The Young Bachelor 1/2
Title: The Young Bachelor, Part 1/2
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Niall/Liam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Louis is persuaded ito sign up for a local dating show called The Young Bachelor.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, they'd be fucking on every interview.
A/N: My first ever. Comments are lovely. Also credit to colazitron because she writes the most perfect things and one of her genius may or may not have inspired me to write this.
Louis awakens and the first thought he manages is I’m gonna fucking kill Niall. Then he grimaces because killing implies corpses and worms and no no no that’s not what his brain wants to picture right now. No in fact, Louis decides belatedly, it shouldn’t be picturing anything at all while some invisible powerdrill is digging one thousand different holes into his head.
He groans into the arm that he slings over his face, because fuck if he isn’t having the worst hangover of his life. Whoever invented alcohol must die a slow, excruciating death. Whoever decided doing tequila shots with Niall Horan was a good idea must a die a slow, excruciating death then return back to life so Louis can strangle him with his bare hands and enjoy the feel of veins popping and breaking beneath his palms and eww -- eww -- just stop thinking. please.
But that’s impossible when Louis can’t stop thinking about how he hates everyone and everything right now and the fact that it doesn’t really matter because his head hurts so much he’s not going to live to see another day anyway.
His other hand blindly reaches for where he assumes his head is (because at this point, he really isn’t sure anymore) and massages it the way he only knows how. It helps ease the wrecking pain to a degree but Louis still feels like there are live worms eating into every corner of his brain. (Seriously, you’re in the middle of a vomit-control crisis and you still manage to slip worms into the conversation, you are a work of brilliance, Tomlinson).
Louis keeps his eyes closed, because he knows in his intense state of disinterest in continuing the rollercoaster that is his sexless, leprechaun-manipulated life, he’s gonna regret it the second he opens them.
He does open them anyway, because you only live once. The tiny sliver of light escaping through the curtain wastes no time and blinds Louis permanently (not really, but Louis tends to be overdramatic during times of grave hangovers) and he can actually feel his skull slowly cracking in half. He strains his eyes and just like always, his vision eventually smooths into a focus. And whoa, speaking of smooth.
Niall’s naked arse is being caressed by a huge, wandering hand that could’ve only been attached to the arm of none other than the I-never-drink-because-alcohol-is-too-mainstream-for-my-good-taste Liam fucking Payne, the lucky hangover-free son of a bitch. Sometimes Louis wishes he were Liam, completely capable of self-restraint and then he remembers Liam’s boring and thinks never mind.
There’s giggling, moaning and sweet hushed nothings (or Louis assumes, because Niall and Liam are the epitome of annoying, googly-eyed couples that are so demonstratively affectionate with each other you can’t decide whether to gag in your mouth or beat them endlessly with dead batteries) and it’s too early in the morning to be engaging in a midday fuck (lovemaking, Louis corrects himself in a perfect replica of Liam’s obnoxiously righteous voice) and do they really have to it where Louis could be waking up any minute with the worst possible hangover which they caused in the first place? Such ungrateful, horny bastards.
Louis makes the excellent decision of simultaneously rolling and shutting his eyes so hard and so fast he thinks he might have sprained something, like say, what’s left of his sanity maybe. Great, now the pounding in his head has increased tenfold. He lets out a long, tuneful whine and is almost distracted by Niall’s loud breathy moan from the other side of the room, and Louis, for some unfathomable reason, allows himself to be curious because ok, fine it’s been a while (he won’t specify how long) since Louis’s had a good lay, the prick broke his heart and no, he doesn’t wanna talk about it, so he indulges himself by braving a peek, and there he sees.
Niall, Louis’s bestfriend and flatmate of 2 years, is on all fours on the other bed, naked, while Liam, who’s biting his lower lip in what Louis can only assume is his attempt at stifling his own moans lest they disturb the peaceful slumber of a blissfully ignorant, prehangoversuffering Louis, fucks him with long, careful thrusts.
And even through his (somewhat waning) headache, Louis doesn’t fail to catch how this slow, easy rhythm is causing Niall to mewl and arch like a spineless cat beneath the broadness of Liam’s canopy of a body. It should seem wrong, these two. Because Liam’s all big and broad and long torso and limbs and rational and moral responsibilities while Niall’s so small and Irishy and carefree and the doesn’t give a fuck kind of guy, but somehow the two of them fit together like they were custom-made for each other. Like they can mesh together in all their contrasting glory and make the extra edges look right. And Louis is not talking just about the sex.
Louis is almost relieved for Niall when Liam moves faster, the bed springs creaking in protest, (Louis is neither amused nor surprised at the fact he finds the sound the most erotic thing in the world) and Niall makes these small broken sounds like he’s gonna come in a flash if Liam doesn’t slow down anytime soon.
Well shit.
Louis’ cock stiffens, because biology and because he’s learned everything under the sun gets his hormones surging and fuelling these days faster than a bullet train, and feels half-disgusted, half-amused at the growing tent in his pants. He almost laughs, if he’s not too busy wallowing in a mud of self-disgrace, at what has become of his life. If he died today, his entire life was so sad even Hell would not accept him. He knows this because he’s suffering through an inopportune erection while watching his friends, who he doesn’t particularly like at the moment, get it on while his head throbs like a fucking pendulum high on ecstasy. And really, who grows a hardon during a hangover? Point him to the person, he dares you.
His balls begin to ache, but he’d rather cut his arm off than let his depravity get the best of him and wank the life out his dick (when his friends are in the same room, doing just about the same), because of a.) reasons, and b.) as much of a-cry-for-help as he is, he’s still got some dignity left in him.
How about he kill Niall instead once the world stops spinning and he can see properly again?
---
“GOOD MORNINGGGG! The Irish boss awakens!”
“Jesus, Niall.” Louis flinches and cradles his head with every available appendage he can find on himself and decides he really, really, really hates Niall. Like, really really so much.
Niall just cracks up characteristically (Louis idly wonders since when is Niall so cheerful in the morning -oh wait, of course, Liam must have fucked the hangover out of him this morning, then again, Niall has the liver of a survivalist drunk Scottish poet) and pads happily into the kitchen, where Louis was rather enjoying an alone time with his misery and lingering hardon, which Niall all singlehandedly caused, thank you very much, and Niall goes directly for the coffee pot.
Louis keeps his head down, hidden from the world, until he notices a hot mug being slid swiftly in his direction. He suddenly feels less suicidal and takes a generous sip -aaah aahh hoooot
“Well someone’s thirsty.” Niall laughs.
“Fuck you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I will kill you.” Hmm, that sounds intimidating enough, Louis muses triumphantly, then loses his proud smirk when Niall just winks at him.
“Morning, children.”
Louis looks behind him and ow, the entire earth is moving, then sees a freshly-showered Liam ambling his way over to the kitchen, who’s currently lacking a shirt, how very morningsex cliché of him, and too fucking ripped for his own good (Louis thinks with a little more jealousy and awe than he’s willing to admit), and smelling like a ray of fucking sunshine.
“What’s going on?”
“Louis is being a murdery hangover drama queen again, what’s new?” Niall replies from where’s standing by the stove, freeing the bacon from its plastic constraints.
Louis feels a hand on his shoulder and he looks up to meet Liam’s apologetic smile, which, for a fleeting moment, he’s tempted to return, then he remembers Liam is just much of a devil as Niall for making him go through all of this so he just gives Liam one of his trademark disarming blank looks.
Liam decides to leave him in his misery, ruffling his hair in that semi-demeaning, semi-comforting Liam way that he usually can’t decide whether to lean into or duck away from, and walks over to Niall, who’s also shirtless, Louis just now observes, and comes up behind him to plant a soft kiss on his pale, freckled shoulder. Niall hums appreciatively and reaches behind their bodies to squeeze Liam’s bum, which leads to giggling and sighing like there’s not a third person in the room sulking like a dying goat. These two, Louis decides with resignation, are actually kind of cute when they’re not too busy making his life a living hell.
Liam takes over the cooking, blessed be the Lord, because Louis doesn’t think he can stomach Niall’s infamous burned bacon and omelets right now.
“So Louis, did you enjoy me and Liam’s little performance this morning?” is Niall’s way of saying sorry.
“You’ve done way worse things to me that you haven’t apologized for, Niall,” Is Louis’s way of saying fuck off.
“Liam was begging for it, what’s a guy got to do?” -“HEY!”- “Sorry if we sullied those virgin eyes in any way.” Niall’s smug smirk suggests he’s anything but.
“Stop pretending that you have any concern for my well-being. So how about you choke on a chainsaw.”
Niall chuckles, drinking from the mug that Liam had spent hours and hours making which may or may not have involved a spilled paint or two on Louis’ bedroom floor, a year and half ago on St. Patty’s Day for Niall. As you can probably tell by now, they do cringey romantic shit on a regular basis. “Whoops, what’s lodged up your arse, Tomlinson? We all know it’s definitely not a cock.”
“Niall, will you please, just, I don’t know, chew on broken glasses or needles or something?”
“Puh-lease, you’re only upset because it’s been a while for you and me and Liam provided you with more entertainment this morning than you’ve had in the past year.”
Louis’s face suddenly turns red. It should’ve sounded like an innocent shot at mockery, but there’s something about the way Niall’s eyeing him, or about the way Liam sputters and seems to be hiding a smile from where he’s stirring over the frying pan. Louis knows already and oh shit, this is just what he needs. His smug friends catching him sporting wood while watching them fuck. Fucking great.
“You’re not exactly a master of subtlety, Tomlinson. Don’t feel bad, we’re flattered.” Niall says in response to what Louis assumes his very red, very embarrassed face. Louis actually wants to die now. Or he can maybe just kill Niall instead? Like he’s been planning to since the day started? Or maybe like 2 years ago when got around to knowing Niall and his deceiving, manipulative ways? “And seriously, man, when’s the last time you went home with someone? I’m starting to feel sorry for your left hand.”
Louis takes a deep breath and resolves to give it to his friend once and for all. Ok, Niall, first of all, fuck you and your tequila dare last night. If you were a good friend, you wouldn’t have used your persuasive Irish skills on me, and most of all fuck you for this bloody hangover. But all he manages to say is “f’you.”
“Excuse me?” Niall has the audacity to sound affronted like he could hear all the missing words. “I’m sorry but last time I checked you’re a fully consenting adult and fully capable of taking responsibilities for your actions, so if you’re gonna blame anyone for feeling like shit right now, blame your complete lack of self-control.”
“But you’re my friend! You’re supposed to know I don’t have any self-control!” He explains exasperatedly, because why is he even explaining this? “It’s called common courtesy!”
Liam sniggers from his corner, and Louis snaps his head in his direction and shoots him a death glare. Liam clamps up and uh-oh is written all over his face. “And you…” Louis says in a dangerous, accusatory drawl, and actually points a finger at the pair of widened eyes blinking innocently at him, “The rational one, the fully responsible adult who’s supposed to keep me in line. What the fuck happened to him?”
Liam’s face reminds Louis of the raccoon he once caught snooping in his in the leftover lasagna he left lying around in his kitchen two months ago. “I was going to-but he-“ Liam stutters and motions over to Niall with his spatula.
“I promised I’d let him tie me to the bed if he promised to stay out of it.” Niall explains like he’s merely dictating the list of grocery items they’re gonna be needing for the week and if it weren’t for Liam’s furious blush, Louis would’ve actually said “Two cartons of milk and a bucket for my vomit because that’s a disturbing image.”
Then Louis, bright child that he is, chooses that exact moment to steal a glance over at Niall’s wrists and sure enough, there are visible purplish marks around his otherwise milky white skin. The image of Niall, naked, tied to the bedposts, begging, while Liam’s being a dangerous tease leaks into his brain like sweet, sticky syrup of lust.
Sweet, sticky syrup of lust? Great. Now he’s horny and a girl.
Louis closes his eyes and breathes because if the hot tug in his belly isn’t an indication of his sexual depravity, someone tell him what is. God he needs to get laid. Like, NOW.
“Why, congratulations, sex deviants. I’m glad I could be of service to you and your wild sexual endeavors,” Louis says in a bland voice, “I feel truly honored.”
