babydoll blues - devilinmybrain (venomedveins) (2024)

Chapter Text

They're sitting in a bistro on the outskirts of London's busy art district, a quaint place with a selected menu and prices they don't put on the menu. It's an exclusive spot, that much is obvious, even if it's plated glass windows and linen tablecloths don't exactly hint at high end. It's nice though and Harry has just tucked into a large pear and gorgonzola salad when Craig starts in.

"So, you never told me, what exactly have you been doing at 28 Records?" Craig plucks his chardonnay glass up, sipping at the rim with a raised eyebrow. "Tomlinson having you record demos then? Sign a few contracts?"

"Oh, um. A bit. Nothing permanent yet." Harry shrugs a little, waving his fork noncommittally. "I think he's trying to figure out my sound first."

"Your sound? What does that mean? I sent him to that pub. He's heard your sound." Craig gaffs roughly, rolling his eyes. "And nothing permanent? He better not be wasting my time. You best be bringing any paperwork to me from now on love. Don't want you getting into something you shouldn't."

"It's not-" Harry slowly begins, choosing his words carefully. "It's not really your time though, is it? That'd he'd be wasting. He signed me for my talent. My skill. And he seems pretty confident in me."

"Well sure." Craig is quick to reassure, shooting Harry a careful grin. "Confident in a pretty face. I told you what happens to boys like you in studios. But who do you think sent him your way? Asked him to do a favor for me? Listen to my pretty doll face singing his heart out? I helped your talent be seen, love. Not him."

"Of course." Harry nods once. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant-"

"I know what you meant. I heard you." Craig interrupts him, sets his glass down with a sharp cling of it against his plate. "But that's just it, isn't it? You'd be in that bar still if it wasn't for me. I'd reckon you best not forget that, darling."

It doesn't sting exactly. That's not the right word for it. It just kind of burns, scrapes over Harry, roughs up the calm and confidence he had in himself. Of course he knows that most people who get signed or make it in any entertainment industry get there by shaking hands with the devil. It's all about who you know and who you do and what you're willing to sell in order to have your name on a contract. Still, Harry had hoped that somewhere along the lines, he'd at least be given the credit for having some talent, some worth other than who sold him to who.

"It's not that I'm ungrateful, Daddy." Harry knows he shouldn't do this. He should just accept the gift for what it is. But there is something that just doesn't make sense in it. "But why did you have Louis try and sign me? When you could have yourself?"

"Oh, it's Louis is it?" Craig latches onto the wrong fact entirely, raising a quick brow.

Harry knows there is no way he knows about the panties. There is absolutely no way. But it still makes him burn with the idea that he's caught, that it all could come unraveled. He's quick to play recovery, reaching across the table to gently slip his hand into Craig's, trying to hold it only for Craig to pull back.

"I just wanted-"

"Let me tell you something." Craig leans in, eyes narrowed, spit shiny on his teeth. "No one knows the reason I do things except for my f*cking self, understand? I didn't sign you because I didn't want things to get messy. The media is full of leeches, Harry. They latch onto one piece of information and milk it for all that it's gone. Do you want people thinking you've f*cked your way to the top? That all you're good for is the thing between your legs? That you're just some whor* to be passed around?"

"I didn't mean to imply-" Harry doesn't get to ever finish his sentences it seems, flinching hard when Craig's fist slams into the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the waiter - who had been on his way over - turn and walk away.

"You're spoiled is what you are." Craig scoffs. "Always asking for more when I've given you plenty. And what about what I want, huh? When have you ever asked me what you could do for me to repay me?"

"Craig, please." Harry reaches up a nervous hand and tucks a stray curl behind his ear. There is a couple sitting a few meters away from them, eyeing them subtly over the tops of their wine glasses.

"Please? Please what?" Scoffing loudly, Craig throws his hands up. "Well? Speak."

"I only meant that I was doing my best not to embarrass you. I'm working hard for the favor you offered to me. I promise." Harry's voice goes sweet, knows how to bat his eyelashes a little. "I'm sorry Daddy. I know you think I'm ungrateful but I'm so grateful. For everything you've done for me."

"Hm." Craig hums condescendingly, hand reaching out quick to grip Harry's jaw. To any passerby it would look cute, a lover's caress, but his fingertips bruise. It's a control act, not loving. "I want you to remember who you are. Who pays for that pretty doll face. Those expensive clothes. That nice flat walking distance from here."

"Yes Daddy." Harry answers instantly, fighting down the urge to yank away. His stomach has twisted into a fester, hot mess of fear and anxiety, prickling up his spine.

"Now, give me a kiss." Craig instructs, tugs until Harry can do nothing but get to his feet, leaning over the table and kissing him hard. It's more teeth than a caress but Harry lets himself go numb to it, lets Craig move him how he wants. "There's a good boy."

When Harry sits back down, he has to stare at his plate and hold his breath to keep from crying. The last thing he needs is to make more of a scene. It's been a very long time since he's been scolded like a child, but Harry feels it acutely now. That brandish, burnt way of the words curling up in his gut, the fear and anger of it all. And yet, there is nothing Harry can do but stay where he is, play along.

"Now, let's have a nice lunch, yes?" Craig tucks back into his veal, cutting at it sharply with a knife. "And you can bring by those contracts later for me to look over, alright love."

It's not a question and Harry knows that, nodding once, trying to still his shaking hand as he reaches for his fork again.

"Of course, Daddy."

- - -

When Louis took over the office building for 28 Records, he was extremely specific about the placement of his office. It's on the top floor, with windows stretching from the corner to overlook the Thames. In this afternoon sunlight, the whole city is lit up like heaven - gold and shining. It's a city on a hill and Louis stares down at all of it, hands grasped before him.

