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“Louis. Lou, hey.” Everything’s fuzzy. He’s not sure if his head is spinning, or if it’s the room. “Louis.”
“Mmmff,” he mumbles, the best he can manage as a substitute for ‘yes?’ or ‘I’m here.’ His voice doesn’t seem to be working.
“Eyes open.” It’s tender, but it’s certainly a command. He forces his eyes open, with the realization that the worried voice is Zayn, and right, obeying, being good, did he pass out, oh god- “Shh, hey, breathe, remember breathing?” Right. Breathe. Zayn. He tries. His throat hurts, and he whimpers. Zayn’s thumb brushes over the skin there, gentle. “I know. Relax, okay? You were so good. Can you look at me, please?” He tries to focus his eyes on the brown ones looking down at him.
“Hi.” It sounds strangled. “Did I…”
“I think I lost you for a second, but you’re alright.” There’s a gentle hand on the small of his back, guiding him forward. Through the haze, he registers that his wrists are free, where he last remembered them cuffed to the bedpost. “Up, come on.” Another order, and he has to, he has to, so he lets Zayn guide him until he’s sitting. The spinning gets worse for a moment and then stills. There’s a bottle of water at his lips, and he lets Zayn tip it so he can swallow small sips. It helps the ache in his throat some. “Good, alright. Good. Let’s do another.” He takes another sip, eyes widening, watching for Zayn’s approval. “‘s really good, baby. Hey, stay awake.”
“Good?” The sound of his voice is swimming in his head.
“So fucking good.” There’s the feeling of soft lips against his throat, which he knows is bruising as they speak. He remembers hands there, squeezing, remembers blackness around the edges of his eyes. He’s duly aware of his body’s attempt to be aroused at the memory, but then he remembers why it doesn’t really work, and shudders.
“That. You.” God, did he come twice? “I. Fuck.”
“I know.” There’s a smirk in Zayn’s voice. There’s a gentle hand guiding him back against the pillows, and he curls his fingers around Zayn’s wrist, just to have something to hold onto. “Try not to talk too much, mm?” Zayn moves their hands to his lips, kissing each of Louis’ knuckles. “Just breathe.”
“That was,” he tries, and Zayn’s hand presses against his mouth.
“No talking,” he says, firmly. “You need to be able to sing tomorrow. And this-” He presses his free hand gently at the marks on Louis’ neck, and he hisses. “Is not going to help.” Louis whines, wants to say you did it, but he can’t, so he just closes his eyes and tries to relax.
His body hurts in all the right ways, sore inside, and he knows there are scratch marks on his hips, deep and raw. There are marks up his back, too, deeper there, and God, his throat. His wrists are a little sore, but Zayn wouldn’t tie them in a way that would hurt him. He must’ve pulled at the leather an awful lot for it to bruise. There are hickeys on his collarbone, his chest. He smiles a little. The guys will scowl at him tomorrow; Harry will worry. He’ll have to cover them for the press. But he’ll know they’re there. Like a secret. Like something his.
They’re both still filthy, and they’ll have to get up and get clean, tend to Louis’ marks, but for now, he just wants to sleep, feeling warm and safe and loved. Zayn lets him.
When he wakes up, Zayn is gone, and Harry is curled up next to him, reading.
“He’s just in the shower,” Harry supplies when he finds eyes on him, setting the book down and rolling over onto his side. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he tries to say, but his throat feels scratchy and wrong. Harry sighs.
“Zayn’s an idiot. You can barely talk.” Harry’s hand is scaling his stomach, touching each mark with consideration. “I know you asked him. But. You can’t do this, not on tour.” There are fingers on his throat, pressing and testing, and it actually kind of hurts. He whines. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Don’t be angry.” He moves himself over the most he can, to rest his head against Harry’s chest, gripping Harry’s t shirt between his fingers. He hates when they fight. “I’ll sing. I can.”
“Like hell you will,” Harry mumbles. He closes his eyes, petting Louis hair and letting out a deep sigh. “You think I’m upset, wait till Li sees you. Have you seen yourself?”
“Bad?” Harry nudges him up, pulling out his phone and handing it to Louis. He winces when he turns the camera around and he sees himself in the screen. “Shit. Shit. ” The marks on his neck are not only a deep purple, but they are obviously fingerprints. Oh, Christ.
“Yeah. Like I said. Zayn’s an idiot.”
“He was just. Trying to help.” Louis puts the phone down and goes back to trying to dissolve into Harry’s chest. Usually, he’s allowed to do whatever fucked up things he wants, as long as it’s with someone trustworthy. No one could be more trustworthy than Zayn, except maybe Liam, but. Well, he’s not really the top choice for kinky sex, considering he thinks Louis having it in the first place is dangerous, even when his vocal chords aren’t involved. “Please don’t yell at him.”
“Again. I’m waiting for Liam to do it for me.” Harry’s quiet for a moment, and despite what he’d just said, Louis waits for another reprimand. Instead, some of the tension in Harry’s body gives, and he starts petting Louis’ hair again. “Were you… are you... okay?”
“Now, yes. Before… Well. I asked him to do this.”
