In My Veins - Chapter 9
pairing: arry/Louis
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).
It had been a rough couple of days.
At least that's how it seemed to Louis, who had been more or less embedded into his living room sofa for the past thirty-six hours.
The tubs of fudge ripple ice cream and reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer had done nothing to quell his misery in the two days after his hasty departure from Harry's flat, so he had resorted to lying face down in the cushions while some vile reality television played in the background, volume turned almost loudly enough to trick him into thinking he wasn't completely alone. Liam had attempted to pull some explanation from his gloomy flatmate, but nothing had passed the older boy's lips other than a grumbled "fuck off and turn down the lights, would you?"
When Louis had begun refusing food on the third day, Liam texted Niall to confirm his suspicion that the young therapist's pathetic state was induced by a certain brunette musician, but Niall had surprisingly neglected to respond. Lost as to what he could possibly do to help, Liam finally relented to Louis' only plea and gave him what he wanted: an empty apartment.
Louis stirred from his position on the sofa when he heard the front door click shut, discovering with chagrin that his body had created a long, defined indentation in the cushions where he had been lying for the past few days. He glanced over to the television, noting with complete apathy that some trash show about hoarders was playing. But maybe he wasn't giving the hoarders enough credit. Just collecting meaningless junk, piling it around them like a cocoon, spinning a protective shell against the unpleasant realities of the outside world? Now that he really considered it, it sounded rather appealing. A stack of vintage Playboys, or a small mountain of unopened cat food, would never ask you out on a date (and it was a goddamn date, there was nothing else that could possibly label it), flirt with you shamelessly, invite you back to their flat, then proceed to accidentally reveal their secret boyfriend.
A plaintive whimper tumbled from Louis' lips as he turned his face back into the pillow. Harry. Against his every wish, his thoughts always turned back to the boy with the dimple and crooked grin. The boy who had swept the unsuspecting psychiatrist up in a whirlwind of understanding and snarky remarks and lingering glances, only to dump him flat on his arse at the feet of a lithe, dark handsome man who clearly knew Harry on more intimate terms than Louis could even dream of.
What baffled Louis the most about the whole situation was that Harry reciprocated his feelings, he was sure of it. His entire job was centered around reading people, but it didn't take a degree in psychology to tell that Harry harbored more-than-platonic desires toward the older lad. No, Harry cared about him, of that he was sure. Even if it wasn't to the extent that Louis cherished him. But even so, why hadn't Harry shared information about his foul-mouthed lover in all the countless hours he had spent with the therapist?
Louis was just starting to relish the masochistic analyzation and self-pity he was subjecting himself to when he felt an insistent buzzing coming from somewhere underneath him. Affronted by the interruption to his wallowing, he tried to ignore the vibration, but when the insistent phone buzzed for the dozenth time he gave up and fished it out from the couch's crevice.
Not bothering to check the caller ID, he pressed 'answer' and smashed the phone against his cheek. "...'ullo?" he mumbled into the receiver, wincing at the raspy quality his voice had developed from deliberate disuse.
"Louis, Harry needs you."
Before Louis could even process what was happening, he found himself with shoes on and keys in hand, taking the stairs two at a time in his frantic rush to reach his car.
"What?? What's happened? Is he alright?" he breathlessly blurted to the boy on the other side of the line as he barreled into the Porsche, neglecting to even fasten his seatbelt in his haste.
"He- I'm actually not supposed to be talking to you," Niall started nervously, "he explicitly forbid it, but fuck it- he's in withdrawal, and I've dealt with that before but it's never been this bad. He's shivering and yelling and I'm afraid to get near him and...he keeps calling for you."
"I'll be there in five" Louis whispered and hung up, letting the wheels screech shrilly as he sped off into the night.
~
Standing outside the door to Harry's flat, Louis paused to collect himself, taking deep breaths until his pulse returned to a safe level. He hadn't the faintest idea of how he would be received on the other side of the door. Would Harry even let him stay after the disaster of their last encounter? Would he just be furious that Louis came, when Niall had clearly implied that his presence wasn't wanted? But no, Harry needed him. Whether he was required as a professional or...something else, he couldn't run away now. And with that thought in mind, he raised his fist and rapped twice on the door.
