Fic: One of the Beautiful People | Part One

[cantgetnoworse]

Title: One of the Beautiful People ( 1 | 2 | 3)
Pairing: Louis/Harry (Zayn/Liam, past Zayn/Louis)
Summary: AU. Louis is a sparkly go-go dancer on Saturdays. Zayn is his lifelong best friend with benefits. Zayn falls for someone new and Louis' world turns upside down.
Rating: NC-17 (warnings for rough sex, over-stimulation)
Length: ~25,000 words
A/N: This is a work of fiction and is super, duper ridiculously untrue. It is also RIDICULOUSLY self-indulgent and the longest thing I've ever written, so... there's that? Any feedback is appreciated, as always! [on AO3]


There's a snake wrapped around Louis' neck.

The slithering reptile goes by Dani, a regular occupant of Louis' broad shoulders, balanced on him with ease as Louis holds her tail in one hand and her neck in the other, moving his hips to the tune of an uptempo eighties remix.

Louis' skin is golden slick with sweat. His bare chest is smeared spectacularly with silver glitter that catches the changing hues of the club's lights as they bathe him in colour through the bars of his cage. The cage hangs from the ceiling, just close enough to the people dancing below that they can peer through it and salivate at the surreal sight of him, but high enough off the ground that he feels like he's flying, twisting on his tiptoes as he moves his body in a circle.

It's hot today -- not unusually so for a Friday night, bodies packed against each other on the dance floor, radiating moist heat. Louis is grateful for the fact that all he has to wear are these glow-in-the-dark go-go shorts, clinging to the shape of his arse.

His hair was perfectly coifed at the beginning of the night, but now it swooshes damply across his forehead, gleaming along with the sparkling blue of his eyes and the glint of his never-ending grin.

He feels beautiful as he moves to the ruthless beat of the bass drum, all eyes on him. His toes step over crisp and crumpled bills, some of them tucked and forgotten in his waistband, the rough material familiar against his skin. No one tries to touch him through the bars, but they'll pass him money, they'll throw a hundred quid in if they're drunk enough, and Louis basks in being wanted so much but never had, always free and hanging above the crowd like a hazy dream.

--

Zayn texts Louis to let him know that he and Niall are waiting for him at the club across the street. It's two AM and he's just finished his shift. He counts it as a good night, seeing as he only had to twist away from one greedy hand grabbing his arse as he made his way through the crush of bodies and to the back of the club.

He walks into his dressing room sucking a red lolly and counting the money he made. It's a hefty tip, one of his better nights. He tucks the wad of cash away into the pocket of his bag and changes into tight red trousers, a white t-shirt and suspenders. He tweaks his hair in the mirror but doesn't do much to tame his wrecked look, cheeks flushed and lashes sweaty and glitter splattered sporadically over his skin.

He meets Zayn and Niall inside the other club, and they already have a shot of tequila lined up for him. He downs it with ease, biting a wedge of lime from Zayn's mouth before spitting it out and diving back in for a kiss, tongue working against Zayn's.

They both wind up laughing into it until Louis breaks away. He licks his lips and looks at Niall. "Pills tonight, love?"

"Work tomorrow," Niall says, because he doesn't know how to stop working, doesn't know how to have lazy Saturdays and Sundays and doesn't know how to let his bones rest. Louis doesn't fault him for it, because he's the same way, always spinning too fast and burning too bright and rarely taking a day to breathe.

Louis is already a bit drunk now, having had a couple of vodka crans after he'd come down from his cage, paid for by a regular bloke that ogles Louis with desperate eyes and asks him out at least twice a week, waiting tirelessly for a different answer.

("You're a doll," Louis tells him with a smile, accepting the drinks gratefully. He kisses the corner of his mouth after an empty conversation then saunters away, feeling the bloke's eyes burn into the smooth skin of his back.)

Niall is kissing someone now, a short girl he's been seeing on and off who dislikes Robbie Williams in a way that's massively disconcerting. For the most part, Louis finds her to be a good fit for someone like Niall, continuously up for a round of banter and content with Niall's lack of bravado.

"Come dance with me," Louis says, taking Zayn by the hand, but he doesn't wait for a response, just tugs Zayn into the sea of bodies and Zayn follows, always follows.

Zayn presses up along Louis' back and his arms find their way around his body, holding onto him in a familiar grip, and Louis smiles brilliantly as he melts back into him. He lifts a hand over his shoulder to cup Zayn's cheek, tilting his head to press a kiss to his jaw.

"Made a fortune in tips tonight," he tells Zayn. "I might even buy you a drink."

"Is that right?" Zayn laughs. He lifts his own arm to survey it. "I can tell you've had a good night when just touching you leaves me swimming in glitter."

Louis grins, feeling the concentrated heat of Zayn's crotch rubbing against him from behind, Zayn's fingers curling in the belly of Louis' shirt, leaving the material warm and damp against the soft skin of his stomach.

The music thrums in Louis's veins and he lets Zayn grind against the roundness of his arse until both of them are halfway to hard on the dance floor. Zayn's palm slips lower down Louis' stomach and to his waistband, holding him in place as he moves against him. Louis huffs out a breathless laugh and tilts his head back against Zayn's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

He bites his lip and turns easily in Zayn's arms, wrapping his arms around his neck. He closes his lips around Zayn's and murmurs into them. "I've a grand idea. You should take me to the loo and shag me."

"Is that right?" Zayn asks, shaking his head, but the hint of a smirk finds his eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"Unbelievable like a dream? You flatter me, love," Louis says with a smile and then he's tugging Zayn's hand again out of the crowd and towards the toilets and Zayn follows, always follows.

