Work Text:
Just one thing holding us together
A four letter word and it lasts forever
There’s a hand buried deep in his hair and a leg draped over his shoulder, Louis whimpering above him. His other foot is planted firmly to the bed beside Harry’s hip as he struggles to keep his hips planted to the mattress.
They’ve been like this for a good half hour now, naked and flush and sweaty in their bed as Harry works his mouth over Louis’ skin; up his legs and towards his hips, nipping at the juncture where they meet his groin, licking over the marks he makes there before moving wetly up his torso, paying special attention to the little bump of his tummy that he gets especially self-conscious over, laving over his nipples a few times, nibbling and sucking until Louis is crying out for him, tugging at his hair and pushing him back down his body, whimpering brokenly at the way Harry’s hot breath fans out over his cock.
There’s really not much Louis loves more than being sucked off by Harry, if he’s being honest. Rimming; he likes that more but then he can’t see Harry’s face and honestly, that’s half the appeal of the sex in their relationship. He loves spanking too, but again, very difficult to do it in a position that allows him to see Harry’s face unless he bends himself in half at some ridiculously uncomfortable angle which kind of takes away part of the enjoyment really.
Harry’s close, so close to his dick, breath hot and warm as he noses at the base, tongue flicking out to nudge ever so slightly at his balls, dragging torturously over the vein on the underside as he rises up, smirking up at Louis where he’s propped against the pillows. He looks blissed out; eyes scrunched shut as he lets his thighs fall open, chest heaving with laboured breaths as Harry’s tongue darts out to lick at the bead of precome bubbling at his tip. His chest rises, high, once more as Harry lowers himself slightly, slowly, until his lips are wrapped tightly around the head of his cock.
There’s a knock at the door.
Louis groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, “Did I imagine that?” He whispers, whining high in his throat when Harry pulls off.
“I don’t think so,” He replies, shaking his head as he glances towards their bedroom door like he’s seriously weighing up whether or not he’s going to leave Louis hard and alone just to answer the door to some cold callers.
He turns back to Louis. “I should get it,” He says.
Louis laughs, “No,” He says, reaching out to take hold of Harry’s wrist, pulling him back down. “No, you should finish off here.” He grins, giving his cock a few lazy tugs with his free hand, smirking when Harry’s eyes go dark as he watches him.
“Alright,” Harry grins, knocking him back against the pillows as he straddles Louis’ lap, running big hands up and down his chest before leaning down to press their lips together, hot and dirty and desperate, moaning when he starts to rut down into Louis hip, his dick catching in the crease of his thigh.
They make it a good couple of minutes before there’s another knock, louder this time.
Louis groans, wrapping his arms tight around Harry’s neck as he tries to pull away. “Nope,” He says, voice garbled against Harry’s mouth. “No, you said you’d stay.” He tells him, just as there’s another knock from downstairs.
“We have to go,” Harry hisses, wriggling against Louis until he lets go. “Finish off later?”
Louis huffs, shrugs, following Harry off the bed and shimmying on his pants. “Sure, whatever.” He says blasé, grabbing a t-shirt off the back of the chair in the corner and heading downstairs.
There’s another thud on the front door while his head is stuck in the collar of Harry’s shirt, making him jump and miss his footing on the step.
“Shit,” He murmurs and then, “Just a second.” When he finally emerges from the fabric enough to be able to grab the keys from the dish beside the door.
He takes a second just to double check himself in the mirror, patting down his hair a little where it’s stuck up and sex messy at the back before unlocking the door and wrenching it open.
“Um,”
“Hi Zayn,” Harry says from somewhere behind him.
Louis spins around to stare at him as Zayn lets himself in, closing the door behind him. Harry is stood in just his pants, boner still painfully obvious, as he bites into an apple, giving Louis a fruity grin.
“Why have you come?” Louis asks, exasperated, as he spins back round to stare at Zayn.
“Dunno but you obviously haven’t,” He smirks, glancing down at Louis’ crotch.
Louis groans, grabbing a pen off the counter and flinging it at Zayn’s head, rolling his eyes when he ducks out of the way with a chuckle.
“I have a question,” Harry pipes up from where he’s now perched atop the kitchen counter, voice muffled around another bite of apple. “Why are you dressed as Michael Jackson?”
Zayn looks down at himself like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing, nodding to himself with a little hum when he sees. “Oh, it’s a sex thing.” He says like that explains everything.
Harry nods, lips pursed, like he understands exactly what Zayn means.
Louis groans.
“Seriously though,” Louis starts. “Why are you here? It’s ten am on a Thursday morning why are you even awake?”
“Can I have a drink?” Zayn asks, ignoring him and pushing past Louis and into the kitchen, fist bumping Harry where he’s sat next to the fridge.