It burst open in seconds, and a slightly demented-looking Niall greeted him with a hysterical burst of laughter.
"Oh thank god. I have to go, Harry's in his room. Thanks for coming," Niall babbled while he pushed past Louis into the empty hall.
Louis had not anticipated being left alone with the unstable celebrity, and while he was wrapping his head around what this new development would involve, a hand gripped his shoulder firmly.
"Just be careful with him, yeah?" Niall said, a warning masked behind his casual words.
Louis softened as he turned back to the blonde. "Of course," he breathed, and two pairs of blue eyes locked momentarily before the Irishman gave a brief nod and shut the door behind him.
The silence that followed wrapped itself around the slim young man, and he started violently when a voice broke out from the other side of the shadowed room.
"What are you doing here?" The sound was little more than a croak, hinting at the damage the illustrious vocal chords had suffered.
Rotating toward his company, Louis surreptitiously gathered all the information he could from the younger male's disheveled appearance. Harry was leaning against the wall, needing the support to hide the fact that his upper body was trembling uncontrollably. He was wild-eyed and his skin had developed a grey pallor, making his eyes stand out brilliantly in contrast.
Louis didn't say a word. Instead, he approached Harry cautiously, as one would a wounded animal. The singer shrank back, panic swelling in his eyes, as Louis regarded him with a carefully neutral expression. It wasn't until Louis was a mere meter away that Harry snapped.
"No--no, get away, get out of here! You shouldn't have come, I don't want you here," Harry shouted, voice pitched unnaturally high. Louis watched helplessly as the fragile body was wracked with spasms and shudders; Harry was crumbling before his very eyes.
"Fucking leave, Louis! I never asked--you can't see this, I'm not worth--"
But Harry's worth would remain a mystery, his hysteria smothered by a mouth pressed firmly against his own.
Louis didn't know what had possessed him to do it, as kissing his unhinged patient was obviously not the wisest course of action. All he knew was that he had to make Harry stop talking, had to prevent the awful words from escaping the boy's chest. He braced himself, waiting for Harry to hit him. Expecting to be screamed at and thrown out the door for his idiotic decision.
What he certainly didn't expect was the urgent whine that bubbled out of the pale boy, or the hands that were pulling their bodies flush together until they were touching from thigh to shoulder.
Harry's tongue pushed between Louis' lips, which parted without objection, and he proceeded to lick into the deepest corners of the smaller male's mouth with practiced ease. Harry was everywhere, hot and insistent, rucking up the therapist's shirt just to drag his nails down the tanned flesh underneath. The borderline-painful sensation jerked Louis out of his shock, and he began to kiss back just as eagerly, just as fiercely, running his fingers between the sharp ribs that jutted out from Harry's torso.
Lifting his arms to allow Harry to relieve his shirt from its inconvenient placement, Louis maneuvered his hips to rub against Harry's. A strangled groan (whose it was, Louis couldn't be sure) filled the air as he felt the firm curve of Harry's cock pressing against his own, and after grinding down experimentally, he discovered that both of them were responsible for the noises permeating the stillness of the flat.
Soon both their shirts were lying on the floor, forgotten by the two boys wrapped up in each other in the dim evening light. Louis had Harry shoved up against the wall as he rutted shamelessly into the angular pelvis, Harry meeting his enthusiasm thrust for thrust. All attempts at finesse were forgotten as they could manage little more than ragged panting into one another's open mouths.
It occurred to Louis that perhaps the bedroom would better serve their purposes, and he managed to gather the presence of mind to hoist Harry's legs up around his waist, turning and carrying him into what he presumed to be the bedroom without breaking contact with the boy's fevered lips. It was a little unnerving how effortless it was for Louis to move the larger male; if it was even possible, Harry seemed to have lost weight in the few days since Louis had last been pressed against his skeletal body.