---

When Louis wakes up the next day, he's in Zayn's bed and he's still sparkling silver all over. There's glitter in the spread of his lashes and his cheeks, lips pink with sleep and skin softer than his pillow.

He slips out of the sheets covered in nothing but the residual smell of filthy sex and weed and a few bruises on his hips where Zayn pressed too hard.

He stretches his arms above his head and admires Zayn's sleeping form, sprawled haphazardly over the sheets, his thick, hardened cock curving against the expanse of his stomach.

Louis feels wicked for a moment, wants to crawl back into bed and put his mouth on Zayn's morning wood, run his tongue over it until Zayn wakes up with a grunt, but Louis' ass is still sore from last night and he doesn't think he could handle Zayn wanting to fuck him through the mattress again.

Louis showers and eats breakfast and checks his emails on Zayn's computer and watches three episodes of Skins on the telly before Zayn is even awake.

Louis can hear Zayn drag himself into the kitchen to restart the coffee maker and he makes his way over to greet him. He leans against the doorframe, smirking at the way Zayn's boxers are slung low on his hips, below the dimples on the small of his back.

Zayn is scratching the back of his head when Louis says, "What happened to 'I can't shag you anymore, Lou, I've got a boyfriend'?"

Zayn turns around, regarding Louis with a sleepy once-over, and Louis notes smugly that Zayn's eyes always scan him over with a certain amount of thirst, as though he hadn't fucked him innumerable times since they met as teenagers -- as though Louis was still new.

"Liam's not my boyfriend," Zayn says, his voice rough with sleep. "And I can't shag you anymore. We'll start today."

Louis huffs out a laugh, walking over and wrapping his arms around Zayn from behind. "Or you could do away entirely with the impending 'boyfriend' label and fuck who you want."

"Ah, if only we could all be Louis Tomlinsons. All traces of chivalry would be dead and gone."

"Oi. I'm an incredibly chivalrous young man. Dare I remind you that I graciously rolled the condom on for you last night? And I asked you nicely to fuck me harder?"

"A true gentleman."

Louis kisses his shoulder. "Precisely."

Zayn pours himself a mug of coffee and walks into the living room, Louis trailing behind him. The two settle on the couch and Louis tucks his feet beneath himself, his tiny frame curling up into a ball.

"Really, though," Louis presses. "Will this fuck things up with Liam?"

Zayn shakes his head. "I'm not going to tell him I've fucked my best friend. He'll hate you before he even meets you. Besides, it's whatever -- it won't happen again."

Louis rolls his eyes, taking Zayn's coffee and having a long sip. "That's what we always say. Until it does happen. And then it happens again, like, ten minutes after. And then in the shower. And then again in the morning."

Zayn turns to look at him, raising his eyebrows. It takes a moment, but his face settles into something that looks more like resignation and maybe exhaustion. "Liam's a good guy, Lou. I wanna keep this one around, yeah. So stop rubbing your arse on me at clubs and maybe I'll be able to."

Louis bites his lip, eyes sparkling. "You're wasting your youth, love. Think about all the arses you could have... they're not going to be here forever."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, neither am I, so. Fancy that."

Louis sighs dramatically. "Fine. I will attempt to seem less tempting in your presence, but I have to warn you. I don't get less attractive, even when I make a concerted effort to look terrible."

"Seriously, Lou. Don't be so bloody hard on yourself."

Louis grins, setting Zayn's mug down on the table. "Well, I'm off. It's Sunday and I've picked up an extra shift at the bookshop."

He leans over to press a kiss to Zayn's lips before standing up, catching Zayn's pointed glare.

"What?" Louis demands with faux indignation, a mischievous glint in his own gaze. "It was just a kiss! You said nothing about kissing."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Go on, then. Harlot."

Louis smiles, sauntering over to Zayn's door. He feels Zayn's eyes on his hips as he walks, but resists turning around to call him on it. Instead, he bends over for an unnecessary amount of time to pull on his espadrilles and slips out of the flat, the smirk never leaving his lips.

***
Louis hardly sees the lads for the entirety of the following week. He's got a few lengthy shifts at the bookshop, but he tries (and fails) to get the boys to come out with him every moment he's free.

Niall can't do it because he's constantly working, teaching teenagers a variety of instruments during all hours of the day, and when he's not playing the role of music tutor, he's in the studio laying down guitar tracks for a handful of local bands or playing shows with them.

Zayn won't drink with Louis because Zayn is too busy wooing Liam off his feet and buying into some idiotic version of a real life American rom com. He replies to all of Louis' incessant texts throughout the week, but the lag time is longer and Louis knows it's because he's probably curled up on Liam's couch watching Wuthering Heights for the millionth time or possibly sharing a cone of ice cream like a disgustingly lovesick teenager.

Zayn won't even introduce Liam to them yet, claims he has to make sure Liam likes him first before he's exposed to the existence of is his bat shit best mates. That way, at least, there's still a chance Liam will want to go out with him after.

(Louis facetiously tells Zayn that Liam will dump him after he's had a chance to come on his cheekbones, claiming that it's everyone's end goal when dating Zayn, but Zayn reminds Louis that he was still begging Zayn to fuck him years after he had the glorious opportunity to jerk off over Zayn's face. Possibly, Louis thinks, they have a really unhealthy friendship, or possibly they have the best kind.)

When Saturday rolls around and Louis is in his dressing room getting ready to dance for tips in his cage again, he shoots off a quick text to Zayn.

I'm afraid we're not friends anymore, you've become impossibly boring. I wish you luck with the rest of your dreadful life without me... xo

He puts his phone down to rub lotion over his smooth legs, satisfied when they shine beneath his fingers, radiating a soft golden sheen and the subtle scent of vanilla. His phone buzzes, prompting him to wipe his fingers clean on his discarded trousers before grabbing it.

