Playing The Changes
Playing the Changes
Harry/Louis | Explicit | 4228 words
Warnings: Teen sex (15 & 17), a bit of comeplay, a bit of D/s, seamless yoga panties, and very liberal nomenclature for said yoga panties. knickers? pants. uh.
A/N: After Louis' charity footie game and Harry cheering on him on the sidelines we decided we needed a high school au wherein Louis is the footie team captain and Harry is the only boy in the cheer squad, but we were also discussing Harry in panties, so the ideas sort of ended up merging. Also inspired by this gem by the lovely Tadeles. Title from American Girls by Counting Crows. [AO3]
Harry’s favorite part of going out with the girls is going to Victoria’s Secret. Probably not for the reasons most other teenage boys would. They always make a mess, end up leaving boyshorts with the thongs and push-up bras among the yoga pants, shoving things at Harry (Cher, in particular, has a tendency to make him put his arms through massive cup bras and making the staff glare at him) and giggling when he actually slips them on over his clothes. It was only a matter of time till they convinced him to actually buy something, Jade and Perrie insisting that seamless yoga panties are a team necessity, and that’s how Harry ends up in Louis’ room on Saturday night with a pink striped bag full of tissue paper.
“This isn’t like that time Zayn brought me a Victoria’s Secret bag full of exercise videos, is it?” Louis queries, both curious and annoyed in remembrance. “Exercise videos with boobs, Harry.” But they both know that he’s intrigued because he actually sets down his laptop- currently playing a video of the best of Giggsy on youtube- and moves to the edge of the bed, beckoning Harry closer.
“Nope,” Harry shakes his head, “It’s a Victoria’s Secret bag inside and out.” He gives Louis a sweet, dimply smile and dumps the contents on the comforter, which is about equivalent to a small avalanche of pink. It takes some digging around, past a coupon and the receipt and a catalogue with a twiggy blonde in a fleece hoodie on the cover, until he finally unearths the flimsy, stretchy underpants. They’re bright pink and striped, and Louis notices two things when Harry stands up and holds them in front of his hips: first, the word pink adorns the waistband, right smack in the middle with collegiate letters, and second, the pants may actually fit Harry, if only stretching a bit across his bony hips.
“Nice,” Louis laughs, although it takes him a minute. He doesn’t think it comes out too strained, anyway, and he grins at Harry widely, holds out his hand for a high five. “The girls get ‘em as a gag, then, I guess?”
Harry high fives Louis, beaming a bit, and shrugs. “I think so,” he agrees, but then he starts undoing his button and zipper and tugging his jeans down by the belt loops, kicking his Converse off, which is a bit contradictory. He’s entirely zen about the whole ordeal, really; it’s not like he hasn’t been naked in Louis’ room plenty of times, but he’s never gotten naked with the intent to put on stretchy pink knickers once his own clothes are gone.
“Haz,” Louis starts, doubtfully, but isn’t sure where to end it. He’s never had a problem with Harry and nudity combined, but it seems like nudity isn’t the point now, not with the way the underwear are twined in Harry’s long fingers. It settles in Louis’ stomach like a dead, cold weight, and it surprises him into brusque practicality: so what if maybe he thinks it’s hot? He shouldn’t have to worry about Harry not liking his kinks. Besides, he’s practically forcing this in Louis’ face, it’s not Louis’ fault if he finds it more hot than weird.
Undressing until he’s down to his boxer briefs, Harry gives Louis a look. Louis raises his eyebrows right back. “You’re supposed to cover your eyes for this part,” Harry huffs, but just turns around and drops his boy underwear, positively mooning Louis. Very nonchalantly, he steps into the panties and shimmies them up his knobby knees, up over his ass. It takes him a moment to turn back around, though, shifting things around so they’ll fit at the front. “Harry,” Louis tries again, because if he turns around now, it’ll be too late, and he’ll see the way that Louis has gone squirmy himself. The bright pink fabric clings to Harry’s arse, and Louis wants to touch, touch, touch.
Louis’ plan totally backfires, though, when Harry turns around with his lip between his teeth, all bright eyes and curls and thighs. “They fit!” he beams, pivots his hips a little as if it wasn’t painfully obvious to Louis, on the forefront of absolutely everything, that Harry is wearing pink knickers in his bedroom, like the phrase- and the image, god- is branded into his brain.
“Oh, god,” he mumbles, blankly, staring helplessly from the way that the leg holes are tight against Harry’s thighs to the way the waistband sits under his hipbones and to the miles of skin on display up his flat stomach, his proud grin.
“Are they bad?” Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his stomach. He’s cool with doing this kind of thing- he has to be; being the only boy in the cheer squad, he’s rocked eyeliner more times than he can count- but this time it’s for Louis only, and Harry fears he might be on the unpleasant side of shocked.
“No-o,” Louis hisses, like it’s knocked out of him, along with the rest of the air in his lungs. Sensing Harry’s worry, his first impulse is to reach for him, which he has to do more gingerly than usual, careful to set his hands at Harry’s waist instead of his hips. “Harry, no, they’re fine, you’re fine. It’s just. Me, I think it’s sort of hot, and if you meant it as a joke, then.” He quirks up his mouth weakly.
Harry shrugs, “Er, sort of. I mean.” For all his innocence and bright eyes and chubby cheeks, he’s absolutely charming, can have anyone wrapped around his finger in mere seconds, and knows it. He blinks down at Louis, coy, and glances further down, to the panties. “I think they’re nice. They feel nice, too.”
Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Louis exhales, slow and shaky. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” Harry nods, lips quirking up at the corners. He pushes his hips forward just a tad, presenting the way they stretch across his narrow-set hipbones, tense, a few inches under his belly button. They strain at the crotch, too, of course, but it’s much more subtle than Louis could’ve possibly managed, himself. Harry isn’t exactly small, but cheer has taught him how to get his business in control in mysterious, if not a little daunting, ways.
Louis slides his hands down until they bracket Harry’s hips, thumbs pressing into the jutting bones and massaging at the soft, creamy skin. “Look so good,” he mumbles, and lets his fingers slowly trace circles out, until they catch on the waistband of the panties. The elastic is nothing unusual against his fingertips, but the way that Harry shivers at the simple touch is.
“I’m glad you like ‘em,” Harry grins, already possibly plotting getting more of these- perhaps in a size bigger, for the sake of circulation to his legs. “They’re quite comfortable, I don’t know,” he says aloud, like Louis has been following his train of thought without him sharing it. He catches up quickly enough.
Louis huffs a little laugh, and flattens his palm over Harry’s right hip. He tentatively slides it across to the front of the panties, holding his breath. In turn, Harry exhales, rocking his hips forward a little. He’d tried hard to make them fit right in the quick seconds before he turned to Louis, but that’s already proving futile, his dick twitching, interested.
“How’d you- like for cheer, yeah?” Louis asks, pressing the heel of his palm down carefully over the bulge straining Harry’s panties. And christ, he’s already referring to them in his head as Harry’s panties.
“Uh huh,” Harry nods, higher than his usual tone. His voice cracks a little. “The- the girls wear ‘em ‘cos they’re seamless so they don’t show,” he tries to explain, some of it lost in the midst of hitched breaths- because Louis is palming at his dick through a pair of girls’ underwear, and he thinks he’s allowed to lose his words a little, thanks.
“The girls don’t have big pricks that stretch ‘em out,” Louis says, roughly. He can’t stop staring at the visual Harry presents, the jut of his hipbones above the panty elastic and the sparse dark hair drawing his gaze up to Harry’s belly button, back down to the pink of the underwear.
"But I do," Harry smiles, wanton. He licks his lips a little, hunches his shoulders forward in an effort to get closer to Louis. "'m glad you like 'em, Lou."
Louis laughs, gritty, and presses his face to Harry's stomach, smiling at how the muscles jump and twitch under his touch. He speaks into the tan skin above Harry's belly button. "You gonna leave 'em on, then? Gonna get come all over such nice panties, Haz?"
The color of Harry’s cheeks seriously rivals that of the panties, and they’re doing a poor job of covering his erection, strained, nearly poking out of the left leg hole. As if on cue under Louis’ gaze, a dark patch starts forming over the tip, soaking through the fabric. He swallows and nods, his Adam’s apple and then his curls bobbing.
“So good,” Louis praises him, softly, tipping his head back to glance up at Harry. “You always are so good for me, it’s lovely.” It’s still a new thing, these words, but he knows Harry likes them; they’ve discussed it, halting and whispered-secret-quiet in bed on late weekend nights.
“I do try,” Harry nods, his blush spreading down his neck and nearly to his chest. He goes easy when Louis lies back on the bed and pulls him on top, holding himself up with his hands on either side of Louis’ head. If the panties weren’t as tight, he thinks maybe his prick, this hard, would weigh them down and away from his body.
Louis oofs a little, as Harry squirms around, settling himself, and lets his hands rest at Harry’s hips. Thumbing at the edge of the panties, he momentarily mourns the loss of a fantastic view, but this way he gets to see, close-up, just how wrecked Harry is already. The pink smeared messily across his cheeks and poured down his throat like paint, still spreading, the glitter in his eyes, pupils wide and startled, is breathtaking. All Louis can do is kiss him, gently, a sweet little kiss to suck Harry’s lower lip between his own.
Harry’s eager and generous with his kisses, always, sucking on Louis’ upper lip in turn, tracing it with his tongue. He absolutely loves kissing, and kissing Louis in particular- there’s been girls before Lou, and once, a boy, but it’s possibly the combination of genuinely liking kissing him and liking so much more about him that sparks a warm, rolling feeling of comfort and giddiness in Harry’s stomach, something he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. It’s special, in the way that they may not exactly be loud about their relationship, but they make no effort to hide it either: Louis and Harry have easily become LouisandHarry and it’s a widely accepted concept, and Harry would be lying if he said it’s not the first thing he thinks of in the morning when he wakes up and right before falling asleep at night.
Sometimes this feels so young, is the thing, to Louis, like it’s happened overnight, or in the space between blinks, or maybe while he was brushing his teeth next to Harry in one of their bathrooms before a sleepover. Other times, it feels like forever, and Louis likes the way that if you sandwich the two together- it’s just nice. And he never seems to tire of Harry’s kisses, or, hasn’t yet; is content with just holding the younger boy against him and snogging lazily.
Harry, however, can only just snog for so long- he’d been hard already, and after a few minutes of kissing Louis until his mouth feels tingly, he fits a leg between Louis’ and presses his hips down on Louis’ thigh. Warmth seeps through Louis’ joggers and Harry’s panties, and the friction is more than nice on his dick, relieving the urge in his gut for more, if only slightly.
