out of my mind -- Louis/All

Nov 16, 2012 15:12

Title: out of my mind
Author: seemslikeaporno
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Louis/Niall, Louis/Zayn, Liam/Louis, Harry/Louis.
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Sexual content (oral, penetrative sex, unprotected sex), drug-use, alcohol-use, dub-con, abuse, blood, humiliation, derogitory slurs ("dirty" talk).
Summary: when louis kisses harry, it isn’t because he’s drunk or high or angry. he kisses harry because he wants to, because he feels like it, because harry’s beauty is untainted and unused and innocent, and louis can’t leave that alone, has to mar it somehow, to dirty it up. (Words: 2,400+)
Disclaimer: This didn't happen and I don't profit from this.


.
.

but i don’t want to imagine
words you spoke to her that night
make your bodies look like porcelain
you both knew i’d be bleeding inside

‘love’ by daughter

.
.

( - the friend )

louis is drunk out of his mind the first time he kisses niall, pressing his lips firmly against his and rutting his hips into his thighs and tangling his fingers in his course hair, all the while holding his sixth or seventh or eighth drink in his free hand. niall starts to ask what are you doing? but only gets through what and then snakes his tongue between louis’ pliant lips, taking what he’s been given because he’s known louis long enough to know he doesn’t give much -- louis takes, only because he can.

niall is soft, a warm body for a night, with pink-tinged cheeks and crooked teeth and fumbling fingertips. he wants to touch and louis wants to be touched, wants to be used, wants to be fucked into the mattress until he loves himself, or maybe just until he feels loved.

“niall,” louis sighs into niall’s jaw, biting into his adam’s apple, “niall, niall, niall.”

(niall wants louis to want him. niall has craved this for days and months and years. so he whispers “louis”, so slowly, so carefully, that the quiet rush of air barely leaves his mouth. “louis, louis, louis.”)

louis lets niall take him slowly, fingertips bruising his hips, nails breaking his skin. louis breathes a contented sigh into the pillows in niall’s bed, pushing himself backwards with his palms flat on the mattress, and there is a moan but he isn’t sure whose it is. niall is hardly bigger than him but he encompasses louis, chest pressed into his back as he takes, takes, takes.

niall sleeps on his back with his hands splayed over his own stomach, pale in the moonlight. louis doesn’t sleep; he steals a beer from niall’s fridge and stumbles home in the dark, wrecked, so fucking gone that he isn’t sure he’s headed in the right direction.

niall calls him, day after day, and doesn’t relent until louis sends him a text --

it didn’t mean anything.

a week passes and louis’ phone lights up while he sleeps.

it did to me.

(  - the foe )

louis meets zayn through a friend of a friend of a friend and immediately dislikes everything about him except for the tattoos on his skin and the length of his eyelashes. (zayn does not dislike louis; he hates him, hates the way his voice wavers when he’s drunk, hates the stumble of his fingers on zayn’s shoulder when he’s high, hates the shape of his body, the size of his hands, his voice, his hair, him.)

zayn’s fingers are curled around a cigarette when louis finds him on the porch of the friend of a friend of a friend’s house, hiding from warm bodies and faux sweet nothings whispered in ears. louis leans against the railing, eyes zayn up and down. zayn steadfastly ignores him, patting his pockets for a lighter that he doesn’t have.

“fuck,” he hisses. louis tugs a lighter from his jacket pocket, flicks his thumb and watches the flame appear. zayn glares at him. “fuck,” he says, weaker now, and leans forward, letting the tip of his cigarette catch fire and spit smoke into the air, wistful and angry like zayn is.

“you hate me,” louis says casually, “why?”

zayn smiles his crooked, beautiful smile, eyeing louis up and down. “i fell in love with someone like you,” zayn says, tossing the cigarette from the porch and pressing his lips to louis’.

they fuck in a dark bathroom at the party; zayn bends louis over the sink and holds him back by the scruff of his neck, tugging on his feathered hair, and louis can see his outline in mirror, can see the glint of zayn’s eyes and the shape of his hands and the way he has to work to keep himself stoic.

“what -- was his name?” louis asks, spurring zayn on. “did you -- always, ah, fuck him like you hated him? is that why he left?” zayn tugs sharply at the hair at the back of louis’ neck, causing louis to moan, his mouth opening pathetically.

“fuck you,” zayn growls into louis’ ear, venomous, “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you dirty slut, you filthy fucking -- ” he accentuates each word with a hard thrust and louis feels the anger, the desperation, the hope, and uses it for himself, ruts himself off against the sink and comes with a long moan while zayn pounds into him, one of his hands snaking round louis and pressing a bruise into his chest.

