even One Direction itself. It all just paled and lost its meaning and Harry did laugh, now, but it was all things bright and beautiful, and Louis brought his other hand up to stroke down the curved skin of Harry's side.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," Harry whispered, pressed in to his skin.
And Louis bent his lips to touch the other boy's ear, his hand anchored firmly in his hair. "Then on your knees, darling, and show me just how much."
Harry groaned, his body finally falling against him with a long shudder. He mouthed at the shirt under his face; nuzzled and shivered and let that pure feeling of being wanted and needed and loved wash over him like summer rain. His thumbs crooked - he leaned on Louis instead of the countertop and Louis took him in, wrapped his arms full around him but still gently, insistently pushed him further down. Harry complied with a breath of relief, slid boneless to his knees and let his wicked, wicked hands dance along the fastenings of Louis' pants. How had he not known? How could he doubt it, even for a second?
But Louis doubted he was good enough for 1D, too. Louis doubted anyone that loved the parts of him that were real.
Harry pushed those pants down to his thighs and Louis helped, wriggling, because he always wore those obscenely tight pants that made Harry want to throw him down and fuck him senseless. He stroked up the length of his now-exposed cock, flicked his eyes up to meet Louis' very blue ones. Licked his lips. He was waiting.
"Please," Louis whispered, and it wasn't an order but his hand tightened in Harry's hair- it was better than an order, it was supplicating, it was Louis outside of all the acts he played.
Harry was good at this. He loved it, too, and that was probably the singular reason why women were never enough for him. He loved wrapping his lips around a hot, hard dick; loved working his tongue and rolling and sucking and cradling a man's entire being in his mouth, bringing him to heaven and back from one skillful twirl of his tongue.
Usually, when he did this, Louis hid his face. He knew why. It was back to that damnable insecurity, and usually Harry had let him, but - he grabbed for Louis' free hand now, pinned it rough and hard to the countertop until bones creaked and Louis let out a sharp little cry. Pained, but needy. And Harry watched his face, watched watched watched as he sank Louis' cock deep into the hot wet heat of his mouth.
And oh, what a show. His eyelids fluttered, his breath came short, he bit his lips and licked them and his eyebrows, oh dear god, his eyebrows screamed how much he loved it, even when he didn't have air to breathe. It made Harry chuckle, it made Harry moan, it made him do all these things against Louis' cock and that hand tightened viciously in his hair. Tugged. Harry made the most sinful of pleased groans and his hips bucked, uselessly. Louis chuckled. Harry smiled.
"I love you," Louis whispered in a shaky, broken, beautiful voice as Harry rolled his tongue along the bottom of his cock. "Oh fuck-- Harry. I love you more than air."
Harry's response to this was to shove two fingers in along said cock, slick them good, then reach back and press them inside of him without a damn warning at all. Louis jumped.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck Harry..."
Yes. Like this. Harry wanted him senseless, he wanted him so out of himself that he forgot everything but this, everything but Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson and the beautiful bitch of a thing between them. He pressed in harder, twisted his fingers, and dragged right over his prostrate as his tongue flicked hard at the head of his cock.
"Fuck!!"
And he was gone, just like that, spilling into Harry's mouth and oh, look, he was going to have cocksucker's voice again for a while. It was worth it. His jaw ached. It was utterly, completely, disastrously worth it.
He slid his fingers free and made to stand up, figuring that would be the end of it for tongith - he hadn't planned on anything more than getting Louis off in high style and proving, without a doubt, that he was everything Harry had ever wanted.
But Louis, limp and wasted against the counter, was always one to surprise. He rolled over.
"Please, Harry," he begged, his voice stripped of any and all restraints. "Love you. Need you. Please."
And Harry never could resist an honest plea.
Harry/Louis
• 1,700 words
• this is for aimmyarrowshigh (i'd say 'of course' but i don't want it to ever get worn out, i will write for her forever)
• rated NC-17
There was something to be said for coming home.