“Hello,” Louis breathes, slipping back from Harry’s kiss to smile at him, raise a hand to push the curls back from his sweaty forehead. “Alright, love?”
Peering at Louis from under heavy eyelids, Harry nods a little. “I really,” he begins, clears his throat, rough, “I really want you, Lou.”
Louis nods once, decisively, and with a hand on Harry’s hip and one at his shoulder, rolls them over easily. “D’you know what you want, then?”
Harry frowns, because he really hadn’t thought that far- his brain can only process so much information at the moment, but now he’s flooded with a hundred dirty things he wants from Louis, wants Louis to do to him and the other way around. Looking up at him, though, one thing in particular catches his eye, and he keeps his gaze trained on Louis’ lips as he asks, “Would you gimme a blowie?”
“‘Course,” Louis agrees, the tilt of his smile pleased as he pecks another kiss to Harry’s lower lip. “You want it on your back, or propped up, or?” Louis will always take Harry however he can have him. And he knows that Harry might be tired of the talking, might wish that Louis would just make the choice for them, but he likes pressing, likes hearing Harry figure out what he wants.
Whining, Harry cants his hips up and sighs when Louis lets him, grinding his erection against Louis’ thigh. “On my back, please?” he proposes, after a beat, one hand playing with the drawstrings on Louis’ joggers, twirling his fingers in them until he can just press his knuckles to the elastic waistband, dangerously close to where Louis is straining and hard, too, but innocently enough that he could almost pass it off for an accident if Louis didn’t know him better.
It gives Louis the chance to nod, say, “Since you asked so nicely, love.” He could get so easily distracted by Harry’s fingers at his crotch, but this is for Harry, first, and Louis wants that, knows that the waiting is worth it. It’s the only time he’s really good at being patient. Carefully, he eases down Harry’s body, shuffling between his knees and nudging his thighs wide around him. Glancing down for the first time in several minutes, Louis stares at the way the panties stretch painfully over Harry’s erection. “Oh,” he breathes, “oh, that is good, Haz.”
Harry nods, dazed under the attention and smiling small and sweet. He’s not nervous, exactly, but there is a certain cautiousness that comes with putting on a pair of girl’s underpants for a boy he likes, and it shows through in the way his breath hitches at every little touch and meaningful look from Louis, nerves on end, alert and hoping to remember every detail of this. “Thank you,” he mumbles, an afterthought, dimpled cheeks ruddy.
“So polite,” Louis smiles, rubbing his hands in slow circles down Harry’s sides and dipping his thumbs into the sharp jutting ridges of Harry’s hip bones. “You’re going to stay still for me, aren’t you?”
“Uh huh,” Harry nods, bites his lip and keeps from pushing up into Louis’ hands to illustrate his point. He knows Louis can be- not mean, never mean exactly, but he likes it best when Harry listens to him, does what he’s told, and in turn, Harry likes doing what Louis tells him to.
Leaning down, Louis presses his nose just below Harry’s belly button, kisses along the fine hairs of his happy trail, nuzzling his way down to the elastic of the panties. He doesn’t bother messing around, once there, however, holding onto Harry with one hand on his hip and pressing the heel of his hand along the hard line of Harry’s erection. “‘m gonna go down on you now,” he announces, sucking a small mark into Harry’s pale, soft skin, half under the waistband.
Harry can only tangle his fingers helplessly in Louis’ dark blue comforter and focus hard on keeping still, and perhaps not biting a hole through his lower lip. He feels like there might not be enough air in the room when Louis slowly, deliberately peels the panties back, pinched between his thumbs and forefingers, and before he can really think about it he’s asking, “Should- d’you want me to lift up?”
“No,” Louis says, simply, and folds the waistband down, tucking it under Harry’s balls with a little snap. Harry gasps, and Louis presses an apology into Harry’s hip with his mouth, and runs his thumb gingerly along where the elastic now lies. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Harry nods, and after a moment of consideration, props himself up on his forearms, chest at an angle off the bed. His stomach tenses, and the sight of Louis hovering close makes him whine a little, needy.
Louis’ never given head to anyone but Harry, and he’s not sure he wants to. He likes that Harry never makes fun of him for how much he likes it, how he can get off on giving just as much as Harry can on receiving. And how he can start slowly, just sliding his mouth down the side, nuzzling, really, letting Harry’s cock bump and fill against his cheek and chin and how he can smell Harry, like this, which might be weird if it were anyone else. He doesn’t move his left hand from Harry’s hip, leaves his right loosely curled with a finger tucked in the elastic beside Harry’s balls, using just his face to touch Harry’s prick. He likes how he can make Harry shiver when he presses his stubbly cheek to the side of his cock, how Harry’s stomach and thighs go tense when he reaches the head with his mouth open, breathing hotly over him.
Harry lets his head hang back, throat exposed, but pulls himself up again fast- he loves watching Louis like this, will keep from even blinking too long so he won’t miss the way he looks up from under his lashes or curls his fingers around the base of Harry’s prick. “Won’t last,” he pleads, because he really won’t at all with all the teasing and the feel of his panties digging into his thighs and pushing at his balls, and certainly not with Louis deliberately just hovering above him like this.
Louis wants, someday, to make Harry come without actually putting his mouth on him. Maybe not even his fingers, maybe not even touching at all- he’s not sure if that’s possible, but he knows Harry’d try, if he asked. It makes him smile, just thinking of it, and he tips his head up to take in Harry’s flushed cheeks and desperate eyes. “Got you,” he nods, encouragingly, and closes his mouth around the head of Harry’s prick, like a kiss. Like a kiss, but with his lips tight just below the crown, with his tongue flicking around the slit, his cheeks hollowing as he inhales and sucks lightly.