He's been trying to concentrate all day, keep his mind focused on the pile of contracts on his desk, the artists who are waiting for his decisions. Louis didn't make it this far by being lenient with his work ethic. No one works as hard as Louis - and he does it all with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

So, it's beyond frustrating that every time Louis tries to read over the legal jargon, the intricate wordings of contracts, all he can think about is green eyes and a full pink mouth. He's been stuck on it for days, replaying in his mind like the best type of film. Harry's milky skin spread out over that piano, the way he basically sang under Louis' hands, let him inside and still called for more. It's a siren song and Louis feels addicted from the very first taste - the press of their lips had been Louis' downfall.

They've been texting. Not necessarily sexy or anything that way, but chatting. Harry is a menace with his camera, sending Louis snaps of outfits or food he's been trying, including him in his life. It's been nice - easy even - with Harry's wicked humor and his cute, entirely sincere observations about the day to day. Louis has never texted anyone so much in his life - and he has teenage sisters. But it's easy, friendly banter with just a hint of an edge.

It's not like it's constant though. Harry goes silent for a few hours and that's when Louis knows. Knows who is taking up all of Harry's attention, his time. And it's already starting to burn. Louis tries not to think about it, let his curious mind circulate on what Craig is saying to Harry. Is he whispering in his ear while he touches his body? Does he laugh at Harry's dumb puns or his long winded stories? How does he kiss him when Harry goes pliant and soft? Would Craig even know how to brush away the tears and insecurities?

Louis shouldn't care, but he does. And isn't that the f*cking problem.

He's yanked out of his spiraling by a sharp knock on his office - Susan, his secretary - opening the door. She's dressed in a smart pencil skirt today, a ruby colored blouse over top. Louis likes Susan. She's nearing fifty five this year, with a no nonsense attitude, and a grim expression when people try to bother Louis without making an appointment. She's smiling now though, completely charmed, as she lets Liam in first. She's chatting amicably with someone behind her though and Louis only has to hear that cute, little giggle to know who it is.

Harry walks into the office like he's walking out of Louis' mind and into existence. He's dressed down today, jeans and a jumper under a wool coat, scarf wrapped around his throat. His cheeks are flushed a little pink, hair pulled up in a bun. Susan has her hand on his forearm, gasping on a laugh.

"Honestly, Susie. I'll send over the recipe." Harry says, laying his heavily ringed hand over hers. "Or better still, can I bring you some? And if you like them, I'll give you the recipe. It’s really a simple one."

"Oh love, that is too kind." Susan, seeming to have realized she walked into the room without addressing who it belongs to, turns to give Louis a charmed and wide-eyed smile. "Louis, you didn't tell me we have a professional baker on the roster."

"Not professional, by any means." Harry shakes his head, raising a hand. "But I did work in a bakery and I do make an excellent apple tart."

"I bet you do." Louis raises an eyebrow, sending a slow look from the tip of Harry's suede boots to where a small, baby curl has escaped against Harry's ear. He's already watching him so he gets to see Harry blush, rocking on his heels.

"Sorry to intrude mate, but Hazza here stopped by to sign those contracts." Liam makes himself comfortable, coming around Louis' desk, moving around stacks of papers. "Said you got distracted at the house but I know I left a copy here."

"Distracted?" Louis muses, can't keep his amusem*nt out of his voice. He purposefully raises a hand to his mouth, makes it look casually as he wipes at his lips.

"Piano lessons." Harry supplies, grinning conspirator at Louis, a gleam in his eyes. "I saw Louis' finger skills. He's so talented with his hands, you know, and I wanted to learn. He let me beg a lesson off of him."

Liam doesn't seem to notice the innuendo but Susan whips her head between them with wide eyes. She sets her hands on her hips in a stance that is entirely too motherly, but before she can start, Liam huffs hard. He clearly hasn't found what he's looking for as he retreats towards the door.

"Susan, darling, can you help me? I swore I dropped them off Monday." He doesn't even look back as he ushers the secretary out of the room, the door swinging behind them with a sharp click.

The silence that envelops the office is charged, tension heightened at the click of Harry's boots on the polished, marble floor. Louis watches his slow approach, casually standing before the large windows, the background of London surrounding him. It’s not fair that everything Harry does seems effortlessly attractive, strutting across the room with a hidden smile and long legs in those jeans, looking like a model on a runway.

"Contracts, huh?" He asks when Harry is close enough, reaching out a hand to tug on one of the tassels on his scarf.

"That's why you called me to the house, isn't it? Have to sign ownership over to you?" Harry's smirk is all self-satisfied, proud of himself for his little play on words. Louis shouldn't find the showing of ego as alluring as it is.

"You're very cheeky today, darling." Leaning in, Louis ghosts a kiss over Harry's cheek, presses his lips next to his ear. "Feeling a bit bold, hm?"

"Perhaps." Harry turns his head, catching Louis' mouth up in a soft, warm kiss - steals it before leaning back. "Can't be a good boy all the time."

"Oh, I'm sure you can get into all sorts of trouble."

Louis walks his fingers up the line of Harry's coat, eases the edge of his scarf into his palm, caressing over the soft wool. When he goes to pull on it though, Harry visibly flinches, reaching up quickly to still his hand. It freezes whatever heat is building between them, a chill running through Louis' spine as he shifts his soft touch to a firmer one - tugging the scarf out of Harry’s grasp with a sharp yank.

It's dark. A molten bruise etched into the tendons of Harry's throat, hard enough that there is a staggered line around the edge from teeth. It's an ugly thing - must have hurt with the way Harry's skin is nearly maroon in the center, fading out to violet, and then a pink. Louis doesn't want to think about the amount of force that Craig had to have put into it to get it to bruise like that.

"Lou," Harry murmurs, trying to free the edge of the scarf, pull it from his grasp.

"Are there more?" Louis asks, forces his eyes up from the mark to meet Harry's gaze. His wince gives it away and Louis tugs harder on the scarf, the expensive fabric pooling to the floor between them. "Where?"

"You don't want to see them." Harry shakes his head, taking a step back, but Louis catches his sleeve, pulls him closer. "Louis, come on."