“Aww, you’re sweet. Thanks, babe.” Niall reaches out across the table to pat him on the cheek. Louis narrows his eyes and mentally calculates the chances of the police finding Niall’s corpse if Louis hid the body bag in their basement.
“Here, have something to eat, might help turning that frown upside down.”
Louis snaps out of his reverie when he sees a plate of bacon and eggs set in front of him. For the first time that morning, he’s able to bring himself to smile and see life in brighter colors. His hope in humanity is somewhat restored.
“Thanks, Li.” He manages.
Liam smiles that smile, that smile that touches every part of his face, that life-is-a-gift-and-unicorns-are-real-and-I’m-happy-that-you’re-happy smile. The smile Louis has only ever seen on Liam. Liam, ever the voice of veritable serenity amidst all the chaos in this messy, judgmental world.
“Hey, what about me?” Nialls whines around a mouthful. “No thanks to the guy who’s about to significantly improve your massive joke of a life?” He’s wiggling his eyebrows like there’s some inside joke there that Louis is supposed to understand.
“Right now, you are the bane of my existence, Niall, so how about no.” He says anyway.
“Well, that’s definitely not what you told me last night.”
Louis gives him the finger and no, wait, what? “What?”
“Hey, you said it, not me.” Niall says a little too defensively.
“Said what?” Why does Louis already feel like he doesn’t wanna know?
“That, and I quote ‘Niall, you’re the guy who’s gonna significantly improve my massive joke of a life’.” Niall informs him with big, blue eyes that seem to know so many secrets about the world Louis doesn’t. Nothing in this physical world can possibly make Louis utter those words, not even eight consecutive shots of tequila, not even the prime minister, not even God Himself if He suddenly decided to show up in Louis’ doorstep. “So, should I call Aiden or--?”
Louis just eyes him curiously. Aiden is one of Niall’s older friends who work in the grimmer part of the entertainment industry. Louis suddenly has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“--Or do you wanna tell him yourself?”
“Tell Aiden what?” He finally speaks. “Why is Aiden suddenly relevant to my life?”
“Oh I don’t know, he’s only like your fairy godfather who’s gonna make all your dreams come true in one night.”
Liam laughs out loud. Louis is lost.
“Or maybe you were too drunk to remember.” Niall adds casually and Louis gets a feeling Niall meant it as a joke.
Only it’s not. Because Niall’s not making any sense right now, and maybe Louis was too drunk to remember. “Remember what?” He asks.
Niall’s smile drops. Then he and Liam share a curious, lingering eye contact. They know something he doesn’t. “You’re kidding, right?” Niall asks, slowly, as if he’s carefully deciding in his head whether or not Louis is intentionally fucking with them.
“Kidding about what?” Louis drops his fork (they don’t whip out the spoons from their secret cupboard when Liam comes to visit). “Niall, either you tell me what’s going on now or with God as my witness, I will shove this fork so far down your throat you will taste my armpit hair.”
“Unbelievable! You don’t remember!” Niall barks into a loud, incredulous laugh, falls forward and sideways in his seat and claps his hands, causing Louis to worry because this is Niall’s Mischievous Laugh, the one that tells you he’s caused trouble somewhere and based on firsthand experience, Louis knows Niall’s Mischievous Laugh is never a good news, unless he’s involved in said trouble, of course.
Louis turns to Liam for help, desperate. “Liam, what the fuck is happening?”
Liam shrugs, his expression a cross between genuinely worried and amused. Louis fights the urge to reach across the table and choke Niall with his own saliva so he would shut up for a second and let Louis have a moment of peace to figure out what on earth transpired last night. The combination of Niall and tequila and Aiden (?) already tells him he’s not gonna like it.
“Liam, please.” Louis begs.
Liam is about to open his mouth when Niall interrupts him with a hand and puts his laughter to a halt. “No, no, no… let me.”
Louis waits with bated breaths, scared for his own life.
“So last night, you accepted my tequila drinking challenge, right?” Niall begins.
“Right.” One of Louis’ least thought-of decisions in his life.
“And we both agreed that whoever gave up first would do anything the winner tells him to do, right?”
Louis does not remember such a thing. But he knows as infuriating as he is sometimes, Niall would rather cut his dick and dip it in acid than tell a lie, so Louis nods. “Sure.”
“Long story short, you lost, I told you I’m signing you up on The Young Bachelor first thing in the morning, you agreed and a little while later you puked on a stranger.”
Louis can feel his all of his blood drain from his face. The puking on a stranger is in the cards, but anything else in that sentence is as likely as Niall’s holding back a fart in public. “I did NOT.”
He can see Liam fighting back a laugh from his peripheral vision, his shoulders heaving and shaking.
Please God no, I will be a better person, I’ll never ever take a piss on a church yard ever again, I’ll never ever think of Jesus when I’m wanking off, just please… let Niall be lying just this once.
The Young Bachelor is a dating show, an independent, low-rating cheesy rip-off of The Bachelor (quite original, too). Only difference is instead of some rich guy in his thirties, you win some undatable teenage sod, instead of one whole season, you only get one episode, and instead of a wedding ring, you get a one-night-only date with said teenager, free food and booze and loads of camera crew trailing behind your ass. Aiden Grimshaw runs the entire production.
So basically, The Young Bachelor is a show where self-respect goes to die.
So, how about NO.
“You’re lying.” Louis says simply.
Niall folds his arms in a definite fashion, and Liam goes to stand next to him. They both shake their heads in unison. Shit.
“How can you twats do this to me?!?!” Louis exclaims once he finds his voice. “You can’t force me to be on some silly show just because I agreed on a stupid bet whilst under the influence of alcohol! You can’t hold me accountable!”
“Don’t you dare spit in the face of the sanctity of our treaty - it was a gentleman’s agreement.”
“How about I spit in your face instead for being the worst friend in history.”
Niall sobers up. “Worst friend? I’m only doing this for your own good. Honestly man, when was the last time you had a little fun?”
Louis pretends he isn’t mentally computing the number of months that have passed by before his eyes since the day he took a chance and lived his life the way he wanted to.
“See? Even you can’t remember.” Niall says. “What you’re experiencing is a grave post-closet crisis and you need some serious intervention. So last night I took it upon myself to do something about the lack of fun and sex in your life.”
Louis doesn’t answer because denial won’t get him anywhere with Niall. “By signing me up for The Young Bachelor?”
Niall scoffs defensively. “Hey, it gets you good booty, plus once your pretty face appears on local television, you’ll be known around town, and who knows, even if you don’t win at least you get a good face promotion out of it, yeah?”
“No offense, Niall, but a.) Nobody in their right state of mind watches that show, and b.) I don’t think I need the help of some lame TV show to improve the welfare of my social life, thank you very much.”
“Well, on the contrary, everybody subscribed to Channel 8 watches that show and yes, you do.”
“I’m not doing it, Niall, and my decision is final.” Louis picks up his fork again and continues eating.
Discussion closed. No questions asked. Any argument is invalid.
Niall heaves a long sigh. “How about you go out of your funk and grow the balls to do this?”
“How about you leave me alone?”
“Louis, please.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. And you’re wasting your breath because there’s nothing you can do that will change my mind so get it out of your head.”
“Really, nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Wrong choice of words, Tomlinson.
Louis can feel it coming, the remember-when-I-saved-your-life card, the one he can’t possibly say no to, the one he’s hated since the very first time Niall, the clever bastard, figured he could use it to every possible advantage that ever came his way.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Not even if I remind you of that one time when I saved your life from the pigeon----?”
“So, do you want me to talk to Aiden or…?”
Niall grins like the Devil himself.
Louis realizes, with utter clarity, he is absolutely, unequivocally, irrevocably fucked.
---
It’s nearing sundown and Louis isn’t sure whether to be thankful or to be sulking over the fact that he’s still alive. Although his hangover has fully waned (blessed be the Lord), he’s still got five pages of paper to finish by night’s end, thanks to the unyielding power of procrastination and unforgiving scumbag THEA107 professors, Niall and Liam are spooning on the couch watching Friends reruns at full volume*le cringe le cringe* (from which Louis expects thirty minutes later, loud and wild sex will ensue, as per ush, which won’t help Louis’ studying in any way) and… what else?
What’s the other thing that makes Louis thinks his life is a joke and must therefore perish?
Oh of course, yeah, The Young Bachelor thing that has suddenly added itself to the list of reasons why Niall must disappear from the face of the earth. He doesn’t need this added stress.
Louis sighs, uh what the heck, and decides to call the only person in his life who was there there to support his homoerotic tendencies ever since he discovered he was more attracted to Nicholas Hoult than the entire female cast of Skins put together when no one else wasn’t. The person who’s always been there. For anything.
“Maybe I should just back out.” He says after updating Eleanor the current happenings in his life.
“Don’t you dare!” Eleanor shrieks over the phone, and Louis can almost picture the way her eyes are metamorphosing into a pair of blazing fireballs as if Louis was there to crow under its intended effect, which still isn’t always successful otherwise, “if I ever so much as get wind of you chickening out on this, I swear in my nana’s grave I will go down there and castrate you myself.”
“Great motivation, El.” He says flatly, typing ‘my penis will fly to Paris tomorrow’ on his laptop because there is no possible way he’s coming up with anything readable enough to pass for a collegiate paper when he’s only got a few hours left in his hands, “And here I was starting to question your purpose in my life.”
“I’m serious. You know the only thing that comforts me at night sometimes is knowing that you have friends like Niall who actually cares about you.” Her voice turns soft and Eleanor-like.
“Nah, he just finds a lot of pleasure in messing with my life, is all.” Louis says, only half-joking.
“Please, you’re crazy about him.” She teases, and there’s a little giggle in her voice suggesting something more.
Louis decides to ignore it and shrugs. “Yeah, when I’m not fighting the urge to pick up a knife and stab him in the throat, sure.”
Eleanor scoffs. “Just think about it. You’ll appear on live TV, you’ll be meeting some interesting people in the industry, if you win you’ll spend the night with a nice bloke, and if you don’t at least you got a free TV appearance which is great platform for your line of career, so really it’s a win-win situation.”
“Except for the part where I don’t wanna appear on live TV competing over some stranger and pretending like I’m pregnant with passionate love with him when there’s a 50-ton camera shoved in my face. Maybe I’m desperate, but I’m not that desperate. So thanks, but no thanks.” Louis says truthfully.
“But Niall’s got your name already listed. As the saying goes, the egg is already broken, you might as well make a good omelet out of it.”
“No, you know what? I despise that. You know what I should do?”
Eleanor sighs. “Louis, look, this is for your own goo-“
“--I should make a disgusting scrambled egg and throw it up all over Niall’s face.”
Oh. Lightbulb.
Eleanor already knows something’s brewing in his genius. “Louis, what are you up to?”
“Simple. Niall recommended me for the show, didn’t he? So what if instead of impressing the pants off this young bachelor, I do the complete opposite and be my ol’ crazy self? It’ll only reflect badly on Niall’s name and it’ll be the perfect payback.” He grins with pride, because he is too brilliant for this world.
“If I said I disapprove, would it change your mind?” It isn’t even a question.
“Not even if you finally took me up on my standing offer and agreed to name your firstborn Louis Super McAwesome Tomlinson Rumplestilskout.”
Eleanor hangs up and Louis laughs up at the ceiling.
__
On r way to d studio. U bttr make me proud Louis. Me and liam r missing a night of wanton sex just to see u.
Louis stuffs his blackberry back into his pockets and smiles. Whatever you say, Niall, whatever you say.
He breathes in the cold air oozing out of the AC’s of the studio, the strangling confinement of his button-down starting to take its toll on him.
He can’t stand still, he’s sweating everywhere, his lungs are clamping up, he has this strange urge to throw up on every existing flat surface in the room - he’s never been this nervous since his first stage appearance on their school production of We the Lucky Ones during his freshman year at uni. What the actual fuck.
(He broke a leg on that show, by the way. Literally and figuratively.)
He looks around to entertain himself, observing the hustling and bustling of an estimated 20 staff and crew people in their headphones and clipboards in and out of the room. It’s not that bad to witness firsthand how an actual, well-funded (or so Louis is starting to suspect) somewhat-doing-okay-in -the-market television show operates, Louis thinks.
