fic: only lonely (but i can't stop loving you) (harry/louis)
Title: only lonely (but i can't stop loving you) [on ao3]
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Word Count: ~4,800
Author's Notes: Unapologetic tin-hatting and wish fulfillment for the Australian leg of the Take Me Home tour, really.
Summary: It's been so long since they've done this, hung out, just the two of them, and he doesn't know what to say, smiling, a little sheepishly, when he catches Louis' gaze across the table, and there's something in the creases around Louis' eyes when he smiles back that make him feel like he's still seventeen and the center of Louis' world and it hurts almost as much as politely distant Louis does, just. In a different way.
Take Me Home Tour
Australia, October 2013
"Let's turn up the lights and have a look at some of these signs," Liam says, with a wave of his hand. "We love 1D," he reads, "We love you, too," he replies, solemnly, almost drowned out by the screaming, and Zayn drops his mic to his side, laughing. "Louis-" he breaks off, "Oh. That's a bit rude. This is a family show," he keeps his tone light, just mock-scandalized, but Niall steps up beside him.
"Do you want a hand?" he asks, only half-kidding, and Liam gestures at him to go ahead. Which - it's not the easiest gig, Harry knows; can see We're legal! and Crown Plaza Room 836 alone bobbing up and down out of the corner of his eye.
Niall scans the signs. "Louis loves Harry," he reads, and it probably is the most innocent one he can easily read, but Liam gives him a wholly unimpressed look. "Mate, we all do," he adds, cheerfully, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry's holding himself a little stiffly, yeah, but Louis' turned his back and busied himself with a bottle of water, and it's all a bit shit, really.
*
"Say something nice about the band member to your left, exclamation mark, smiley face," Louis reads the tweet from the screen in a monotone, and Niall cracks up, but Louis' gaze flicks to Harry, immediately, so briefly, and Harry stays perfectly still, because he's quite obviously the person to Louis' left and- "Excellent question," Louis continues, "Section 4?" he asks, "Where's that?" and he takes a couple of steps towards the edge of the stage to wave. "Hello!" he says, before falling back into line, on the other side of Liam, who's already shifted over a little, and it's so perfectly casual and well done, but Harry ignores it, ignores Louis, and holds up his hands to form Ls with his thumbs and first fingers, instead, pretending to frown in confusion, before pointing to Zayn, all, You? and Zayn plays along and nods and Harry adores him a little for it.
*
"A couple of the 5 Seconds of Summer boys posted a picture on Facebook today," Meshel says, "Calum and Ashton having lunch together. They call themselves Cashton," and Harry's pretty sure he knows where this is going, fiddling with his headphones so he has something to do with his hands, and sure enough - "Are they the new Larry Stylinson?"
It's only radio, for a change, no cameras around, so Louis shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and covers his mouth. "Stupid," he mumbles, and maybe he means the question, maybe he means Cal and Ash, but maybe he means Larry, which, no, that's not fair, fuck.
Like, OK, things are obviously pretty shit these days, but they were friends, best friends and flatmates and first crushes (and other firsts that Harry doesn't let himself think about, too much, anymore (Louis' naked legs wrapping higher around Harry's waist, breath catching, soft and sweet; "Love you," mumbled against Harry's lips, and Louis' nose slowly rubbing back and forth against his, his smile so helplessly fond), because it just hurts), and they weren't stupid, they were never stupid.
Harry stares at him, but Louis won't look at him, so Liam laughs and helps them out. "It's all about the Niam, now," he kids, and Niall grins at him, even as Louis rolls his eyes.
*
"Who's broken the most hearts?" Allison asks, with a small, friendly smile; Liam points at Zayn, but everyone else points at Harry, immediately.
"Not intentionally," he protests, but he's grinning, because this is the kind of teasing he likes; older women, solo careers, how many people he's slept with all but forgotten.
"And which of you have had your heart broken?" she continues.
Harry's smile fades, fades in a way that'll be analysed to death online later tonight, he knows. He lifts a finger, reluctantly (and he'll wonder later, why he did it, wonder if part of him knew exactly what he was doing, will wonder if maybe, maybe, in that moment, he was just a nineteen year old boy who's had his heart broken exactly once).
He'll regret this later. It'll be one more thing he's given away, one more piece of him that isn't his. Fuck, he's already regretting it.
Zayn, cocking his head to the side as he thinks, lifts his hand, too, just briefly. And Jesus. There's a hideous pause. It feels like something in Harry's chest is squeezing, just squeezing tight and not letting go. Liam looks off-camera, looking for direction or distraction, Harry's not sure, and Louis doesn't look like he's even breathing. And then--
"There was this one time," Niall says, suddenly, unexpectedly, mercifully, "when they forgot to put the Southwest sauce on my sub." He glances around, as if for support. "That was pretty bad."
The pressure in Harry's chest eases, just a little, as he ducks his head and laughs, loud and relieved.
*
The balcony door opens behind him, and he turns his head, and his stomach clenches.
"Hey," Louis says, a little warily. He doesn't seem terribly surprised to see Harry, though, which is - something to think about later, maybe.
"Hey," Harry says, as Louis steps up beside him, a safe distance between them.
"'s a nice view," Louis says, inanely, after a pause, and this is ridiculous.
Harry turns and leans against the railing until it digs, uncomfortably, into his back.
"I miss you," he says, without preamble, staring back into the room, and Louis stiffens beside him. "Like," he continues, "Not - I know," and this is too big and too important to say wrong, and he can't find the words he needs, but "Like," he tries again, "we were mates, yeah?" and he doesn't wait for Louis to reply, doesn't need Louis to reply, because they were, and it's just a fact. "I just - I miss my best mate," he says, quieter.
Louis makes a tiny, helpless noise in the back of his throat, almost a "Haz," like maybe Harry's not the only one still hurting, and it's stupid to hope, so stupid, but he can't not hope when it comes to Louis --
"And I know that you ... that you're worried that I'm still in love with you, or whatever," he says, a little wobbly, and Louis' head turns towards him, just a little, and maybe this is what it's all been about, but he can't exactly deny it, because fuck. "But it just sucks that we're-" he gestures between them, a little uselessly, "like this now." And it's not the most eloquent thing he's ever said, but it gets his point across, and Louis' been fluent in Harry-speak for years, and he's said his piece, but there's just silence stretching out between them.