“fuck,” louis rasps, voice breaking, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he begs, over-sensitized and fuzzy around the edges. zayn pulls out and louis nearly collapses, but zayn forces him onto his knees, facing him, and jerks out his orgasm over louis’ face, come catching on his eyelashes and in his fringe and over his lips before zayn drops to the ground in front of him, chest heaving.

“i’m sorry,” zayn says, voice catching. he covers his face with his hands, sobs rattling his entire body, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

louis, shaking, cleans the come on his lips with his tongue and it tastes as bitter as he feels.

( - the fighter )

when liam meets louis for the very first time, he says that he likes him, and he only says so because louis is not drunk nor high nor horny. louis lets him borrow is pencil in uni and they walk down the hall together and talk together and louis -- feels something, an inkling of something that reminds him of fondness. (it’s been such a long time since he’s breeched fondness. louis uses people and takes from people and destroys people and never sticks around to put them back together.)

“i’m glad i met you,” liam tells louis one day when they’re sitting in his dorm and playing a game, “i’ve never really had a friend like you.”

“i’ve never really had a friend,” louis says, and he’s telling the truth, because he fucks people over and he fucks people and they can’t be his friend for too long without knowing him so deeply and intimately that they can’t escape, that they drown in it.

liam laughs, kindly, thinking he’s kidding.

when he ruins liam, it’s because louis goes into his room, high, high, high. “i’m the clouds,” louis tells him seriously before bursting into a fit of giggles, draping himself over him. liam holds him up with his strong arms, brows furrowed over his puppy eyes, and louis feels like kicking him aside, like overpowering him and pushing him away. maybe he’ll go with his tail between his legs, ashamed, like everyone else. “everyone’s ashamed of me,” louis sighs into liam’s birthmark, dark on liam’s neck, like a bruise.

“louis,” liam says, “louis, c’mon, you’re not in your right mind, let’s get you to bed.” liam walks him to the mattress, “come on, come on, come on.”

“stay,” louis breathes, “liam, stay,” he insists, then laughs because it sounds like he’s speaking to a dog, “sit,” he giggles, and liam does with only the briefest hesitation. “suck me,” louis commands.

“no, louis,” liam says, firmly.

“i’ll suck you, then,” louis says, sitting up, reaching for liam’s zipper only to have his wrist grabbed and tugged away.

“no,” liam says again, “louis, you’re -- i don’t know if you’re -- louis, please, stop.” liam’s eyes look sad. louis leans forward, kisses their corners, gathering tears. “louis.” it is borderline desperate, the same kind of desperate that rings in louis’ ears every hour, the kind of desperate that makes you feel sorry for someone.

“liam,” louis breathes, prying his wrists from liam’s grip, “liam,” he lays kisses down liam’s jaw and neck, “liam,” he finds his cock pressing against his jeans, “liam,” he breathes, latching onto his birthmark with his teeth, sucking a bruise there, liking the idea of permanence. “liam, liam, liam.”

louis sucks him off on his knees, pressing so deep that his nose nuzzles the tuft of hair just above his cock every time he goes down. his fingers are splayed on liam’s thighs and liam gasps, moans, pushes his hips into louis’ mouth and liam sounds beautifully broken, beautifully fucked, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. he comes down louis’ throat and louis swallows around him, keeps sucking until he jerks himself off over his fist, coming with a wet moan and tears slipping down his cheeks.

liam tugs him onto his lap, holds him and shushes him and probably apologizes too much.

“i’m the clouds,” louis repeats, snickering, “you know, like the saying? head in the clouds?” he sighs into liam’s jaw and liam holds him until he sleeps.

they don’t talk after that.

