Chapter Text
“Harry, are you even paying attention?”
Harry looks up at Ben, eyes unfocused from staring down at the lit-up screen of his phone where it’s hidden underneath his desk, and grins. “Absolutely.”
“Really. Name the three Castalian provinces.”
“Bellona, Victoria, and Valle.”
Ben stares at Harry for a moment, then huffs out an annoyed sigh. “I see you’ve done your reading, at least. I’m not going to hold your attention today, am I?”
Harry bites his lip and glances down at his phone, where a notification is flashing. He has a new text from Louis. Louis, who he hasn’t seen in over a month. He’s been in Castalia since the beginning of summer, traveling the country and learning everything there is to know about it. Zayn had been with him the first couple of weeks, and Louis is boarding an aeroplane at the Manchester Airport right at that moment. They’ve been living off of skype dates and whatsapp for a month now. A month.
Not that he and Louis are so co-dependent that they can’t handle time apart, but they’ve only been dating for three months, and one of them has been spent in separate countries. Harry is ready to see Louis. He’s really, very ready to see Louis.
He doesn’t realize he’s been staring silently down at his phone for the past few minutes until Ben clears his throat loudly and says, “Oh, just go, already.”
Harry beams at him as he pushes back from the desk, shoving his phone into his pocket and gathering up his books. “Thank you, Ben!”
“You’re not getting out of lessons the entire time he’s here,” Ben calls after him, but Harry is already down the hall. He’s just going to put his books up, then head down to the kitchen to bother the chefs, make sure one last time that they’re aware of Louis’ favorite dishes and desserts.
Harry is sitting in the library pretending to read when he hears someone call his name. He jumps up immediately, book falling to the floor, and is about to just leave it, but his conscience gets the better of him. He’s kneeling on the floor, picking the book up and smoothing a finger down the wrinkled spine, when the library door swings open.
Harry swivels around, still on his knees, and locks eyes with Paul. His shoulders slump in disappointment, until he remembers that Paul had gone to the airport to pick Louis up. Harry freezes and watches quietly as Paul moves aside, and then he’s tossing the book aside, spine be damned, and scrambling to his feet.
Harry doesn’t even notice when Paul ducks out of the room, only has eyes for Louis. Louis, who’s dropping his bag in the doorway and striding forward, intent in every line of his body. Louis, who launches himself at Harry so that they stumble backward, arms locked around each other in a hug that barely leaves room for Harry to breathe. Louis smells like aeroplane and a turkey sandwich, but when Harry buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, he smells like home.
“How was the flight,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ neck, and he feels Louis’ laughter rumble through his chest and up into his throat.
“What? I didn’t quite catch that.”
Harry leans back a bit, arms still wrapped around Louis’ waist, and repeats, “How was the flight?”
Louis shrugs and winds his arms tighter around Harry’s neck. Their faces are so close that Harry can’t bring Louis’ features into focus. He’s alright with that. “Bumpy, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get here.”
“Two weeks,” Harry whispers, and he means it in a positive way, that they have two whole weeks together, but when it comes out, it sounds more like a countdown. No. Harry puts that thought firmly out of his mind and sets Louis back a foot. “Hey, let’s take your things to your room. I’ll give you a tour.”
“Zayn’s sent something for you,” Louis mentions as they walk back toward the door.
“Oh, yeah?” Harry glances over at Louis as he shoulders one of his bags. He lets Louis drag the wheeling suitcase behind them, hides a grin in his own shoulder when Louis grasps his hand and twines their fingers together.
“It’s in an envelope in my suitcase. I’m pretty sure it’s just a bunch of drawings of you as a prince and me as your princess, though. He wouldn’t let me open it. Twat,” he grumbles.
They poke their heads into rooms as they make their way over to the East Wing, where Harry’s room is located. He shows Louis the kitchens, one of the lounges, the ballroom, an enormous atrium that smells of flowers, Ben’s office, and about a dozen bedrooms and toilets. Finally, Harry stops them outside of the room adjacent to his.
“This is your room.”