“Fuck,” Harry croaks, chin tipped down into his chest and eyes heavy-lidded. He doesn’t exactly have anything to go by, Louis his first at this just as much as the other way around, but he’s pretty sure half the reason he likes this so much is that it’s Louis doing it- loud, brash, football-obsessed Louis, the very same one Harry cheers on extra loudly from the sidelines and brings good luck Kit-Kats for on game days, looks absolutely stunning in between Harry’s legs and with his mouth around him, and it makes Harry feel things he’s not sure his chest is big enough to contain.
Louis flicks his eyes up to Harry’s, smug, thinks dirty mouth, much, Haz? hard enough like maybe Harry will hear it even though he can’t actually say it. And maybe he does. Either way, Louis relaxes his mouth, presses forward, lips pushing the foreskin back, tongue pressing into the newly exposed sensitive spot below the head. He moans, a bit, knowing how Harry likes the feel of it, and tightens his fingers around the base of Harry’s prick.
Harry groans, both hands fisted in the comforter, and reminds himself not to lift his hips like a mantra, running through his head over and over. Louis likes to take his time, ease him into it with painstaking precision, and as much as Harry enjoys every second of it, sometimes- namely, when he’s achingly hard and needy and wanting Louis more than anything else- he just wants to get it over with, for Louis to sink down until his lips meet his fingers and bob his head, flick his tongue in that dirty, dexterous way Harry loves.
As if on command, Louis does. He goes down quick enough that Harry’s cock brushes the back of his throat, and Louis just closes his eyes and whimpers, takes it, breathing shallow through his nose, his lips pressed to his fingers.
There’s relentless, all-enveloping heat curling up tight in Harry’s belly already, balls tightening and precome mixing with Louis’ spit, but Louis’ hand tight around the base of his dick keeps it from expanding and washing over him too soon. After a while it’s too much, and the words tumble out of his mouth, “Lou, please, your- I’m really close, c’mon-”
Louis nods, his head bobbing up to suck sloppily around the head, and he loosens his fingers just enough to slide them up, following his lips, twisting his wrist. Harry’s hips snap up helplessly, once, and then again, and he’s apologizing and swearing and begging and coming so hard across Louis’ tongue that he can barely tell the difference.
Pulling back and licking over his lips, Louis strokes Harry fast with a loose fist, lets him ride out his orgasm with jerky jumps of his hips until his stomach, his thighs, Louis’ hand, and the panties are all stained. Without a second thought, he pushes his joggers and briefs down, left carelessly still around one of his ankles, and straddles Harry’s thigh, wraps a hand around his prick and jerks himself quickly.
Harry can barely breathe, his lungs still burning and throat still clutched tight by orgasm, but he manages a whine, spreads his hands on Louis’ thighs. “Please,” he whispers, and his voice is so hoarse, like he’s the one who’s just given a blowjob, “‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to- t’move, Lou, please. Lemme touch you?” He feels like he’ll cry if Louis says no, he wants to touch him so badly, needs to make up for his mistake.
“Close,” Louis grunts, and it’s obvious in the way he can’t keep his voice too hard, breathy. They’ve talked about this, hushed under Harry’s covers on a friday night when his sister was staying at a friend’s and his parents were at a party, the way Harry likes to help Louis off and wants to make Louis happy, to do as he says, and how Louis likes having that bit of power over Harry. “C’mon, then, Hazza.”
Harry spits into his palm and reaches for Louis’ prick without hesitation, desperate to wrap his fist around the flushed weight of it. Louis moves his own hand away for him, leaning forward over Harry instead, and Harry would kiss him but he’s too busy watching how the glossy pink head of Louis’ dick appears each time he slides the foreskin back on a long stroke of his hand. “Pretty,” he says, thoughtless, but for how Louis is.
And it feels so ironic to Louis that Harry would say that when he’s the one in the knickers with the soft, curly hair and red, red lips, and maybe that’s what brings him off in the end, just a few strokes and a mumbled compliment from Harry. He comes hard, striping over Harry’s stomach and ribs, dripping down onto the panties from in between Harry’s fingers when they twist around the head, stroking until it almost hurts and he can let go of Louis’ sensitive cock carefully, hand falling on his hip.
Before Louis can collapse, he lifts himself off of Harry and tugs his joggers and underwear off his ankle. Harry almost protests when Louis turns to him, too, and pulls at the knickers, lifts Harry’s knees for better access and slips them off his feet. But then Louis kneels and sits back on his heels at Harry’s side, wipes his hands and a stray droplet of come with the bunched up pink fabric and then gets to work on Harry’s ribs, making his way down to his soft tummy, collecting smears of their mingled come.
Harry has long since given up on holding himself up, lying back with his head on Louis’ pillow, but he protests, a delayed response. “Oi, I wanted to keep those,” he frowns, but Louis shushes him, pets at his hip with a warm smile.
“I’ll get you new ones, love, yeah?” Louis proposes, cleaning the last of the come off Harry’s thigh before tossing the panties in the bin’s general direction. He closes his laptop on the bedside table and curls up into Harry’s side, pulls Harry’s arm around him and Harry snuffles, content.
“And this time,” Louis adds, “with frills.”