( - the lover )

louis likes harry the best until harry falls in love with him.

harry is bright, so bright that he shines, green eyes glimmering under his curls and his lips always the same color pink that louis’ turn after sucking someone off. louis thinks he’s beautiful in a way that isn’t broken.

when louis kisses harry, it isn’t because he’s drunk or high or angry. he kisses harry because he wants to, because he feels like it, because harry’s beauty is untainted and unused and innocent, and louis can’t leave that alone, has to mar it somehow, to dirty it up. harry’s eyes light up and he presses his long fingers into louis’ hair and runs a thumb along his jaw and smiles when he pulls away with heavy breaths. louis wants to fall into him, wants him to fall.

he fucks harry more than once.

the first time, he rides him in the backseat of harry’s car in an abandoned parking lot, harry’s fingertips pushing bruises into his arse, and harry gives him a hickey in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a dark, purple-red bruise that louis hides with scarves and button ups.

the second time, harry fucks him on the couch in his dorm room, bending him over the armrest because louis asks him to and pushing into him until louis can’t function, until he collapses into harry’s arms and kisses him until they’re sharing the same breath.

the third, harry asks louis to face him, takes it slowly and steadily, testing the waters. he kisses trails up and down louis’ chest, his stomach, his thighs, his cock, every part of him, and louis thinks, take, take, take -- but all harry does is give.

there are a few more times, too many for louis to count on both hands, more than the freckles on their bodies, and louis realizes, belatedly, that he and harry are something, that they are past fondness and instead creeping towards --

louis gets completely and totally wasted and fucks someone he doesn’t know.

“you -- what?” harry asks when louis stumbles into his dorm, smiling like he’s proud. harry’s brows furrow. “louis, you’re -- drunk,” he says, laughing a little hysterically, pushing hair back from his forehead, trying to keep himself calm though his hands are shaking.

“i fucked someone else,” louis repeats, “i fucked him and it was shitty but i did and now -- now i’ve ruined this,” louis says, licking his lips, “i’ve ruined it and i’ve ruined you and you -- should hate me.” louis takes a breath.

“i don’t hate you,” harry says, so quietly, so determinedly that louis’ mouth drops open in disbelief.

“yes you do,” louis spits, suddenly on fire, the room spinning, “you -- have to! you do, you do, you do,” louis says, and he feels sick, feels awful and wretched and disgusting.

“i don’t,” harry says again, voice breaking, “i don’t, lou, i don’t.” he reaches for him but louis pushes him away, stumbling backwards a few steps. “louis,” harry pleads, like he still -- “louis, i love you, lou, please, we’ll figure it out, louis, please, please, please.”

“stop!” louis screams, pushing him again, hitting him as hard as he can wherever he can reach, “no! no, no, no, no, no,” louis yells, pounding into harry’s skin, pretending that he’s breaking bone.

“louis,” harry pleads, thrusting out his shaking hands to protect himself, “lou -- god,” he groans, voice catching at the end as he drops to his knees after a punch in the stomach. louis can’t stop, keeps bringing his fists down, keeps kicking, keeps taking, taking, taking. “louis -- louis, i can’t -- lou,” harry gasps, trying to stop him, but louis can’t stop, has to make harry hate him, has to show him that giving, giving, giving doesn’t matter.

“hate me!” louis screams, desperate, slapping harry so hard across his cheek that he spits blood onto the ground, upright only by his shaking arms. “hate me!” he kicks him. “hate me!” he punches his shoulder. “fucking hate me already!”

“louis,” harry’s voice is so, so small, louis grabs him by the scruff of his neck, throwing him against the wall, where he very nearly crumples in on himself, “i hate you!” he finally screams desperately, voice hoarse, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, from his nose, from the back of his head. “god, fuck, i hate you! i hate you! i hate -- ” his voice breaks, tears spilling from his eyes. his whole chest vibrates with his sobs, but he cries silently, body aching, and louis feels -- feels --

he stumbles back, knuckles bruised from -- from breaking him, from destroying, from ruining. louis takes a gasping breath, pressing his palm to his chest. harry hates him. hates, hates, hates him.

good, louis thinks.

“louis,” harry breathes, reaching for him when louis goes.

( - the lonely )

louis wakes up to the sound of nothing, blinking away sleep and sitting up in his bed.

he takes a steadying breath, runs a hand through his hair, and gets up. he takes a shower, jerks off there, pulls on a pair of colored jeans. he has a protein shake from his fridge for breakfast, tapping his fingers on the counter, impatient.

no one texts, or calls, or speaks to him, that day. no one tells him he’s shit, no one yells at him for ruining them, no one calls him an arsehole or a bastard or a fucker. no one mentions what he’s done to them. niall averts his gaze when they pass by each other in the dorms, zayn clenches his cigarette a little bit tighter when he passes him on the lawn, liam freezes up when louis goes into the library, and harry hides the bruises.

louis knows they hate him.

he also knows they don’t hate him half as much as he hates himself.

pairing: louis/niall, fandom: one direction, !fanfiction, pairing: liam/louis, pairing: louis/zayn, fic rating: nc-17, pairing: harry/louis

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