“Oh.” Louis looks around. The hall is long, fitted in a plush green carpet and lined with small, ornately carved tables laden with flowers. “Where’s your room?”
Harry points to the door to the left. “We share a bathroom.”
“Good,” Louis says simply, and Harry flushes. Well.
He coughs nervously, then pushes the bedroom door open. The room is bright and airy, the balcony doors left open by the cleaning staff so that it smells of the gardens and freshly mown grass. Harry turns to ask Louis what he thinks, catches Louis flipping the lock on the door and breathes out, “Oh.”
Louis shrugs, an innocent little smile in place as he advances on Harry. “I’ve been here almost a half hour and you haven’t even kissed me yet.” Harry swallows. “Put the bag down, Harry.”
Harry lets the bag fall to the floor, desire already twisting in his belly as Louis approaches. He barely manages to draw in a breath before Louis is on him, arms wrapping around his neck as he slides their lips together. The kiss is chaste, has Harry’s heart fluttering in his chest with the sweetness of it, but then Louis fists a hand in Harry’s hair and tugs his head to the side, and he’s gone.
Harry closes his arms around Louis’ waist and lifts him up onto his toes to better the angle so he can lick into his mouth. The kiss turns frantic, the hand not tangled in Harry’s hair already clawing at the buttons of his shirt, and Harry lets Louis go when he pulls away, stares, wide-eyed and breathless, as Louis tugs his own shirt off and unbuttons his jeans.
“Should I -” Harry doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Louis sets his hands on Harry’s chest and shoves him back onto the bed, and Harry lands on the mattress with a breathless oof, bouncing a little as he toes off his shoes and scoots back until he’s reached the pillows. He watches hungrily as Louis steps out of his chucks and slides his jeans down over his hips. They haven’t exactly been virtuous this past month, but there’s only so much Harry can do with a grainy webcam and his own hand, and he’s embarrassingly desperate for it. Desperate for Louis.
He sets his teeth into his bottom lip as Louis knees up onto the bed, dressed only in an obscenely small pair of briefs. Harry reaches out for him, wiggling his fingers impatiently, and whines, “Lou.”
Laughing, Louis crawls up the bed and straddles Harry’s hips, sits back against the tops of Harry’s thighs and fiddles with the buttons of his shirt. Harry watches Louis impatiently, watches the way the sun streaming in through the open terrace doors strikes off the highlights in his hair, the way the shadows and lust have turned his eyes a stormy blue. He closes his hands around Louis’ knees, then slides them up his thighs, digging his thumb in as he goes until he hears Louis’ breath hitch.
“Louis, if you don’t get this shirt off me, I will.”
“Bossy,” Louis comments mildly, but there’s a smile flirting at the corners of his mouth and he slips the bottom button through its hole, working his way up Harry’s chest until the shirt falls open. Harry sits up so Louis can slide it over his shoulders and drop it off the edge of the bed.
Harry flops back against the pillows and shifts his hips restlessly, trying to draw Louis’ attention down, but Louis just drags the tips of his fingers across Harry’s chest, as if they’ve got all the time in the world. As if Harry can’t see the outline of his dick through his pants.
“Louis,” he grits out, and Louis gives in, hunches over for another kiss as his fingers fumble with the button of Harry’s jeans.
“Christ,” he mutters into Harry’s mouth as he slides the zipper down and fits his fingers into the vee of his fly, knuckles brushing against the underside of Harry’s cock. “Could these be any tighter?”
“Just. Fucking.” Harry wiggles his hips, lifting them off the mattress so he can help Louis shove his jeans down his thighs. He uses his feet to tug them the rest of the way off, his hands too busy tugging Louis in by the waist to be much help. Once he’s managed to kick them off, he parts his legs so Louis can settle between them, hissing out a breath as their hips align and Louis ducks his head down to close his mouth over the knob of Harry’s collarbone.
“No marks,” Harry gasps, but Louis doesn’t listen, just drags his teeth over his collarbone and sucks until the skin is tingling and Harry can’t feel the tips of his fingers.