Harry melted into the assuring grip, moving his lips toward Louis’ ear to mutter with an unsteady cadence, “pretty impressive for someone who wears women’s jumpers.” Louis retaliated by latching his teeth onto the boy’s ivory throat, earning groans of appreciation from the singer.
Falling into the king-sized bed with an ungraceful thump, Louis continued to suck dark bruises into the pale flesh, ending his ministrations to admire how Harry’s neck was already beginning to purple from his efforts.
He leaned over Harry’s lanky torso, grazing his teeth from collarbone to bellybutton. Harry arched his back and threw his head back against the pillows, his curls splayed around his face like a halo. Louis glanced up from where he was teasing Harry’s nipple with his tongue, and the sight of the boy sweaty and whimpering underneath him bade him pause. Harry was...beautiful, even wrecked like this. The heat pooling in Louis’ stomach swam upwards, leaving something warm and pleasant settled inside his chest.
“Harry, I--”
Harry’s eyes flew open. “Don’t. Don’t say anything,” he pleaded, dragging Louis down to messily tangle their tongues together once again, slipping his hands down to the buttons of the older male’s trousers and unzipping them with one clean movement. Next, he tugged down Louis’ boxers, and the therapist’s breath hitched as Harry’s long fingers skimmed along his heavy cock.
The singer’s trousers were tossed across the room moments later, and Louis noted with a snort that Harry was not wearing anything underneath. Figures, he thought with a spark of amusement. But then Harry’s legs wrapped around his back and pulled him in until their mouths were sealed together, and all of Louis’ thoughts were lost in a storm of heat and throbbing need.
For a few minutes they let their hands roam, mapping out the other’s body with soft hands and rough nails and pants and gasps and breathless ohs.
Then Harry twisted underneath the smaller boy, reaching over to the bedside table and scrabbling clumsily until he found what he was looking for. Louis felt a crinkle of foil and the cool shape of a bottle being pressed into his palm. He searched out Harry’s face, finding it heavy-lidded and open-mouthed. Harry’s eyes were darkened to almost black as they stared back at Louis, and they held a challenge more than anything else. That look was all that Louis needed, and he unscrewed the bottle and spread the fluid over his fingers.
Flicking Harry’s knees apart, he settled himself between the boy’s thighs and let his fingers wander up until they brushed against Harry’s entrance. Harry let out a desperate whine at the contact, and Louis felt himself harden in response. Slipping one digit in experimentally, Louis was pleased to find that Harry pushed back against his fingers, and soon he had two fingers in up to the knuckle, carefully sliding and scissoring until Harry was begging for relief.
Louis ripped open the packet with his teeth and rolled the condom over his length. The singer watched intently, stroking himself with slow gestures. Leaning over Harry, fitting himself into position against his body, Louis murmured, “Harry. Harry, look at me, love.”
Blue met green and Louis pushed into the velvety heat, losing himself in the way Harry’s pupils blew wide and nostrils flared at the sensation. He began to thrust into the pale boy, shallowly at first, but deeper and faster as Harry’s keening moans urged him on. Harry’s pink lips sought after Louis, and this kiss was different, familiar and searching and full of intent.
Harry’s cries grew louder, and Louis wondered how much longer he could hold himself together as he rocked into the other male, hips snapping erratically despite his efforts to maintain a steady rhythm. But he had to last; this wasn’t about him, it was about Harry. The lovely, broken boy currently falling apart underneath his touch.
For a while there was nothing but the slide of skin on skin and incoherent moans. But Louis watched as Harry’s eyes fluttered open, lips parting.
“Lou...”
...then suddenly he felt a sticky wetness splattering against his ribcage, and the last of his restraint shattered as he released into Harry’s fragile form.
They lay there for an indefinite period of time, catching their breath and relishing in the warmth the other provided. Eventually, though, Louis became aware of the drying mess on his chest, and he extricated himself from the Cheshire boy’s boneless form with a whispered apology and ducked into the bathroom to clean himself off.