Will make it up to you tonight, promise. Up for a dance? x

Louis rolls his eyes but bites his lip through a smile. All right, then. Don't want you to cry yourself to sleep over losing me -- I'll just have to ween you off slowly, like a child and his pacifier.

Zayn. Don't flatter yourself, you pompous prick. :) x

Louis. You'd love to pump my prick, wouldn't you? Perve.

Zayn. I'm going to stop messaging you now before you get the idea that we're sexting xx aha :)

Louis. Like I said, BORING. xxx

Louis twists his head when his dressing room door opens, his boss popping his upper half in. "Ready, Tommo? Almost time."

Louis slips his phone back into his bag and grabs for the sparkling jar on the counter, shaking it out over his arms. "Just a tad more glitter and I'll be golden."

It ends up being a good Saturday for dancing, Louis decides, wrecked and drenched in sweat by the end of his shift. His boss had given him a handful of glow stick necklaces and helped smear him in glow-in-the-dark paint, because apparently there was some sort of rave theme this evening, black lights and all.

By the time he comes down from his cage for a drink, Louis has a whole line up of boys waiting to buy him something at the bar and shower him with compliments. It's a mess of "your arse is perfect" and "your lashes go on for ages" and "my God, is that baby oil on your thighs or are they naturally so divine?" Some of it is creepy and some of it is lovely and all of it comes with a side of free alcohol, so Louis lingers longer than usual after his shift, even swaps spit with some of the fitter lads before slipping away into the back of the club like a mirage.

By the time Louis cleans the paint off, dresses up in a fresh change of clothes and heads over to another club to meet with Zayn and Niall, he's already buzzed and giggling to himself in the back of a cab, cheeks flushed and skin thrumming warmly with vodka.

When he gets to the club, his eyes search out Zayn and Niall before getting inevitably distracted surveying his potential prey for the night, lickings his lips at the sight of a few dorky hipsters kinds -- just his type. He's walking backwards at one point, already eye-fucking a boy in a plaid shirt and thick-rimmed glasses across the dance floor, when he bumps into someone behind him. He giggles and turns around, grabbing onto their arms with a, "Sorry, sorry -- "

Zayn rolls his eyes. "You're already pissed, aren't you?"

Louis wraps his arms around Zayn's neck, resting their foreheads together with a brilliant grin. "Didn't realize it was you. I'm less sorry now."

Zayn seems tense beneath Louis' grip, and he doesn't smile the way he usually would at Louis' advances. "Calm yourself, Lou. I want you to meet someone, yeah?"

Louis bites his lip and raises his brows. He breaks away from Zayn enough to peer around him, seeing Niall and another boy stood at the bar, watching them. Niall is nursing a pint but the other boy is empty-handed; he seems to be utterly concerned, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and brows furrowed together.

"No!" Louis says, meeting Zayn's gaze again. "Really? You absolute fuck. Why wouldn't you tell me you were bringing him with you?"

"Because you would've been weird about it or possibly cancelled."

"Would not!"

"Would too. You hate meeting new people. Especially nice ones."

Louis rolls his eyes. "It's not my fault that all your stories about him nearly put me to sleep. Like, really? The worst thing he's done is accidentally backhand a fly to its death? I didn't know your type was Gandhi."

"Gandhi was an arsehole."

"Whatever." Louis drops his arms from around Zayn and takes a deep breath. "Go on, then. I can't exactly back out of meeting him now that he's seen me nearly kissing you."

"Thanks for that, by the way. Strong first impression -- I really think our dysfunctional friendship is going to go a far way in making my relationships work."

Zayn turns and leads Louis to the lads, leaning against the bar next to Liam and kissing his shoulder in a way that makes Louis want to projectile vomit on the lot of them. "Liam, this is Louis, my crazy best mate. He's a bit pissed, so don't mind him."

"Rude," Louis retorts, glowering at Zayn before turning his gaze to Liam, putting on a false smile. "What are you drinking, Liam? I've had a good night dancing, so I think I'll buy a few rounds."

"Oh, thanks," Liam says, sounding utterly surprised by the offer. "I'm -- I'm all right."

"Like, you're all right right now or forever? Because the offer might expire in a few minutes. I saw a bloke I want to ravish and it might take up the rest of my night."

"No, I just -- I don't drink."

Louis furrows his eyebrows and pulls his head back slightly, taken aback by the statement. It almost sounds like another language to him. It's only then that he notices Zayn raising his eyebrows and glaring at him as if he was going to duct tape Louis' mouth shut if he didn't stop talking.

Louis rolls his eyes and leans over the counter, ordering four shots. He slides one over to each Zayn and Niall then downs the remaining two in a row. "More for me," he says simply.

"I'm good," Zayn says, leaving his shot untouched as Niall downs his own, and Zayn's stuck to Liam's side as if there was some sort of magnetic field between them. Louis thinks he might actually retch.

"Fantastic," Louis spits out, grabbing Zayn's shot and downing it, slamming it down on the counter. "Later, lads."

He slips away from the bar, his skin tight around his bones as he makes his way into the dance floor, the corners of his vision gone soft and blurry. He knows he's being a bit of a prick, but if this is the game Zayn wants to play, he's not too bothered with being polite. He blinks a few times, but it does nothing to bring the club into focus, so he settles on letting his fingers trail over the swarm of bodies as he passes through them, his sense of touch guiding him.

He feels an arm slip around his waist and he turns to find that it belongs to the bloke with the thick-rimmed glasses from before. It brings a smile to Louis' lips to discover that he's just as good looking up close, and he wraps his arms around his neck with ease.