"OK," Harry says, finally, when it's clear Louis' really not going to reply, and he hates that he's disappointed. "Night," he says, a little short, and when he pulls the glass door shut behind him, Louis' still looking out over Sydney's lights.
*
"Favourite food," Louis reads off the screen, and Niall groans, like he's been stabbed. Louis claps a hand on his shoulder, companionably. "It's OK," he says, decisively, "you don't have to pick," and Niall squeezes Louis' waist in hilariously sincere gratitude.
"This is a tough one," Liam says.
"I'll start with," Louis scans the rest of them, then, breaking a self-imposed rule he's been following for months, now, "Harold." And like - it probably doesn't mean anything? Except Louis rarely turns to Harry at all during the Twitter questions, let alone first, so maybe it kind of does?
"Um," Harry says, weighing his options, and Tim Tams is on the tip of his tongue, because he knows his audience, and no-one'll believe him if he says Vegemite, but Tim Tams are rather delicious, but he's tired, tired of second-guessing every bloody thought he has, every answer he gives, so he shrugs a little. "Garlic prawns," he says, honestly (and if he and Louis shared more than one dinner at Rosso (gentle footsie and butter-slippery kisses), then - then so be it. He's sick of pretending it never happened.
And he's too far away from Louis to be sure, but it looks like he smiles, very slightly).
"Good choice," Louis says, simply, before he turns to Liam.
*
"Now," Sammy says, apologetically, "I have to ask-" (and, she doesn't. She really, really doesn't). "Harry and Louis," she says, opening a magazine, and, for fuck's sake, is that a two-page spread? "These pictures."
"Jesus," Niall breathes, like he can't catch himself.
"They're Photoshopped," Harry says, dutifully, slowly, with a Herculean show of patience, from where he's sat, sandwiched safely between Zayn and Niall. He takes the magazine, lies it in his lap, but doesn't bother looking at the pictures. He doesn't have to.
But Louis leans forward, on the stool he's perched on, to get a better look. "That one's not," he says, stretching an arm over Harry's shoulder to point (so close, so warm, against Harry's back). And, um. He's technically right? But this isn't - this isn't how this is supposed to go.
Harry turns his head slightly, disoriented. "No," he says, stupidly, in agreement, eyes searching Louis' face for a clue, but he's open and amused and Harry can't read him.
Louis grins at him, a real, eye-crinkling grin Harry hasn't been on the receiving end of for months (his stomach hurts, so much).
"Actually," Zayn speaks up, now, mild and deadpan, still studying the magazine in Harry's lap, "That one's not, either."
"Good eyes," Louis says, admiringly, sitting back down.
"Neither's that one," Niall pipes up, from Harry's other side, jabbing the glossy page.
"OK!" Louis pretends to snap, "We get it."
"You're - you're kissing in these," Sammy says, bewildered. A little hopeful, maybe; she wants a scoop, and it's her job, and he can't hate her for it, but he doesn't have to like it.
"Not really," Liam says, leaning over Harry's other shoulder. "I think Harry's whispering in that one," he points, now, too. "It gets quite loud on stage," he says, which - is a bit of an understatement, "Or he's making out with Louis' ear." He shrugs, like it's a tough call.
"It's hard to say," Louis agrees, solemnly.
"Making out with-" Niall repeats, laughing.
"Can't a bloke make out with another bloke's ear without people judging?" Louis demands.
"Exactly," Liam says, reaching forward to grab Niall, who ducks under his arm, laughingly, and that, that's where they'll cut the segment, Harry knows, his fingers tightening on the magazine as Louis laughs, softly, behind him.
*
He's killing some time, stretched out on a sofa backstage, just scrolling through his Instagram feed, when Louis finds him.
"Budge up," Louis says, and Harry draws his knees up, automatically, to make room for him, and Louis' staring straight ahead when he adds, simply, "We need to talk."
Harry lifts his head a little, warily, and waits, the hand with his phone dropping to rest against his chest.
"You," Louis says, "are my favourite person in the world," he risks a glance over at Harry, then, and Harry sucks in a surprised breath; he can't - just, what? "Like ... above Becks, even," Louis adds, to lighten the mood a little, and Harry dutifully cracks a small smile, but his face feels strange. "And I don't know how to just be mates with you," Louis admits, thumb brushing over Harry's ankle, almost absently, and Harry's throat tightens, because, oh, they were never just friends, not really. "But I'm gonna - I'm gonna try."
"OK," Harry says, because Louis looks like he's waiting for a reply, and Louis nods, slightly, like this conversation's actually cleared something up
(and maybe it has).
"OK," he echoes, and they sit there for a while, in silence, Louis' thumb still gently circling Harry's ankle.
*
They play footy against the 5SoS guys on their night off, something they try and make time for, every now and then; maybe it's the mild Australian night, maybe it's that the tour's coming to an end, but everyone's playing, and everyone's in a good mood, and Luke grins when Cal pretends to count the players on their team.
"Yeah, but we've got Harry," Louis says, in answer to the unspoken challenge, "Sort of evens us out."
And yeah, maybe they do talk a little more without cameras around, but - still. It's a gentle tease he's missed so much, Christ.
"It's true," he says, evenly, like it's nothing out of the ordinary, pausing to pull up his sagging left sock, "I'm a bit of a liability."
"We'll take Harry, then," Cal says, immediately, and Niall gapes, mock-outraged, throwing an arm across Harry's chest to stop him moving
(he hasn't taken a step, but, hey. He appreciates the sentiment).
"We got this," Ash says, with confidence, and Liam gets up in his face, jokingly, and Ash pushes him away, laughing.
"Wait," Mike kids, spotting the ball, "are we playing footy or soccer?"
"Wash your mouth out," Louis says, primly.
(Louis passes the ball to Harry, first, and he misses it by a mile, and he pulls up short, looking between where the ball should've gone and where it ended up and Louis doubles over, bracing his hands on his thighs as he laughs, and it's real and happy and completely worth making a tit of himself).
*
Louis knocks on his hotel door, the next day.
"Oi," he calls, without waiting for Harry to let him in, "You feel like brunch?"