One of the crew, a lady who looks strangely like a young, fitter, African-British version of Barbra Streisand, lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. Yes, so he knows Barbra Streisand, next gay joke please. “Hey, you okay love?”
If by ‘okay’ she means wishing a giant comet would suddenly crash land in their vicinity and erase everyone’s memory that he’s ever been here then “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, babe.”
“You look a little pale. Have you had anything to eat yet? We have fruits and muffins in the dressing room if you’d like.”
Louis decides immediately that he likes her. “I’m good. Just some preshow jitters. I’ll live.”
She says, smiling. “If you’re sure. I’m calling you guys out in 20 okay?”
Louis nods, just again realizing there are other two (very attractive) contenders standing right next to him waiting behind the curtains that hid them from the stage. Their names, he was told, are Carlos and Lucas. He’s been observing them with the least amount of subtlety he could dare himself to manage the minute the three of them were introduced to each other.
The former seems handsome and confident enough, barely in his 20’s, eyeing Louis and Lucas with that expression that says oh, yeah, I so have this in the bag. But he’s too self-assured and too obvious and too driven to win Louis almost finds him pathetic and unchallenging and so very typical. Louis would never sleep with him. Lucas, on the other hand, is the least communicative, also in his early 20’s, has that quiet, mysterious, early 90’s Johnny Depp (his favorite kind of hipster?) vibe to him, but for some reason, if Louis were in any way serious about winning this thing, he’d definitely see Lucas as his competition. Except he’s not, so really, why bother.
Among the three of them, Louis already has an idea of who’s going home a lucky bloke tonight. And he’s glad it ain’t gonna be him.
“Good evening, boys and girls! Welcome to another episode of The Young Bachelor, where we help young, searching, regrettably single lads find love in the hopeless shambles of what was once the haven of young romance,” Louis cringes at that. Because really? “in other words, help them get laid. As always, we will be joined by our host, the ever fabulous, ever lovely, the razzle dazzle Aiden Grimshaw!”
“Good evening, my lovely daisies!” He can hear Aiden Grimshaw’s voice blasting through the speakers, breaking the relative silence of the hall, followed by a loud round of applause exploding into his eardrums like a bad nightmare. It suddenly hits Louis he’s gonna be standing before a crowd of brutal, nothing-better-to-do-with-their-lives ruminants who came here to judge him and judge him only.
Remind him why he agreed to do this shit again.
Oh yes, he remembers. To enjoy the priceless, most wonderful thing that will be Niall’s face when he finds Louis acting like a total retard on local TV and basks in the mud of shame and humiliation his trusted bestfriend will have successfully made to befall on him.
Right. Now focus, Tomlinson and be the professional that you are. You were born to do this.
“To start off, I wanna say tonight’s episode is very special to my heart, because the young bachelor is actually a very close friend of mine, and let me tell you something about him,” Aiden pauses for dramatic effect “he likes pussy.”
Cue audience laughter.
“Well, only very occasionally, of course,” Aiden clarifies when the giggles die down. “Seeing as most of the time, he likes cock.”
Cue audience laughter, louder this time. And Louis finds himself saying “hmm.” Because he had no idea ‘pussy’ and ‘cock’ was allowed in the given proceedings. To think his little sisters watch this show and would fight him over the remote for.
“All truthful jabs aside, deep down, if he has indeed a deep down,” Aiden continues, “this friend of mine has had trouble finding that …special someone, if you may, for one reason and one reason only.” Another pause.
“This dirty son of a bitch’s got some serious standards.”
Louis catches himself listening with more intent now, because whoa.
“I’ll introduce the bangtidy piece of arse to you a little bit later but first let me all ask of you this. Do you think our bachelor will find his special person in what appears to be an attractive selection of contestants tonight? Is there someone out there who’s fit enough to make our young bachelor blush like a virgin on her wedding night?” Okay, Louis admits, that was actually kind of funny. “Maybe yes,” Aiden declares, “maybe not…”
Another dramatic 3-second pause. “But this we’re sure of - at least someone’s getting laid tonight.”
“Now, let’s call on our contestants!”
Louis notices the Barbra Streisand-lookalike frantically motioning and ushering them out of backstage and he hesitantly puts himself behind the line that he, Lucas, and Carlos have spontaneously fallen in. He’s thinking “You’ll pay for this Niall…” until a blinding, bright light looms into his face and shatters his vision.
The crowd is hooting, Louis is close to peeing his pants.
Where’s a zombie outbreak when you need one?
---
Louis can feel every pair of eyes in the room on him as he tries not fall off his chair, which is ridiculous for the obvious reason that Carlos, as Louis observes more, looks like an A&F model who materialized right out of a TV advert, and that Lucas could have easily been mistaken for a member of The Wanted.
While Louis, on the other hand, looks like -hmm, how can he put this accurately- a younger, less coordinated variety of Clark Kent who stinks of years and years of celibacy and broken dreams. Gelled hair, pair of hideous glasses and pale blue buttoned-up polo shirt in place. He looks absolutely -what’s the word- repugnant.
Niall and Liam have not stopped looking at him in horror ever since they caught a sight of him from the third row in the audience. Louis’s plan is already working and it feels as good as it feels, well, a little humiliating, to be quite honest. Everyone in the crowd is looking at him like he’s a sitting, gelled up joke, which was his intention in the first place, wasn’t it? Ehhh.
“Hmm, let’s see who we got next.”
Aiden’s loud voice breaks into his consciousness.
He eyes Louis carefully. “Our last contestant’s name is Louis, 20, a drama student already in his third year, hailing from Doncaster, a self-proclaimed Susan Boyle fan - interesting lad - he loves collecting butterflies, was once a Frisbee champion, enjoys face-painting (what the fuck, Louis mentally facepalms... because -Niall) and watching French romantic comedies on a Saturday night when he’s not too busy whining about his period.”
Audience cackling ensues and Louis just shrugs it off, just like he has for the last 20 years of his life.
“Now let us and our mystery bachelor, hear that lovely voice, darling, as I’m sure he’ll be hearing a lot of it screaming his name later tonight if ever you get lucky.” Aiden wiggles his eyebrows dirtily and Louis almost forgets how to speak. This must have been the 67th sexual innuendo of the night.
“Uh, hi?” He says awkwardly into the microphone, it’s weird to hear his voice come out of the 10-foot speakers.
This gets an amused reaction from the audience. It takes one look at Aiden and everyone in the room for Louis to know what they’re all thinking: this guy can’t be serious.
“Now, Louis, since you’re the last one to speak, you get to be the first contestant receiving the questions from our lovely young bachelor. Is that okay? Do you promise not to cry like a little bitch when you can’t find the right answer?” Aiden pouts, his lower lip jutting out from the rest of his face. Louis’s stomach churns. Is he really ready for this?
“I can’t promise but I’ll do my best.”
Aiden actually laughs. “Ha, I like you already.” And not in a because-you-look-fit-enough-to-win-this-game kind of way but, more like a because-you’re-gonna-make-a-fool-out-of-yourself-and-it-will-be-funny kind of way.
There’s a barrier placed in the middle of the stage keeping both sides hidden from one another. The mystery young bachelor lies on the right side, while Louis and the two other contestants are on the left.
“Hi, Louis.”
A deep, bassy voice suddenly mentions Louis’ name. There’s another churning in his stomach that makes oxygen harder to chase. And whoa what?
“Hi again.” Louis attempts.
“How are you feeling tonight?” The voice asks, tender and suggestive. And it suddenly feels like the gates of Heaven have opened up or something.
And wow, if the situation was a little less awkward and a little more convenient, Louis can actually say he likes it already. It’s smooth and almost velvety. And deep. And sexy.
And deep.
He can’t wait to hear more.
“Uh, a little thirsty, actually.” Louis replies. It’s true, he’s actually really parched. He can make out Liam under the dim lighting of the studio putting a hand over his mouth. Gobsmacked Liam is the best kind of Liam.
“We’ll see if we can do anything about that later, but now I want you to answer this question for me if that’s okay.” Okay, so Louis decides he really really really likes it. Maybe not even in a sexual way. He just likes it. The soft, bedroom feel of it. Like it’s wrapped around in a cozy, warm blanket and a cup of homemade chocolate and sweet dreams and sunshine. He’s come to the conclusion the person attached to this voice must possess a beautiful mouth or there will be no justice in the world.
Louis decides right then to be honest and straightforward with this guy, because well, how can he possibly lie to this voice? “Okay.”
“If you only had one day to live, how would you spend it?”
“Uhm, I’d adopt a chimpanzee.” Louis can hear Niall’s laugh from where he is in the audience. Typical Niall, physically unable to hold back anything that comes out of his little Irish body. Soon enough he’s joined by the majority of the crowd. Mystery bachelor lets out a small chuckle that Louis isn’t almost prepared to hear.
“Why?” The voice smooths back into a steady chime.
“I only have one day to live, right? Why would I spend my last 24 hours asking why I do it rather than just doing it, period?”
“Hmm, interesting.” The voice muses.
“Isn’t he? Are we a little curious if he’s just as interesting in bed?” Aiden’s voice pops out of nowhere, suddenly becoming less attractive to Louis’s ears.
“Shut up before you irreparably embarrass me, Aiden.” The voice reprimands, although Louis likes how he can tell it came with a smile.
“I think it’s a little too late for that, darling.” Aiden comments to himself.
“Do you like other sports, other than… Frisbee?” The young bachelor asks.
Another collective giggling from the audience spreads around the room.
“I dabble a bit on football.” Dabble? Please. He can practically hit a goal in his sleep.
“Hmm.” Seriously. Bedroom voice. Louis finally allows his mind to wander and imagine how that voice would sound like in bed. “Rooting for a particular team?”
“Been a Man U fan since birth.”
“Okay.” Poker-voice, exactly what Louis suspects the young bachelors are told to keep for the whole duration of the competition. He also suspects this young bachelor has almost forgotten about this one little rule until now.
“Okay, Louis. I have another question and I need you to think carefully about this, because music is a very important part of my life: if you could dedicate a song to me, what would it be and why?” Louis idly thinks wow, don’t tell me he can sing with that voice too?
“A harmonic version of Who Let the Dogs Out.” Is the first thing that crosses his mind. Niall and Liam sink deeper into their seats, facepalming in disbelief yet again.
“And I’m assuming you have a good reason for that?” The voice asks.
“To be honest, I really don’t.” Louis replies truthfully. Hey, he’ll have you know that song got him through the shame and self-hatred during most of his puberty years and continues to cheer him up on a bad day, so why not. Mystery bachelor doesn’t need to hear about his teenage closet issues though, personal stuff. “However, Aiden may or may not have mentioned you liked pussies… so… who fucking let the dogs out?”
This time mystery bachelor doesn’t hold back and bursts into a loud, body-wrecking (or Louis can imagine) laugh. Louis feels proud of himself. And decides that he really does like this guy. And is a lot intrigued to get to know him better. And is extremely curious as to what he looks like.
It’s only later that he realizes the other are having a great laugh out of it, too.
“I’m glad this is all giving us a lot of joy, but we gotta move on to our next contestant.” Aiden reminds them. He motions over to Carlos, who’s not as confident as the first time Louis shook reluctant hands with him.
The next 30 minutes stretch on with the mystery bachelor asking the two other contestants the same questions and them answering back with things like “bunjeejumping, skydiving, surfing in Costa Rica” and “filling every space of my body with tattoos, getting in touch with nature, spending it with my favorite rockstars” or “The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra, because judging from your voice, I can already tell you’re beautiful” and “Hardship by Sufjan Stevens because it tell us everything is temporary, including pain and suffering, I’d really love to spend the drifting away of pain with you”. Mystery bachelor all but hmms, and okays and I sees, at each and every one of them. Louis can’t help but notice the audience cheered mostly for Carlos the most. Because who would not.
Louis literally looks like a disposable trash bin at the moment, and only the crowd can see that.