Louis had been wound up, too much, the adrenaline from stage not leaving even after hours. Everything had been so loud, and Harry had to have noticed, how jittery he got. He always is, but. Sometimes it’s too much. The screaming from stage felt like it just kept going, even as the venue was becoming a dot in the bus window. As soon as they’d reached the hotel in the next city, he’d dragged Zayn aside, eyes wide and hands shaking- when had they started shaking?- and he hadn’t even had to ask. Zayn had just squeezed his wrist once, strangely comforting, and said, “Go upstairs. I’ll tell them we’re sharing. Shower, be ready, okay? I’ll bring your stuff.” And this, this was why he always picked Zayn. (Never mind that Harry couldn’t choke a bumblebee, and Niall would just be plain miserable at it, but Zayn was- is- also perfect. )
And it had been everything he needed, and now his head is blissfully quiet. He’d fought, fought like hell, disobeyed over and over, and Zayn let him, tied him up after awhile. But like always, eventually, Zayn pushed him under, and everything went into perfect white noise, and he didn’t have to movemovemovetalktalktalk anymore, just let himself be guided and told what to do.
“I thought you seemed off,” Harry says after a moments consideration, “Okay. Well. I’m glad you’re better. Maybe next time you can do that. In a different way.” There are lips at his ear, and even though he can’t see him, he knows Harry is smiling. He relaxes; they’re definitely not fighting. Good. He’s still a little too out of it to handle the idea of being bad, even for Harry, who had given him a rant about power dynamics when he so much as mentioned bringing ownership into the bedroom. No, no, a hundred percent no, jesus christ, I don’t own you, you’re my boyfriend, this is. What the fuck? Sleep with Simon, then, he owns your dumb ass anyway. “Like,” says that playful voice against his skin, “One that involves marathon sex, or something equally fun.” He chuckles softly, just grateful that Harry’s civil enough with him to flirt, and doesn’t say that it won’t help, never does, regular sex, especially a lot of it, especially with perfect beautiful Harry, makes him just as wound up as being on stage. It doesn’t help that Harry always falls asleep after and he’s left to his own devices, usually with the younger boy on top of him.
“Mm, well. If we go that route,” he says, voice still scratchy, to humor Harry, “Don’t keep me all to yourself.”
“Yeah, Harry. Jesus. Share.” Ah, shit. Liam. He rolls over to let the door of the bedroom come into focus. Yep, there he is. “Don’t think I don’t already know,” he says, rolling his eyes. Harry must be looking rather suspicious. “You were a mess earlier. You asked to share with Zayn. Come on, what’s the damage.” Not a question, more an order, show me, now. He wants to mumble something about that being unfair, to order him like that, if Liam’s going to judge him for his inclination toward obeying.
“Haz,” he says into the pillow he’s pulled toward him. Tell him not to kill me. Like, seriously. “Nope, not getting involved. Up, c’mon.”
“What, that bad? Already called Daddy Direction?” Oh, great fucking timing. Zayn’s in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.
“Yeah, genius, you fucking branded him,” Harry mutters, getting up to pull Louis into a sitting position, pushing his chin up to expose his neck, a little too forcefully. “There ya have it, Li. Can we even cover that?” Liam sits down on the edge of the bed immediately, touching the marks, and god, if they look so bad, why can’t anyone guess that they might hurt?
“Makeup can fix it,” he says, voice dry and humorless, “Sing a line for me.” Louis tries to sing a bit of S&M by Rihanna, because that’ll be hilarious and maybe make Liam less angry, but he croaks and pretty much nothing comes out. “Fuck. You’re an idiot.” Liam points at Zayn. “ You are an even bigger idiot.”
“He needed it,” Zayn argues, but it sounds weak against Liam’s obvious rage. “He was… You know. Not good.” Liam bites his lip, concern flashing in his eyes.
“You alright, Lou?”
“Am now. Or, was, before everyone started yelling at me. Zayn was just. Helping.”
“We’re all yelling at Louis? Oh, man, why didn’t anyone tell me?” They all look up in tandem to see Niall, who’s in nothing but his boxers and looking sleepy. “Door was open. I woke up and you were gone,” he explains, shooting a brief glare at Liam and Harry. “I thought maybe we were all having some sort of party. Crushed no one invited me, really. Oh, shit, what the fuck, did someone try to kill you, Lou?” Before anyone can stop him, he’s at Louis side too, making four on them on the bed. “Why are you yelling at him, can’t you see he’s hurt? When did this happen, how long did I sleep, fuck-"
“Ni. Niall. Hey. Hey.” Harry’s laughing as he says it, but he’s trying not to. The innocence is kind of adorable. Niall knows about what Louis… likes, has seen it before, but he’s tired and the marks really are startling, and he must’ve just jumped to conclusions. “It’s alright. He’s alright. No one tried to kill him. It was, like, um. A sex thing, you know?” He jerks his head toward Zayn, who scowls as he pulls his shirt over his head.