Harry knew they wouldn't have this kind of privacy again soon; he knew that, he wanted to take advantage of it. He'd been so... worn out lately from pretending, from trying to not look and not touch and all of this was killing him, he just - wanted his friend back. With touching. And kissing. And mutual orgasms.
And something in Louis' face tonight had said that he'd have another chance.
Not the bit where he'd smiled ear to ear, or given him that low, heated look as he was sprawled on the couch and knowing, knowing what he did to Harry's frazzled nerves - no. It was when that girl made a pass at him, and Louis looked like he could actually commit murder.
It was an incredibly sexy look. Harry... yes, all right, he'd been bothered by the whole thing, but it was easy to forget about every time he looked over and saw Louis, absolutely consumed with anger on his behalf. With jealousy, lurking like a beautiful little demon under the surface.
Yes, tonight. Tonight was the night. And there was something to be said about coming home.
Harry slid out of his clothes like they were water; dragged a hand through his hair, licked his lips. He heard Louis come in, kick the door closed, drop his keys in the tray and pull off his jacket in short, aggravated bursts.
"Christ, Harry, already?"
No, that wouldn't do at all. He couldn't be allowed to turn that anger on Harry, not when it was for him, all for him, like the most wonderful of birthday gifts. No. Harry wouldn't let it. He peered over his shoulder with one of his best smiles to date - the one that was perfectly angelic on his lips and teeth, but hungry and hot in his eyes. He smouldered. "You don't seem to like it when others nab a freebie," he purred, soft enough that Louis could pretend he hadn't heard it - but he did, his eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest.
"What- that isn't-"
"You know I've only eyes for you," Harry pressed on in a teasing whisper, insistent, and he finally turned full around and prowled, backing the lanky boy up against the countertop.
"And Caroline," Louis spit out, obligatory, but there was no acid in it. He knew why Harry fancied her; and Harry knew that Louis knew. She was a distraction, nothing more. She was a particularly drama-stirring consolation prize, and if people could focus on her, they wouldn't see how much Harry was hurting. He wouldn't see it, either. No pain, just sordid romance. No Louis. No Eleanor.
But then he had to come home.
"Harry," Louis said desperately, and wove a hand into Harry's curls, which was the exact opposite of what he probably intended to do and spoke volumes more than the pained tone of his voice. His eyebrows, too, were talking. All bunched in the middle like when he sang, like any time he felt any real sort of emotion.
"Tell me you want me," Harry murmured, his own voice thick and desperate. "Please. I don't want anyone but you."
And fuck, but it was the truth. The real truth, the stupid truth, the truth that Harry and Louis both had been alternately hurtling towards and running panic-stircken away from. Flinging themselves on whoever would have them, so they didn't fling themselves at each other.
But it wasn't about the sex, and they had realized, if it couldn't be about the sex, it couldn't be about anything. All or nothing. All Larry Stylinson, or two boys, desperately lonely.
Louis' fingers tightened in Harry's hair and he yanked him in, crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss.
Harry made a shocked noise into it - shocked, because of how good it felt, after all this time. So good, so perfect, so thin and hot and Louis kissed like he did everything else - gave it 110%, poured his heart and soul and lifeblood into it until Harry was shaking and digging his palms into the edge of the counter and trying not to grind on him, trying, because he wanted Louis to want this enough to take control.
Louis gasped for breath. "Harry, I--"
He tried to kiss him again, his fingers white-knuckled, but Louis yanked on his hair and held him back.
"Harry. Listen to me."
He drew in a deep breath. Wet his lips. Listened.
"I, Louis Tomlinson, am in love with you," he said, steady and pure, and oh god how it made Harry's heart ache, ache and ache and ache to finally hear it like this - no jokes, no tease, just simple and serious like he really, really meant it. "But I really have doubts sometimes, about, k'now. You."
Harry blinked once. Twice. Slowly, a third time.
"I--"
"Whether you even love me at all, really."
Harry couldn't breathe. He almost laughed, right there, and that would've been terrible but he couldn't breathe, so he supposed that was just as well. He swallowed - let his forehead drop to Louis' shoulder before he spoke, cracked and broken.