He can feel his phone suddenly vibrate in his pockets. While Aiden is busy discussing some of the mechanics of the judging, and what the winner gets yada yada yada, for the viewers at home, he unobtrusively fishes out his blackberry and sees an extensive text from Niall. ‘u look like absolute shyt mate. And what the fuck is going on w ur hair? and the glasses? if thats ur way of having a dig at me, u succeeded. But big ups t the who let d dogs out thing, twas priceless. All in all me and liam reckon u are in dip shit. we luv u but face it, this bloke carlos is getting free dinner n sex tonight… ps, young bachelor is hot”
There’s a lonely feeling of loss when Louis stuffs his phone back into this pockets that he isn’t quite prepared for and thinks dimly get a grip, you pansy.
Louis will deny it later but he really does want to get to know mystery bachelor more. And compliment him on his ridiculously hot voice. And maybe bend him over Louis’s favorite mahogany table and fuck him until he’s boneless?
“So we’ve come to that part of the show where our young bachelor, after mulling over the answers from our contestants, makes that final judgment and decides whose arms and bed to spend the night on and whom to just not bother with.” Aiden says finally. “So… darling?”
“Yes?”
“Have you arrived at a decision yet, my love?”
“Ermm…”
Everyone holds their breath.
Louis squirms uncomfortably in his seat because who knew the suspense would actually make him all kinds of nervous?
“Any minute now, love.”
“Umm, I think I’m gonna go with…”
“Caaaarrrrloououughssssssgghluuuuussscasssssscaaaaarrrlllaaaouiiiisssscas….” The audience chants.
“Drumroll please,” Aiden motions excitedly behind him, his voice reaching a dramatic high pitch.
Louis’s heart is actually beating so fast and so hard his vision starts to blur around the edges.
“If he’ll have me, I would very much love to spend the night with… Louis.”
The chants die down. An awkward silence befalls the hall. Aiden’s smile drops. Louis’s heart stops.
Crickets sounds.
“You might wanna rethink that.” Aiden says.
(Okay, maybe he didn’t really say that. But the look on his face might as well have grown a mouth. And Louis is not stupid.)
“Are you sure about that?” Aiden asks uncertainly, this one he actually does, and Louis gives into a little feeling of self-depreciation before he thinks oh well, standard operational procedure.
“Yes, Aiden, I am.” The young bachelor speaks up like does he have any reason to be otherwise?
A fleeting moment of hesitation later, Aiden adjusts his composure (Louis commends him for the effort), and approaches a very awestruck Louis with an outstretched arm.
“Well, you heard the man!” He says with an expertly feigned enthusiasm, grabbing Louis’s wrist not so gently and pulling him up his chair. “What are you waiting for? Christmas? Come here and collect your prize. And kindly collect your jaw off the floor while you’re at it, will you?”
Louis hesitates, then finally gets on his feet. (And clamps his mouth shut.)
“Give it up for our very lucky winner, everybody!” Aiden tries to get the audience as falsely excited as he is.
He isn’t meant to win. As far as Louis knew, he’s the underdog of this game, a filler, the klutz everyone likes to keep around because it gives their egos a semblance of comfort knowing someone of a lower quality exists. He is that guy.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, as Louis ponders more and more over the interesting turn of events), young bachelor was blinded from the kind of reality that mattered.
Louis, with what little control of the situation he has, lets himself be dragged away further into the middle of the stage. He summons the balls to shift his eyes onto the half-eager, half-terrified crowd and sees Niall and Liam doing little merry dances in their seats. It’s premature merry-making because what the fuck is even happening.
Aiden comes to a halt when he comes face to face with the barrier, Louis hardly breathing behind him.
“You can come out now, dear.” Aiden tells the mystery bachelor and Louis’s heart freefalls to the pit of his stomach.
There’s a sound of metal against metal, heavy careful footsteps, hooting and catcalling from the mixed-feeling crowd and after what feels like an eternity, the young bachelor emerges from the metal barrier.
Louis gives him a long once-over, and thinks holy fucking shit.
---
“Coming through, coming through!”
Louis hears Aiden’s distinct voice stand out from the relative noise of the room and sees him bustling through and emerging from a lump of crew on the way so he, Louis, and the young bachelor, who hasn’t said a single word to him since they’ve been dragged into backstage for the briefing, are huddled together.
“You boys know what to do, yes? Did Danielle already explain to you how the night’s going to go?”
So that’s her name, the Barbra Streisand look-alike. Louis and the young bachelor both nod in unison.
“Did she tell you French kissing is allowed only after your third drink?”
The young bachelor chuckles, Louis still hasn’t gotten his name yet, because he’s a chicken who got his balls cut off, if you can’t tell. “No, but she did mention we’re only allowed to two drinks in front of the camera.” He says, stuffing both hands into his pockets, and oh, nice.
“Oh yeah? Well, did you tell her I own this whole fucking show therefore I make the rules?” Louis has to snicker at that. It’s so easy and fun to get Aiden riled up he’s almost tempted to try it himself. And he will, one of these days, as soon as his life returns back to normal. “Oh what the heck, I make the rules. I can change them as I please.”
Then Louis commits the error of shifting his weight into his left leg and Aiden narrows his eyes as if he’s just had the time to assess the atmosphere and notice the gaping wide distance between Louis and his friend. “You’re not gonna be spending the night bible-studying in your big granny panties, are you? What’s with the-this--- this-?” Aiden motions frantically to the Nile River separating them. “Wait, you’re not a virgin, are you, Louis?”
Louis hopes he’s not blushing too much when he can feel the young bachelor’s eyes roam over him. Because this guy, Louis has decided the very first minute he laid eyes on him, is one fuckable creature.
From the deep, booming voice that he’s heard all night, Louis expected a big, brawny man with a sharp jaw line and dark brown eyes would come out of the barrier. Instead he sees a tall, scrawny chap who’s all soft green eyes and a pretty pink mouth.
Louis knows it’s not polite to stare, but the first time he saw an opportunity to properly check him out, he noticed two things: his pleasantly obtrusive curly hair styled in a perfectly imperfect windswept mess, and his dimples that have probably gotten him everything he could’ve wanted in life.
Opportunity number two happened around the time when his young bachelor was taking advantage of the complementary food and drinks in their designated dressing room, sucking and biting away mindlessly on a banana. Louis was thinking hmm, okay, those pretty lips were made to give blowjobs, alright. And as if he could feel Louis salivating for him from the other side of the room, he offered Louis a long, unbridled stare, Louis would’ve stared back if there wasn’t a distracting zinging along his spine, sticky green eyes flicking over him, before his lips curved into a knowing smile, like he knew he was an irresistible sight, which left Louis gaping back in a gooey, helpless state of want.
Opportunity number three presented itself when he and Louis were finally out of the cramped dressing room and being called for the briefing. Barbra girl, Danielle--Louis’s come to discover, was carefully laying down some basic rules (no over-the-top PDA like crotch-grabbing because we don’t want furious parents calling in for complaints and freezing up the telephone lines again, pretend like there’s no camera around, no hooking up with other people you’ll meet at the club, act like you’re totally enamored with each other because that’s our winning ticket at the ratings, and most important of all, have fun), and Harry was gazing at her like she was the only person in the world, leaning his body slightly in her direction. Louis chanced a glimpse over his body, and he can see under the blue blazers and low cut jeans, were a torso that seems to go on forever and long legs that Louis imagined would feel perfect wrapped around his waist.
Louis’s already sporting a semi and the night hasn’t even started yet.
“Earth to Louis!”
Louis jolts back into the present and sees Aiden and the young bachelor eyeing him with intrigue.
“I was just asking if you were a virgin.” Aiden considers Louis with that why-did-I-agree-to-put-you-on-the-show look that he surprisingly does not take offense from, seeing as a widowed 52-year-old real estate broker probably looks more bangable than him as we speak. “Please tell me you’re not.”
Louis would’ve guffawed if he were only in the appropriate situation. “Of course not.”
“Good. Because like I’ve mentioned before, Harry here is a good friend of mine and is in desperate need of some serious carnal awakening, if you know what I mean,” Aiden says --Louis blinks at that. Because ohhh, Harry - and wraps an arm around --Harry’s shoulder and pulls his friend against him ever so lightly, “And I’d really want tonight to be worthwhile for him and I just don’t think a virgin has what it takes to handle his demands.”
Harry elbows Aiden slightly on the rib, grinning stupidly, and Louis thinks, ohh, dimples, and later it registers in him that Aiden and Harry have been friends long enough that occasional playful jabs like this have become a common occurrence. They’re an unlikely pair but it works.
There’s a sudden hubbub from the camera crew behind them, and that’s just what Louis needs to break the tension (however with Aiden and his flamboyant gay, no such thing exists), because Aiden snaps his head over the general direction of some staff preparing the equipment needed for their departure (aka Louis and Harry’s date) and prances his way shouting out frantic instructions like the true fab boss that he is.
Leaving Louis staring at his feet while Harry, it feels good to address him with an actual name, is standing closely by him, so closely Louis can smell his cologne, observing the surrounding as they wait for their cue to walk out. Louis is suddenly very self-conscious.
“So, Louis…”
Louis snaps his eyes up so quickly he thinks his eyeballs might have loosened from their sockets but realizes he doesn’t really care so long as Harry is looking at him like this. Welcoming, intrigued.
“…What’s your game?”
Louis’ raises an eyebrow. Hmm. “My game?”
“Yeah. Your game. I’m not the one to jump to conclusions but why do I have a feeling this…” Harry hand gestures over Louis’ overall stance, “…this is isn’t you.”
Louis panics that his head has suddenly gone transparent then he remembers it’s currently covered in a thick, poorly-fashioned glob of gel the size of Mt. Auburn so that seems unlikely. “You are jumping to conclusions because what if I told you this is the real me?”
Harry shakes his head. “I say bullshit.”
“Why, Harry, were you expecting someone hotter?” Louis challenges, deciding this was his opportunity to give Harry the long overdue apology he deserves. “I’m sorry if I misled you. I wasn’t supposed to win. You were supposed to choose that Carlos guy, he was more in your league. We can talk to Aiden; it’s still not too late to back out.”
Harry looks at him he’s grown a third ear. “Louis, just shut up.” Then he grins, and Louis pretends it doesn’t send a spark down his spine. “I don’t know, I’m kind of intrigued by this whole persona shift you got going on here.” Louis sees it as Harry’s way of saying that yes, he actually wants to go on in this date.
“There is no persona shift…” Louis wants to push as far as Harry’s willing to go. “And you’re delusional.”
“Maybe.” Harry shrugs, and oh, shoulders--nice, “Or maybe there’s a story here that I’m gonna have to get out of you with help of a glass of expensive wine a little later tonight.”
Louis realizes Harry’s onto him and wow, that’s another level of attractive. He caves in. “Am I really that bad an actor?”
Harry’s mouth breaks into a self-contented grin like I knew it then straightens out. “No, there’s just so much cool in you that you can’t hide behind overused comedy nerd clichés.” There’s a shy smile that tears in Harry’s lips that says yeah, I’m interested, and the bashful way he stuffs his hands into his pockets makes Louis grin like a hopeless 8-year-old girl receiving her first Valentine card. “That, and I’m actually a mind-reader.”
“Oh yeah?” Louis decides to play his game, biting his lower lip and titling his head just so, “What am I thinking about now?”
Harry’s face goes dark for a second, his eyes a wild shimmering green, and he steps in closer to Louis in a single confident move so they’re exchanging the same gust of air. Louis stops breathing and suddenly feels the rest of the world close in on them. “You’re thinking about how you’d rather skip the expensive dinner and partying and go to the dessert right ahead.” Louis forces a moan down his throat because he doesn’t think he can go through the night alive if Harry keeps talking in fucking sexy, lazy drawls like this for the rest of the night. Oh but Harry isn’t done, this time he leans in so he’s whispering hotly into Louis’s ears, “You’re thinking about what your cock would feel like in my mouth or how you’d like to bend me over and fuck me senseless until we both black out.”
Harry takes a step back, allowing his words to simmer in Louis’s brain like a sweet hot promise, before his face morphs back to its deceivingly innocent cheeky default. Louis releases the breath he’s been holding, and keens at the feel of blood racing from the base of his spine to the tip of his toes and all the way back up to his cock. Harry is so unfairly unperturbed by everything and Louis hates how he can be so fucking calm and composed when Louis is practically malfunctioning with want.
After a moment Aiden returns, giddy with confused excitement, and clamps them both on the shoulder. “Alright lads, let’s get this show on the road.”