Louis watches as he takes a bottle of Coke and some Fanta from the fridge, face scrunching in disgust as he pours equal parts into a plastic cup with Liam’s head on it.
It’s quiet in the kitchen, the only noise coming from the fridge, beeping where Zayn’s left it wide open and the faint rhythmical thud of Harry’s heel against the cupboard front. “I need to borrow some stuff from you.” Zayn says once he’s drained his cup, slamming it down onto the table.
“Didn’t you walk past like, four shops on the way here?” Louis asks, scratching at his stomach, ignoring the way Harry’s eyes flit to the exposed sliver of skin above his boxers.
“Drove,” Zayn says, pushing past Louis and heading towards the living room.
It’s quite a nice Michael Jackson costume, Louis thinks. He doesn’t say it because Zayn’s head is already big enough and he and Liam are already over the top with their sex things as it is. Last time Louis commented on it, it led to seven straight nights of him having to listen to Liam get his arse smacked with a paddle in the next hotel room. He hasn’t said anything since.
“What stuff?” Louis asks, ignoring Harry when he walks up behind him, thrusting his dick between Louis’ thighs like an animal.
Zayn clicks the TV on, shuffles through a few channels until he comes to an almost finished episode of Police Interceptors. “An egg.”
“Oh, my god,” Louis groans, dropping his head into his hands. “You drove all the way here from your house to get an egg?”
Humming, Zayn nods, throwing his long legs up onto the sofa. He hasn’t taken his shoes off, Louis notices, and he can feel domestic goddess Harry Styles tensing up behind him, ready to pop off at Zayn at any given moment but Louis just reaches back to pat his hip at an awkward angle. It seems to console Harry enough that he forgets why he was mad and starts humping Louis’ leg again. Louis ignores him.
“We don’t even have any eggs, can you leave now?” Louis asks and then, “We’ll start having sex right in front of you if you don’t,” When Zayn doesn’t reply.
“But you always have eggs, are you really out?”
Louis nods and says “Yes,” just as Harry says no from behind him before slapping his hands over his mouth, eyes going wide.
Louis sighs, Zayn smirks and Harry looks like he might cry.
“You can have the egg on two conditions,” Louis starts, spinning around to face a now standing Zayn who nods, motioning for Louis to carry on. “Number one,” He says, holding up a finger. “You leave as soon as it’s in your hand and two,” He adds, holding up a second finger. “You promise me that it’s not going to be used for anything sex related.”
Zayn laughs, holding his palm out flat ready for Harry to hand him the egg and says, “Cant promise that,” before grabbing the egg and ducking out of the way of Louis' hand that comes towards him, snorting as he runs towards the door, the sound of Harry groaning somewhere behind him whilst Louis mumbles sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t expect him to move.
By the time his cheek has stopped tingling; Harry’s cock is pretty much soft against his thigh. He sighs, looking down at it sadly before flicking on the kettle, slumping against the kitchen counter as he waits for it to boil. His head kind of hurts and he just wants Louis to cuddle him but he’s upstairs somewhere, probably in the bathroom, and Harry’s stuck down here holding the fort in case Zayn decides to come back. Louis made him promise not to let him in, not that Harry’s strong enough to hold Zayn off even if he tried. Louis know that’s, s’probably why he left Harry alone, now he thinks about it. He just huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, and lets his head thunk back against the wall cupboards.
“Hey,” Louis says a few minutes later. He sounds far away but Harry doesn’t want to open his eyes, can't, so he just makes grabby hands at Louis, smiles when he hears him scoff but the sound of his bare feet slapping against the cold tiles follows a few seconds later anyway. “Hey,” He says again, quietly this time, buried in the juncture of Harry’s neck as he presses his body up against Harry’s.
“Hi,” Harry smirks, cracking one eye open to look down at Louis. His hair is roughed up around his ears, shirt pulled askew over his shoulder. “Did you just have a wank?”
Louis blushes, eyes flitting down to where his hands are rested against Harry’s bare hips; shakes his head. “No,” He says, quietly, “Couldn’t. Not without you.” He says, glancing back up at Harry.
“God,” Harry groans, surges forward to press his lips against Louis’, kisses him hard and fast and dirty, moans as Louis tries to wrap his legs up around Harry’s waist; keeps kissing him as he picks him up off the floor, spins them around so that Louis is sat up on the counter, Harry wedged tightly between his bare thighs, chests brushing together each time they take a heavy breath.
“Off,” Louis says, wiggling his bum against the marble. “Off, off, off,” He repeats until Harry hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugs at the elastic hard enough that Louis falls into him; kisses him once, twice, three more times, soft and delicate but still desperate.
He manages to get them down to Louis’ knees before the doorbell goes.