After wiping himself down Louis stared at himself in the mirror, and the realization of what had just occurred finally sank in. He had just slept with a patient. Not just any patient, but a world famous and highly volatile patient who was suffering severe withdrawal symptoms and therefore was probably not in a clear state of mind. The ethical dilemmas of the circumstances alone should have been enough to make him ill, but there was a more persistent concern that reared its head. What if this didn’t mean anything to Harry? From what Louis had witnessed the other day, the celebrity had no qualms about casual sex. This night could easily be just another notch in his bedpost, never to be addressed again. And Louis wasn’t sure he could handle that.
He splashed some cold water on his face to uncloud his mind and stepped back into the bedroom, bracing himself for abuse, yelling, or worst of all, Harry to completely ignore him.
It appeared that the worst had passed. Harry was curled up in the sheets, shivering ever so slightly, but far from the awful shudders he had been suffering before. He looked younger and more delicate than Louis had ever seen. Hearing the older lad’s approach, Harry lifted his head, damp curls falling over his forehead, and met Louis with a weak smile.
That was all Louis needed to wriggle back under the covers, opening his arms invitingly. A hum of contentment and some clumsy shifting, then Harry was snuggled into his chest. The Doncaster boy carded his hands through the younger’s hair, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion, and absently thought that maybe, just maybe, this would work out.
He fell asleep with Harry cradled childlike in his arms.
~
When Louis came to, the bed was empty.
He scanned the room but there was no sign of the curly-haired musician. Dread welling in his stomach, Louis rose from the bed and picked his trousers up from where they were draped over a lamp by the bathroom door. He dressed his lower half before venturing out into the flat, suddenly self-conscious.
Louis found him seated at the kitchen table. Harry's knees were drawn up so he could rest his chin upon them, arms wound protectively around his shins. A cup of tea sat before him, cold and untouched.
"Morning," Louis greeted, but it was more of a question than a statement.
Harry didn't reply, just gripped himself a little harder.
"You alright? I can make some more tea if you'd like, or some toast..." Louis trailed off uncertainly.
Harry gave no indication that he heard Louis' offer, cutting in with premeditated haste.
"Why'd you do it, then?" he blurted.
Louis blinked in surprise. "What are you on about?"
Harry scoffed and swiveled toward the psychiatrist. There were dark, puffy bags under his eyes, and his appearance looked more like he had spent the night in a cardboard box in an alleyway rather than on a high-end mattress.
"Don't be daft, Louis, I know you aren't stupid. Why did you fuck me? I want a real answer, no lies or sentimental psychologist bullshit."
"I--I did it because I wanted to, Harry, what other reason is there?" Louis crossed his arms and refused to retreat from Harry's burning glare.
Harry continued, words rushed and bitter. "Except it's never that simple with you people. I've had enough shrinks, I've had enough people trying to 'fix' me, I know how you operate. There's always some plan or strategy to make me change that you work in, you can't fucking help it. So why is it then?"
"Are you mad?? I like you, I'm attracted to you, so I slept with you! Is it really that difficult for you to understand?"
"Yes. Yes it is." Something shut down behind Harry's pupils, and the deadened gaze frightened Louis. "C'mon, Lou, out with it. Tell me why."
Tension crackled through the bright kitchen. Louis stayed silent. He refused to yield to Harry's sick desire for rejection.
The singer loosened the hold on himself, shoulders sagging beneath an unfathomable weight.
"Is this just another part of my therapy?" Harry whispered wretchedly.
All of Louis composure dissolved in his hurry to reassure the boy. "What? Of course not! Do you really think I'm that cold??" He moved toward Harry, who shrank away pitifully. "I would never do that to you, I...I mean, I think I might..." the sentence faded into nothingness as he scrambled to find the right words.
Harry furrowed his brow, jaw set. "I think you should go." His tone was apathetic, but Louis flinched as if he had been slapped.
"You're really thick, Styles, you know--" he began furiously.
"Louis, just stop. Please."
And with that Louis spun on his heel and stormed out of the flat for the second time that week, leaving Harry reeling in his wake.
rating: ature
summary: arry Styles is an arrogant pop star who has fallen into a black hole of drugs and self-loathing. Dr. Louis Tomlinson is hired to fix the unfixable; but not if Harry has any say in it. Coauthored wit onedirection5 she writes even numbered chapters, I write odd).