----
PART TWO IS HERE
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Niall/Liam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Louis is persuaded ito sign up for a local dating show called The Young Bachelor.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, they'd be fucking on every interview.
A/N: My first ever. Comments are lovely. Also credit to colazitron because she writes the most perfect things and one of her genius may or may not have inspired me to write this.
Louis awakens and the first thought he manages is I’m gonna fucking kill Niall. Then he grimaces because killing implies corpses and worms and no no no that’s not what his brain wants to picture right now. No in fact, Louis decides belatedly, it shouldn’t be picturing anything at all while some invisible powerdrill is digging one thousand different holes into his head.
He groans into the arm that he slings over his face, because fuck if he isn’t having the worst hangover of his life. Whoever invented alcohol must die a slow, excruciating death. Whoever decided doing tequila shots with Niall Horan was a good idea must a die a slow, excruciating death then return back to life so Louis can strangle him with his bare hands and enjoy the feel of veins popping and breaking beneath his palms and eww -- eww -- just stop thinking. please.
But that’s impossible when Louis can’t stop thinking about how he hates everyone and everything right now and the fact that it doesn’t really matter because his head hurts so much he’s not going to live to see another day anyway.
His other hand blindly reaches for where he assumes his head is (because at this point, he really isn’t sure anymore) and massages it the way he only knows how. It helps ease the wrecking pain to a degree but Louis still feels like there are live worms eating into every corner of his brain. (Seriously, you’re in the middle of a vomit-control crisis and you still manage to slip worms into the conversation, you are a work of brilliance, Tomlinson).
Louis keeps his eyes closed, because he knows in his intense state of disinterest in continuing the rollercoaster that is his sexless, leprechaun-manipulated life, he’s gonna regret it the second he opens them.
He does open them anyway, because you only live once. The tiny sliver of light escaping through the curtain wastes no time and blinds Louis permanently (not really, but Louis tends to be overdramatic during times of grave hangovers) and he can actually feel his skull slowly cracking in half. He strains his eyes and just like always, his vision eventually smooths into a focus. And whoa, speaking of smooth.
Niall’s naked arse is being caressed by a huge, wandering hand that could’ve only been attached to the arm of none other than the I-never-drink-because-alcohol-is-too-mainstream-for-my-good-taste Liam fucking Payne, the lucky hangover-free son of a bitch. Sometimes Louis wishes he were Liam, completely capable of self-restraint and then he remembers Liam’s boring and thinks never mind.
There’s giggling, moaning and sweet hushed nothings (or Louis assumes, because Niall and Liam are the epitome of annoying, googly-eyed couples that are so demonstratively affectionate with each other you can’t decide whether to gag in your mouth or beat them endlessly with dead batteries) and it’s too early in the morning to be engaging in a midday fuck (lovemaking, Louis corrects himself in a perfect replica of Liam’s obnoxiously righteous voice) and do they really have to it where Louis could be waking up any minute with the worst possible hangover which they caused in the first place? Such ungrateful, horny bastards.
Louis makes the excellent decision of simultaneously rolling and shutting his eyes so hard and so fast he thinks he might have sprained something, like say, what’s left of his sanity maybe. Great, now the pounding in his head has increased tenfold. He lets out a long, tuneful whine and is almost distracted by Niall’s loud breathy moan from the other side of the room, and Louis, for some unfathomable reason, allows himself to be curious because ok, fine it’s been a while (he won’t specify how long) since Louis’s had a good lay, the prick broke his heart and no, he doesn’t wanna talk about it, so he indulges himself by braving a peek, and there he sees.
Niall, Louis’s bestfriend and flatmate of 2 years, is on all fours on the other bed, naked, while Liam, who’s biting his lower lip in what Louis can only assume is his attempt at stifling his own moans lest they disturb the peaceful slumber of a blissfully ignorant, prehangoversuffering Louis, fucks him with long, careful thrusts.
And even through his (somewhat waning) headache, Louis doesn’t fail to catch how this slow, easy rhythm is causing Niall to mewl and arch like a spineless cat beneath the broadness of Liam’s canopy of a body. It should seem wrong, these two. Because Liam’s all big and broad and long torso and limbs and rational and moral responsibilities while Niall’s so small and Irishy and carefree and the doesn’t give a fuck kind of guy, but somehow the two of them fit together like they were custom-made for each other. Like they can mesh together in all their contrasting glory and make the extra edges look right. And Louis is not talking just about the sex.
Louis is almost relieved for Niall when Liam moves faster, the bed springs creaking in protest, (Louis is neither amused nor surprised at the fact he finds the sound the most erotic thing in the world) and Niall makes these small broken sounds like he’s gonna come in a flash if Liam doesn’t slow down anytime soon.
Well shit.
Louis’ cock stiffens, because biology and because he’s learned everything under the sun gets his hormones surging and fuelling these days faster than a bullet train, and feels half-disgusted, half-amused at the growing tent in his pants. He almost laughs, if he’s not too busy wallowing in a mud of self-disgrace, at what has become of his life. If he died today, his entire life was so sad even Hell would not accept him. He knows this because he’s suffering through an inopportune erection while watching his friends, who he doesn’t particularly like at the moment, get it on while his head throbs like a fucking pendulum high on ecstasy. And really, who grows a hardon during a hangover? Point him to the person, he dares you.
His balls begin to ache, but he’d rather cut his arm off than let his depravity get the best of him and wank the life out his dick (when his friends are in the same room, doing just about the same), because of a.) reasons, and b.) as much of a-cry-for-help as he is, he’s still got some dignity left in him.
How about he kill Niall instead once the world stops spinning and he can see properly again?
---
“GOOD MORNINGGGG! The Irish boss awakens!”
“Jesus, Niall.” Louis flinches and cradles his head with every available appendage he can find on himself and decides he really, really, really hates Niall. Like, really really so much.
Niall just cracks up characteristically (Louis idly wonders since when is Niall so cheerful in the morning -oh wait, of course, Liam must have fucked the hangover out of him this morning, then again, Niall has the liver of a survivalist drunk Scottish poet) and pads happily into the kitchen, where Louis was rather enjoying an alone time with his misery and lingering hardon, which Niall all singlehandedly caused, thank you very much, and Niall goes directly for the coffee pot.
Louis keeps his head down, hidden from the world, until he notices a hot mug being slid swiftly in his direction. He suddenly feels less suicidal and takes a generous sip -aaah aahh hoooot
“Well someone’s thirsty.” Niall laughs.
“Fuck you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I will kill you.” Hmm, that sounds intimidating enough, Louis muses triumphantly, then loses his proud smirk when Niall just winks at him.
“Morning, children.”
Louis looks behind him and ow, the entire earth is moving, then sees a freshly-showered Liam ambling his way over to the kitchen, who’s currently lacking a shirt, how very morningsex cliché of him, and too fucking ripped for his own good (Louis thinks with a little more jealousy and awe than he’s willing to admit), and smelling like a ray of fucking sunshine.
“What’s going on?”
“Louis is being a murdery hangover drama queen again, what’s new?” Niall replies from where’s standing by the stove, freeing the bacon from its plastic constraints.
Louis feels a hand on his shoulder and he looks up to meet Liam’s apologetic smile, which, for a fleeting moment, he’s tempted to return, then he remembers Liam is just much of a devil as Niall for making him go through all of this so he just gives Liam one of his trademark disarming blank looks.
Liam decides to leave him in his misery, ruffling his hair in that semi-demeaning, semi-comforting Liam way that he usually can’t decide whether to lean into or duck away from, and walks over to Niall, who’s also shirtless, Louis just now observes, and comes up behind him to plant a soft kiss on his pale, freckled shoulder. Niall hums appreciatively and reaches behind their bodies to squeeze Liam’s bum, which leads to giggling and sighing like there’s not a third person in the room sulking like a dying goat. These two, Louis decides with resignation, are actually kind of cute when they’re not too busy making his life a living hell.
Liam takes over the cooking, blessed be the Lord, because Louis doesn’t think he can stomach Niall’s infamous burned bacon and omelets right now.
“So Louis, did you enjoy me and Liam’s little performance this morning?” is Niall’s way of saying sorry.
“You’ve done way worse things to me that you haven’t apologized for, Niall,” Is Louis’s way of saying fuck off.
“Liam was begging for it, what’s a guy got to do?” -“HEY!”- “Sorry if we sullied those virgin eyes in any way.” Niall’s smug smirk suggests he’s anything but.
“Stop pretending that you have any concern for my well-being. So how about you choke on a chainsaw.”
Niall chuckles, drinking from the mug that Liam had spent hours and hours making which may or may not have involved a spilled paint or two on Louis’ bedroom floor, a year and half ago on St. Patty’s Day for Niall. As you can probably tell by now, they do cringey romantic shit on a regular basis. “Whoops, what’s lodged up your arse, Tomlinson? We all know it’s definitely not a cock.”
“Niall, will you please, just, I don’t know, chew on broken glasses or needles or something?”
“Puh-lease, you’re only upset because it’s been a while for you and me and Liam provided you with more entertainment this morning than you’ve had in the past year.”
Louis’s face suddenly turns red. It should’ve sounded like an innocent shot at mockery, but there’s something about the way Niall’s eyeing him, or about the way Liam sputters and seems to be hiding a smile from where he’s stirring over the frying pan. Louis knows already and oh shit, this is just what he needs. His smug friends catching him sporting wood while watching them fuck. Fucking great.
“You’re not exactly a master of subtlety, Tomlinson. Don’t feel bad, we’re flattered.” Niall says in response to what Louis assumes his very red, very embarrassed face. Louis actually wants to die now. Or he can maybe just kill Niall instead? Like he’s been planning to since the day started? Or maybe like 2 years ago when got around to knowing Niall and his deceiving, manipulative ways? “And seriously, man, when’s the last time you went home with someone? I’m starting to feel sorry for your left hand.”
Louis takes a deep breath and resolves to give it to his friend once and for all. Ok, Niall, first of all, fuck you and your tequila dare last night. If you were a good friend, you wouldn’t have used your persuasive Irish skills on me, and most of all fuck you for this bloody hangover. But all he manages to say is “f’you.”
“Excuse me?” Niall has the audacity to sound affronted like he could hear all the missing words. “I’m sorry but last time I checked you’re a fully consenting adult and fully capable of taking responsibilities for your actions, so if you’re gonna blame anyone for feeling like shit right now, blame your complete lack of self-control.”
“But you’re my friend! You’re supposed to know I don’t have any self-control!” He explains exasperatedly, because why is he even explaining this? “It’s called common courtesy!”
Liam sniggers from his corner, and Louis snaps his head in his direction and shoots him a death glare. Liam clamps up and uh-oh is written all over his face. “And you…” Louis says in a dangerous, accusatory drawl, and actually points a finger at the pair of widened eyes blinking innocently at him, “The rational one, the fully responsible adult who’s supposed to keep me in line. What the fuck happened to him?”
Liam’s face reminds Louis of the raccoon he once caught snooping in his in the leftover lasagna he left lying around in his kitchen two months ago. “I was going to-but he-“ Liam stutters and motions over to Niall with his spatula.
“I promised I’d let him tie me to the bed if he promised to stay out of it.” Niall explains like he’s merely dictating the list of grocery items they’re gonna be needing for the week and if it weren’t for Liam’s furious blush, Louis would’ve actually said “Two cartons of milk and a bucket for my vomit because that’s a disturbing image.”
Then Louis, bright child that he is, chooses that exact moment to steal a glance over at Niall’s wrists and sure enough, there are visible purplish marks around his otherwise milky white skin. The image of Niall, naked, tied to the bedposts, begging, while Liam’s being a dangerous tease leaks into his brain like sweet, sticky syrup of lust.
Sweet, sticky syrup of lust? Great. Now he’s horny and a girl.
Louis closes his eyes and breathes because if the hot tug in his belly isn’t an indication of his sexual depravity, someone tell him what is. God he needs to get laid. Like, NOW.
“Why, congratulations, sex deviants. I’m glad I could be of service to you and your wild sexual endeavors,” Louis says in a bland voice, “I feel truly honored.”