"Where are they?" Louis doesn't know why the venom is spilling into his tone, close to snapping. He knows this isn't Harry's fault. There is no blame to give out. It is what it is. And Louis knew what he was getting into the moment he pushed Harry against that door.

There is no getting out of it now that the question has been posed and Harry seems to know that. He reaches between them, hooking a hand in his jumper and tugging it up with a loud sigh, head tilted away. They're not as dark as his neck - a scattering of love bites over his stomach, between his laurels, just around the edge of his butterfly – but they’re there. It's messy and violent and Harry doesn't seem that pleased, letting go of the fabric as soon as he can.

“That it?” Louis raises an eyebrow, keeps his teeth together. He tries to roll back in his temper, tries to remind himself that this isn’t Harry’s fault. It’s Craig’s. It’s always f*cking Pritchard’s fault.

“Yes.” Harry rolls his shoulders down, knees bumping together, making himself small. “It’s not like –“ He pauses, licking over his lips, searching for the words. “He’s paying for it, Lou. I can’t exactly tell him no to everything. I’m lucky he hasn’t pressed for more.”

“Wait.” Louis feels it like a jolt through his chest, a shock that burns hot and bright. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean what do I mean?” Harry sniffles a little, tone sharp even if he can’t seem to meet Louis’ gaze, awkward and twitching. “You know what I said.”

He doesn’t know why the knowledge of it is somehow so important, but knowing Craig isn’t bullying his way inside Harry hits Louis straight in the chest. It matters more than it has any right to, but it still does. It matters so much. Louis’ hands are warm when they reach for Harry, brushing his fingertips over Harry’s cheek and guiding his face up. The kiss is soft, chaste even, with Louis giving into tenderness even as his chest burns.

“Okay, baby. I’m sorry.” Louis kisses Harry’s cheek, his jaw, his temple. “It’s alright. I’m not mad at you. You’re okay.”

Harry relaxes under the soft caress, reaching up to slide his arms over Louis’ shoulders, pulling him in close until they’re pressed toe to toe. There isn’t anywhere Louis would rather be, his palms skirting over the soft jumper before slipping under, touching the soft skin of his lower back, tracing his dimples there. It still sits weird in Louis’ chest, the knowledge that he’s probably the second person to kiss Harry today, that someone else has laid marks down where Louis has. It would be simple if that were just it, but Louis has the sinking realization it’s not that simple.

“I don’t want to think about him right now.” Harry mumbles when they part, rubbing his lips together. They’re bruised and a little puffy. “Came all the way down here to see you.”

“Thought you were here to sign some paperwork.” Louis tries to tease him, to lighten the mood, and it seems to work a little. Harry glances up at him with a small, half hidden grin, shaking his head.

“Wanted to see you in your fancy office.” Craning his head around, Harry takes in the plated glass, the large, mahogany desk, the framed albums on the wall. “Your throne room.”

“Oh? Is that what this is?” Taking a step back, Louis moves to release his hold on Harry’s waist. “Well, if you’d rather chat about the merits of modern architecture I-“

He never gets to finish as Harry reaches a hand up to grip Louis’ lapel, dragging him back into a kiss.

It feels too good already – the slide of their mouths together, Harry’s body arched into Louis’, his aborted giggle as Louis’ sharp inhale. Everything just feels good when Harry is involved and it’s something that Louis can’t wrap his head around why. Why does Harry seem to be like sunshine incarnate? Fills up every space he enters with light?

“Your jumper is nice.” Louis pulls away to murmur between their lips, hands sliding over Harry’s ribs. It feels like safe territory, a compliment to cover what Louis really wants to say. “Looks good on you.”

“S’cashmere.” Harry trembles a little under the soft ministrations, chasing after his words with slow, chaste kisses one after another. They don’t feel necessarily like they’re leading anywhere, just nice to kiss slow like this, conversation lost among the lingering press of lips. “Valentino. Last fall.”

“Is it?” Louis tilts his head, lets his fingertips trail along Harry’s sleeve until he can reach his hair, burying a hand into the curls. It feels like silk in his palm, light as it wraps around his knuckles, Louis gentle when he pets through it. “Very soft. I like it.”

“Lou.” Harry says it on a whimper, the hand on Louis’ lapel tightening before flattening against his chest. “Come on.”

“Did you want something?” Nipping at Harry’s bottom lip, Louis leans into the kiss this time, pushes himself firmly along Harry’s body until they’re flush. “Tell Daddy what you want. Use your words.”

“I just want-.“ Harry’s blush goes scarlet, wrinkling his nose a little as he fights within himself to answer. It’s only been three days since Louis has had him spread out over that piano and he’s already craving more. He wants Harry flushed and eager, laid bare and open for him. It’s a sight that lives behind Louis’ eyelids, haunts him every time he has a moment to let his mind wander.

"Kiss. Please." Harry finally settles on, arms looping back around Louis' shoulders, drawing himself in. It's an easy decision - one that Harry doesn't have to really ask for. Louis is sure he'd like to kiss him constantly. But it's not enough for either of them. Between pointless conversation and the slide of their mouths, the breaking point finally snaps, and Louis doesn't ask Harry what to do next.

In all honesty, Louis has missed this. He’s missed having Harry in his arms, and he’s not going to waste the opportunity.

Curling his hand around Harry’s hips, he starts to guide him towards the couch along the far wall, using his grip on Harry’s curls to deepen the kiss. Louis knows for a fact that Liam and Susan will be looking for the paperwork for a while, and he knows it because he’s pretty sure the contract they’re looking for is in his bottom desk drawer. It gives them enough time that Louis doesn’t feel the constant prick of anxiety when he pushes Harry down onto the leather and then promptly climbs on top of him, caging him in.

“Wait, the others-“ Harry tries to pull back, turning his head towards the door but Louis just takes it as an invitation to trail his teeth gently over the column of Harry’s throat. He smells so good here, perfume tucked behind his ear like a secret just to be found. Louis wonders if anyone has looked for it before, memorized the scent and the soft curls swept back there.