It had been a rough couple of days.
At least that's how it seemed to Louis, who had been more or less embedded into his living room sofa for the past thirty-six hours.
The tubs of fudge ripple ice cream and reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer had done nothing to quell his misery in the two days after his hasty departure from Harry's flat, so he had resorted to lying face down in the cushions while some vile reality television played in the background, volume turned almost loudly enough to trick him into thinking he wasn't completely alone. Liam had attempted to pull some explanation from his gloomy flatmate, but nothing had passed the older boy's lips other than a grumbled "fuck off and turn down the lights, would you?"
When Louis had begun refusing food on the third day, Liam texted Niall to confirm his suspicion that the young therapist's pathetic state was induced by a certain brunette musician, but Niall had surprisingly neglected to respond. Lost as to what he could possibly do to help, Liam finally relented to Louis' only plea and gave him what he wanted: an empty apartment.
Louis stirred from his position on the sofa when he heard the front door click shut, discovering with chagrin that his body had created a long, defined indentation in the cushions where he had been lying for the past few days. He glanced over to the television, noting with complete apathy that some trash show about hoarders was playing. But maybe he wasn't giving the hoarders enough credit. Just collecting meaningless junk, piling it around them like a cocoon, spinning a protective shell against the unpleasant realities of the outside world? Now that he really considered it, it sounded rather appealing. A stack of vintage Playboys, or a small mountain of unopened cat food, would never ask you out on a date (and it was a goddamn date, there was nothing else that could possibly label it), flirt with you shamelessly, invite you back to their flat, then proceed to accidentally reveal their secret boyfriend.
A plaintive whimper tumbled from Louis' lips as he turned his face back into the pillow. Harry. Against his every wish, his thoughts always turned back to the boy with the dimple and crooked grin. The boy who had swept the unsuspecting psychiatrist up in a whirlwind of understanding and snarky remarks and lingering glances, only to dump him flat on his arse at the feet of a lithe, dark handsome man who clearly knew Harry on more intimate terms than Louis could even dream of.
What baffled Louis the most about the whole situation was that Harry reciprocated his feelings, he was sure of it. His entire job was centered around reading people, but it didn't take a degree in psychology to tell that Harry harbored more-than-platonic desires toward the older lad. No, Harry cared about him, of that he was sure. Even if it wasn't to the extent that Louis cherished him. But even so, why hadn't Harry shared information about his foul-mouthed lover in all the countless hours he had spent with the therapist?
Louis was just starting to relish the masochistic analyzation and self-pity he was subjecting himself to when he felt an insistent buzzing coming from somewhere underneath him. Affronted by the interruption to his wallowing, he tried to ignore the vibration, but when the insistent phone buzzed for the dozenth time he gave up and fished it out from the couch's crevice.
Not bothering to check the caller ID, he pressed 'answer' and smashed the phone against his cheek. "...'ullo?" he mumbled into the receiver, wincing at the raspy quality his voice had developed from deliberate disuse.
"Louis, Harry needs you."
Before Louis could even process what was happening, he found himself with shoes on and keys in hand, taking the stairs two at a time in his frantic rush to reach his car.
"What?? What's happened? Is he alright?" he breathlessly blurted to the boy on the other side of the line as he barreled into the Porsche, neglecting to even fasten his seatbelt in his haste.
"He- I'm actually not supposed to be talking to you," Niall started nervously, "he explicitly forbid it, but fuck it- he's in withdrawal, and I've dealt with that before but it's never been this bad. He's shivering and yelling and I'm afraid to get near him and...he keeps calling for you."
"I'll be there in five" Louis whispered and hung up, letting the wheels screech shrilly as he sped off into the night.