Harry pulls open the door, doesn't bother to find a shirt. "Can it be brunch," he asks, sleepily, "if it's after midday?" Louis shrugs, and Harry scratches his bare chest, absently, and Louis drops his gaze to watch, for a moment, and Harry grins. "I'll just-" he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, "get decent," he kids, and Louis steps inside his room and closes the door behind them, fully prepared to wait while he gets dressed, and it's what they'd do with any of the other lads, but it's different
(and it always will be different, with them).
They find a place that does all day breakfast, and Louis nudges him hopefully when he sees Eggs Benedict on the menu, and Harry grins at him.
Louis snaps a picture of Harry giving two thumbs up over his pancakes, tapping away at his phone
(@Louis_Tomlinson: Love all day breakfast places !!, he'll caption it, Harry'll see, later, and his stomach will lurch, almost guiltily, which is so fucking unfair, because they used to live together, Christ. It shouldn't be strange for them to grab a meal together).
And like ... it's been so long since they've done this, hung out, just the two of them, and he doesn't know what to say, smiling, a little sheepishly, when he catches Louis' gaze across the table, and there's something in the creases around Louis' eyes when he smiles back that make him feel like he's still seventeen and the center of Louis' world and it hurts almost as much as politely distant Louis does, just. In a different way.
But, all things considered, day two of Being Lou's Friend is actually shaping up to be OK until Louis barges into his hotel bathroom, just as Harry's washing his hands --
"You were wrong," Louis says, catching his gaze in the reflection, "Before."
Harry shrugs, easily. "Probably," he agrees, turning around and leaning against the counter, and Louis smiles, crookedly, as he joins him, elbow brushing against Harry's. "About what?" he checks.
Louis pauses, looks like he's choosing his words so carefully (and Harry wonders if that's what growing up or fame has done to Louis Tomlinson). "I'm not ... worried," the word looks like it's strange in his mouth, "that you're still, you know. In love with me," he says, and Harry's stomach clenches, before Louis adds, quickly, jerkily, "I'm worried that you're not."
"Lou," Harry says, and he feels off-kilter, hot and cold at once, and he's not sure where this is headed, or what he's meant to say
(what he does know is that he's still very much in love with Louis).
"I thought," Louis says, like he can't stop, now that he's started, "that we wouldn't slip up as much if we weren't, like, friends anymore." He glances up, briefly. "So that's why I. But I never - I didn't," he breaks off, frustrated, and this has always come easier to Harry, and he'd help him if he could, but he needs to hear this, and he needs to hear it unprompted, so he just bumps Louis' shoulder with his, until he smiles, reluctantly. "I didn't do it because I stopped-" and it looks like it's physically paining Louis, "loving you," and Harry lets out a shaky breath. "It was killing us, Haz," he says, almost pleadingly
(and it was).
"I didn't mean forever," Louis says, looking up properly, now, "Just - until things settled down. Or - I don't know."
"Things are never going to settle down," Harry points out, and the corner of Louis' mouth tugs up, ruefully.
"Well, yeah. I know that now," he says.
(I didn't mean forever)
"It's just - easier. With the others," Louis says, and it's not - it's not meant to hurt, and Harry doesn't let it (because, honestly, no-one cares if he goes golfing with Niall, or if Lou goes surfing with Liam, and it's exhausting, considering every word that comes out of your mouth, every expression that crosses your face).
"Yeah," Harry agrees, quietly.
(I didn't mean forever)
"We should go," Louis says, in the pause, checking the time on his phone, "The others'll be looking for us."
*
They head over to Melbourne Park for sound check, together (something else they never, ever do, anymore, but they only have a handful of shows left on this tour, and Harry's pretty through caring, right now, because it is literally a five minute car ride).
Louis grins at him, when they climb out of the car, reaching over to touch Harry's sunglasses.
"Dirty hipster," he teases, behind his aviators, and Harry just grins back, doesn't reply --
but it unleashes something in him, something reckless and - free, and during the show, he turns and sings, quite clearly "I'm in love with Lou, and all his little things," and to make it a joke, he peers at Louis' crotch, and Louis pretends to scowl, and it's been a while since they've intentionally changed the lyrics, and he feels young and stupid
(and in love).
Sure, if he'd thought it through, he'd have realized he has to sing about those little things slipping out of his mouth, and children, he's trying to remind himself, children everywhere, but he can't, and he snorts in laughter, inelegantly, right into his microphone, and Louis turns away, but Harry can see his shoulders shaking, and thank fuck for Zayn, honestly, who takes over Harry's bit, with a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Liam buries his head in his hands in mock dismay, and Niall turns around and gives Harry a completely un-subtle thumbs up, and Harry waves back at him, cheerfully.
*
Louis knocks on his hotel door again, that night, knocks as he lets himself in, all pyjamas and shower-damp hair, and Harry stares at him from the edge of his bed, halfway through pulling off his socks.
"Hey," Louis grins, looking young and happy and fuck, they've never been just friends and they'll never be just friends and he's going to love Louis Tomlinson stupidly for the rest of his life and something in his chest's splitting open, and it must show on his face, because Louis' smile fades a bit. "What's wrong?" he asks, stepping closer, and Harry can actually see his own chest rising and falling, he's breathing so hard already. "Haz?" Louis tries, and Harry pushes himself up, crossing the room in a few steps, and grabs Louis' face and kisses him.
It's warm and achingly, painfully familiar, and Louis' mouth opens, immediately, hands reaching out to settle low on Harry's hips, tugging him closer, creeping around to the small of his back, and he bites at Louis' lips. Louis gasps into his mouth, quiet and surprised, and Harry pulls away a little, trailing kisses across Louis' cheek.
"I've missed you," Harry breathes, dragging his nose along the line of Louis' jaw, "so much." He can feel Louis swallow, Jesus.
"Me too," Louis admits, thickly, and Harry lets out a shaky breath, before Louis' mouth finds his again. He taps at Louis' forearms until he drops his hands, and Harry laces their fingers together, pulling Louis back towards the bed, still kissing him. He lies back, and Louis swings a leg over him, hovering, uncertainly. "Nothing's changed," Louis warns him, "I'm still - El," he says, as explanation.
"I don't care," Harry says, hands at Louis' waist.
"You will," Louis corrects, gently, eyes sad, two fingers lifting Harry's chin for a softer kiss. "She'll fly out, and I'll hold her hand and go jewellery shopping, and it'll kill you," and he's not saying it to be cruel, or dramatic (because - because, last time, Harry withdrew, just a little more, every time Lou went out with her, fairly or not, until even Louis' whispers, on a shared pillow in a dark bedroom, couldn't coax him back).