“No,” Louis says immediately, screwing his eyes tight shut as he tightens his legs around Harry’s waist. “No, I refuse.”
“Louis,” Harry says.
“Harry,” Louis says.
“Hello?” A voice through the letter box says.
Louis groans deep in his throat, letting his head hang forward, resting it against Harry’s collar bone.
“Sorry little man,” Harry says, reaching out to pet Louis’ dick gently.
“Don’t,” Louis says, voice tight like he might cry.
Harry laughs, ducking down to kiss Louis quickly on the forehead before skipping over to the door.
Louis huffs, shuffling his bare arse along the counter so that he can hop down, cursing when he hits the laminate with a thud. He regretfully pulls up his boxers and turns to flick the kettle back on. He rescues his giraffe mug from where he’d knocked it into the sink and chucks a fresh tea bag in there; grabs a mug from the cupboard for Harry too, not his favourite though, because he’s a shit boyfriend who prefers strangers to Louis dick but whatever.
He can hear muttering in the hallway, another deep voice that Louis vaguely recognises but it’s too quiet for him to put a face to it right now. He putters about in the kitchen for a few minutes more while he waits for them to emerge; puts away some dishes and wipes down the counter, puts away the bottles Zayn left on the table.
Harry’s stood there when he turns back from the fridge, an unreadable expression on his face. “Louis,” He says, half smiling half grimacing.
“Tom?” Louis says and he’s kind of taken a back, if he’s honest, because he’s stood almost entirely naked and a lot hard in his kitchen in front of his childhood crush, the man that fuelled ninety percent of his teenage wank fantasies. So, there’s that.
Tom raises his arm in an awkward wave, smiles at Louis and says, “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
He does have the decency to look slightly uncomfortable, bless him, and Louis doesn’t have the heart to turn him away so instead, he shakes his head. “No, don’t worry about it. Do you want a drink?
“S’alright, Harry already offered but thanks.”
Louis nods. “Great, nice, well.” He coughs, gesturing through to the living room. “Make yourself at home, I’ll just go and put some clothes on.”
Tom grins, “Thanks,” He says and then, “I really am sorry if I interrupted, Zayn said he was going to tell you I was popping round.” Before disappearing through the door way and into the living room.
“Jesus Christ,” Harry laughs awkwardly, running a hand through the front of his hair, pushing it back where it’s fallen in front of his eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
“What was what?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at Harry where he’s stood in the middle of the room, bare toes curling against the floor tiles.
Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “That,” He says exasperatedly, jerking his arm towards to doorway that Tom had disappeared through a moment ago.
“Harry, love, no offence but relax, yeah? All I did was offer him a drink.”
“No offence,” Harry hisses, “But your fucking childhood crush is sat in our living room so, no, I can’t just relax.”
Louis laughs at that, pushes himself away from the counter. “Alright, fine. If that’s the way you want to play this.” He nods, squinting his eyes at Harry as he grabs some joggers and a clean t shirt from the ironing pile in the corner. “At least I’m not the one with my dick still practically out,” He jibes, nodding towards Harry’s crotch as he slides his left leg into the joggers.
“Okay,” Harry nods, folding his arms across his chest, lips pressed shut into a tight line. “I'm sorry, I trust you, so. M’off for a shower,” He says, walking over to Louis. “Can I have a kiss before I go?” He asks, voice low and sheepish.
Louis smirks, rising up on his tiptoes so that he can wrap an arm around Harry’s neck, pulling them close until he can press their lips together, kisses him slow and warm before he pulls away. “Go on,” He smiles softly, pushing at Harry’s tummy with his spare hand. “See you in a bit.”
Harry nods, linking their fingers together gently before he pecks Louis’ cheek and dashes off up the stairs.
He takes his time in the shower, lathers his hair with his mango shampoo twice before he rinses, scrubs himself down with Louis’ new body scrub just to annoy him, washes with his coconut stuff. He stays in for a good half hour, makes his skin feel smooth and his hair soft, watches the suds run down his chest and into the plug, swirling around his soapy toes.
There’s one big fluffy blue towel left on the rack when he finally shuts off the water and steps out, steam swirling around his head in the small room. He ties the towel loosely around his waist, stepping up to the mirror. There’s a thin steam of fog coating it, dripping down the sides a little, so he clears it with his forearm, scrubs it over the glass until he can clearly see his face. There are purple bags under his eyes, etched deep under there like he hasn’t slept in weeks; his stomach is getting a little podgy, his regular workouts suffering in lieu of early morning cuddles and late night movies. He looks different than he used to, he thinks to himself. Not like he’s aged or matured or anything like that, he’s just different.