Harry/Louis | Explicit | 4228 words
Warnings: Teen sex (15 & 17), a bit of comeplay, a bit of D/s, seamless yoga panties, and very liberal nomenclature for said yoga panties. knickers? pants. uh.
A/N: After Louis' charity footie game and Harry cheering on him on the sidelines we decided we needed a high school au wherein Louis is the footie team captain and Harry is the only boy in the cheer squad, but we were also discussing Harry in panties, so the ideas sort of ended up merging. Also inspired by this gem by the lovely Tadeles. Title from American Girls by Counting Crows. [AO3]
Harry’s favorite part of going out with the girls is going to Victoria’s Secret. Probably not for the reasons most other teenage boys would. They always make a mess, end up leaving boyshorts with the thongs and push-up bras among the yoga pants, shoving things at Harry (Cher, in particular, has a tendency to make him put his arms through massive cup bras and making the staff glare at him) and giggling when he actually slips them on over his clothes. It was only a matter of time till they convinced him to actually buy something, Jade and Perrie insisting that seamless yoga panties are a team necessity, and that’s how Harry ends up in Louis’ room on Saturday night with a pink striped bag full of tissue paper.
“This isn’t like that time Zayn brought me a Victoria’s Secret bag full of exercise videos, is it?” Louis queries, both curious and annoyed in remembrance. “Exercise videos with boobs, Harry.” But they both know that he’s intrigued because he actually sets down his laptop- currently playing a video of the best of Giggsy on youtube- and moves to the edge of the bed, beckoning Harry closer.
“Nope,” Harry shakes his head, “It’s a Victoria’s Secret bag inside and out.” He gives Louis a sweet, dimply smile and dumps the contents on the comforter, which is about equivalent to a small avalanche of pink. It takes some digging around, past a coupon and the receipt and a catalogue with a twiggy blonde in a fleece hoodie on the cover, until he finally unearths the flimsy, stretchy underpants. They’re bright pink and striped, and Louis notices two things when Harry stands up and holds them in front of his hips: first, the word pink adorns the waistband, right smack in the middle with collegiate letters, and second, the pants may actually fit Harry, if only stretching a bit across his bony hips.
“Nice,” Louis laughs, although it takes him a minute. He doesn’t think it comes out too strained, anyway, and he grins at Harry widely, holds out his hand for a high five. “The girls get ‘em as a gag, then, I guess?”
Harry high fives Louis, beaming a bit, and shrugs. “I think so,” he agrees, but then he starts undoing his button and zipper and tugging his jeans down by the belt loops, kicking his Converse off, which is a bit contradictory. He’s entirely zen about the whole ordeal, really; it’s not like he hasn’t been naked in Louis’ room plenty of times, but he’s never gotten naked with the intent to put on stretchy pink knickers once his own clothes are gone.
“Haz,” Louis starts, doubtfully, but isn’t sure where to end it. He’s never had a problem with Harry and nudity combined, but it seems like nudity isn’t the point now, not with the way the underwear are twined in Harry’s long fingers. It settles in Louis’ stomach like a dead, cold weight, and it surprises him into brusque practicality: so what if maybe he thinks it’s hot? He shouldn’t have to worry about Harry not liking his kinks. Besides, he’s practically forcing this in Louis’ face, it’s not Louis’ fault if he finds it more hot than weird.
Undressing until he’s down to his boxer briefs, Harry gives Louis a look. Louis raises his eyebrows right back. “You’re supposed to cover your eyes for this part,” Harry huffs, but just turns around and drops his boy underwear, positively mooning Louis. Very nonchalantly, he steps into the panties and shimmies them up his knobby knees, up over his ass. It takes him a moment to turn back around, though, shifting things around so they’ll fit at the front. “Harry,” Louis tries again, because if he turns around now, it’ll be too late, and he’ll see the way that Louis has gone squirmy himself. The bright pink fabric clings to Harry’s arse, and Louis wants to touch, touch, touch.
Louis’ plan totally backfires, though, when Harry turns around with his lip between his teeth, all bright eyes and curls and thighs. “They fit!” he beams, pivots his hips a little as if it wasn’t painfully obvious to Louis, on the forefront of absolutely everything, that Harry is wearing pink knickers in his bedroom, like the phrase- and the image, god- is branded into his brain.
“Oh, god,” he mumbles, blankly, staring helplessly from the way that the leg holes are tight against Harry’s thighs to the way the waistband sits under his hipbones and to the miles of skin on display up his flat stomach, his proud grin.
“Are they bad?” Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his stomach. He’s cool with doing this kind of thing- he has to be; being the only boy in the cheer squad, he’s rocked eyeliner more times than he can count- but this time it’s for Louis only, and Harry fears he might be on the unpleasant side of shocked.
“No-o,” Louis hisses, like it’s knocked out of him, along with the rest of the air in his lungs. Sensing Harry’s worry, his first impulse is to reach for him, which he has to do more gingerly than usual, careful to set his hands at Harry’s waist instead of his hips. “Harry, no, they’re fine, you’re fine. It’s just. Me, I think it’s sort of hot, and if you meant it as a joke, then.” He quirks up his mouth weakly.
Harry shrugs, “Er, sort of. I mean.” For all his innocence and bright eyes and chubby cheeks, he’s absolutely charming, can have anyone wrapped around his finger in mere seconds, and knows it. He blinks down at Louis, coy, and glances further down, to the panties. “I think they’re nice. They feel nice, too.”
Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Louis exhales, slow and shaky. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” Harry nods, lips quirking up at the corners. He pushes his hips forward just a tad, presenting the way they stretch across his narrow-set hipbones, tense, a few inches under his belly button. They strain at the crotch, too, of course, but it’s much more subtle than Louis could’ve possibly managed, himself. Harry isn’t exactly small, but cheer has taught him how to get his business in control in mysterious, if not a little daunting, ways.
Louis slides his hands down until they bracket Harry’s hips, thumbs pressing into the jutting bones and massaging at the soft, creamy skin. “Look so good,” he mumbles, and lets his fingers slowly trace circles out, until they catch on the waistband of the panties. The elastic is nothing unusual against his fingertips, but the way that Harry shivers at the simple touch is.
“I’m glad you like ‘em,” Harry grins, already possibly plotting getting more of these- perhaps in a size bigger, for the sake of circulation to his legs. “They’re quite comfortable, I don’t know,” he says aloud, like Louis has been following his train of thought without him sharing it. He catches up quickly enough.
Louis huffs a little laugh, and flattens his palm over Harry’s right hip. He tentatively slides it across to the front of the panties, holding his breath. In turn, Harry exhales, rocking his hips forward a little. He’d tried hard to make them fit right in the quick seconds before he turned to Louis, but that’s already proving futile, his dick twitching, interested.
“How’d you- like for cheer, yeah?” Louis asks, pressing the heel of his palm down carefully over the bulge straining Harry’s panties. And christ, he’s already referring to them in his head as Harry’s panties.
“Uh huh,” Harry nods, higher than his usual tone. His voice cracks a little. “The- the girls wear ‘em ‘cos they’re seamless so they don’t show,” he tries to explain, some of it lost in the midst of hitched breaths- because Louis is palming at his dick through a pair of girls’ underwear, and he thinks he’s allowed to lose his words a little, thanks.
“The girls don’t have big pricks that stretch ‘em out,” Louis says, roughly. He can’t stop staring at the visual Harry presents, the jut of his hipbones above the panty elastic and the sparse dark hair drawing his gaze up to Harry’s belly button, back down to the pink of the underwear.
"But I do," Harry smiles, wanton. He licks his lips a little, hunches his shoulders forward in an effort to get closer to Louis. "'m glad you like 'em, Lou."
Louis laughs, gritty, and presses his face to Harry's stomach, smiling at how the muscles jump and twitch under his touch. He speaks into the tan skin above Harry's belly button. "You gonna leave 'em on, then? Gonna get come all over such nice panties, Haz?"
The color of Harry’s cheeks seriously rivals that of the panties, and they’re doing a poor job of covering his erection, strained, nearly poking out of the left leg hole. As if on cue under Louis’ gaze, a dark patch starts forming over the tip, soaking through the fabric. He swallows and nods, his Adam’s apple and then his curls bobbing.
“So good,” Louis praises him, softly, tipping his head back to glance up at Harry. “You always are so good for me, it’s lovely.” It’s still a new thing, these words, but he knows Harry likes them; they’ve discussed it, halting and whispered-secret-quiet in bed on late weekend nights.
“I do try,” Harry nods, his blush spreading down his neck and nearly to his chest. He goes easy when Louis lies back on the bed and pulls him on top, holding himself up with his hands on either side of Louis’ head. If the panties weren’t as tight, he thinks maybe his prick, this hard, would weigh them down and away from his body.
Louis oofs a little, as Harry squirms around, settling himself, and lets his hands rest at Harry’s hips. Thumbing at the edge of the panties, he momentarily mourns the loss of a fantastic view, but this way he gets to see, close-up, just how wrecked Harry is already. The pink smeared messily across his cheeks and poured down his throat like paint, still spreading, the glitter in his eyes, pupils wide and startled, is breathtaking. All Louis can do is kiss him, gently, a sweet little kiss to suck Harry’s lower lip between his own.
Harry’s eager and generous with his kisses, always, sucking on Louis’ upper lip in turn, tracing it with his tongue. He absolutely loves kissing, and kissing Louis in particular- there’s been girls before Lou, and once, a boy, but it’s possibly the combination of genuinely liking kissing him and liking so much more about him that sparks a warm, rolling feeling of comfort and giddiness in Harry’s stomach, something he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. It’s special, in the way that they may not exactly be loud about their relationship, but they make no effort to hide it either: Louis and Harry have easily become LouisandHarry and it’s a widely accepted concept, and Harry would be lying if he said it’s not the first thing he thinks of in the morning when he wakes up and right before falling asleep at night.
Sometimes this feels so young, is the thing, to Louis, like it’s happened overnight, or in the space between blinks, or maybe while he was brushing his teeth next to Harry in one of their bathrooms before a sleepover. Other times, it feels like forever, and Louis likes the way that if you sandwich the two together- it’s just nice. And he never seems to tire of Harry’s kisses, or, hasn’t yet; is content with just holding the younger boy against him and snogging lazily.
Harry, however, can only just snog for so long- he’d been hard already, and after a few minutes of kissing Louis until his mouth feels tingly, he fits a leg between Louis’ and presses his hips down on Louis’ thigh. Warmth seeps through Louis’ joggers and Harry’s panties, and the friction is more than nice on his dick, relieving the urge in his gut for more, if only slightly.