“Oh. Oh.” The sheer shock on Niall’s face has them all laughing, even Liam and Zayn, easing some of the tension. “Fuck, I forgot. That’s so weird. Like. Who the fuck gets off on that? You’re lucky you don’t have asthma, you’d just be like. Coming in your pants all the time.” Louis tries to laugh, but he swallows it when his throat protests. Not that swallowing feels any better. Unlike the other boys, Niall’s touch is gentle and careful. “That must hurt like a mother. We’ll ice it, won’t we, then.” He looks up at Liam. “No more yelling, you lot. Like you don’t all have your ways of dealing with shit.” And they do, whether it’s a joint or a cig or being a dick to everyone for an hour or two. It’s not easy, what they do.
“Thank you,” Louis mutters, smiling gratefully at him.
“It’s not that I’m not glad you’re alright now, I’m just worried about you performing-”
“And you’d be less worried if he was out of his head?” Zayn has a point, and Liam shuts up after that. Louis curls himself around Harry again, whimpering into his shoulder, a little overwhelmed by how much they all care, even if Liam shows it by yelling.
“We’ll ice it,” Liam says decisively, more gentle this time. “And a hot shower, that’ll help the. Um. The rest.” After a moment’s consideration, he looks up at Louis, biting his lower lip. “How about you let me… help with that?” It’s his way of saying I’m sorry, and also I do care that you weren’t okay, and please let me help.
“A shower’s a good idea. I think there’s come in your hair,” says Harry, sounding a little repulsed, but rubbing Louis’ back gently all the same.
“Damn. I did miss out,” Niall says, whistling, “Not gonna invite me into the shower, either?”
“Go back to sleep,” Louis says, muffled against Harry, and they all laugh.
“Lonely all by my lonesome.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll go with you.” Harry gently removes Louis, looking at him seriously. “Let Li clean you up, yeah? And don’t talk too much.” There’s a gentle kiss on his forehead, and then Harry goes to stand up and go with Niall. The room feels too cold right away, and Louis whimpers at the loss. “We’ll leave the door open for you, if you wanna sleep with me,” he says, and then turns to leave with Niall, whispering something along the lines of so, speaking of sleeping with people-
“Let me clean you up, yeah?” Liam asks, all gentle now.
“Yeah. Alright.” Louis does feel sticky and gross, but he’s not particularly ready for the aches that will come with standing up, or moving in general.
“‘m I gonna find anything else?” Liam’s looking at Zayn, still a little apprehensive.
“Just some bruises, probably. Scratch marks. Nothing like. Like those.” He gestures vaguely at Louis’ throat, but he looks anything but guilty. “He was a very good boy, I didn’t have to hurt him much.” Louis flushes. He expects Liam to snap back, but instead he just brushes Louis’ hair from his face, smiling softly.
“Were you?” Louis doesn’t know how to answer that, so he just looks at Zayn expectantly.
“Very. Took a lot. Obviously,” Zayn confirms, smiling, “Let Liam clean you up, that’d be good of you, yeah?”
“Mm, okay.”
Louis reaches for Liam, who lifts him up by his armpits gently, getting him onto his feet. It does hurt, but not as much as he’d thought it might. His eyelids feel heavy and he still feels a bit out of it, so he just lets Liam guide him into the bathroom and pull him into the shower, lets himself be positioned and leans on Liam, only half-aware of hands washing his hair, spreading soap on his shoulders.
“You know,” Liam murmurs, kissing the top of his head, one hand tracing the marks on his throat, “I could punish you for this.” Suddenly, Louis feels entirely awake, eyes snapping open.
“I. What? Zayn said I was good, and you don’t-”
“Ah, fuck. Still no. I thought I’d try.” Liam laughs, “Just. Doesn’t sit right with me.” Louis sighs, not sure if he’s relieved. It’d be hot, if Liam did want that with him, and. This is a good as time as any for shower sex.
“Could still…” He starts to reach for Liam’s cock, considering dropping to his knees, but he doesn’t have much time to deliberate as Liam smacks his wrist away.
“Lou, hey, no . You’re still all weird, and it’s late, and I was joking.” Liam closes the space between them, kissing Louis gently before reaching to turn the water off. “I’m not rejecting you, okay? It’d just feel wrong.”
“Alright.” He tries not to let it come out as like he’s moping, but it does sting a bit.
“Come on. Pajamas.” Again, it’s too much of an order to ignore, so Louis grumbles, toweling himself off and going to get a pair of boxers and climb into bed.
Zayn’s already asleep, so he climbs in bed with him, but after a moment, Liam turns the lights off and joins him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him to his chest.
“Tell me next time you don’t feel good. I’ll try not to be a dick.”
“Kay. I’m sorry if… I can’t sing tomorrow.”
“We’ll just say that your throat hurts and you need ‘extra help.’ Harry will sing for you, mm? It’s not as big a deal as I made it.” Liam sighs, tucking Louis’ head under his chin. “I’m glad he helps you. I just… Scares me. You do look like someone tried to kill you.”
“‘m sorry. We’re careful.”
“I know. I trust you.”
“Mmff. Love you.”
“Love you, dumbass.”
In his sleep, Zayn reaches out for him, and Louis takes his hand, squeezing before he falls asleep.