Louis leans up on his tiptoes, talking into his ear. "I see you've found me."

"That I have," the bloke says. "I thought maybe you wanted to dance?"

"You thought right," Louis says, and presses up against him, letting the beat of the music and the warmth of the alcohol course through him, pressing his forehead into the bloke's neck as they move.

He quickly finds that the boy isn't coordinated enough to keep Louis' attention, and though he's fit and Louis can feel his sculpted torso through the press of their sweaty shirts, Louis' gaze strays to survey the rest of the dance floor, ready for something new.

To his pleasant surprise, his gaze lands on a pair of dark green eyes that are already locked on his. The boy looks away when he's caught staring with what seems like a dimpled cheek and a soft blush. Louis bites his lip and pulls away from the grip of the plaid-wearing hipster, realizing with a sense of satisfaction that he doesn't yet know his name and probably never will.

"I'm afraid that's the end of the road for us, babe," he tells him, squeezing his hand in his with a wink as he walks away, feeling a bewildered gaze follow him.

He makes his way to the green eyed, curly haired bloke, admiring the way his lanky body sticks out from the crowd, even in his dark corner, back pressed against the wall. Everyone in the club is colourful, making too much of an effort to be bright and fantastic and exceptional, their appearances screaming for attention. This boy, though, is utterly simple. He's clad in a loose black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the hem, coupled with tight black trousers and a pair of suede loafers.

Louis presses his palms to the boy's sides and looks into his eyes, his own shining bright and blue; he lets his gaze travel to the boy's red mouth which he finds quirked up into a timid smile.

"What're you doing here all by yourself? If I hadn't seen you admiring the view, I'd almost think you weren't enjoying yourself at all."

The boy laughs and it's lovely to Louis' ears, sending a rush through his lower stomach and pulling tight at his insides.

"I'm here with a friend," he says, and his voice is much deeper than Louis had expected it to be. His features are young -- almost too young to be in a place like this -- but his voice is raw and low and it makes Louis wants to fuck his throat, just a bit. "It's not really my scene."

"Pity. I thought maybe you and I could have a good time, but if it's not your scene -- "

"No, no. Don't leave. I -- I didn't mean it that way."

Louis raises his eyebrows at him.

"You're -- you're very beautiful..." The bloke trails off expectantly.

"Louis," Louis supplies. "And you're very kind. Flattery will get you far in a place like this."

"Do you reckon? I'm not one to lie, though. You really are wonderful to look at," he says, a goofy grin taking residence on his face. "And my name's Harry, by the way. Harry Styles."

"All right, Harry, let's not get too cheesy."

"I'm not trying it on, I promise," he says, and then there's his quiet laugh again, rumbling and genuine and utterly fascinating. Louis definitely wants to wreck him. "You're just sort of angelic."

"Well, thank you, love. Your eyes aren't blown so I'm going to assume it's not any drugs that have got you rambling like a teenager."

"I am a teenager," Harry says, and Louis tightens his fingers in his sides, shooting him a questioning look. "Eighteen, though. Nothing too young."

"Jesus Christ," Louis mutters. "Come dance with me before I change my mind about you."

The last thing Louis sees before tugging him onto the dance floor is Harry biting his lip through a grin.

Harry is broad and sturdy for an eighteen year old boy. He curls himself around Louis in a way that makes him forget about the hipster bloke with no rhythm that had come and gone before him.

They're pressed front-to-front with one of Harry's hands on Louis' neck and the other on his hip. Louis slips his hands into Harry's back pockets and presses close, watching Harry's face curiously.

Harry has a concentrated expression contorting his features, this look of furrowed brows and piercing eyes and pursed lips, like he's very determined to find out how his lengthy, bony body fits best against Louis' small, curvy frame, and Louis has to admit that whatever Harry's doing now to rub their hips together is working spectacularly well. The friction of denim on denim sends a spark of heat down Louis' spine, some of it going all the way down to his toes.

Louis pecks Harry's lips lightly to get his attention, and it seems to break Harry's intense concentration because he's smiling then, easy as ever, eyes fixing themselves on Louis' as if he'd just remembered what Louis looks like.

"Let me buy you a drink," Harry says, and Louis contemplates ignoring his words, contemplates just kissing him silly until both their lips are bruised and swollen. He thinks Harry looks like someone who'd know how to fuck him, but he could be wrong. He's been wrong about these things before.

"An eighteen year old buying me a drink. What has the world come to?"

Harry just smirks at that, eyes twinkling beneath the dim flash of the club lights before he leads Louis to the bar by his hand. Louis bites his lip, bracing himself for another interaction with the lads, but Zayn and Liam aren't at the bar any longer and Niall is caught up chatting with one of the bartenders.

"What can I get you?" Harry asks Louis, leaning against the counter and raising a few fingers up to grab the attention of the barkeep.

"Hmm," Louis considers. "Long Island iced tea, please."

Harry orders a couple, sliding one to Louis and taking a sip of his own. "You're glowing, by the way."

"I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're thinking."

Harry laughs. "No, like -- properly glowing." He picks up Louis' hand and stretches his arm out, scanning it. "You're sparkling all over. I'm a bit jealous."

"Aw, love. I've got a jar of glitter with me somewhere, if you're desperate for it."

Harry smiles a crooked smile, eyes settling on Louis' mouth. "Why do you carry around a jar of glitter? Are you secretly a fairy?"

"Oh, sweetheart, that's not a secret at all. And I don't, really, I was only joking. I keep it in my dressing room."

"Oh? Are you some sort of glam rockstar?"