“Aww, you’re sweet. Thanks, babe.” Niall reaches out across the table to pat him on the cheek. Louis narrows his eyes and mentally calculates the chances of the police finding Niall’s corpse if Louis hid the body bag in their basement.
“Here, have something to eat, might help turning that frown upside down.”
Louis snaps out of his reverie when he sees a plate of bacon and eggs set in front of him. For the first time that morning, he’s able to bring himself to smile and see life in brighter colors. His hope in humanity is somewhat restored.
“Thanks, Li.” He manages.
Liam smiles that smile, that smile that touches every part of his face, that life-is-a-gift-and-unicorns-are-real-and-I’m-happy-that-you’re-happy smile. The smile Louis has only ever seen on Liam. Liam, ever the voice of veritable serenity amidst all the chaos in this messy, judgmental world.
“Hey, what about me?” Nialls whines around a mouthful. “No thanks to the guy who’s about to significantly improve your massive joke of a life?” He’s wiggling his eyebrows like there’s some inside joke there that Louis is supposed to understand.
“Right now, you are the bane of my existence, Niall, so how about no.” He says anyway.
“Well, that’s definitely not what you told me last night.”
Louis gives him the finger and no, wait, what? “What?”
“Hey, you said it, not me.” Niall says a little too defensively.
“Said what?” Why does Louis already feel like he doesn’t wanna know?
“That, and I quote ‘Niall, you’re the guy who’s gonna significantly improve my massive joke of a life’.” Niall informs him with big, blue eyes that seem to know so many secrets about the world Louis doesn’t. Nothing in this physical world can possibly make Louis utter those words, not even eight consecutive shots of tequila, not even the prime minister, not even God Himself if He suddenly decided to show up in Louis’ doorstep. “So, should I call Aiden or--?”
Louis just eyes him curiously. Aiden is one of Niall’s older friends who work in the grimmer part of the entertainment industry. Louis suddenly has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“--Or do you wanna tell him yourself?”
“Tell Aiden what?” He finally speaks. “Why is Aiden suddenly relevant to my life?”
“Oh I don’t know, he’s only like your fairy godfather who’s gonna make all your dreams come true in one night.”
Liam laughs out loud. Louis is lost.
“Or maybe you were too drunk to remember.” Niall adds casually and Louis gets a feeling Niall meant it as a joke.
Only it’s not. Because Niall’s not making any sense right now, and maybe Louis was too drunk to remember. “Remember what?” He asks.
Niall’s smile drops. Then he and Liam share a curious, lingering eye contact. They know something he doesn’t. “You’re kidding, right?” Niall asks, slowly, as if he’s carefully deciding in his head whether or not Louis is intentionally fucking with them.
“Kidding about what?” Louis drops his fork (they don’t whip out the spoons from their secret cupboard when Liam comes to visit). “Niall, either you tell me what’s going on now or with God as my witness, I will shove this fork so far down your throat you will taste my armpit hair.”
“Unbelievable! You don’t remember!” Niall barks into a loud, incredulous laugh, falls forward and sideways in his seat and claps his hands, causing Louis to worry because this is Niall’s Mischievous Laugh, the one that tells you he’s caused trouble somewhere and based on firsthand experience, Louis knows Niall’s Mischievous Laugh is never a good news, unless he’s involved in said trouble, of course.
Louis turns to Liam for help, desperate. “Liam, what the fuck is happening?”
Liam shrugs, his expression a cross between genuinely worried and amused. Louis fights the urge to reach across the table and choke Niall with his own saliva so he would shut up for a second and let Louis have a moment of peace to figure out what on earth transpired last night. The combination of Niall and tequila and Aiden (?) already tells him he’s not gonna like it.
“Liam, please.” Louis begs.
Liam is about to open his mouth when Niall interrupts him with a hand and puts his laughter to a halt. “No, no, no… let me.”
Louis waits with bated breaths, scared for his own life.
“So last night, you accepted my tequila drinking challenge, right?” Niall begins.
“Right.” One of Louis’ least thought-of decisions in his life.
“And we both agreed that whoever gave up first would do anything the winner tells him to do, right?”
Louis does not remember such a thing. But he knows as infuriating as he is sometimes, Niall would rather cut his dick and dip it in acid than tell a lie, so Louis nods. “Sure.”
“Long story short, you lost, I told you I’m signing you up on The Young Bachelor first thing in the morning, you agreed and a little while later you puked on a stranger.”
Louis can feel his all of his blood drain from his face. The puking on a stranger is in the cards, but anything else in that sentence is as likely as Niall’s holding back a fart in public. “I did NOT.”
He can see Liam fighting back a laugh from his peripheral vision, his shoulders heaving and shaking.
Please God no, I will be a better person, I’ll never ever take a piss on a church yard ever again, I’ll never ever think of Jesus when I’m wanking off, just please… let Niall be lying just this once.
The Young Bachelor is a dating show, an independent, low-rating cheesy rip-off of The Bachelor (quite original, too). Only difference is instead of some rich guy in his thirties, you win some undatable teenage sod, instead of one whole season, you only get one episode, and instead of a wedding ring, you get a one-night-only date with said teenager, free food and booze and loads of camera crew trailing behind your ass. Aiden Grimshaw runs the entire production.
So basically, The Young Bachelor is a show where self-respect goes to die.
So, how about NO.
“You’re lying.” Louis says simply.
Niall folds his arms in a definite fashion, and Liam goes to stand next to him. They both shake their heads in unison. Shit.
“How can you twats do this to me?!?!” Louis exclaims once he finds his voice. “You can’t force me to be on some silly show just because I agreed on a stupid bet whilst under the influence of alcohol! You can’t hold me accountable!”
“Don’t you dare spit in the face of the sanctity of our treaty - it was a gentleman’s agreement.”
“How about I spit in your face instead for being the worst friend in history.”
Niall sobers up. “Worst friend? I’m only doing this for your own good. Honestly man, when was the last time you had a little fun?”
Louis pretends he isn’t mentally computing the number of months that have passed by before his eyes since the day he took a chance and lived his life the way he wanted to.
“See? Even you can’t remember.” Niall says. “What you’re experiencing is a grave post-closet crisis and you need some serious intervention. So last night I took it upon myself to do something about the lack of fun and sex in your life.”
Louis doesn’t answer because denial won’t get him anywhere with Niall. “By signing me up for The Young Bachelor?”
Niall scoffs defensively. “Hey, it gets you good booty, plus once your pretty face appears on local television, you’ll be known around town, and who knows, even if you don’t win at least you get a good face promotion out of it, yeah?”
“No offense, Niall, but a.) Nobody in their right state of mind watches that show, and b.) I don’t think I need the help of some lame TV show to improve the welfare of my social life, thank you very much.”
“Well, on the contrary, everybody subscribed to Channel 8 watches that show and yes, you do.”
“I’m not doing it, Niall, and my decision is final.” Louis picks up his fork again and continues eating.
Discussion closed. No questions asked. Any argument is invalid.
Niall heaves a long sigh. “How about you go out of your funk and grow the balls to do this?”
“How about you leave me alone?”
“Louis, please.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. And you’re wasting your breath because there’s nothing you can do that will change my mind so get it out of your head.”
“Really, nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Wrong choice of words, Tomlinson.
Louis can feel it coming, the remember-when-I-saved-your-life card, the one he can’t possibly say no to, the one he’s hated since the very first time Niall, the clever bastard, figured he could use it to every possible advantage that ever came his way.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Not even if I remind you of that one time when I saved your life from the pigeon----?”
“So, do you want me to talk to Aiden or…?”
Niall grins like the Devil himself.
Louis realizes, with utter clarity, he is absolutely, unequivocally, irrevocably fucked.
---
It’s nearing sundown and Louis isn’t sure whether to be thankful or to be sulking over the fact that he’s still alive. Although his hangover has fully waned (blessed be the Lord), he’s still got five pages of paper to finish by night’s end, thanks to the unyielding power of procrastination and unforgiving scumbag THEA107 professors, Niall and Liam are spooning on the couch watching Friends reruns at full volume*le cringe le cringe* (from which Louis expects thirty minutes later, loud and wild sex will ensue, as per ush, which won’t help Louis’ studying in any way) and… what else?
What’s the other thing that makes Louis thinks his life is a joke and must therefore perish?
Oh of course, yeah, The Young Bachelor thing that has suddenly added itself to the list of reasons why Niall must disappear from the face of the earth. He doesn’t need this added stress.
Louis sighs, uh what the heck, and decides to call the only person in his life who was there there to support his homoerotic tendencies ever since he discovered he was more attracted to Nicholas Hoult than the entire female cast of Skins put together when no one else wasn’t. The person who’s always been there. For anything.
“Maybe I should just back out.” He says after updating Eleanor the current happenings in his life.
“Don’t you dare!” Eleanor shrieks over the phone, and Louis can almost picture the way her eyes are metamorphosing into a pair of blazing fireballs as if Louis was there to crow under its intended effect, which still isn’t always successful otherwise, “if I ever so much as get wind of you chickening out on this, I swear in my nana’s grave I will go down there and castrate you myself.”
“Great motivation, El.” He says flatly, typing ‘my penis will fly to Paris tomorrow’ on his laptop because there is no possible way he’s coming up with anything readable enough to pass for a collegiate paper when he’s only got a few hours left in his hands, “And here I was starting to question your purpose in my life.”
“I’m serious. You know the only thing that comforts me at night sometimes is knowing that you have friends like Niall who actually cares about you.” Her voice turns soft and Eleanor-like.
“Nah, he just finds a lot of pleasure in messing with my life, is all.” Louis says, only half-joking.
“Please, you’re crazy about him.” She teases, and there’s a little giggle in her voice suggesting something more.
Louis decides to ignore it and shrugs. “Yeah, when I’m not fighting the urge to pick up a knife and stab him in the throat, sure.”
Eleanor scoffs. “Just think about it. You’ll appear on live TV, you’ll be meeting some interesting people in the industry, if you win you’ll spend the night with a nice bloke, and if you don’t at least you got a free TV appearance which is great platform for your line of career, so really it’s a win-win situation.”
“Except for the part where I don’t wanna appear on live TV competing over some stranger and pretending like I’m pregnant with passionate love with him when there’s a 50-ton camera shoved in my face. Maybe I’m desperate, but I’m not that desperate. So thanks, but no thanks.” Louis says truthfully.
“But Niall’s got your name already listed. As the saying goes, the egg is already broken, you might as well make a good omelet out of it.”
“No, you know what? I despise that. You know what I should do?”
Eleanor sighs. “Louis, look, this is for your own goo-“
“--I should make a disgusting scrambled egg and throw it up all over Niall’s face.”
Oh. Lightbulb.
Eleanor already knows something’s brewing in his genius. “Louis, what are you up to?”
“Simple. Niall recommended me for the show, didn’t he? So what if instead of impressing the pants off this young bachelor, I do the complete opposite and be my ol’ crazy self? It’ll only reflect badly on Niall’s name and it’ll be the perfect payback.” He grins with pride, because he is too brilliant for this world.
“If I said I disapprove, would it change your mind?” It isn’t even a question.
“Not even if you finally took me up on my standing offer and agreed to name your firstborn Louis Super McAwesome Tomlinson Rumplestilskout.”
Eleanor hangs up and Louis laughs up at the ceiling.
__
On r way to d studio. U bttr make me proud Louis. Me and liam r missing a night of wanton sex just to see u.
Louis stuffs his blackberry back into his pockets and smiles. Whatever you say, Niall, whatever you say.
He breathes in the cold air oozing out of the AC’s of the studio, the strangling confinement of his button-down starting to take its toll on him.
He can’t stand still, he’s sweating everywhere, his lungs are clamping up, he has this strange urge to throw up on every existing flat surface in the room - he’s never been this nervous since his first stage appearance on their school production of We the Lucky Ones during his freshman year at uni. What the actual fuck.
(He broke a leg on that show, by the way. Literally and figuratively.)
He looks around to entertain himself, observing the hustling and bustling of an estimated 20 staff and crew people in their headphones and clipboards in and out of the room. It’s not that bad to witness firsthand how an actual, well-funded (or so Louis is starting to suspect) somewhat-doing-okay-in -the-market television show operates, Louis thinks.