“Hello,” Louis breathes, slipping back from Harry’s kiss to smile at him, raise a hand to push the curls back from his sweaty forehead. “Alright, love?”
Peering at Louis from under heavy eyelids, Harry nods a little. “I really,” he begins, clears his throat, rough, “I really want you, Lou.”
Louis nods once, decisively, and with a hand on Harry’s hip and one at his shoulder, rolls them over easily. “D’you know what you want, then?”
Harry frowns, because he really hadn’t thought that far- his brain can only process so much information at the moment, but now he’s flooded with a hundred dirty things he wants from Louis, wants Louis to do to him and the other way around. Looking up at him, though, one thing in particular catches his eye, and he keeps his gaze trained on Louis’ lips as he asks, “Would you gimme a blowie?”
“‘Course,” Louis agrees, the tilt of his smile pleased as he pecks another kiss to Harry’s lower lip. “You want it on your back, or propped up, or?” Louis will always take Harry however he can have him. And he knows that Harry might be tired of the talking, might wish that Louis would just make the choice for them, but he likes pressing, likes hearing Harry figure out what he wants.
Whining, Harry cants his hips up and sighs when Louis lets him, grinding his erection against Louis’ thigh. “On my back, please?” he proposes, after a beat, one hand playing with the drawstrings on Louis’ joggers, twirling his fingers in them until he can just press his knuckles to the elastic waistband, dangerously close to where Louis is straining and hard, too, but innocently enough that he could almost pass it off for an accident if Louis didn’t know him better.
It gives Louis the chance to nod, say, “Since you asked so nicely, love.” He could get so easily distracted by Harry’s fingers at his crotch, but this is for Harry, first, and Louis wants that, knows that the waiting is worth it. It’s the only time he’s really good at being patient. Carefully, he eases down Harry’s body, shuffling between his knees and nudging his thighs wide around him. Glancing down for the first time in several minutes, Louis stares at the way the panties stretch painfully over Harry’s erection. “Oh,” he breathes, “oh, that is good, Haz.”
Harry nods, dazed under the attention and smiling small and sweet. He’s not nervous, exactly, but there is a certain cautiousness that comes with putting on a pair of girl’s underpants for a boy he likes, and it shows through in the way his breath hitches at every little touch and meaningful look from Louis, nerves on end, alert and hoping to remember every detail of this. “Thank you,” he mumbles, an afterthought, dimpled cheeks ruddy.
“So polite,” Louis smiles, rubbing his hands in slow circles down Harry’s sides and dipping his thumbs into the sharp jutting ridges of Harry’s hip bones. “You’re going to stay still for me, aren’t you?”
“Uh huh,” Harry nods, bites his lip and keeps from pushing up into Louis’ hands to illustrate his point. He knows Louis can be- not mean, never mean exactly, but he likes it best when Harry listens to him, does what he’s told, and in turn, Harry likes doing what Louis tells him to.
Leaning down, Louis presses his nose just below Harry’s belly button, kisses along the fine hairs of his happy trail, nuzzling his way down to the elastic of the panties. He doesn’t bother messing around, once there, however, holding onto Harry with one hand on his hip and pressing the heel of his hand along the hard line of Harry’s erection. “‘m gonna go down on you now,” he announces, sucking a small mark into Harry’s pale, soft skin, half under the waistband.
Harry can only tangle his fingers helplessly in Louis’ dark blue comforter and focus hard on keeping still, and perhaps not biting a hole through his lower lip. He feels like there might not be enough air in the room when Louis slowly, deliberately peels the panties back, pinched between his thumbs and forefingers, and before he can really think about it he’s asking, “Should- d’you want me to lift up?”
“No,” Louis says, simply, and folds the waistband down, tucking it under Harry’s balls with a little snap. Harry gasps, and Louis presses an apology into Harry’s hip with his mouth, and runs his thumb gingerly along where the elastic now lies. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Harry nods, and after a moment of consideration, props himself up on his forearms, chest at an angle off the bed. His stomach tenses, and the sight of Louis hovering close makes him whine a little, needy.
Louis’ never given head to anyone but Harry, and he’s not sure he wants to. He likes that Harry never makes fun of him for how much he likes it, how he can get off on giving just as much as Harry can on receiving. And how he can start slowly, just sliding his mouth down the side, nuzzling, really, letting Harry’s cock bump and fill against his cheek and chin and how he can smell Harry, like this, which might be weird if it were anyone else. He doesn’t move his left hand from Harry’s hip, leaves his right loosely curled with a finger tucked in the elastic beside Harry’s balls, using just his face to touch Harry’s prick. He likes how he can make Harry shiver when he presses his stubbly cheek to the side of his cock, how Harry’s stomach and thighs go tense when he reaches the head with his mouth open, breathing hotly over him.
Harry lets his head hang back, throat exposed, but pulls himself up again fast- he loves watching Louis like this, will keep from even blinking too long so he won’t miss the way he looks up from under his lashes or curls his fingers around the base of Harry’s prick. “Won’t last,” he pleads, because he really won’t at all with all the teasing and the feel of his panties digging into his thighs and pushing at his balls, and certainly not with Louis deliberately just hovering above him like this.
Louis wants, someday, to make Harry come without actually putting his mouth on him. Maybe not even his fingers, maybe not even touching at all- he’s not sure if that’s possible, but he knows Harry’d try, if he asked. It makes him smile, just thinking of it, and he tips his head up to take in Harry’s flushed cheeks and desperate eyes. “Got you,” he nods, encouragingly, and closes his mouth around the head of Harry’s prick, like a kiss. Like a kiss, but with his lips tight just below the crown, with his tongue flicking around the slit, his cheeks hollowing as he inhales and sucks lightly.