"Hardly. I think that would require me to wear eight inch platforms and shoot heroin into my prick, which sounds painful on a very physical level." Louis pauses, biting his lip. "I do get paid to entertain the masses, though. I'm a part-time dancer. It's quite the job."

"Sounds like a bit of mayhem," Harry comments, and Louis might be mistaken, but Harry's eyes seem to light up at the prospect of Louis dancing professionally. "I could tell when we were dancing that you knew how to move. That's lovely. I want to see you dance."

"Don't get too excited. I've got a pair of little shorts to cover up my good bits at all times, even when I'm getting paid for it."

"Pity," Harry teases. "I still think it would be quite wonderful, though, to see you dancing."

"Maybe one day, if you've got luck on your side. You're quite the gentleman, you know that? It's awful. Do you always say things like 'that's lovely' and 'it would be quite wonderful'?"

Harry laughs. "I'm just a bit awkward, to be honest. I could leave you alone, if you'd like."

Louis sighs theatrically. "I'm afraid you've intrigued me enough that I'm reluctantly enjoying your company."

"Wow, massive compliment."

Louis smirks, eyeing Harry's smiling mouth. "We'll leave the true compliments for when they're well-deserved. Keeps things exciting, don't you think, having a sliding scale of flattery?"

"You're ridiculous."

"Oi! I'm your elder, you shouldn't speak to me like that."

Harry smiles. "You hardly look a day past twenty."

"Twenty-one, actually, but you're a doll. I think I'll probably age in reverse at some point. I'm too lovely to wrinkle, as you would say."

"It's true," Harry concedes, and he stares at Louis in this disconcerting state of awe, like a puppy that's about to lick his nose.

Instead, a light pink flush finds Harry's cheeks just before he dips in close, pressing a tentative, warm kiss to Louis' lips.

"I'm not made of porcelain, you know," Louis teases, looking up into Harry's eyes through his thick lashes. "You can snog me properly. Tongue and everything!"

Harry rolls his eyes but smiles wider, curling a fist into Louis' shirt and pulling him in. He lowers his lips against Louis', kissing him deeply now. Harry's tongue presses against his, eliciting a small moan of satisfaction from the back of Louis' throat. Louis melts into it like putty, giving as good as he gets, all tongue and heat and firm pressure until they're both just this side of breathless.

"Please tell me you don't live with your parents," Louis says into his mouth and Harry laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges.

"I'm a grown lad. Have my own flat and everything."

"Flatmate?"

"I doubt he's going to be home tonight."

"Good, because I can get quite loud," Louis says in a deliberately quiet tone, pleased when he feels Harry shiver bodily in response.

Within minutes, and after a quick stop at the bar for a hurried round of shots, they're in the back of a cab with Louis straddling Harry's lap drunkenly and giggling into his head of curls.

The driver grumbles that he can't see from Louis' head, so Louis ducks down and put his teeth to use, biting into Harry's neck viciously before licking over the abused skin to soothe the pain. He swallows Harry's resulting groan and snogs him senseless to make up for it, leaving his lips red and wet and swollen with want.

By the time they're up the steps of Harry's building and stumbling into his (disgustingly posh) flat, Louis is halfway to hard and obscenely ready to be touched. He presses his hips against Harry's in the midst of a particularly filthy open-mouthed kiss to find that Harry's cock is already stiff, the large outline of it pushing against the restraints of his skintight trousers.

Harry is pushy and greedy all at once, kneading Louis' ass as they kiss, leading him backwards into his bedroom. The back of Louis' knees hit the mattress and Harry pushes him onto it, letting him land against the sheets in a panting splay of limbs.

Harry wastes no time climbing on top of Louis to roughly discard of Louis' kit, letting the clothes hang forgotten on the edges of his bed, and Louis goes with the push and pull of Harry's demanding hands like clay. Somehow, it's the gentlest manhandling Louis's ever experienced, leaving him breathless and achingly hard.

In the midst of having his clothes torn off him, Louis swears he hears fabric rip and it elicits an embarrassing whine of satisfaction from the back of his throat. He arches his bare back off the sheets, his hands reaching behind him to curl into the headboard, gripping tightly until his knuckles go white.

Louis' cock is warm and thick as it lies against his stomach, needing some semblance of attention -- preferably in the form of a tongue tracing the throbbing veins on the underside. Before he can even get a word in or ask snappily if Harry's going to take off his own kit anytime soon, Harry's head of curls is all he can see between his legs and there's a tight, wet slickness surrounding his cock and oh.

It turns out that Harry is incredible with his mouth, to the point where Louis thinks Harry must be a hundred year old vampire who is eternally stuck being a modelesque teenager who has decades upon decades of deep throating experience. He giggles to himself faintly at the thought and feels Harry's eyes shift upwards to inspect the situation, but apparently Harry's not too bothered with it because a moment later his eyes are shut again and he's swallowing the entirety of Louis' length with a hum of appreciation, as though he was just enjoying a soothing ice lolly on a warm summer's day.

Louis keens and grabs at Harry's shoulders, his hands met with two pesky fistfuls of fabric, so he tugs and twists at the shirt until Harry gets the hint, pulling off of Louis' wet cock to slip it over his head, throwing it aside. He smiles down at Louis and there's a lust-drunk haziness to his gaze, like he'd somehow grown more intoxicated just from drinking Louis in, and the thought of it is so equally heady to Louis that he whimpers, arching his hips up into the air.

"You look wrecked," Harry breathes out, and Louis bites his lip into his mouth with a nod. "Fuck, Louis."

"You can, if you want to," Louis murmurs. "Fuck me, that is."