"No," Harry argues, kissing Louis again, just once, because this is important. "It won't. It'll kill me if we don't - if we're not. Together." Because watching Lou tug Eleanor in for a kiss in front of him won't - can't - hurt as much as the last few months. And - he's never been great at keeping a blank face, and Louis' always been better than most at reading him, and Louis groans, and settles his weight onto Harry properly, kissing him again, over and over, until they're both breathless.
"Harry," Louis whispers, against his mouth (doesn't follow it up with anything. Just "Harry"), and Harry rocks his hips up against Louis, lazily, and Louis matches the languid roll (and it's not enough to get off, and it'll be too dry, soon, in their pyjama pants, but for now, it's warm and tingly and nice. Really nice).
Harry trails a hand down Louis' back, and touches the waistband of his pants. "Yeah?" he checks.
"Yes," Louis hisses, between his teeth, already leaning over to balance on one leg, and, yeah, it'd probably be easier if they just got up and did this, Harry decides, as he wriggles out of his own pants, but he can't stop touching Louis, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he finally kicks off his pants. "Do you have any lube?" Louis asks, pausing.
Harry tries to look outraged. "What do you think I do on tour?" he demands, and Louis' smile is slow and filthy and Harry covers his eyes with his forearm for a moment as he laughs, before nodding at the bedside table.
Louis grabs the tube and straddles Harry, over his thighs, this time, and he grins, as he flicks open the cap with his thumb. "I've missed this, too," Louis admits, rubbing some lube between his fingers, experimentally, before reaching out and stroking Harry.
Harry's back arches, almost off the bed, and Louis looks like he's trying not to laugh.
"Hey," Harry says, mock-wounded, and Louis leans down and kisses his chest in apology, before moving his hand, slowly, up and down Harry's half-hard cock. Harry lets out a shaky breath, stiffening in Louis' grip quickly.
"Like this?" Louis checks, hand still moving, up and down, rolling his palm over the head, and Harry can only nod (it's an old favourite). So Louis moves up a bit and leans forward, using the hand still wrapped around Harry to line them up, and sits back, until just the tip of Harry's inside him, and Harry bites his lip. "God."
Harry sucks in a deep breath. "Lou," he says, touching his thighs, his hips, his stomach (everywhere), and he's always loved Louis like this, trembling with the burn in his thighs, breathless with the drag of Harry inside him (and he does finger Lou sometimes, slowly, so slowly, until Louis' rocking against his hand, panting and flushed, but not when he's like this. Tonight is hard and fast, and there'll be time for that later, he knows, with a certainty that twists up his stomach in the best possible way).
Louis lifts up a bit again, then sinks down further, until he's pulling almost all the way off, and he squeezes around Harry, and nods, and Harry's jerking his hips up to meet Louis, hard and loud, and the noises, the slap of skin, Louis' quiet keening, are almost enough to do him in.
He grabs Louis' hips to keep him steady, bouncing faster and harder, and Louis pulls at his own cock, quick and relentless, until he's spilling over his hand and Harry's stomach. He slumps over Harry, settling against his while he catches his breath, their hips still rocking against each other gently, just this side of too much.
Harry reaches down and squeezes Louis' bum, and Louis laughs, turning his head into Harry's neck, and Harry trails a finger down the cleft of his arse, until he's lightly touching his own cock, where it's stretching Louis open, all slick and tight, and Louis' laugh becomes a shaky breath
"You good?" Harry mumbles, and Louis nods against him, so he rolls them over, until Louis' on his back, Harry cradled between his legs, and he's already come, but his thighs are jerking, as he tries to fuck himself on Harry and it's too much, orgasm already pooling low in his belly, and he pounds into Louis until he's coming, with a hoarse cry.
He drops his head and kisses Louis' shoulder, his collarbone, the middle of his chest, and Louis catches a hand around the back of his neck, and scratches, affectionately.
He pulls out, carefully, with a wince, and flops onto the mattress face first, arm heavy over Louis' stomach.
"Stay?" he asks, burrowing into the pillow.
"Course," Louis scoffs, like he's being an idiot, but his fingers are tracing patters lightly along Harry's forearm.
*
"If the five of you were stuck on a desert island," Louis reads, "Who would you eat first?"
Liam pretends to stroke his chin, as he thinks. "That makes it sound kind of inevitable," he says, warily, "I feel like that should be last resort kind of thing."
"I'd rather starve," Zayn says, flatly, and Liam laughs, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"I thought it said dessert island, and I got really excited for a second," Niall says, morosely.
"I'd eat ... Harry," Louis says, too innocently.
"Oi," Harry protests, mock-wounded, and Louis shrugs.
"You look like you'd be a good source of protein," he adds, and Harry shakes his head, but, as he cradles his microphone to his chest, he lifts his thumb up, just slightly.
Louis smiles, a tiny, secret smile, and rubs his jaw with his thumb in reply.
*
They line up to bow, and, behind Niall, who glances between them, eyes laughing, Louis grabs Harry's forearm and squeezes, and Harry twists his arm until he can grab Louis back, and squeezes just as tight.
*
Louis climbs into the van last, and squashes up next to Harry, who doesn't open his eyes. He throws a leg over Harry's lap, and Harry reaches out and rests his hand on Louis' thigh.
"So, boys," Louis says, brightly. "Only a few more shows to go. What did we all think of Australia?" He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Louis' holding an imaginary mic in front of Harry's face. "Harold?"
"I'd have to say," he says, slowly, finally cracking open his eyes, "Not too bad." He bobs his head down and kisses Louis' fist, quickly, and Louis nods.
"Interesting," he says, like he's genuinely fascinated, and Zayn snorts in laughter. "Not too bad?" he checks, and Harry smiles at him, and his stomach's doing silly little flips, but like. Good ones.
"Yeah," he says, turning to face Louis a bit more.
"Good answer," Louis says, smiling back at him.
"Thanks," Harry says, and he knows his smile's gone all goofy and fond, and he knows they're being stupid, and he knows Liam and Niall and Zayn aren't even trying to pretend they're not laughing at them, and he knows Eleanor's flying in tomorrow--
but Louis tugs him in for a kiss, fingers tangling in Harry's hair, and all of that stops mattering so much.