Harry slides his hands down Louis’ back and closes them over his bum, pulling him down as he grinds up, and it’s. Oh. He wraps one leg around the back of Louis’ knee and plants his other foot on the mattress for leverage as he rocks up against Louis, everything too much and not enough at the same time.
“Louis, I need -”
Louis lifts his head so he can admire the purpling bruise on Harry’s collarbone, then slides his hands up into Harry’s hair and scratches at his scalp, and Harry goes boneless underneath him.
“Lou,” he whimpers, and Louis leans in, presses his forehead to Harry’s temple as he ruts down.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, then he slides one hand down and curves it under Harry’s thigh so he can press it back toward Harry’s chest, the other hand still tangled in Harry’s hair and tugging periodically, little bolts of lust that travel straight to Harry’s cock.
It’s been a month - one very long month without this, and Harry can already feel his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, chants, “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,” as he squeezes Louis’ bum and pulls him in closer, as close as he possibly can.
“Louis,” he breathes, lips dragging against Louis’ with every syllable. “Are you -”
“Just.” Louis shifts his position a bit, just a centimeter to the side, perfect perfect perfect, and Harry arches up, sparks up his spine, the feel of Louis against him so good that his teeth ache with it, and then he’s coming, toes curling down into the duvet and hands clutching at Louis’ back, nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks.
It takes him a moment to come down, and when he blinks his eyes open, Louis is staring down at him with heavy-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide and lips parted as he chases his own orgasm. Harry surges up for a kiss, wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and both legs around his waist and clings while Louis shakes apart above him.
Harry doesn’t let go afterward, just rolls them onto their sides and nuzzles into the crook of Louis’ neck while they fight to catch their breath. They’re both sweaty and Louis still smells like aeroplane, and their pants are uncomfortably sticky, but Harry’s limbs feel like noodles and he bets that if Ben were to ask at this exact moment, he couldn’t even name the capital of England if he tried. When he speaks, his words slur together, but he trusts Louis to understand him anyway.
“Lou, ‘m really glad you’re here.”
He feels a hand stroke up his back and curve up around his shoulder, feels Louis’ chin dig into the juncture of his neck, and he shivers when Louis murmurs, “Me too, Haz. Missed you.”
“Two weeks,” Harry whispers, limbs already going heavy from orgasm and lack of sleep the previous night. He’d been too excited about Louis’ impending visit to relax. He feels Louis’ answering hum vibrate along the side of his neck and against his temple.
“D’you think Ben would notice if we spent the whole two weeks in this room?”
Harry gives a weak, sleepy laugh and mumbles, “Probably, but we could try. Might need food, though.”
He feels Louis’ nose drag through his hair, and then a hand is sliding over his waist and grabbing at his side, pinching the bit of fat Harry just can’t seem to get rid of. “I don’t know, between my arse and your love handles, I think we could make it.”
“Hey,” Harry complains, drawing the word out in indignation. “I love your bum. And I asked the chefs to make your favorite foods, you know. There’s even homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream, your favorite, and we’re having gourmet pizza for dinner, and -”
“Gourmet pizza?” Louis laughs, and Harry pulls back so he can scowl at him. Gourmet pizza is a thing. Louis just laughs again, smooths his thumb along the furrow between Harry’s eyebrows and says fondly, “You take such good care of me, Haz.”
“Don’t you forget it,” Harry grumbles, burrowing back in.
They’re silent for a while, and Harry thinks that maybe Louis has fallen asleep, is about to slide into sleep himself, when Louis whispers, “Hey, if we nap for a bit, we could probably get in round two before anyone comes looking for us.”
Harry’s eyes crack open at that, want already twisting in his belly just at the thought. He pulls back so that he can grin at Louis, all teeth and twinkling eyes, and says, “Lou, we’re teenagers and we haven’t seen each other in a month.” He closes a hand around Louis’ shoulder and pushes him onto his back, then climbs over him, settles over him and rolls their hips together so that Louis’ breath catches in his throat. “Do you really need a nap?”
“No,” Louis whispers, shaking his head quickly. “No, I guess not,” he laughs, and he’s already pulling Harry back in.
fin (for real this time)