~
Standing outside the door to Harry's flat, Louis paused to collect himself, taking deep breaths until his pulse returned to a safe level. He hadn't the faintest idea of how he would be received on the other side of the door. Would Harry even let him stay after the disaster of their last encounter? Would he just be furious that Louis came, when Niall had clearly implied that his presence wasn't wanted? But no, Harry needed him. Whether he was required as a professional or...something else, he couldn't run away now. And with that thought in mind, he raised his fist and rapped twice on the door.
It burst open in seconds, and a slightly demented-looking Niall greeted him with a hysterical burst of laughter.
"Oh thank god. I have to go, Harry's in his room. Thanks for coming," Niall babbled while he pushed past Louis into the empty hall.
Louis had not anticipated being left alone with the unstable celebrity, and while he was wrapping his head around what this new development would involve, a hand gripped his shoulder firmly.
"Just be careful with him, yeah?" Niall said, a warning masked behind his casual words.
Louis softened as he turned back to the blonde. "Of course," he breathed, and two pairs of blue eyes locked momentarily before the Irishman gave a brief nod and shut the door behind him.
The silence that followed wrapped itself around the slim young man, and he started violently when a voice broke out from the other side of the shadowed room.
"What are you doing here?" The sound was little more than a croak, hinting at the damage the illustrious vocal chords had suffered.
Rotating toward his company, Louis surreptitiously gathered all the information he could from the younger male's disheveled appearance. Harry was leaning against the wall, needing the support to hide the fact that his upper body was trembling uncontrollably. He was wild-eyed and his skin had developed a grey pallor, making his eyes stand out brilliantly in contrast.
Louis didn't say a word. Instead, he approached Harry cautiously, as one would a wounded animal. The singer shrank back, panic swelling in his eyes, as Louis regarded him with a carefully neutral expression. It wasn't until Louis was a mere meter away that Harry snapped.
"No--no, get away, get out of here! You shouldn't have come, I don't want you here," Harry shouted, voice pitched unnaturally high. Louis watched helplessly as the fragile body was wracked with spasms and shudders; Harry was crumbling before his very eyes.
"Fucking leave, Louis! I never asked--you can't see this, I'm not worth--"
But Harry's worth would remain a mystery, his hysteria smothered by a mouth pressed firmly against his own.
Louis didn't know what had possessed him to do it, as kissing his unhinged patient was obviously not the wisest course of action. All he knew was that he had to make Harry stop talking, had to prevent the awful words from escaping the boy's chest. He braced himself, waiting for Harry to hit him. Expecting to be screamed at and thrown out the door for his idiotic decision.
What he certainly didn't expect was the urgent whine that bubbled out of the pale boy, or the hands that were pulling their bodies flush together until they were touching from thigh to shoulder.
Harry's tongue pushed between Louis' lips, which parted without objection, and he proceeded to lick into the deepest corners of the smaller male's mouth with practiced ease. Harry was everywhere, hot and insistent, rucking up the therapist's shirt just to drag his nails down the tanned flesh underneath. The borderline-painful sensation jerked Louis out of his shock, and he began to kiss back just as eagerly, just as fiercely, running his fingers between the sharp ribs that jutted out from Harry's torso.
Lifting his arms to allow Harry to relieve his shirt from its inconvenient placement, Louis maneuvered his hips to rub against Harry's. A strangled groan (whose it was, Louis couldn't be sure) filled the air as he felt the firm curve of Harry's cock pressing against his own, and after grinding down experimentally, he discovered that both of them were responsible for the noises permeating the stillness of the flat.
Soon both their shirts were lying on the floor, forgotten by the two boys wrapped up in each other in the dim evening light. Louis had Harry shoved up against the wall as he rutted shamelessly into the angular pelvis, Harry meeting his enthusiasm thrust for thrust. All attempts at finesse were forgotten as they could manage little more than ragged panting into one another's open mouths.
It occurred to Louis that perhaps the bedroom would better serve their purposes, and he managed to gather the presence of mind to hoist Harry's legs up around his waist, turning and carrying him into what he presumed to be the bedroom without breaking contact with the boy's fevered lips. It was a little unnerving how effortless it was for Louis to move the larger male; if it was even possible, Harry seemed to have lost weight in the few days since Louis had last been pressed against his skeletal body.