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Word Count: ~4,800
Author's Notes: Unapologetic tin-hatting and wish fulfillment for the Australian leg of the Take Me Home tour, really.
Summary: It's been so long since they've done this, hung out, just the two of them, and he doesn't know what to say, smiling, a little sheepishly, when he catches Louis' gaze across the table, and there's something in the creases around Louis' eyes when he smiles back that make him feel like he's still seventeen and the center of Louis' world and it hurts almost as much as politely distant Louis does, just. In a different way.
- Australian media personalities: Meshel Laurie (NovaFM radio), Allison Langdon (60 Minutes) and Sammy Armytage (Sunrise)
- 5 Seconds of Summer Cashton lunch date photo.
Take Me Home Tour
Australia, October 2013
"Let's turn up the lights and have a look at some of these signs," Liam says, with a wave of his hand. "We love 1D," he reads, "We love you, too," he replies, solemnly, almost drowned out by the screaming, and Zayn drops his mic to his side, laughing. "Louis-" he breaks off, "Oh. That's a bit rude. This is a family show," he keeps his tone light, just mock-scandalized, but Niall steps up beside him.
"Do you want a hand?" he asks, only half-kidding, and Liam gestures at him to go ahead. Which - it's not the easiest gig, Harry knows; can see We're legal! and Crown Plaza Room 836 alone bobbing up and down out of the corner of his eye.
Niall scans the signs. "Louis loves Harry," he reads, and it probably is the most innocent one he can easily read, but Liam gives him a wholly unimpressed look. "Mate, we all do," he adds, cheerfully, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry's holding himself a little stiffly, yeah, but Louis' turned his back and busied himself with a bottle of water, and it's all a bit shit, really.
*
"Say something nice about the band member to your left, exclamation mark, smiley face," Louis reads the tweet from the screen in a monotone, and Niall cracks up, but Louis' gaze flicks to Harry, immediately, so briefly, and Harry stays perfectly still, because he's quite obviously the person to Louis' left and- "Excellent question," Louis continues, "Section 4?" he asks, "Where's that?" and he takes a couple of steps towards the edge of the stage to wave. "Hello!" he says, before falling back into line, on the other side of Liam, who's already shifted over a little, and it's so perfectly casual and well done, but Harry ignores it, ignores Louis, and holds up his hands to form Ls with his thumbs and first fingers, instead, pretending to frown in confusion, before pointing to Zayn, all, You? and Zayn plays along and nods and Harry adores him a little for it.
*
"A couple of the 5 Seconds of Summer boys posted a picture on Facebook today," Meshel says, "Calum and Ashton having lunch together. They call themselves Cashton," and Harry's pretty sure he knows where this is going, fiddling with his headphones so he has something to do with his hands, and sure enough - "Are they the new Larry Stylinson?"
It's only radio, for a change, no cameras around, so Louis shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and covers his mouth. "Stupid," he mumbles, and maybe he means the question, maybe he means Cal and Ash, but maybe he means Larry, which, no, that's not fair, fuck.
Like, OK, things are obviously pretty shit these days, but they were friends, best friends and flatmates and first crushes (and other firsts that Harry doesn't let himself think about, too much, anymore (Louis' naked legs wrapping higher around Harry's waist, breath catching, soft and sweet; "Love you," mumbled against Harry's lips, and Louis' nose slowly rubbing back and forth against his, his smile so helplessly fond), because it just hurts), and they weren't stupid, they were never stupid.
Harry stares at him, but Louis won't look at him, so Liam laughs and helps them out. "It's all about the Niam, now," he kids, and Niall grins at him, even as Louis rolls his eyes.
*
"Who's broken the most hearts?" Allison asks, with a small, friendly smile; Liam points at Zayn, but everyone else points at Harry, immediately.
"Not intentionally," he protests, but he's grinning, because this is the kind of teasing he likes; older women, solo careers, how many people he's slept with all but forgotten.
"And which of you have had your heart broken?" she continues.
Harry's smile fades, fades in a way that'll be analysed to death online later tonight, he knows. He lifts a finger, reluctantly (and he'll wonder later, why he did it, wonder if part of him knew exactly what he was doing, will wonder if maybe, maybe, in that moment, he was just a nineteen year old boy who's had his heart broken exactly once).
He'll regret this later. It'll be one more thing he's given away, one more piece of him that isn't his. Fuck, he's already regretting it.
Zayn, cocking his head to the side as he thinks, lifts his hand, too, just briefly. And Jesus. There's a hideous pause. It feels like something in Harry's chest is squeezing, just squeezing tight and not letting go. Liam looks off-camera, looking for direction or distraction, Harry's not sure, and Louis doesn't look like he's even breathing. And then--
"There was this one time," Niall says, suddenly, unexpectedly, mercifully, "when they forgot to put the Southwest sauce on my sub." He glances around, as if for support. "That was pretty bad."
The pressure in Harry's chest eases, just a little, as he ducks his head and laughs, loud and relieved.
*
The balcony door opens behind him, and he turns his head, and his stomach clenches.
"Hey," Louis says, a little warily. He doesn't seem terribly surprised to see Harry, though, which is - something to think about later, maybe.
"Hey," Harry says, as Louis steps up beside him, a safe distance between them.
"'s a nice view," Louis says, inanely, after a pause, and this is ridiculous.
Harry turns and leans against the railing until it digs, uncomfortably, into his back.
"I miss you," he says, without preamble, staring back into the room, and Louis stiffens beside him. "Like," he continues, "Not - I know," and this is too big and too important to say wrong, and he can't find the words he needs, but "Like," he tries again, "we were mates, yeah?" and he doesn't wait for Louis to reply, doesn't need Louis to reply, because they were, and it's just a fact. "I just - I miss my best mate," he says, quieter.
Louis makes a tiny, helpless noise in the back of his throat, almost a "Haz," like maybe Harry's not the only one still hurting, and it's stupid to hope, so stupid, but he can't not hope when it comes to Louis --
"And I know that you ... that you're worried that I'm still in love with you, or whatever," he says, a little wobbly, and Louis' head turns towards him, just a little, and maybe this is what it's all been about, but he can't exactly deny it, because fuck. "But it just sucks that we're-" he gestures between them, a little uselessly, "like this now." And it's not the most eloquent thing he's ever said, but it gets his point across, and Louis' been fluent in Harry-speak for years, and he's said his piece, but there's just silence stretching out between them.