“Fuck,” Harry croaks, chin tipped down into his chest and eyes heavy-lidded. He doesn’t exactly have anything to go by, Louis his first at this just as much as the other way around, but he’s pretty sure half the reason he likes this so much is that it’s Louis doing it- loud, brash, football-obsessed Louis, the very same one Harry cheers on extra loudly from the sidelines and brings good luck Kit-Kats for on game days, looks absolutely stunning in between Harry’s legs and with his mouth around him, and it makes Harry feel things he’s not sure his chest is big enough to contain.
Louis flicks his eyes up to Harry’s, smug, thinks dirty mouth, much, Haz? hard enough like maybe Harry will hear it even though he can’t actually say it. And maybe he does. Either way, Louis relaxes his mouth, presses forward, lips pushing the foreskin back, tongue pressing into the newly exposed sensitive spot below the head. He moans, a bit, knowing how Harry likes the feel of it, and tightens his fingers around the base of Harry’s prick.
Harry groans, both hands fisted in the comforter, and reminds himself not to lift his hips like a mantra, running through his head over and over. Louis likes to take his time, ease him into it with painstaking precision, and as much as Harry enjoys every second of it, sometimes- namely, when he’s achingly hard and needy and wanting Louis more than anything else- he just wants to get it over with, for Louis to sink down until his lips meet his fingers and bob his head, flick his tongue in that dirty, dexterous way Harry loves.
As if on command, Louis does. He goes down quick enough that Harry’s cock brushes the back of his throat, and Louis just closes his eyes and whimpers, takes it, breathing shallow through his nose, his lips pressed to his fingers.
There’s relentless, all-enveloping heat curling up tight in Harry’s belly already, balls tightening and precome mixing with Louis’ spit, but Louis’ hand tight around the base of his dick keeps it from expanding and washing over him too soon. After a while it’s too much, and the words tumble out of his mouth, “Lou, please, your- I’m really close, c’mon-”
Louis nods, his head bobbing up to suck sloppily around the head, and he loosens his fingers just enough to slide them up, following his lips, twisting his wrist. Harry’s hips snap up helplessly, once, and then again, and he’s apologizing and swearing and begging and coming so hard across Louis’ tongue that he can barely tell the difference.
Pulling back and licking over his lips, Louis strokes Harry fast with a loose fist, lets him ride out his orgasm with jerky jumps of his hips until his stomach, his thighs, Louis’ hand, and the panties are all stained. Without a second thought, he pushes his joggers and briefs down, left carelessly still around one of his ankles, and straddles Harry’s thigh, wraps a hand around his prick and jerks himself quickly.
Harry can barely breathe, his lungs still burning and throat still clutched tight by orgasm, but he manages a whine, spreads his hands on Louis’ thighs. “Please,” he whispers, and his voice is so hoarse, like he’s the one who’s just given a blowjob, “‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to- t’move, Lou, please. Lemme touch you?” He feels like he’ll cry if Louis says no, he wants to touch him so badly, needs to make up for his mistake.
“Close,” Louis grunts, and it’s obvious in the way he can’t keep his voice too hard, breathy. They’ve talked about this, hushed under Harry’s covers on a friday night when his sister was staying at a friend’s and his parents were at a party, the way Harry likes to help Louis off and wants to make Louis happy, to do as he says, and how Louis likes having that bit of power over Harry. “C’mon, then, Hazza.”
Harry spits into his palm and reaches for Louis’ prick without hesitation, desperate to wrap his fist around the flushed weight of it. Louis moves his own hand away for him, leaning forward over Harry instead, and Harry would kiss him but he’s too busy watching how the glossy pink head of Louis’ dick appears each time he slides the foreskin back on a long stroke of his hand. “Pretty,” he says, thoughtless, but for how Louis is.
And it feels so ironic to Louis that Harry would say that when he’s the one in the knickers with the soft, curly hair and red, red lips, and maybe that’s what brings him off in the end, just a few strokes and a mumbled compliment from Harry. He comes hard, striping over Harry’s stomach and ribs, dripping down onto the panties from in between Harry’s fingers when they twist around the head, stroking until it almost hurts and he can let go of Louis’ sensitive cock carefully, hand falling on his hip.
Before Louis can collapse, he lifts himself off of Harry and tugs his joggers and underwear off his ankle. Harry almost protests when Louis turns to him, too, and pulls at the knickers, lifts Harry’s knees for better access and slips them off his feet. But then Louis kneels and sits back on his heels at Harry’s side, wipes his hands and a stray droplet of come with the bunched up pink fabric and then gets to work on Harry’s ribs, making his way down to his soft tummy, collecting smears of their mingled come.
Harry has long since given up on holding himself up, lying back with his head on Louis’ pillow, but he protests, a delayed response. “Oi, I wanted to keep those,” he frowns, but Louis shushes him, pets at his hip with a warm smile.
“I’ll get you new ones, love, yeah?” Louis proposes, cleaning the last of the come off Harry’s thigh before tossing the panties in the bin’s general direction. He closes his laptop on the bedside table and curls up into Harry’s side, pulls Harry’s arm around him and Harry snuffles, content.
“And this time,” Louis adds, “with frills.”