Harry melted into the assuring grip, moving his lips toward Louis’ ear to mutter with an unsteady cadence, “pretty impressive for someone who wears women’s jumpers.” Louis retaliated by latching his teeth onto the boy’s ivory throat, earning groans of appreciation from the singer.
Falling into the king-sized bed with an ungraceful thump, Louis continued to suck dark bruises into the pale flesh, ending his ministrations to admire how Harry’s neck was already beginning to purple from his efforts.
He leaned over Harry’s lanky torso, grazing his teeth from collarbone to bellybutton. Harry arched his back and threw his head back against the pillows, his curls splayed around his face like a halo. Louis glanced up from where he was teasing Harry’s nipple with his tongue, and the sight of the boy sweaty and whimpering underneath him bade him pause. Harry was...beautiful, even wrecked like this. The heat pooling in Louis’ stomach swam upwards, leaving something warm and pleasant settled inside his chest.
“Harry, I--”
Harry’s eyes flew open. “Don’t. Don’t say anything,” he pleaded, dragging Louis down to messily tangle their tongues together once again, slipping his hands down to the buttons of the older male’s trousers and unzipping them with one clean movement. Next, he tugged down Louis’ boxers, and the therapist’s breath hitched as Harry’s long fingers skimmed along his heavy cock.
The singer’s trousers were tossed across the room moments later, and Louis noted with a snort that Harry was not wearing anything underneath. Figures, he thought with a spark of amusement. But then Harry’s legs wrapped around his back and pulled him in until their mouths were sealed together, and all of Louis’ thoughts were lost in a storm of heat and throbbing need.
For a few minutes they let their hands roam, mapping out the other’s body with soft hands and rough nails and pants and gasps and breathless ohs.
Then Harry twisted underneath the smaller boy, reaching over to the bedside table and scrabbling clumsily until he found what he was looking for. Louis felt a crinkle of foil and the cool shape of a bottle being pressed into his palm. He searched out Harry’s face, finding it heavy-lidded and open-mouthed. Harry’s eyes were darkened to almost black as they stared back at Louis, and they held a challenge more than anything else. That look was all that Louis needed, and he unscrewed the bottle and spread the fluid over his fingers.
Flicking Harry’s knees apart, he settled himself between the boy’s thighs and let his fingers wander up until they brushed against Harry’s entrance. Harry let out a desperate whine at the contact, and Louis felt himself harden in response. Slipping one digit in experimentally, Louis was pleased to find that Harry pushed back against his fingers, and soon he had two fingers in up to the knuckle, carefully sliding and scissoring until Harry was begging for relief.
Louis ripped open the packet with his teeth and rolled the condom over his length. The singer watched intently, stroking himself with slow gestures. Leaning over Harry, fitting himself into position against his body, Louis murmured, “Harry. Harry, look at me, love.”
Blue met green and Louis pushed into the velvety heat, losing himself in the way Harry’s pupils blew wide and nostrils flared at the sensation. He began to thrust into the pale boy, shallowly at first, but deeper and faster as Harry’s keening moans urged him on. Harry’s pink lips sought after Louis, and this kiss was different, familiar and searching and full of intent.
Harry’s cries grew louder, and Louis wondered how much longer he could hold himself together as he rocked into the other male, hips snapping erratically despite his efforts to maintain a steady rhythm. But he had to last; this wasn’t about him, it was about Harry. The lovely, broken boy currently falling apart underneath his touch.
For a while there was nothing but the slide of skin on skin and incoherent moans. But Louis watched as Harry’s eyes fluttered open, lips parting.
“Lou...”
...then suddenly he felt a sticky wetness splattering against his ribcage, and the last of his restraint shattered as he released into Harry’s fragile form.
They lay there for an indefinite period of time, catching their breath and relishing in the warmth the other provided. Eventually, though, Louis became aware of the drying mess on his chest, and he extricated himself from the Cheshire boy’s boneless form with a whispered apology and ducked into the bathroom to clean himself off.