"OK," Harry says, finally, when it's clear Louis' really not going to reply, and he hates that he's disappointed. "Night," he says, a little short, and when he pulls the glass door shut behind him, Louis' still looking out over Sydney's lights.
*
"Favourite food," Louis reads off the screen, and Niall groans, like he's been stabbed. Louis claps a hand on his shoulder, companionably. "It's OK," he says, decisively, "you don't have to pick," and Niall squeezes Louis' waist in hilariously sincere gratitude.
"This is a tough one," Liam says.
"I'll start with," Louis scans the rest of them, then, breaking a self-imposed rule he's been following for months, now, "Harold." And like - it probably doesn't mean anything? Except Louis rarely turns to Harry at all during the Twitter questions, let alone first, so maybe it kind of does?
"Um," Harry says, weighing his options, and Tim Tams is on the tip of his tongue, because he knows his audience, and no-one'll believe him if he says Vegemite, but Tim Tams are rather delicious, but he's tired, tired of second-guessing every bloody thought he has, every answer he gives, so he shrugs a little. "Garlic prawns," he says, honestly (and if he and Louis shared more than one dinner at Rosso (gentle footsie and butter-slippery kisses), then - then so be it. He's sick of pretending it never happened.
And he's too far away from Louis to be sure, but it looks like he smiles, very slightly).
"Good choice," Louis says, simply, before he turns to Liam.
*
"Now," Sammy says, apologetically, "I have to ask-" (and, she doesn't. She really, really doesn't). "Harry and Louis," she says, opening a magazine, and, for fuck's sake, is that a two-page spread? "These pictures."
"Jesus," Niall breathes, like he can't catch himself.
"They're Photoshopped," Harry says, dutifully, slowly, with a Herculean show of patience, from where he's sat, sandwiched safely between Zayn and Niall. He takes the magazine, lies it in his lap, but doesn't bother looking at the pictures. He doesn't have to.
But Louis leans forward, on the stool he's perched on, to get a better look. "That one's not," he says, stretching an arm over Harry's shoulder to point (so close, so warm, against Harry's back). And, um. He's technically right? But this isn't - this isn't how this is supposed to go.
Harry turns his head slightly, disoriented. "No," he says, stupidly, in agreement, eyes searching Louis' face for a clue, but he's open and amused and Harry can't read him.
Louis grins at him, a real, eye-crinkling grin Harry hasn't been on the receiving end of for months (his stomach hurts, so much).
"Actually," Zayn speaks up, now, mild and deadpan, still studying the magazine in Harry's lap, "That one's not, either."
"Good eyes," Louis says, admiringly, sitting back down.
"Neither's that one," Niall pipes up, from Harry's other side, jabbing the glossy page.
"OK!" Louis pretends to snap, "We get it."
"You're - you're kissing in these," Sammy says, bewildered. A little hopeful, maybe; she wants a scoop, and it's her job, and he can't hate her for it, but he doesn't have to like it.
"Not really," Liam says, leaning over Harry's other shoulder. "I think Harry's whispering in that one," he points, now, too. "It gets quite loud on stage," he says, which - is a bit of an understatement, "Or he's making out with Louis' ear." He shrugs, like it's a tough call.
"It's hard to say," Louis agrees, solemnly.
"Making out with-" Niall repeats, laughing.
"Can't a bloke make out with another bloke's ear without people judging?" Louis demands.
"Exactly," Liam says, reaching forward to grab Niall, who ducks under his arm, laughingly, and that, that's where they'll cut the segment, Harry knows, his fingers tightening on the magazine as Louis laughs, softly, behind him.
*
He's killing some time, stretched out on a sofa backstage, just scrolling through his Instagram feed, when Louis finds him.
"Budge up," Louis says, and Harry draws his knees up, automatically, to make room for him, and Louis' staring straight ahead when he adds, simply, "We need to talk."
Harry lifts his head a little, warily, and waits, the hand with his phone dropping to rest against his chest.
"You," Louis says, "are my favourite person in the world," he risks a glance over at Harry, then, and Harry sucks in a surprised breath; he can't - just, what? "Like ... above Becks, even," Louis adds, to lighten the mood a little, and Harry dutifully cracks a small smile, but his face feels strange. "And I don't know how to just be mates with you," Louis admits, thumb brushing over Harry's ankle, almost absently, and Harry's throat tightens, because, oh, they were never just friends, not really. "But I'm gonna - I'm gonna try."
"OK," Harry says, because Louis looks like he's waiting for a reply, and Louis nods, slightly, like this conversation's actually cleared something up
(and maybe it has).
"OK," he echoes, and they sit there for a while, in silence, Louis' thumb still gently circling Harry's ankle.
*
They play footy against the 5SoS guys on their night off, something they try and make time for, every now and then; maybe it's the mild Australian night, maybe it's that the tour's coming to an end, but everyone's playing, and everyone's in a good mood, and Luke grins when Cal pretends to count the players on their team.
"Yeah, but we've got Harry," Louis says, in answer to the unspoken challenge, "Sort of evens us out."
And yeah, maybe they do talk a little more without cameras around, but - still. It's a gentle tease he's missed so much, Christ.
"It's true," he says, evenly, like it's nothing out of the ordinary, pausing to pull up his sagging left sock, "I'm a bit of a liability."
"We'll take Harry, then," Cal says, immediately, and Niall gapes, mock-outraged, throwing an arm across Harry's chest to stop him moving
(he hasn't taken a step, but, hey. He appreciates the sentiment).
"We got this," Ash says, with confidence, and Liam gets up in his face, jokingly, and Ash pushes him away, laughing.
"Wait," Mike kids, spotting the ball, "are we playing footy or soccer?"
"Wash your mouth out," Louis says, primly.
(Louis passes the ball to Harry, first, and he misses it by a mile, and he pulls up short, looking between where the ball should've gone and where it ended up and Louis doubles over, bracing his hands on his thighs as he laughs, and it's real and happy and completely worth making a tit of himself).
*
Louis knocks on his hotel door, the next day.
"Oi," he calls, without waiting for Harry to let him in, "You feel like brunch?"