Harry huffs out a breathless laugh and nods to himself, pushing up from the bed to get to his feet. Harry strips off the rest of his clothes in the same way that he speaks, painstakingly slow and as though there's no end purpose to it. Except, Louis is painfully aware that there is an end purpose, and that end purpose is for Harry's cock to be inside of him, so he really wishes Harry would hurry up or regain some of his rough eagerness from earlier when he'd ripped Louis' bloody kit off.

Harry fumbles in his bedside drawer and produces a row of condoms before reaching into the back for a bottle of lube. When he retrieves it, it's entangled in a pair of red knickers. Harry's cheeks turn a light, hot pink, a timid smile playing upon his lips.

"Sorry," he says, disentangling the lube from the knickers and setting the pair neatly back into his drawer, as though he were going to give them back to their rightful owner as soon as this was over.

Louis doesn't have much time to think about who the knickers could belong to or why Harry would have women's underwear in his nightstand in the first place, because before he knows it there's a pair of warm lubed up fingers that rub against the rim of his arsehole. The first finger presses into him, stretching him open and crooking upwards, and it's not long before the second follows. Louis hips go upwards with the crook of Harry's fingers, as though they were controlling his movements, and then he settles himself back into the bed and squirms forward, mewling obscenely for more.

He looks at Harry through half-lidded eyes, Harry's gaze cast downward as he watches himself fuck Louis open with no shame. There's something about the earnest way his brows furrow just in time with his fingers slipping in deeper in search of Louis' prostate that drives Louis' mad, cock leaking uselessly against his belly.

There's more lube and a third finger is fucking him, the promise of Harry's cock nagging at the back of Louis' mind as he pushes his hips further into Harry's fingers, his arse intent on pulling them in all the way to the last knuckle.

Harry hisses something beneath his breath that sounds suspiciously like fuck and that's when Louis notices that Harry's other arm is moving lazily, presumably stroking his own cock. Louis brings his knees up and squeezes Harry's hips to get his attention.

Harry looks up, meeting Louis' eyes for the first time since he'd decided to finger fuck him into oblivion, but his hands don't stop moving. Louis' hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, his lashes thick with beads of it. His eyes are somehow bluer than before, and there's a flush of pink that blooms from his cheeks and neck down to his chest. He really, really needs Harry to fuck him now, so he tells him as much, his voice coming out thick and raspy, as though he's the one who'd sucked Harry into the depths of his throat.

To his credit, Harry's anything but a tease, readily slipping his fingers out of Louis, and Louis makes a soft, involuntary noise at the loss of contact.

Louis' eyes flutter shut as he breathes erratically, trying to calm himself from the state of euphoria he was slipping into; he loosens his aching fingers from their returned grip on the headboard, flexing them around to relieve the throbbing in his joints. He hears Harry uncapping the bottle of lube and the slick sound of him stroking his cock moments later.

He can feel Harry shuffling into place above him, slotting their hips together, and his own thighs wrap around Harry's frame weakly in response. Harry guides himself against Louis' hole, teasing it with the tip of his cock, and only when Louis hums encouragingly does Harry start to push inside.

Louis hadn't gotten a decent look at Harry's cock, doesn't realize how thick he is until he's stretching him open, and Louis' feels the dull burn of it despite the fact that he'd taken three of Harry's fingers already.

Louis swallows the dryness in his throat, curling his fingers into Harry's bare shoulders, digging his nails into the flesh as Harry starts to slowly roll his hips against him.

Louis is breathing through his mouth, shallow puffs that get reflected back onto his own chin, making him realize how close Harry's face must be to his own. He lets his eyes blink open lazily and regrets it almost right away, seeing Harry's intense gaze burning into him, unabashed. The sight of it coupled with Harry's deep, deliberate thrusts makes Louis moan brokenly, cock throbbing between their bodies. It's almost as if Harry reads his mind, because he's reaching a hand between them to curl long, spidery fingers around him, engulfing Louis' cock wholly as he strokes him in time with his thrusts.

"Okay?" Harry asks, and Louis almost wants to laugh, almost wants to scream at Harry for being such a fucking teenager, but all he can do instead is nod, as though it wasn't ridiculous for Harry to ask him that like Louis was some sort of virgin.

Harry dips his head down and presses a kiss to Louis' neck, murmuring, "You feel amazing."

Louis digs his nails harder into Harry's shoulders, maybe to shut him up or maybe to distract his own racing and disjointed thoughts, but either way it spurs a slight change in Harry's thrusts, fucking him just that bit deeper and faster, starting to build up a steady rhythm.

"I want to fuck you properly," Harry murmurs into the crook of Louis' neck, as though he couldn't say it to him if he was looking him in the eye. "I want to fuck you so hard, Lou."

"Please," Louis breathes out, and Harry moans softly in response, his gaze moving to meet Louis'.

Lower than before and with a hidden hint of wild desperation, Harry asks, "You sure?"

Louis just arches up, pushing his back off the bed and tightening his thighs around Harry's hips, forcing Harry all the way inside of him. Harry doesn't need anymore encouragement than that, because it's only moments before he's pounding into Louis' arse in earnest, his fingers curled into fists in the sheets by Louis' sides.

Harry fucks him with intent, like he wants to ruin him, like he wants Louis to fall apart beneath him, to scream and whimper and dig half-crescent moons of blood into Harry's shoulders, and Louis does all those things, for the most part.

Harry shifts his hips until he's fucking Louis exactly right, sending a blinding spark of pleasure through Louis' spine, and the sound that comes out of Louis' lips sounds anything but human.