After wiping himself down Louis stared at himself in the mirror, and the realization of what had just occurred finally sank in. He had just slept with a patient. Not just any patient, but a world famous and highly volatile patient who was suffering severe withdrawal symptoms and therefore was probably not in a clear state of mind. The ethical dilemmas of the circumstances alone should have been enough to make him ill, but there was a more persistent concern that reared its head. What if this didn’t mean anything to Harry? From what Louis had witnessed the other day, the celebrity had no qualms about casual sex. This night could easily be just another notch in his bedpost, never to be addressed again. And Louis wasn’t sure he could handle that.
He splashed some cold water on his face to uncloud his mind and stepped back into the bedroom, bracing himself for abuse, yelling, or worst of all, Harry to completely ignore him.
It appeared that the worst had passed. Harry was curled up in the sheets, shivering ever so slightly, but far from the awful shudders he had been suffering before. He looked younger and more delicate than Louis had ever seen. Hearing the older lad’s approach, Harry lifted his head, damp curls falling over his forehead, and met Louis with a weak smile.
That was all Louis needed to wriggle back under the covers, opening his arms invitingly. A hum of contentment and some clumsy shifting, then Harry was snuggled into his chest. The Doncaster boy carded his hands through the younger’s hair, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion, and absently thought that maybe, just maybe, this would work out.
He fell asleep with Harry cradled childlike in his arms.
~
When Louis came to, the bed was empty.
He scanned the room but there was no sign of the curly-haired musician. Dread welling in his stomach, Louis rose from the bed and picked his trousers up from where they were draped over a lamp by the bathroom door. He dressed his lower half before venturing out into the flat, suddenly self-conscious.
Louis found him seated at the kitchen table. Harry's knees were drawn up so he could rest his chin upon them, arms wound protectively around his shins. A cup of tea sat before him, cold and untouched.
"Morning," Louis greeted, but it was more of a question than a statement.
Harry didn't reply, just gripped himself a little harder.
"You alright? I can make some more tea if you'd like, or some toast..." Louis trailed off uncertainly.
Harry gave no indication that he heard Louis' offer, cutting in with premeditated haste.
"Why'd you do it, then?" he blurted.
Louis blinked in surprise. "What are you on about?"
Harry scoffed and swiveled toward the psychiatrist. There were dark, puffy bags under his eyes, and his appearance looked more like he had spent the night in a cardboard box in an alleyway rather than on a high-end mattress.
"Don't be daft, Louis, I know you aren't stupid. Why did you fuck me? I want a real answer, no lies or sentimental psychologist bullshit."
"I--I did it because I wanted to, Harry, what other reason is there?" Louis crossed his arms and refused to retreat from Harry's burning glare.
Harry continued, words rushed and bitter. "Except it's never that simple with you people. I've had enough shrinks, I've had enough people trying to 'fix' me, I know how you operate. There's always some plan or strategy to make me change that you work in, you can't fucking help it. So why is it then?"
"Are you mad?? I like you, I'm attracted to you, so I slept with you! Is it really that difficult for you to understand?"
"Yes. Yes it is." Something shut down behind Harry's pupils, and the deadened gaze frightened Louis. "C'mon, Lou, out with it. Tell me why."
Tension crackled through the bright kitchen. Louis stayed silent. He refused to yield to Harry's sick desire for rejection.
The singer loosened the hold on himself, shoulders sagging beneath an unfathomable weight.
"Is this just another part of my therapy?" Harry whispered wretchedly.
All of Louis composure dissolved in his hurry to reassure the boy. "What? Of course not! Do you really think I'm that cold??" He moved toward Harry, who shrank away pitifully. "I would never do that to you, I...I mean, I think I might..." the sentence faded into nothingness as he scrambled to find the right words.
Harry furrowed his brow, jaw set. "I think you should go." His tone was apathetic, but Louis flinched as if he had been slapped.
"You're really thick, Styles, you know--" he began furiously.
"Louis, just stop. Please."
And with that Louis spun on his heel and stormed out of the flat for the second time that week, leaving Harry reeling in his wake.