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Summary
Louis is the front man of a punk band. Harry is a desperate, fifteen-year-old fan. The meet in the aftermath of the 1969 Altamont Free Concert.
“So what’s the real you then?” Louis questions as he floats farther into the water. “Tell me all about Harold Styles.”
“Well,” he replies. “Harry Styles is 15 years old, lives your typical suburban life, likes weed and lava lamps, wanked off everyday since he was 12 to pictures of Louis Tomlinson.” Harry smirks. “That’s about it.”
“That’s it?” Louis says, floating over to the steps where Harry had been sitting. “Just some high, sex-starved, still-in-the-closet virgin?”
“Yeah, that’s it. The only thing I’m unhappy about is the virgin part.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ve been waiting for a certain someone to pop my cherry, catch my drift?”
Louis pulls Harry closer to him, chest to chest. He can feel the hard outline of Harry’s cock against his thigh. Not that’s he comparing- but he thinks that Harry is pretty fucking built for a 15-year-old.
“You think you’re such a foxy mama,” Louis whispers in his ear. “You think you can just come up here, jonesin' for a fucking and expect me to give it you?”
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