“It’s fine, darling.” Louis finally murmurs a reassurance just as he drops his weight, grinding down into the cradle of Harry’s hips. “They’ll be gone awhile. Promise.”

That seems to distract Harry from anything else he was thinking to say as he reaches up to get a hand between them, caressing his fingertips over Louis’ chest, up along his neck. He’s so pliant under Louis, widening his legs for him, mouth soft and warm when their tongues tangle in between. Louis could be content with this, go back to being some seventeen-year-old snogging on a couch with a pretty boy. It feels good like this, simple and hot in a way that Louis hasn’t felt in a long, long time - if ever. Except Louis can’t get over the idea that someone else did this with Harry only a few hours ago.

“Baby.” Leaning back, Louis brushes his thumb over Harry’s cheek, down along the sharp cut of his jaw, along his plump bottom lip. “What are you doing to me?”

“Hm?” Harry murmurs, lets his mouth part easily, tongue sneaking out to tease at the finger. It isn’t long until he’s pulled it into his mouth, sucking on it enough that his cheeks hollow slightly.

“Christ.” Louis hisses, mesmerized by the sliding of Harry’s tongue along the pad of his finger. He has to let his other free hand down to grip his co*ck, squeezing it as it twitches between his legs. He only gets his palm around it though before Harry’s hand is joining him, deft fingers working towards his belt.

“Can I?” Harry gets out around the finger in his mouth, blinking those big, doe eyes up at Louis. “Daddy, please?”

Louis doesn’t even bother wasting the curse. He swallows down the word as he surges forward again, replacing his thumb with his tongue as they both scramble to get Louis’ trousers open. It’s reckless. The office door isn’t even locked. Susan or Liam or hell, f*cking Niall, could come barging in at any moment. And yet, they’re the furthest thing from Louis’ mind when Harry’s heavily ringed hand finally wraps around his co*ck, pumping the length of him slowly.

“Let me see.” Harry pulls back with a sharp gasp, pushing at Louis’ shoulder until he can crane his head and look between them. Experimentally, he rubs his thumb over the head of Louis’ co*ck, caresses his fingers through the precome until he drags it down the length with a slow sigh. “f*ck, I knew you were going to be big but you’re thick too.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Louis prods, lets his hips swing forward so he f*cks into Harry’s fist, dragging himself back. He can practically see the way Harry’s eyes dilate, mouth left open in a small gasp and christ, the things it does to Louis’ ego. “All for you, darling.”

“Thank you Daddy.” It seems to surprise Harry who flushes at his own words, squirming a little as Louis smirks down at him.

“You’re welcome, love. You know, I did say it was for you.” Louis thrusts again, the tip oozing a little over the large ring on Harry’s thumb. “So, where do you want your prize?”

Reaching between them, Harry grabs the hem of his jumper, tugging on it until it slides up over his stomach, along his chest, until he can tuck it just under his chin. It puts his whole torso on display – his swallows, his butterfly, his laurels, and every kiss bite between them. Louis wants to sneer at the sight but then Harry strokes his co*ck, twisting his fist just at the end that puts Louis’ nerves on end.

“Mark me up, Daddy. Make me yours again.”

It’s like Harry has reached down into Louis’ brain and plucked at the very root of it. It’s not that Harry is marked up by Craig. It’s that it feels like Harry is less of Louis’ when he’s marked up with someone else’s bruises. Louis hates it. And he doesn’t really know why but it feels like something that is going to keep him up tonight.

Slowly, Harry unwraps his palm from around Louis, bringing his hand up to his face before he opens his mouth. He doesn’t stop staring at Louis as he licks over his fingers, making sure to get them nice and wet before he sneaks his hand down between them again. If Louis was hard before, he’s steel now, co*ck dripping just above Harry’s navel as he grinds against him. The friction is nice until Harry wraps his hand around him again and then it’s better – Harry keeping his hand and arm still so Louis can f*ck into it.

It’s not hard to imagine that this is something different, something more, as Harry moans soft and low under his breath, free hand coming up to play with one of his nipples. Louis tries to focus on it and slow himself down but Harry keeps squeezing his fist just as Louis thrusts forward and it’s so tight Louis is pretty sure there are stars dancing around Harry – a halo of heaven just for how f*cking amazing he is.

“Come on Daddy.” Harry gasps, raises one of his legs to hook behind Louis’, pulling him closer. “Please. Want to make you come. Want to see it.”

“You’ll get it. Been so good for me, little dove.” Louis pants, rocks himself forward a little faster, his thighs trembling. “Been thinking about you on my tongue. Love the way you tasted. Can’t get it out of my mouth.”

“You can have it again. Whatever you want, but-“ Harry shifts his grip, twisting just at the tip and pulling a sharp grunt out of Louis. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about your co*ck. And you deserve it too. To feel good. Want to be good for you too.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Louis groans into Harry’s mouth, kisses him open and wet as he swivels his hips forward. “Strawberries and cream, aren’t you? Could just lap you up. Sweetest baby I’ve ever seen, wanting to spoil me, huh?”

“Please.” Harry’s eyes go impossibly wide, bottom lip curved out a little in a small pout. He knows what he’s doing as his other leg wraps around Louis’ waist, holding him down and close.

Hooking a hand over the arm of the couch, Louis starts snapping his hips forward, grunting a little as he tries to hold back. It’s nearly impossible though with the way Harry is staring up at him, making these little ‘ah ah ah’ noises like Louis is actually f*cking into him and not just into his hand. It’s a visual that seems to repeat in Louis’ brain often, caught up in how Harry would sound, how he’d be wet and hot around Louis. It’s so f*cking good – every part of it, that Louis has to turn his head and bite into his bicep to keep from shouting as he comes.