Louis pants Harry's name softly until it doesn't make sense, throwing his head back into the bed, his chest curving upwards even as his hips are pinned into the mattress repeatedly by way of Harry's relentless thrusts. He feels his eyes start to water as Harry drives in rougher, letting out a sob against Harry's neck, the pleasure almost unbearable as Harry rocks his body.

Harry mouths at his jaw and murmurs against it so faintly that Louis almost wonders if he makes it up when Harry breathes, "You take it so fucking well." It turns out to be the last straw for Louis, because he feels himself come apart at the seams, Harry's cock pushing into him until he's sure he hears the headboard bang against the wall.

Harry's hand had long-abandoned his cock, but apparently Louis's at the point where he doesn't need Harry's fingers around him to come, spilling between their bodies with a scream of pleasure, fingernails twisting into Harry's abused shoulders for leverage.

Louis' entire upper body curves off the bed to meet Harry's chest through an obscene sheen of sweat and he freezes against him for a moment. He settles against the bed bonelessly seconds later, but before Harry can even think to slow down, Louis whimpers, "Keep going, harder," because he wants Harry to come, wants it almost as much as he'd wanted his own release.

It's all the direction Harry needs, apparently, because his fingers move to hold Louis' hip down against the sheets, his gaze disappearing to look between their bodies as he continues to fuck Louis mercilessly. Louis is so over-sensitized he could scream, but he doesn't, just pants and whines and watches Harry through lust-thick lashes, his hands holding onto the sides of Harry's neck uselessly.

Harry grunts as he pulls himself out of Louis, and Louis moves his hand almost on autopilot, pulling the condom off Harry so he can stroke his cock in tight, rough jerks, pulling him to a release that makes his entire body shake and tremble. Harry lets out a broken moan as he spills onto Louis' heaving stomach, and for a moment, Louis worries that Harry is going to completely collapse against him before he's even done coming.

Harry is stronger than Louis thinks, because he manages to keep his body held above Louis through the entire thing, covering Louis' fingers and belly in thick white streaks. Louis smirks tiredly after he milks the last of Harry's release out of him, sated and worn to the bone. He lets go of him in favour of idly running his palm through the mess of come on his skin, as if it was nothing but coconut butter or his favourite vanilla lotion.

Harry presses a gentle kiss to Louis' temple and cheek and the hollow of his throat before he gingerly rolls onto his back next to him, seeming to bask in the afterglow of what just happened. Louis feels the dip and rise of the bed when Harry gets to his feet a few moments later. He tilts his head to watch him walk into his bathroom, appreciating Harry's lazy stride and the shape of his arse and the dimples that lie right above it.

When Harry comes back with a damp washcloth, he has that same boyish look to him but there's somehow more -- something masculine in a way that Louis hadn't noticed under the unforgiving lights of the club earlier. Maybe, Louis thinks, it has to do with the fact that Harry had fucked him up so well since then, or maybe there was an edge there all along.

Harry curls up beside Louis and wipes his stomach clean, picking up Louis' fingers to wipe them off as well, his movements inexplicably careful and soft, as though he hadn't been the one to nearly break him in two just moments ago.

"I can get you clean pants if you'd like," Harry says, his eyes a brilliant shade of green when they meet Louis', and Louis swallows hard at the feeling that pulls at his insides -- a feeling he hasn't had in ages.

It's the feeling that makes him think it might not be a terrible idea to stay the night, to curl up in a strange boy's bed and maybe even indulge in a cuddle. But the thought is more terrifying than enticing, so Louis shifts and sits up on the sheets instead, reaching over Harry's body to grab for his own pair of pants from the bed.

He stands up on the mattress beside Harry, towering over him, and starts to pull the pants on, setting a palm on the wall to hold himself steady. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, love. I'll change into something clean once I'm home. I've got to shower before bed anyway."

He steps over Harry's body and hops onto the ground, starting to put his kit back on wordlessly with his back to Harry. He doesn't think of what Harry's face must look like right now, ignores the air of disappointment that surrounds them and avoids turning around until he's fully dressed.

"Do I look all right?" Louis asks, fixing his hair. "Or can you tell I've just had my brains shagged out of my head?"

Harry looks wounded and stunned into silence for a long, torturous moment. He eventually mutters, "No, you look fine. Gorgeous, even," and Louis takes that as his cue to leave.

"Thanks, darling," he says, walking over to press a kiss to Harry's head through his curls and murmur a muffled good night, and then he's padding out of Harry's room and slipping into his shoes. He makes his way out of the flat as quietly as possible, as though any loud noise would just add insult to injury.

--

The next day, Louis feels the aftermath of his sour interaction with Zayn at the bar wash over him in increments.

At first, he feels indignant that Zayn would drop Liam on him like that without so much of a heads-up, all in the wake of ignoring Louis' company for the entirety of the week in the interest of spending every waking minute with his new boy toy. You would think one day of the week could be reserved for their lifelong friendship and untainted by his fleeting new romance, but apparently nothing is sacred anymore.

It takes two cups of peppermint tea before Louis' anger starts to fade, changing into something softer and more persistent as it buzzes beneath Louis' skin, impossible to ignore. It's a mixture of grief, as though he was mourning something he'd lost, and terrible, nagging guilt.

Maybe he was in the wrong more than Zayn was. Maybe completely blowing him and Niall (and Liam) off wasn't the best way to communicate his annoyance. Maybe it wasn't really a competition of who was more of a prick and maybe they both needed to cough up an apology.

Eventually, after Louis has a bubble bath and cooks himself a late breakfast, he ventures outside and makes a stop at a cafe, grabbing three large coffees and a bag full of creamer and sugar. He's determined to set things right. Zayn and Liam should be well-past their morning shag now and ready for a little energy boost -- Louis figures the caffeine will do just the trick.