"How could you think that? I love you more than air."
And with his voice whisper-quiet and more real than anything either of them had ever had, it was all that needed to be said. Because nothing mattered anymore - not Caroline, or Eleanor; not their past lives or the future or Simon Cowell or even One Direction itself. It all just paled and lost its meaning and Harry did laugh, now, but it was all things bright and beautiful, and Louis brought his other hand up to stroke down the curved skin of Harry's side.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," Harry whispered, pressed in to his skin.
And Louis bent his lips to touch the other boy's ear, his hand anchored firmly in his hair. "Then on your knees, darling, and show me just how much."
Harry groaned, his body finally falling against him with a long shudder. He mouthed at the shirt under his face; nuzzled and shivered and let that pure feeling of being wanted and needed and loved wash over him like summer rain. His thumbs crooked - he leaned on Louis instead of the countertop and Louis took him in, wrapped his arms full around him but still gently, insistently pushed him further down. Harry complied with a breath of relief, slid boneless to his knees and let his wicked, wicked hands dance along the fastenings of Louis' pants. How had he not known? How could he doubt it, even for a second?
But Louis doubted he was good enough for 1D, too. Louis doubted anyone that loved the parts of him that were real.
Harry pushed those pants down to his thighs and Louis helped, wriggling, because he always wore those obscenely tight pants that made Harry want to throw him down and fuck him senseless. He stroked up the length of his now-exposed cock, flicked his eyes up to meet Louis' very blue ones. Licked his lips. He was waiting.
"Please," Louis whispered, and it wasn't an order but his hand tightened in Harry's hair- it was better than an order, it was supplicating, it was Louis outside of all the acts he played.
Harry was good at this. He loved it, too, and that was probably the singular reason why women were never enough for him. He loved wrapping his lips around a hot, hard dick; loved working his tongue and rolling and sucking and cradling a man's entire being in his mouth, bringing him to heaven and back from one skillful twirl of his tongue.
Usually, when he did this, Louis hid his face. He knew why. It was back to that damnable insecurity, and usually Harry had let him, but - he grabbed for Louis' free hand now, pinned it rough and hard to the countertop until bones creaked and Louis let out a sharp little cry. Pained, but needy. And Harry watched his face, watched watched watched as he sank Louis' cock deep into the hot wet heat of his mouth.
And oh, what a show. His eyelids fluttered, his breath came short, he bit his lips and licked them and his eyebrows, oh dear god, his eyebrows screamed how much he loved it, even when he didn't have air to breathe. It made Harry chuckle, it made Harry moan, it made him do all these things against Louis' cock and that hand tightened viciously in his hair. Tugged. Harry made the most sinful of pleased groans and his hips bucked, uselessly. Louis chuckled. Harry smiled.
"I love you," Louis whispered in a shaky, broken, beautiful voice as Harry rolled his tongue along the bottom of his cock. "Oh fuck-- Harry. I love you more than air."
Harry's response to this was to shove two fingers in along said cock, slick them good, then reach back and press them inside of him without a damn warning at all. Louis jumped.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck Harry..."
Yes. Like this. Harry wanted him senseless, he wanted him so out of himself that he forgot everything but this, everything but Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson and the beautiful bitch of a thing between them. He pressed in harder, twisted his fingers, and dragged right over his prostrate as his tongue flicked hard at the head of his cock.
"Fuck!!"
And he was gone, just like that, spilling into Harry's mouth and oh, look, he was going to have cocksucker's voice again for a while. It was worth it. His jaw ached. It was utterly, completely, disastrously worth it.
He slid his fingers free and made to stand up, figuring that would be the end of it for tongith - he hadn't planned on anything more than getting Louis off in high style and proving, without a doubt, that he was everything Harry had ever wanted.
But Louis, limp and wasted against the counter, was always one to surprise. He rolled over.
"Please, Harry," he begged, his voice stripped of any and all restraints. "Love you. Need you. Please."
And Harry never could resist an honest plea.