One of the crew, a lady who looks strangely like a young, fitter, African-British version of Barbra Streisand, lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. Yes, so he knows Barbra Streisand, next gay joke please. “Hey, you okay love?”
If by ‘okay’ she means wishing a giant comet would suddenly crash land in their vicinity and erase everyone’s memory that he’s ever been here then “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, babe.”
“You look a little pale. Have you had anything to eat yet? We have fruits and muffins in the dressing room if you’d like.”
Louis decides immediately that he likes her. “I’m good. Just some preshow jitters. I’ll live.”
She says, smiling. “If you’re sure. I’m calling you guys out in 20 okay?”
Louis nods, just again realizing there are other two (very attractive) contenders standing right next to him waiting behind the curtains that hid them from the stage. Their names, he was told, are Carlos and Lucas. He’s been observing them with the least amount of subtlety he could dare himself to manage the minute the three of them were introduced to each other.
The former seems handsome and confident enough, barely in his 20’s, eyeing Louis and Lucas with that expression that says oh, yeah, I so have this in the bag. But he’s too self-assured and too obvious and too driven to win Louis almost finds him pathetic and unchallenging and so very typical. Louis would never sleep with him. Lucas, on the other hand, is the least communicative, also in his early 20’s, has that quiet, mysterious, early 90’s Johnny Depp (his favorite kind of hipster?) vibe to him, but for some reason, if Louis were in any way serious about winning this thing, he’d definitely see Lucas as his competition. Except he’s not, so really, why bother.
Among the three of them, Louis already has an idea of who’s going home a lucky bloke tonight. And he’s glad it ain’t gonna be him.
“Good evening, boys and girls! Welcome to another episode of The Young Bachelor, where we help young, searching, regrettably single lads find love in the hopeless shambles of what was once the haven of young romance,” Louis cringes at that. Because really? “in other words, help them get laid. As always, we will be joined by our host, the ever fabulous, ever lovely, the razzle dazzle Aiden Grimshaw!”
“Good evening, my lovely daisies!” He can hear Aiden Grimshaw’s voice blasting through the speakers, breaking the relative silence of the hall, followed by a loud round of applause exploding into his eardrums like a bad nightmare. It suddenly hits Louis he’s gonna be standing before a crowd of brutal, nothing-better-to-do-with-their-lives ruminants who came here to judge him and judge him only.
Remind him why he agreed to do this shit again.
Oh yes, he remembers. To enjoy the priceless, most wonderful thing that will be Niall’s face when he finds Louis acting like a total retard on local TV and basks in the mud of shame and humiliation his trusted bestfriend will have successfully made to befall on him.
Right. Now focus, Tomlinson and be the professional that you are. You were born to do this.
“To start off, I wanna say tonight’s episode is very special to my heart, because the young bachelor is actually a very close friend of mine, and let me tell you something about him,” Aiden pauses for dramatic effect “he likes pussy.”
Cue audience laughter.
“Well, only very occasionally, of course,” Aiden clarifies when the giggles die down. “Seeing as most of the time, he likes cock.”
Cue audience laughter, louder this time. And Louis finds himself saying “hmm.” Because he had no idea ‘pussy’ and ‘cock’ was allowed in the given proceedings. To think his little sisters watch this show and would fight him over the remote for.
“All truthful jabs aside, deep down, if he has indeed a deep down,” Aiden continues, “this friend of mine has had trouble finding that …special someone, if you may, for one reason and one reason only.” Another pause.
“This dirty son of a bitch’s got some serious standards.”
Louis catches himself listening with more intent now, because whoa.
“I’ll introduce the bangtidy piece of arse to you a little bit later but first let me all ask of you this. Do you think our bachelor will find his special person in what appears to be an attractive selection of contestants tonight? Is there someone out there who’s fit enough to make our young bachelor blush like a virgin on her wedding night?” Okay, Louis admits, that was actually kind of funny. “Maybe yes,” Aiden declares, “maybe not…”
Another dramatic 3-second pause. “But this we’re sure of - at least someone’s getting laid tonight.”
“Now, let’s call on our contestants!”
Louis notices the Barbra Streisand-lookalike frantically motioning and ushering them out of backstage and he hesitantly puts himself behind the line that he, Lucas, and Carlos have spontaneously fallen in. He’s thinking “You’ll pay for this Niall…” until a blinding, bright light looms into his face and shatters his vision.
The crowd is hooting, Louis is close to peeing his pants.
Where’s a zombie outbreak when you need one?
---
Louis can feel every pair of eyes in the room on him as he tries not fall off his chair, which is ridiculous for the obvious reason that Carlos, as Louis observes more, looks like an A&F model who materialized right out of a TV advert, and that Lucas could have easily been mistaken for a member of The Wanted.
While Louis, on the other hand, looks like -hmm, how can he put this accurately- a younger, less coordinated variety of Clark Kent who stinks of years and years of celibacy and broken dreams. Gelled hair, pair of hideous glasses and pale blue buttoned-up polo shirt in place. He looks absolutely -what’s the word- repugnant.
Niall and Liam have not stopped looking at him in horror ever since they caught a sight of him from the third row in the audience. Louis’s plan is already working and it feels as good as it feels, well, a little humiliating, to be quite honest. Everyone in the crowd is looking at him like he’s a sitting, gelled up joke, which was his intention in the first place, wasn’t it? Ehhh.
“Hmm, let’s see who we got next.”
Aiden’s loud voice breaks into his consciousness.
He eyes Louis carefully. “Our last contestant’s name is Louis, 20, a drama student already in his third year, hailing from Doncaster, a self-proclaimed Susan Boyle fan - interesting lad - he loves collecting butterflies, was once a Frisbee champion, enjoys face-painting (what the fuck, Louis mentally facepalms... because -Niall) and watching French romantic comedies on a Saturday night when he’s not too busy whining about his period.”
Audience cackling ensues and Louis just shrugs it off, just like he has for the last 20 years of his life.
“Now let us and our mystery bachelor, hear that lovely voice, darling, as I’m sure he’ll be hearing a lot of it screaming his name later tonight if ever you get lucky.” Aiden wiggles his eyebrows dirtily and Louis almost forgets how to speak. This must have been the 67th sexual innuendo of the night.
“Uh, hi?” He says awkwardly into the microphone, it’s weird to hear his voice come out of the 10-foot speakers.
This gets an amused reaction from the audience. It takes one look at Aiden and everyone in the room for Louis to know what they’re all thinking: this guy can’t be serious.
“Now, Louis, since you’re the last one to speak, you get to be the first contestant receiving the questions from our lovely young bachelor. Is that okay? Do you promise not to cry like a little bitch when you can’t find the right answer?” Aiden pouts, his lower lip jutting out from the rest of his face. Louis’s stomach churns. Is he really ready for this?
“I can’t promise but I’ll do my best.”
Aiden actually laughs. “Ha, I like you already.” And not in a because-you-look-fit-enough-to-win-this-game kind of way but, more like a because-you’re-gonna-make-a-fool-out-of-yourself-and-it-will-be-funny kind of way.
There’s a barrier placed in the middle of the stage keeping both sides hidden from one another. The mystery young bachelor lies on the right side, while Louis and the two other contestants are on the left.
“Hi, Louis.”
A deep, bassy voice suddenly mentions Louis’ name. There’s another churning in his stomach that makes oxygen harder to chase. And whoa what?
“Hi again.” Louis attempts.
“How are you feeling tonight?” The voice asks, tender and suggestive. And it suddenly feels like the gates of Heaven have opened up or something.
And wow, if the situation was a little less awkward and a little more convenient, Louis can actually say he likes it already. It’s smooth and almost velvety. And deep. And sexy.
And deep.
He can’t wait to hear more.
“Uh, a little thirsty, actually.” Louis replies. It’s true, he’s actually really parched. He can make out Liam under the dim lighting of the studio putting a hand over his mouth. Gobsmacked Liam is the best kind of Liam.
“We’ll see if we can do anything about that later, but now I want you to answer this question for me if that’s okay.” Okay, so Louis decides he really really really likes it. Maybe not even in a sexual way. He just likes it. The soft, bedroom feel of it. Like it’s wrapped around in a cozy, warm blanket and a cup of homemade chocolate and sweet dreams and sunshine. He’s come to the conclusion the person attached to this voice must possess a beautiful mouth or there will be no justice in the world.
Louis decides right then to be honest and straightforward with this guy, because well, how can he possibly lie to this voice? “Okay.”
“If you only had one day to live, how would you spend it?”
“Uhm, I’d adopt a chimpanzee.” Louis can hear Niall’s laugh from where he is in the audience. Typical Niall, physically unable to hold back anything that comes out of his little Irish body. Soon enough he’s joined by the majority of the crowd. Mystery bachelor lets out a small chuckle that Louis isn’t almost prepared to hear.
“Why?” The voice smooths back into a steady chime.
“I only have one day to live, right? Why would I spend my last 24 hours asking why I do it rather than just doing it, period?”
“Hmm, interesting.” The voice muses.
“Isn’t he? Are we a little curious if he’s just as interesting in bed?” Aiden’s voice pops out of nowhere, suddenly becoming less attractive to Louis’s ears.
“Shut up before you irreparably embarrass me, Aiden.” The voice reprimands, although Louis likes how he can tell it came with a smile.
“I think it’s a little too late for that, darling.” Aiden comments to himself.
“Do you like other sports, other than… Frisbee?” The young bachelor asks.
Another collective giggling from the audience spreads around the room.
“I dabble a bit on football.” Dabble? Please. He can practically hit a goal in his sleep.
“Hmm.” Seriously. Bedroom voice. Louis finally allows his mind to wander and imagine how that voice would sound like in bed. “Rooting for a particular team?”
“Been a Man U fan since birth.”
“Okay.” Poker-voice, exactly what Louis suspects the young bachelors are told to keep for the whole duration of the competition. He also suspects this young bachelor has almost forgotten about this one little rule until now.
“Okay, Louis. I have another question and I need you to think carefully about this, because music is a very important part of my life: if you could dedicate a song to me, what would it be and why?” Louis idly thinks wow, don’t tell me he can sing with that voice too?
“A harmonic version of Who Let the Dogs Out.” Is the first thing that crosses his mind. Niall and Liam sink deeper into their seats, facepalming in disbelief yet again.
“And I’m assuming you have a good reason for that?” The voice asks.
“To be honest, I really don’t.” Louis replies truthfully. Hey, he’ll have you know that song got him through the shame and self-hatred during most of his puberty years and continues to cheer him up on a bad day, so why not. Mystery bachelor doesn’t need to hear about his teenage closet issues though, personal stuff. “However, Aiden may or may not have mentioned you liked pussies… so… who fucking let the dogs out?”
This time mystery bachelor doesn’t hold back and bursts into a loud, body-wrecking (or Louis can imagine) laugh. Louis feels proud of himself. And decides that he really does like this guy. And is a lot intrigued to get to know him better. And is extremely curious as to what he looks like.
It’s only later that he realizes the other are having a great laugh out of it, too.
“I’m glad this is all giving us a lot of joy, but we gotta move on to our next contestant.” Aiden reminds them. He motions over to Carlos, who’s not as confident as the first time Louis shook reluctant hands with him.
The next 30 minutes stretch on with the mystery bachelor asking the two other contestants the same questions and them answering back with things like “bunjeejumping, skydiving, surfing in Costa Rica” and “filling every space of my body with tattoos, getting in touch with nature, spending it with my favorite rockstars” or “The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra, because judging from your voice, I can already tell you’re beautiful” and “Hardship by Sufjan Stevens because it tell us everything is temporary, including pain and suffering, I’d really love to spend the drifting away of pain with you”. Mystery bachelor all but hmms, and okays and I sees, at each and every one of them. Louis can’t help but notice the audience cheered mostly for Carlos the most. Because who would not.
Louis literally looks like a disposable trash bin at the moment, and only the crowd can see that.
He can feel his phone suddenly vibrate in his pockets. While Aiden is busy discussing some of the mechanics of the judging, and what the winner gets yada yada yada, for the viewers at home, he unobtrusively fishes out his blackberry and sees an extensive text from Niall. ‘u look like absolute shyt mate. And what the fuck is going on w ur hair? and the glasses? if thats ur way of having a dig at me, u succeeded. But big ups t the who let d dogs out thing, twas priceless. All in all me and liam reckon u are in dip shit. we luv u but face it, this bloke carlos is getting free dinner n sex tonight… ps, young bachelor is hot”
There’s a lonely feeling of loss when Louis stuffs his phone back into this pockets that he isn’t quite prepared for and thinks dimly get a grip, you pansy.