He shows up at Zayn and Niall's flat and knocks nervously, chewing on his lip. When Zayn answers, he barely cracks open the door, just enough for him to lean his body against the door frame and gaze tiredly at Louis through the opening.

Louis glances at the coffee tray in his own hands then meets Zayn's eyes, bouncing on the soles of his feet. "Thought you and your lover boy might need a little caffeine after the night of crazy rabbit sex I'm sure you've had."

Zayn scoffs quietly and walks away from Louis. The only indication that he's not going to refuse Louis entry is the fact that he leaves the door cracked open. Louis shoulders his way in gratefully, shutting the door behind him and following Zayn into the kitchen.

"Liam's not here," Zayn says, going back to the sink where the water is still running, resuming rinsing his dishes.

"Oh," Louis says, setting down the coffee tray. "Sad I missed him. We could just split his portion of the coffee in half, then -- or you could keep it in the fridge for him, if you'd like, as a grand romantic gesture--"

"Come off it, Lou." Zayn's voice is even in a way that sends a shiver down Louis' spine.

Louis watches Zayn's back, his shoulders flexing as he moves a dish beneath the water. "If you're angry with me, just say it."

"All right, Louis," Zayn snaps half-heartedly, slipping the wet plate into the dishwasher. "I'm angry with you and you're a stupid fuck. Happy?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "Ecstatic."

"Why are you here, then? Had such a change of heart since last night? Decided you want to know what it feels like to be a decent friend?"

"Okay. Ouch. I guess I deserve that."

Zayn lets out a breathless laugh, stacking the last few remaining dishes into the washer and turning it on, wiping his hands on a washcloth before turning around, meeting Louis' eyes.

"You said two sentences to him, Lou. Two sentences and then you were off in a huff trying to pull blokes, as if he'd done something unforgivable to you."

"I didn't really get the feeling that either of you wanted me around, to be perfectly honest."

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Lou. I know it shocks you to hear it, but I think sometimes you forget that other people get hurt when you're selfish."

Louis sighs. "Well, why do you think I've brought you coffee?"

Zayn shrugs. "I don't want it. I don't want your shots of tequila and your coffee and your avoidance gifts. I just want you to admit you were a prick."

Louis stares at Zayn, chewing his bottom lip, and Zayn stares right back, neither of them giving an inch.

Finally, Louis rolls his eyes, glancing away. "I'm a prick, then."

"Good," Zayn finally says, walking over and grabbing one of the three coffees from the tray, carrying it with him into his bedroom without another word.

Louis dumps a hefty amount of cream and half a cup of sugar into his own coffee, stirring it vigorously before following Zayn. He finds him sitting up on the headboard, glasses on, clad in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, bare toes curling into the sheets.

The morning newscast is on low volume, and Louis slips off his shoes and curls up onto the bed next to him to watch. He notes that Zayn's side of the bed is a mess, but the side Louis is sitting on is perfectly made and far from slept in. Liam must've not come home with Zayn at all.

"I was a bit pissed last night," Louis says, as if that changes anything.

Zayn nods idly, eyes trained on the telly.

"I don't want you to be cross with me," Louis goes on. "I'll make it up."

Zayn looks over at him, raising his brows, but his voice is deceivingly calm. "So you want to make it up just so I'm nice to you again? Not because you were genuinely a prick to Liam and feel bad about it?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry that I don't have any emotional attachments to your boyfriend yet. I've barely even met him."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Oh god, this back and forth could go on for ages and get us nowhere. Let's just call a truce, for the love of Beyoncé."

Beyoncé is sacred around these parts, and Louis knows well that Zayn understands a Beyoncé truce is a serious one.

Zayn takes a moment to consider before finally responding, sounding exhausted. "Fine. I'm just -- I'm sorry. I'm in a bit of a state this morning."

Louis curls up closer against the headboard, tucking his body into Zayn's side, his eyes on the telly as he speaks. "Tell me your problems, love. I'll play therapist."

"The last time that happened you wrote me a prescription for enough alcohol I nearly had to get my stomach pumped."

Louis smiles wistfully as he stares off in the distance. "That was a good night."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Liam's cross with me because of you."

Louis looks over at Zayn, brows furrowing in concern. "Serious?"

"Deadly. He was being weird after you stalked off and he wanted to leave the club a bit after. He wouldn't come home with me for a cuddle or even let me go over to his, which was... strange. We'd been sleeping in each other's beds for the entire week."

"Wow," Louis says, waiting a beat before adding, "And how big's his prick?"

Zayn glares at him. "Louis!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just -- sometimes that helps me put things into perspective."

"Really? His measurements are going to make it easier to understand why he's shutting me out after last night?"

"I'm just saying, Zayn. There's such a thing as prick compatibility, and maybe you lack it."

"God, you're the only prick in this equation that I'm utterly incompatible with."

"Shite luck that, seeing as you've been my best mate for the better part of your life," Louis says sweetly, and Zayn can't even argue his point. "Just call him, Zayn. Tell him we should all hang out together and have a drink. I'll even buy him a Sprite."

"I'm not always the sharpest when it comes to these things, but I really don't think seeing more of you is the solution."

"Well," Louis says. "Let's just try. I won't bite him and I certainly won't attempt to measure his cock."

"I'll speak to him," Zayn says, and Louis tilts his head onto his shoulder in response. "You've got to be nicer, Lou. Just. I love you, and I love the way you are, even when you're being impossible -- but. This one matters to me and I don't want to fuck it up. Not yet, anyway."

"Then we won't," Louis says decidedly, and he takes Zayn's quiet exhale as agreement.

part two