He thinks about how he looked when he and Louis first got together, about his fresh face and his toned body, about how even he thought he was hot back then, how he would swan around like he owned the place. Really, he thinks he’s lucky he has someone like Louis by his side, someone who loves him all the time and not just when he’s hot.
He smiles to himself as he towels off and gets dressed, thinks about Louis as he slides his jeans up his damp legs and as he buttons up his shirt, thinks about him as he drapes his towel over the bannister to dry and as he walks down the stairs.
It’s quiet downstairs, the only noise coming from the low gurgle in the pipework of the hallway radiators, the soft pad of Harry’s feet against the laminate. “Lou?” He calls, and then “Lou?” Again when there’s no reply.
He ducks his head into the living room as he passes, glancing inside to see if anyone is in there. He sighs when he finds it empty, rolling his eyes and heading for the kitchen.
There’s a faint yellowy light spilling out from under the closed door, a faint muttering sound coming from inside. Harry smiles to himself, reaches up one hand to push his damp hair off his face, reaches out the other to wrap his fingers around the door knob, pushing it open.
His face drops.
Louis in there, by the counter, looking snuggly and cosy in his joggers and one of Harry’s hoodies he obviously found lying around whilst he was showering. Tom’s in there too, and that’s the issue. He’s pressed up against Louis’ back, arms wrapped around his middle, his hand on top of Louis, moving rhythmically around.
“Oh my god,” Harry whispers, stumbling back against the door.
They turn around, Tom stepping back quickly, away from Louis as Louis’ eyes go wide, hands coming up to cover his mouth, whisk lying abandoned on the side.
“Harry,” He breathes out. “It’s-it’s not what it looks like, I swear. I can explain.”
Harry sobs dryly, hands coming up to cover his mouth as he shakes his head, running off and back up the stairs, locks himself in the bathroom, still steamed up from his shower. He slides down the door until he’s sat on the floor, lets out a shaky breath as he listens to Louis calling his name from downstairs. He feels used and dirty and betrayed, the image of another man touching his boyfriend burned into his irises; holding his hand as he teaches him how to whisk. He thinks he might throw up.
He hears the front door open, close again a few moments later, and then silence.
There’s a moment where he thinks maybe Louis has left too, where he fear the worst, that maybe his boyfriend, his soulmate, the love of his life, really has left him for someone with better whisking skills but then he hears the tell-tale creak of the third step, Louis’ voice calling out his name, quietly, nervously, like he thinks Harry might turn him away.
He can hear Louis right outside the door now, breath heavy and laboured. “Haz,” He says, voice thick like he might cry. “Haz, open up, babe.”
Harry shakes his head quickly, scrunches his eyes shut, whispers no when he realises Louis can’t see him in here.
“Jesus, Harry, baby I’m sorry. Please, can you just open the door so I can talk to you properly?”
“Can’t,” Harry sniffles, wipes his nose on the back of his hand.
Louis sighs and Harry can hear the way he walks across the landing, a few steps towards the stairs, back towards the bathroom again. He listens as Louis lets his head thunk against the bathroom door, listens as he lets out a long, shaky breath before sliding down the door, sitting on the floor at the other side to Harry.
“Talk to me, kitten,” He whispers.
Harry sniffles again, blows his nose on the corner of the towel next to him before letting his head fall back against the door. “That should’ve been me, Lou. That was your first time and it should’ve been with me. Me, Louis.” He sobs.
“Open the door, Haz, please.” Louis demands softly so Harry does; drawing in a wet breath he pushes to his feet and flicks open the lock, lets himself fall into Louis arms, lets himself be cuddled and held close. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you, honey.” He whispers, rubs his hand up and down Harry’s back, soothes him until the tears have slowed, holds him closer. “Hey,” Louis says and then, “Hey,” Again when Harry doesn’t respond.
He sniffles, glances up at Louis, smiling when he moves a hand to take a hold of Harry’s face, smooths his thumb down his cheek. “Wanna know something?” Louis asks, leaning forward to press his lips softly against Harry’s. “I asked Tom to teach me so that I could cook for you,” He says, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. “Wanted to surprise you.”
“God,” Harry chokes out, smile so wide Louis thinks his face might burst. “God, Lou, that’s. I’m- fuck I’m so sorry.” He laughs wetly, burying his face into Louis’ jumper, tightening his arms around his waist.
Louis shakes his head, moves so that he can take Harry’s hands in his own, leans forward so that their foreheads are touching. “No,” He says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back, baby, especially not in our own home.”
“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, nuzzling his face into Louis palm. “I’ll forgive you I suppose.” He winks, and then, “If you take me out to dinner.”
Louis laughs, dropping Harry’s hands so that he can take just one of them, lacing their fingers together. “Nandos?” He says, grinning when Harry snorts, nodding to himself.
“Nandos.”