He streaks up Harry’s stomach, over his tattoos and the bruises that are dark but nowhere near being as dark or in the right places like Louis’ would be. It ends up splattered over one of Harry’s nipples, along his chest, and it looks so good that Louis nearly leans back to take a picture. He probably should have because in the next moment, Harry slips his hand from around Louis’ co*ck and drags it up his sternum, then pops it in his mouth to suck it clean.

Louis has never been so thankful for button fly jeans in his life. He paws at Harry’s pants, separating the denim and tugging them down enough that he can fit his hand inside. Soft cotton brushes over his knuckles and then Louis is pulling Harry’s co*ck out, stripping it in long jerks of his hand. Harry immediately starts moaning, back arching up against the couch, frantic from the sudden rush of attention. He’s writhing so hard Louis has to drop his weight again, pushes him down into the leather to keep him from bucking both of them off. If anyone passes by the office right now, they’re going to know immediately what is going on, but before Louis can even worry about it – Harry turns his head sharply and cries out into the throw pillow under him.

It must hurt a little, Harry’s eyes watering against his lashes as he comes, shooting over the path that Louis had just marked on him. Louis watches in fascination, hand still moving, as the come slides against Harry’s butterfly, his laurels, the ink flexing and moving as he gasps for air. And this is what Louis wants to remember, fingers still easing over Harry’s co*ck as he pulls his phone out with his other hand and snaps a quick picture. It’s a reckless thing to do, evidence of their tryst, but when Harry turns his head, he’s smirking a little – one dimple out.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He rubs his thumb over his butterfly again, grabs up the stray droplets there before popping them in his mouth with a pleased hum. Harry makes the gesture feel obscene, sucking hard enough his cheeks hollow out, bruised lips puckered up around it. It’s a clear visual of what something else could look like and the mere thought has Louis’ spent co*ck trying valiantly to twitch.

Louis has been very lenient with the behavior today – letting Harry be mouthy and bratty a little – but this is a little too far. It’s about time he should give Harry a taste of his own medicine, so he promptly leans down and licks along the curved stem of a laurel. Harry visibly jerks from the motion, letting out a weak moan as his co*ck dribbles a little just under his navel. The sight is intoxicating and Louis has half a mind to suck him down when he remembers that they’re on borrowed time.

It feels nearly impossible of a feat for him to get up, but he manages it, stumbling only slightly to his desk to grab a few tissues. Once he’s cleaned and tucked back in, Louis means to turn around and help Harry, only for the sight to make his heart nearly stop in his chest. Harry is still sprawled out over the couch, one leg leaning against the back while the other rests on the floor, half naked and pink. It’s a perfect image on its own but Louis’ breath stops short as he watches Harry’s fingers stroke over his stomach, his chest, his sides – rubbing the come into his skin, painting them into his bruises.

“Baby-“ Louis starts, not really sure where to go with it, mind racing as his stomach turns molten. He hasn’t had a refractory period like this since he was a teenager.

“Hm?” Harry looks pleased as can be as he rolls onto his side. He’s tucked himself away but his sweater is still up around his collarbones, jeans unbuttoned, looking disheveled and ridiculously sexy. Dimpling, he continues to stare at Louis, one arm lifting under him to prop himself up a little. “See something you like?”

He’s so confident with it, antagonizing with his bruised mouth and his bright eyes, the curve of his spine against the expensive Italian leather. Louis can’t piece his thoughts together, caught up in thrumming in his veins, still turned on and right there. And it’s not enough. Suddenly, it’s not enough. He wants more – more of Harry, all of him.

“Menace.” Louis finally hisses, nearly stomping as he crosses back over the room, uses his momentum to push a knee into the couch and lean down – kissing Harry hard. It’s a bruising press of lips on lips, Louis’ teeth catching as Harry’s tongue pushes into Louis’ mouth. “You get a reward and now you’re a brat? Not enough for you then?”

“No.” Harry whines around the biting kisses, looping an arm around Louis’ shoulders, wanting him closer. “Not a brat. Baby. Your baby.”

That has Louis pulling back – making sure to tug on Harry’s bottom lip as he goes, nibbling at it with his teeth. The warmth that floods Louis’ stomach is something entirely new now though, hot and festering and a little sour. Everything had been building, an inferno catching and growing brighter, but now – Louis can taste the ashes. It’s not fair that it seems to suck the very pleasure out of the air, Louis falling back on his haunches as Harry reaches for his jumper, tugging it down at the look on Louis’ face.

“I’m sorry-“ Harry immediately starts, pulling himself up on a shaking arm, his jumper falling down. “I didn’t mean-I just-Louis.“

“Hush.” Louis can feel himself work on autopilot, but his words feel right, even if his chest is tight. Or at the very least, they’re true. Another thing he’s going to have to unpack later when he can’t sleep. “Don’t apologize. You’re right.”

“Lou-“ Harry starts to protest again, swinging his legs over the couch, but Louis leans in, kisses his forehead.

“You are my baby. When it’s just the two of us. That’s okay.”

Louis says it but he knows that’s not true. It’s not okay. How can it be? It’s written all over Harry’s stricken face, the way he recoils from Louis, awkward and clumsy when he wipes a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t do it like he’s ashamed, just guilty, fingers fiddling with his curls. And Louis can’t stand here and watch him wipe away the evidence, even if Harry isn’t say anything to negate what Louis said. It still hangs there – the elephant in the room that rears its ugly, festering head.

f*cking Pritchard.

And it's the snake that coils in his chest - the festering anger that makes Louis want to lash out. Because it seems like no matter what - Harry lets it linger over them like a shadow. He never lets Craig fully slip out of the equation and Louis gets it but god, does it f*cking eat him alive. It's a problem and yet Louis can't stop coming back for it, craving Harry, needing him more and more and more.

"Does he know you're here?" Louis doesn't know why he asks when he doesn't want to know the answer. It seems to catch Harry off guard who looks up with widening eyes, hands sliding on his legs.