Harry pulls open the door, doesn't bother to find a shirt. "Can it be brunch," he asks, sleepily, "if it's after midday?" Louis shrugs, and Harry scratches his bare chest, absently, and Louis drops his gaze to watch, for a moment, and Harry grins. "I'll just-" he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, "get decent," he kids, and Louis steps inside his room and closes the door behind them, fully prepared to wait while he gets dressed, and it's what they'd do with any of the other lads, but it's different
(and it always will be different, with them).
They find a place that does all day breakfast, and Louis nudges him hopefully when he sees Eggs Benedict on the menu, and Harry grins at him.
Louis snaps a picture of Harry giving two thumbs up over his pancakes, tapping away at his phone
(@Louis_Tomlinson: Love all day breakfast places !!, he'll caption it, Harry'll see, later, and his stomach will lurch, almost guiltily, which is so fucking unfair, because they used to live together, Christ. It shouldn't be strange for them to grab a meal together).
And like ... it's been so long since they've done this, hung out, just the two of them, and he doesn't know what to say, smiling, a little sheepishly, when he catches Louis' gaze across the table, and there's something in the creases around Louis' eyes when he smiles back that make him feel like he's still seventeen and the center of Louis' world and it hurts almost as much as politely distant Louis does, just. In a different way.
But, all things considered, day two of Being Lou's Friend is actually shaping up to be OK until Louis barges into his hotel bathroom, just as Harry's washing his hands --
"You were wrong," Louis says, catching his gaze in the reflection, "Before."
Harry shrugs, easily. "Probably," he agrees, turning around and leaning against the counter, and Louis smiles, crookedly, as he joins him, elbow brushing against Harry's. "About what?" he checks.
Louis pauses, looks like he's choosing his words so carefully (and Harry wonders if that's what growing up or fame has done to Louis Tomlinson). "I'm not ... worried," the word looks like it's strange in his mouth, "that you're still, you know. In love with me," he says, and Harry's stomach clenches, before Louis adds, quickly, jerkily, "I'm worried that you're not."
"Lou," Harry says, and he feels off-kilter, hot and cold at once, and he's not sure where this is headed, or what he's meant to say
(what he does know is that he's still very much in love with Louis).
"I thought," Louis says, like he can't stop, now that he's started, "that we wouldn't slip up as much if we weren't, like, friends anymore." He glances up, briefly. "So that's why I. But I never - I didn't," he breaks off, frustrated, and this has always come easier to Harry, and he'd help him if he could, but he needs to hear this, and he needs to hear it unprompted, so he just bumps Louis' shoulder with his, until he smiles, reluctantly. "I didn't do it because I stopped-" and it looks like it's physically paining Louis, "loving you," and Harry lets out a shaky breath. "It was killing us, Haz," he says, almost pleadingly
(and it was).
"I didn't mean forever," Louis says, looking up properly, now, "Just - until things settled down. Or - I don't know."
"Things are never going to settle down," Harry points out, and the corner of Louis' mouth tugs up, ruefully.
"Well, yeah. I know that now," he says.
(I didn't mean forever)
"It's just - easier. With the others," Louis says, and it's not - it's not meant to hurt, and Harry doesn't let it (because, honestly, no-one cares if he goes golfing with Niall, or if Lou goes surfing with Liam, and it's exhausting, considering every word that comes out of your mouth, every expression that crosses your face).
"Yeah," Harry agrees, quietly.
(I didn't mean forever)
"We should go," Louis says, in the pause, checking the time on his phone, "The others'll be looking for us."
*
They head over to Melbourne Park for sound check, together (something else they never, ever do, anymore, but they only have a handful of shows left on this tour, and Harry's pretty through caring, right now, because it is literally a five minute car ride).
Louis grins at him, when they climb out of the car, reaching over to touch Harry's sunglasses.
"Dirty hipster," he teases, behind his aviators, and Harry just grins back, doesn't reply --
but it unleashes something in him, something reckless and - free, and during the show, he turns and sings, quite clearly "I'm in love with Lou, and all his little things," and to make it a joke, he peers at Louis' crotch, and Louis pretends to scowl, and it's been a while since they've intentionally changed the lyrics, and he feels young and stupid
(and in love).
Sure, if he'd thought it through, he'd have realized he has to sing about those little things slipping out of his mouth, and children, he's trying to remind himself, children everywhere, but he can't, and he snorts in laughter, inelegantly, right into his microphone, and Louis turns away, but Harry can see his shoulders shaking, and thank fuck for Zayn, honestly, who takes over Harry's bit, with a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Liam buries his head in his hands in mock dismay, and Niall turns around and gives Harry a completely un-subtle thumbs up, and Harry waves back at him, cheerfully.
*
Louis knocks on his hotel door again, that night, knocks as he lets himself in, all pyjamas and shower-damp hair, and Harry stares at him from the edge of his bed, halfway through pulling off his socks.
"Hey," Louis grins, looking young and happy and fuck, they've never been just friends and they'll never be just friends and he's going to love Louis Tomlinson stupidly for the rest of his life and something in his chest's splitting open, and it must show on his face, because Louis' smile fades a bit. "What's wrong?" he asks, stepping closer, and Harry can actually see his own chest rising and falling, he's breathing so hard already. "Haz?" Louis tries, and Harry pushes himself up, crossing the room in a few steps, and grabs Louis' face and kisses him.
It's warm and achingly, painfully familiar, and Louis' mouth opens, immediately, hands reaching out to settle low on Harry's hips, tugging him closer, creeping around to the small of his back, and he bites at Louis' lips. Louis gasps into his mouth, quiet and surprised, and Harry pulls away a little, trailing kisses across Louis' cheek.
"I've missed you," Harry breathes, dragging his nose along the line of Louis' jaw, "so much." He can feel Louis swallow, Jesus.
"Me too," Louis admits, thickly, and Harry lets out a shaky breath, before Louis' mouth finds his again. He taps at Louis' forearms until he drops his hands, and Harry laces their fingers together, pulling Louis back towards the bed, still kissing him. He lies back, and Louis swings a leg over him, hovering, uncertainly. "Nothing's changed," Louis warns him, "I'm still - El," he says, as explanation.
"I don't care," Harry says, hands at Louis' waist.
"You will," Louis corrects, gently, eyes sad, two fingers lifting Harry's chin for a softer kiss. "She'll fly out, and I'll hold her hand and go jewellery shopping, and it'll kill you," and he's not saying it to be cruel, or dramatic (because - because, last time, Harry withdrew, just a little more, every time Lou went out with her, fairly or not, until even Louis' whispers, on a shared pillow in a dark bedroom, couldn't coax him back).