Louis will deny it later but he really does want to get to know mystery bachelor more. And compliment him on his ridiculously hot voice. And maybe bend him over Louis’s favorite mahogany table and fuck him until he’s boneless?
“So we’ve come to that part of the show where our young bachelor, after mulling over the answers from our contestants, makes that final judgment and decides whose arms and bed to spend the night on and whom to just not bother with.” Aiden says finally. “So… darling?”
“Yes?”
“Have you arrived at a decision yet, my love?”
“Ermm…”
Everyone holds their breath.
Louis squirms uncomfortably in his seat because who knew the suspense would actually make him all kinds of nervous?
“Any minute now, love.”
“Umm, I think I’m gonna go with…”
“Caaaarrrrloououughssssssgghluuuuussscasssssscaaaaarrrlllaaaouiiiisssscas….” The audience chants.
“Drumroll please,” Aiden motions excitedly behind him, his voice reaching a dramatic high pitch.
Louis’s heart is actually beating so fast and so hard his vision starts to blur around the edges.
“If he’ll have me, I would very much love to spend the night with… Louis.”
The chants die down. An awkward silence befalls the hall. Aiden’s smile drops. Louis’s heart stops.
Crickets sounds.
“You might wanna rethink that.” Aiden says.
(Okay, maybe he didn’t really say that. But the look on his face might as well have grown a mouth. And Louis is not stupid.)
“Are you sure about that?” Aiden asks uncertainly, this one he actually does, and Louis gives into a little feeling of self-depreciation before he thinks oh well, standard operational procedure.
“Yes, Aiden, I am.” The young bachelor speaks up like does he have any reason to be otherwise?
A fleeting moment of hesitation later, Aiden adjusts his composure (Louis commends him for the effort), and approaches a very awestruck Louis with an outstretched arm.
“Well, you heard the man!” He says with an expertly feigned enthusiasm, grabbing Louis’s wrist not so gently and pulling him up his chair. “What are you waiting for? Christmas? Come here and collect your prize. And kindly collect your jaw off the floor while you’re at it, will you?”
Louis hesitates, then finally gets on his feet. (And clamps his mouth shut.)
“Give it up for our very lucky winner, everybody!” Aiden tries to get the audience as falsely excited as he is.
He isn’t meant to win. As far as Louis knew, he’s the underdog of this game, a filler, the klutz everyone likes to keep around because it gives their egos a semblance of comfort knowing someone of a lower quality exists. He is that guy.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, as Louis ponders more and more over the interesting turn of events), young bachelor was blinded from the kind of reality that mattered.
Louis, with what little control of the situation he has, lets himself be dragged away further into the middle of the stage. He summons the balls to shift his eyes onto the half-eager, half-terrified crowd and sees Niall and Liam doing little merry dances in their seats. It’s premature merry-making because what the fuck is even happening.
Aiden comes to a halt when he comes face to face with the barrier, Louis hardly breathing behind him.
“You can come out now, dear.” Aiden tells the mystery bachelor and Louis’s heart freefalls to the pit of his stomach.
There’s a sound of metal against metal, heavy careful footsteps, hooting and catcalling from the mixed-feeling crowd and after what feels like an eternity, the young bachelor emerges from the metal barrier.
Louis gives him a long once-over, and thinks holy fucking shit.
---
“Coming through, coming through!”
Louis hears Aiden’s distinct voice stand out from the relative noise of the room and sees him bustling through and emerging from a lump of crew on the way so he, Louis, and the young bachelor, who hasn’t said a single word to him since they’ve been dragged into backstage for the briefing, are huddled together.
“You boys know what to do, yes? Did Danielle already explain to you how the night’s going to go?”
So that’s her name, the Barbra Streisand look-alike. Louis and the young bachelor both nod in unison.
“Did she tell you French kissing is allowed only after your third drink?”
The young bachelor chuckles, Louis still hasn’t gotten his name yet, because he’s a chicken who got his balls cut off, if you can’t tell. “No, but she did mention we’re only allowed to two drinks in front of the camera.” He says, stuffing both hands into his pockets, and oh, nice.
“Oh yeah? Well, did you tell her I own this whole fucking show therefore I make the rules?” Louis has to snicker at that. It’s so easy and fun to get Aiden riled up he’s almost tempted to try it himself. And he will, one of these days, as soon as his life returns back to normal. “Oh what the heck, I make the rules. I can change them as I please.”
Then Louis commits the error of shifting his weight into his left leg and Aiden narrows his eyes as if he’s just had the time to assess the atmosphere and notice the gaping wide distance between Louis and his friend. “You’re not gonna be spending the night bible-studying in your big granny panties, are you? What’s with the-this--- this-?” Aiden motions frantically to the Nile River separating them. “Wait, you’re not a virgin, are you, Louis?”
Louis hopes he’s not blushing too much when he can feel the young bachelor’s eyes roam over him. Because this guy, Louis has decided the very first minute he laid eyes on him, is one fuckable creature.
From the deep, booming voice that he’s heard all night, Louis expected a big, brawny man with a sharp jaw line and dark brown eyes would come out of the barrier. Instead he sees a tall, scrawny chap who’s all soft green eyes and a pretty pink mouth.
Louis knows it’s not polite to stare, but the first time he saw an opportunity to properly check him out, he noticed two things: his pleasantly obtrusive curly hair styled in a perfectly imperfect windswept mess, and his dimples that have probably gotten him everything he could’ve wanted in life.
Opportunity number two happened around the time when his young bachelor was taking advantage of the complementary food and drinks in their designated dressing room, sucking and biting away mindlessly on a banana. Louis was thinking hmm, okay, those pretty lips were made to give blowjobs, alright. And as if he could feel Louis salivating for him from the other side of the room, he offered Louis a long, unbridled stare, Louis would’ve stared back if there wasn’t a distracting zinging along his spine, sticky green eyes flicking over him, before his lips curved into a knowing smile, like he knew he was an irresistible sight, which left Louis gaping back in a gooey, helpless state of want.
Opportunity number three presented itself when he and Louis were finally out of the cramped dressing room and being called for the briefing. Barbra girl, Danielle--Louis’s come to discover, was carefully laying down some basic rules (no over-the-top PDA like crotch-grabbing because we don’t want furious parents calling in for complaints and freezing up the telephone lines again, pretend like there’s no camera around, no hooking up with other people you’ll meet at the club, act like you’re totally enamored with each other because that’s our winning ticket at the ratings, and most important of all, have fun), and Harry was gazing at her like she was the only person in the world, leaning his body slightly in her direction. Louis chanced a glimpse over his body, and he can see under the blue blazers and low cut jeans, were a torso that seems to go on forever and long legs that Louis imagined would feel perfect wrapped around his waist.
Louis’s already sporting a semi and the night hasn’t even started yet.
“Earth to Louis!”
Louis jolts back into the present and sees Aiden and the young bachelor eyeing him with intrigue.
“I was just asking if you were a virgin.” Aiden considers Louis with that why-did-I-agree-to-put-you-on-the-show look that he surprisingly does not take offense from, seeing as a widowed 52-year-old real estate broker probably looks more bangable than him as we speak. “Please tell me you’re not.”
Louis would’ve guffawed if he were only in the appropriate situation. “Of course not.”
“Good. Because like I’ve mentioned before, Harry here is a good friend of mine and is in desperate need of some serious carnal awakening, if you know what I mean,” Aiden says --Louis blinks at that. Because ohhh, Harry - and wraps an arm around --Harry’s shoulder and pulls his friend against him ever so lightly, “And I’d really want tonight to be worthwhile for him and I just don’t think a virgin has what it takes to handle his demands.”
Harry elbows Aiden slightly on the rib, grinning stupidly, and Louis thinks, ohh, dimples, and later it registers in him that Aiden and Harry have been friends long enough that occasional playful jabs like this have become a common occurrence. They’re an unlikely pair but it works.
There’s a sudden hubbub from the camera crew behind them, and that’s just what Louis needs to break the tension (however with Aiden and his flamboyant gay, no such thing exists), because Aiden snaps his head over the general direction of some staff preparing the equipment needed for their departure (aka Louis and Harry’s date) and prances his way shouting out frantic instructions like the true fab boss that he is.
Leaving Louis staring at his feet while Harry, it feels good to address him with an actual name, is standing closely by him, so closely Louis can smell his cologne, observing the surrounding as they wait for their cue to walk out. Louis is suddenly very self-conscious.
“So, Louis…”
Louis snaps his eyes up so quickly he thinks his eyeballs might have loosened from their sockets but realizes he doesn’t really care so long as Harry is looking at him like this. Welcoming, intrigued.
“…What’s your game?”
Louis’ raises an eyebrow. Hmm. “My game?”
“Yeah. Your game. I’m not the one to jump to conclusions but why do I have a feeling this…” Harry hand gestures over Louis’ overall stance, “…this is isn’t you.”
Louis panics that his head has suddenly gone transparent then he remembers it’s currently covered in a thick, poorly-fashioned glob of gel the size of Mt. Auburn so that seems unlikely. “You are jumping to conclusions because what if I told you this is the real me?”
Harry shakes his head. “I say bullshit.”
“Why, Harry, were you expecting someone hotter?” Louis challenges, deciding this was his opportunity to give Harry the long overdue apology he deserves. “I’m sorry if I misled you. I wasn’t supposed to win. You were supposed to choose that Carlos guy, he was more in your league. We can talk to Aiden; it’s still not too late to back out.”
Harry looks at him he’s grown a third ear. “Louis, just shut up.” Then he grins, and Louis pretends it doesn’t send a spark down his spine. “I don’t know, I’m kind of intrigued by this whole persona shift you got going on here.” Louis sees it as Harry’s way of saying that yes, he actually wants to go on in this date.
“There is no persona shift…” Louis wants to push as far as Harry’s willing to go. “And you’re delusional.”
“Maybe.” Harry shrugs, and oh, shoulders--nice, “Or maybe there’s a story here that I’m gonna have to get out of you with help of a glass of expensive wine a little later tonight.”
Louis realizes Harry’s onto him and wow, that’s another level of attractive. He caves in. “Am I really that bad an actor?”
Harry’s mouth breaks into a self-contented grin like I knew it then straightens out. “No, there’s just so much cool in you that you can’t hide behind overused comedy nerd clichés.” There’s a shy smile that tears in Harry’s lips that says yeah, I’m interested, and the bashful way he stuffs his hands into his pockets makes Louis grin like a hopeless 8-year-old girl receiving her first Valentine card. “That, and I’m actually a mind-reader.”
“Oh yeah?” Louis decides to play his game, biting his lower lip and titling his head just so, “What am I thinking about now?”
Harry’s face goes dark for a second, his eyes a wild shimmering green, and he steps in closer to Louis in a single confident move so they’re exchanging the same gust of air. Louis stops breathing and suddenly feels the rest of the world close in on them. “You’re thinking about how you’d rather skip the expensive dinner and partying and go to the dessert right ahead.” Louis forces a moan down his throat because he doesn’t think he can go through the night alive if Harry keeps talking in fucking sexy, lazy drawls like this for the rest of the night. Oh but Harry isn’t done, this time he leans in so he’s whispering hotly into Louis’s ears, “You’re thinking about what your cock would feel like in my mouth or how you’d like to bend me over and fuck me senseless until we both black out.”
Harry takes a step back, allowing his words to simmer in Louis’s brain like a sweet hot promise, before his face morphs back to its deceivingly innocent cheeky default. Louis releases the breath he’s been holding, and keens at the feel of blood racing from the base of his spine to the tip of his toes and all the way back up to his cock. Harry is so unfairly unperturbed by everything and Louis hates how he can be so fucking calm and composed when Louis is practically malfunctioning with want.
After a moment Aiden returns, giddy with confused excitement, and clamps them both on the shoulder. “Alright lads, let’s get this show on the road.”
----
PART TWO IS HERE