"He knows I'm here to sign contracts with Liam." Harry answers, syrupy slow, voice going deep.

"Ah." Louis nods once, sharp and definitive, standing up. “Right.”

“Louis, come on.” Flinching, Harry runs his hands over his face, one into his hair. “Don’t do this.”

“It was a question.” Louis snaps back, can’t help the way his tone turns sassy and biting. “Am I not allowed to ask a question?”

“Not if you’re going to punish me for the answer.” It goes quiet after Harry’s words, tension thick and suffocating. Harry doesn’t try to reach for Louis again, doesn’t do anything but stare off to the side, still tugging at his hair. And Louis hates it more than anything that he can’t seem to unstick his tongue enough to apologize.

Heels in the hallway alert both of them that Susie and Liam must have given up on finding the paperwork and they’re on their way back. Harry is off the couch in a moment, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, reaching for his scarf. Louis turns away from him, goes back to the desk, pulls a free cigarette out of his pack to light up. He wouldn’t usually smoke in here but he doesn’t want to chance the room smelling like sex – like sweat and Harry’s perfume and smeared kisses.

Liam opens the door just as Harry resettles on the arm of the couch, legs crossed at the knee, phone out. It feels casual, not staged at all, and it seems to work on Liam who comes in with a heavy sigh and a hung head. Susie, on the other hand, takes one quick survey of the pair of them and her eyes narrow – a knowing motherly sort of twist to her mouth. She doesn’t speak though, lets Liam take the reins.

“Sorry, Tommo. I swear I can’t find them. I looked everywhere.” Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Liam looks around the room. “They must be at the house.”

“Ah, bad luck, mate. I actually must have swept them off the desk earlier.” Louis reaches down with a shrug of his shoulders, yanking out his bottom drawer and producing the manilla envelope. He had worked with Calvin himself to draw up this contract, careful with the wording, delicate with the turn of phrase. It’s the best option for Harry – protective and also gives him the freedom he’s going to want over his own creative expression.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Louis shrugs a little, reaches to flick his cigarette into the ash tray. It’s not like Liam is going to lecture him, even if his face wrinkles a little into that fatherly scowl of his. Louis’ name is on the door. This is his company.

“Oh! Well,” Liam seems relieved all the same, coming to take the contracts from Louis and opening the envelope. It’s a thick packet – small print. “No problem, then. You ready to sign, Hazza? Make it official?”

“What?” Harry glances up. Louis can see that his eyelashes are still a little wet, eyes glassy, as he turns his attention back to his phone. “Sure. Sure. Get me a pen.”

“Bit eager, love.” Louis doesn’t ask it as a question, waving his hand at his secretary with a little furrow between his brows. “Susie, darling, can you get Calvin in here? Want a lawyer in with Harry here in case he has questions, yeah?”

“Of course, Mr. Tomlinson. Just a moment.” Susie nods once, raising a brow at him as she backs out of the room. He knows she won’t question it even as she makes it clear that she knows.

Pushing his head back, Louis inhales slowly on the cigarette and stares up at the ceiling. His body is pleasantly warm, still high off his org*sm, can still taste Harry in his mouth around the smoke. Across the room, Harry doesn’t even look up from his phone, fingers working quickly over the screen. It would be like nothing even happened if it weren’t for Harry’s mused curls, his mouth strawberry pink, bruised a little. And Louis sneaks glances at him through his eyelashes, wishes desperately that Liam would leave the room.

“Haz, if this isn’t a good time-“ Liam starts slow, sinks into one of the spare chairs across from Louis, hands folded neatly in his lap. “We can reschedule again.”

“What? No.” That draws Harry’s attention up, shaking his head quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to plan this party and literally every vendor I’ve contacted seems to have a problem with the plans. How hard is it to find crystal vases in this city?”

“Party? For what?” Liam – brilliantly kind and invested – leans forward with his chin on his hand.

“Oh. Um.” Harry draws his bottom lip into his mouth, bites it hard and skirts his gaze up and over Louis. It’s obvious what it’s going to be but Louis doesn’t let him have an out – stares right back, exhales slow through his barely parted lips – the lips that had been pressed to Harry’s only a few minutes ago.

“It’s Craig’s fiftieth.” Harry mutters, hissing an apology when his phone starts ringing and he gets up to answer it.

Louis watches him walk over to the window, murmuring low and careful to someone on the phone about floral arrangements. It’s with the London sunshine outlining his body, the curves of hips and his waist and the parts that Louis had held close before, that Louis makes a decision. One way or another, he’s going to keep doing this. Keep hurting himself with the knowledge that Harry is just one phone call away from being someone else’s. Because the thought of that still isn’t enough to ruin the moments when he’s here – when he’s in Louis’ arms and saying Louis’ name and choosing to stay.

- - -

Harry likes to think of himself as someone who has a strong sense of limitation. He doesn't over indulge in things, is strong in his resistance of bad food or drinking too much or smoking. So, it feels a little bit blindsiding that he can't seem to resist Louis. He doesn't even try to, doesn't want to.

It's like from the very first time, he was hooked. Addicted to the feeling of Louis' body on his, his breath in his face, their mouths meshing into wet and heat. It plays in the back of his mind constantly - interrupts him when he's out with Craig at some dinner - the memory of Louis' brilliant eyes in that piano room, stripping him bare. Or Harry will be going through his morning routine, make up brush in hand, and suddenly recall the feeling of Louis' arms around his waist, the warmth of his whispered praises in his ear. He's halfway through a yoga class and Harry bends over and thinks about Louis' fingers inside of him, the sound of his moans in Harry's ear.

Louis seems to be right there with him though - desperate and hungry for it. After the office, it seems like any control they had before is gone. It doesn't help that they see each other almost every other day now, working on the music, recording some demos, ironing out details. It's between Niall running scales with Harry and Liam working out marketing that Louis manages to sneak them away. Hidden like teenagers at a party, Louis had pushed Harry up against the shelved walls of a utility closet and kissed him breathless. They fall easy into snogging, sneaking kisses when someone leaves the room for the loo or goes to get more tea. Harry just has to tilt his face up from his place on a stool and Louis' hands slip into his hair, grinning at him.