"No," Harry argues, kissing Louis again, just once, because this is important. "It won't. It'll kill me if we don't - if we're not. Together." Because watching Lou tug Eleanor in for a kiss in front of him won't - can't - hurt as much as the last few months. And - he's never been great at keeping a blank face, and Louis' always been better than most at reading him, and Louis groans, and settles his weight onto Harry properly, kissing him again, over and over, until they're both breathless.
"Harry," Louis whispers, against his mouth (doesn't follow it up with anything. Just "Harry"), and Harry rocks his hips up against Louis, lazily, and Louis matches the languid roll (and it's not enough to get off, and it'll be too dry, soon, in their pyjama pants, but for now, it's warm and tingly and nice. Really nice).
Harry trails a hand down Louis' back, and touches the waistband of his pants. "Yeah?" he checks.
"Yes," Louis hisses, between his teeth, already leaning over to balance on one leg, and, yeah, it'd probably be easier if they just got up and did this, Harry decides, as he wriggles out of his own pants, but he can't stop touching Louis, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he finally kicks off his pants. "Do you have any lube?" Louis asks, pausing.
Harry tries to look outraged. "What do you think I do on tour?" he demands, and Louis' smile is slow and filthy and Harry covers his eyes with his forearm for a moment as he laughs, before nodding at the bedside table.
Louis grabs the tube and straddles Harry, over his thighs, this time, and he grins, as he flicks open the cap with his thumb. "I've missed this, too," Louis admits, rubbing some lube between his fingers, experimentally, before reaching out and stroking Harry.
Harry's back arches, almost off the bed, and Louis looks like he's trying not to laugh.
"Hey," Harry says, mock-wounded, and Louis leans down and kisses his chest in apology, before moving his hand, slowly, up and down Harry's half-hard cock. Harry lets out a shaky breath, stiffening in Louis' grip quickly.
"Like this?" Louis checks, hand still moving, up and down, rolling his palm over the head, and Harry can only nod (it's an old favourite). So Louis moves up a bit and leans forward, using the hand still wrapped around Harry to line them up, and sits back, until just the tip of Harry's inside him, and Harry bites his lip. "God."
Harry sucks in a deep breath. "Lou," he says, touching his thighs, his hips, his stomach (everywhere), and he's always loved Louis like this, trembling with the burn in his thighs, breathless with the drag of Harry inside him (and he does finger Lou sometimes, slowly, so slowly, until Louis' rocking against his hand, panting and flushed, but not when he's like this. Tonight is hard and fast, and there'll be time for that later, he knows, with a certainty that twists up his stomach in the best possible way).
Louis lifts up a bit again, then sinks down further, until he's pulling almost all the way off, and he squeezes around Harry, and nods, and Harry's jerking his hips up to meet Louis, hard and loud, and the noises, the slap of skin, Louis' quiet keening, are almost enough to do him in.
He grabs Louis' hips to keep him steady, bouncing faster and harder, and Louis pulls at his own cock, quick and relentless, until he's spilling over his hand and Harry's stomach. He slumps over Harry, settling against his while he catches his breath, their hips still rocking against each other gently, just this side of too much.
Harry reaches down and squeezes Louis' bum, and Louis laughs, turning his head into Harry's neck, and Harry trails a finger down the cleft of his arse, until he's lightly touching his own cock, where it's stretching Louis open, all slick and tight, and Louis' laugh becomes a shaky breath
"You good?" Harry mumbles, and Louis nods against him, so he rolls them over, until Louis' on his back, Harry cradled between his legs, and he's already come, but his thighs are jerking, as he tries to fuck himself on Harry and it's too much, orgasm already pooling low in his belly, and he pounds into Louis until he's coming, with a hoarse cry.
He drops his head and kisses Louis' shoulder, his collarbone, the middle of his chest, and Louis catches a hand around the back of his neck, and scratches, affectionately.
He pulls out, carefully, with a wince, and flops onto the mattress face first, arm heavy over Louis' stomach.
"Stay?" he asks, burrowing into the pillow.
"Course," Louis scoffs, like he's being an idiot, but his fingers are tracing patters lightly along Harry's forearm.
*
"If the five of you were stuck on a desert island," Louis reads, "Who would you eat first?"
Liam pretends to stroke his chin, as he thinks. "That makes it sound kind of inevitable," he says, warily, "I feel like that should be last resort kind of thing."
"I'd rather starve," Zayn says, flatly, and Liam laughs, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"I thought it said dessert island, and I got really excited for a second," Niall says, morosely.
"I'd eat ... Harry," Louis says, too innocently.
"Oi," Harry protests, mock-wounded, and Louis shrugs.
"You look like you'd be a good source of protein," he adds, and Harry shakes his head, but, as he cradles his microphone to his chest, he lifts his thumb up, just slightly.
Louis smiles, a tiny, secret smile, and rubs his jaw with his thumb in reply.
*
They line up to bow, and, behind Niall, who glances between them, eyes laughing, Louis grabs Harry's forearm and squeezes, and Harry twists his arm until he can grab Louis back, and squeezes just as tight.
*
Louis climbs into the van last, and squashes up next to Harry, who doesn't open his eyes. He throws a leg over Harry's lap, and Harry reaches out and rests his hand on Louis' thigh.
"So, boys," Louis says, brightly. "Only a few more shows to go. What did we all think of Australia?" He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Louis' holding an imaginary mic in front of Harry's face. "Harold?"
"I'd have to say," he says, slowly, finally cracking open his eyes, "Not too bad." He bobs his head down and kisses Louis' fist, quickly, and Louis nods.
"Interesting," he says, like he's genuinely fascinated, and Zayn snorts in laughter. "Not too bad?" he checks, and Harry smiles at him, and his stomach's doing silly little flips, but like. Good ones.
"Yeah," he says, turning to face Louis a bit more.
"Good answer," Louis says, smiling back at him.
"Thanks," Harry says, and he knows his smile's gone all goofy and fond, and he knows they're being stupid, and he knows Liam and Niall and Zayn aren't even trying to pretend they're not laughing at them, and he knows Eleanor's flying in tomorrow--
but Louis tugs him in for a kiss, fingers tangling in Harry's hair, and all of that stops mattering so much.