There had been the one evening working late when Louis and Harry had grinded against each other in the couch in the recording studio, the heavy bass of The Weeknd thrumming through the speakers. Too desperate, Harry had barely gotten them out of their pants before they were coming together, pushed over from the rough friction and the thrill of getting caught.

Harry is careful though. At least when it counts. He backs up their texts to his cloud but deletes them off his phone - only keeps the professional ones in case Craig ever gets the urge to snoop. Louis' name stays "Louis Tomlinson" in his contact list - no emojis in sight. He pushes Louis' mouth away from his neck, his chest, his thighs anytime he gets a little too eager - whines until Harry gets more kisses, is careful not to see Craig right after. It feels dangerous in a way that thrills Harry - turns him on like none other - and yet terrifies him at the same time.

Calling it cheating is like getting in trouble for shopping in a store that is a competitor of the one you work for. Harry fills his job description with Craig – gives him attention and affection, plays the role that Craig wants him to. When Harry is with Craig, it’s a role he can slip into, a mask over his face, a painted on smile. He does it so well he almost fools himself sometimes, a blindfold laid over his eyes so all he can see is the veil of pretenses.

With Louis though, it’s like Harry can’t even pull a sheet over himself. There is something prying and dangerous and freeing in the way Louis strips Harry bare – only wants to see him for what he is. Louis walks his fingers up Harry’s spine and it’s like he’s mapping him, easing open the sharp cage that Harry has built around himself. One kiss and Harry feels like he can finally breathe, crumbles every defense when Louis gives him that grin – eyes crinkles and fond.

It's what he’s thinking about laying in bed, the soft sounds of rain hitting his window outside. Harry had spent most of the day with Craig, getting a late lunch and then doing some shopping out on the avenue. It would have been a pleasant afternoon, a nice date of sorts, if not for Craig's wandering hands, his biting kisses, the way he made sure to parade Harry around like he'd just won him as a prize. Though, Harry supposes, that in some ways, he is just another purchase to hang around Craig's arm. No different than the bags from Chanel or Hermes.

It's not so much as what was bought today as it is what will be paid for later. Harry knows, deep in his gut, that he's going to have to sleep with Craig after his birthday party. It's been too long, the game up. And it's not like Craig has been subtle about it. Grabbing onto Harry in a fitting room, hissing into his ear as Harry stood there, letting himself be felt up and manhandled as Craig groaned about needing it right then.

It's all quiet now though except for the rain and the low rumbling of Craig's snores. Harry doesn't usually stay over but Craig had dropped a few thousand pounds in Harry's bank account and had promised to keep his hands to himself. Harry doesn't technically believe him, but it's not like he can sleep anyways, will sneak out before Craig even wakes up - citing an early yoga class or something.

Still, he knows what all of this has been leading to - has known since he decided to sugar for Craig. So, why does it make his skin crawl, breath cut short? Why does it feel so bad this time?

Rolling away from Craig, Harry blindly reaches out onto his nightstand, feeling around for his phone before he tugs it off the charger. It's three thirty, too late and too early for what he wants but it doesn't stop him from wanting it. It’s a craving that settles deep in his chest, prying up into his mind. He unlocks his phone with his thumb, taps down to his messages, and then he stops - poised above the name.

It's the idea that he won’t answer that makes Harry freeze. What if he doesn’t? What if he’s busy? Does Louis have someone in his bed right now too? Maybe a pretty model with long legs that he opens anytime Louis wants it? Is Louis giving it to someone else while Harry lays in bed, across town, and swears he can still taste him in his mouth?

hey.

Harry feels lame for sending the simple greeting but he cringes at the mere thought of sending a ‘u up?’ text. This isn’t what this is. It’s just that Harry can’t sleep and he’s exhausted and he’s wondering if Louis is moaning into some nameless boy’s mouth the way he moans into Harry’s. Jealousy is a lonely and vicious feeling – sparking up and then catching on itself until there is nothing but venom and ash. Harry doesn’t want to get to that point, doesn’t want to slip into the idea that maybe Louis calls everyone baby. That someone else knows the way he looks after it all, flushed and giddy with those blue, blue eyes gleaming in the dark.

hey back.

Relief washes over Harry tinged with the slightest hesitancy. Just because Louis answered doesn’t mean that he’s alone, that he’s awake because he can’t sleep. For all Harry knows, it's just a break between rounds. Running a hand over his face, Harry tries to pull himself together as his phone vibrates again.

bit late. you alright?

Harry nibbles at his bottom lip as he thinks about what to reply, listening to the sharp grunts of Craig rolling over onto his back. Harry doesn't mind sharing a bed with people. In fact, he's actually very fond of cuddling, having someone spoon up behind him, a heater on his back with a firm arm around his waist. But with Craig, well, he's not exactly the snuggle and pillow talk type of guy. He's more of the snore through the night and hog most of the covers.

i'm okay. did i wake you?

The reply from Louis only comes a second later.

no, i'm up. been trying to sleep for a bloody hour though

The text is followed by a picture message, a dimly lit selfie of Louis laying back against what looks like white sheets. His hair is ruffled up, eyes a little hooded with sleep. From the angle, Harry can just barely make out his chest piece, the ink stretching from shoulder to shoulder. It makes something warm pool in Harry's belly. He knows what that tattoo tastes like, traced the words with his tongue the last time Louis and him made out in the office.

you look very sleepy

No one has to know if Harry reaches out a finger and traces the curve of Louis' jaw on screen. He's kissed here too, just below his ear, felt it when Louis' breath had caught. If he could, Harry would take a whole afternoon to find all those little pleasure spots, the ones that make Louis gasp and moan.

i am. and what? no picture for me? are you in bed?

Harry glances behind him. It is possible that he could get a picture without Craig in it, angle it a certain way, but Harry feels weird about it. What if Louis found out? Would he know somehow and then Harry would have to explain it? Louis had said before that when it's just the two of them, Craig doesn't matter, so why should Harry risk it?

no, party planning. you want to help me? i need opinions

Harry knows it's a bad excuse. Just something to keep Louis talking to him, to keep him engaged in the chitchat, but he doesn't want the conversation to end. If Louis realizes that, he doesn't comment on it, just sends back.

sure. give me a ring though, love. i can't stare at this screen anymore

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Harry very carefully pulls himself upright, glancing back at Craig to make sure he doesn't wake up. The older man doesn't even move though, just gives a grunt in his sleep before resuming his snoring. Harry wonders, distantly and a little cruelly, if Craig ever really notices anything Harry does. Unless he is the one making demands, it seems like Craig can't even be bothered with it. It shouldn't hurt, shouldn't prick at him the way it does, but Harry can't help wondering if there will ever be a time when he slips out of a bed and someone instantly knows, reaches for him with eager and missing arms.

He slips out of the bedroom, bare feet on hardwood, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. It's a little chilly in the flat and Harry distantly regrets not pulling on a shirt, but he just adjusts his trackies a bit, curling up in a chair by the window and tugging the throw blanket around him. Craig had wanted him to wear something else, something with a bit more skin, but Harry had finally gotten him to be appeased with the loose sweats and a bare chest.

Taking a deep breath, Harry unlocks his phone and scrolls down until he can hit the small phone button. It rings twice before Louis picks up, voice a little gravely when he answers.

"Alright love, what garish theme did Pritchard pick out this year?"

"I'm in charge of it actually.” Harry can’t help the slow grin that spreads over his face, suddenly bashful at the thought that Louis might be able to hear it in his voice. He ducks his head, drags a fingernail over the loose threads in the quilt. “Did you go last year?”

“Symptom of knowing the guy.” Louis groans, the rustling of cloth behind him muffling the words a bit. Harry can almost imagine him rolling over in a big bed somewhere, sleepy and grumpy and perfect. “It was some circus thing last year. Lots of those contortionist types up on stages and body paint. Pretty sure Payno and me stayed for the open bar and that was it.”

“Oh.” Harry stifles a snort, bringing his thumb up to his mouth to tug at the nail thoughtfully. “Well, I can promise there won’t be clowns or the like. It’s his fiftieth so I was thinking some sort of gold theme.”

“Fifty? Pritchard is fifty?” Louis’ voice goes loud and high, a near shriek that dissolves into that mocking ‘ha ha ha’ laugh of his. Harry knows he should feel bad for the way it makes his chest tight, biting at his thumb to keep from giggling. “Might as well theme it dinosaurs then. Oh! Or, make a cake with a grim reaper topper. Maybe a few tombstones scattered around.”

“Louis!” Harry hiss whispers, shaking his head. “It’s not that-“

“Don’t say it’s not that old, love, when I know you’re less than half his age. I saw your paperwork, remember?” Louis scoffs loudly and Harry can almost imagine him rolling his eyes. “Turn twenty-two in a few months, don’t you?”

“It’s not about me.” Harry huffs, ignoring the flush to his cheeks. Louis is so flippant sometimes about the ways he knows Harry, about the little details he pays attention to. Nothing gets past him.

“Oh, but it is. Everything is and should be about you, darling.” Louis answers smoothly, that little, flirty lilt back in his voice. “But I’m confused love, you said he was your sugar daddy, not your sugar grandpa.”

“Stop.” Harry snorts again, barely can hold back the bark of laughter he wants to let out from the turn of phrase. “You said you were going to help me, not antagonize.”

“I am helping. I am.” There is more rustling on the other end of the phone, a crack of a lighter, and Harry listens to Louis inhale slowly. If Harry closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the curve of Louis’ lips around the filter, the tendons in his neck flexing as he breathes in.

And that’s the problem with this. Every time Harry even lets his mind slip to Louis, it goes there. He’s right back to being in that dark conference room off the side of the party, Louis’ breath on his neck and his hands pushing down Harry’s panties. Or it’s Louis’ tongue in Harry’s mouth, dominating his every breath as Louis stripped his co*ck. And it’s a feeling that festers, that swims through Harry’s veins, heart jumping every time Louis so much as glances in his direction.

“You’re a bully.” Harry finally mutters, no heat behind it, almost teasing. “Haven’t you ever heard of respect your elders?”

“It will be a cold day in hell the day I respect that dickhe*d.” Louis scoffs again, this time a little sharper, meaner. Harry can almost imagine the furrow between Louis’ brows, the snarl on his lip. Louis usually holds back when Harry is around but it’s not a secret the disdain between the two men.

“Lou-“ Harry starts, means to try and get the conversation back to where he wants it, but Louis cuts him off.

“I’m just stating the truth.” Louis exhales over the line, a sharp little sigh that seems more put on than an actual breath. “And why are you whispering? I can barely hear you darling.”

Harry glances around the apartment, fear clawing up at his chest. He could tell Louis the truth, could confess who is just on the other side of the wall, but the fear crawls up the back of Harry’s throat, choking him. He doesn’t want to see Louis’ disappointed gaze in his mind, doesn’t want to hear it in his voice.

“I’m- It’s late.” Harry manages to get out, cringing at the obvious way his voice cracks on the lie. “I’m tired.”

“He’s there, isn’t he?” Louis’ voice changes, any mirth from before seeming to vanish as his tone turns sharp, going deep. “With you?”

“He’s in bed. I’m in the living room.” Harry answers, doesn’t think it’s worth the lie at this point. It’s not a secret who Harry spends his time with outside of the time he spends with Louis. The other man has to know he sees Craig, it’s part of the deal.

“How quaint.” Louis does that sharp scoff again and this time, Harry knows he’s rolling his eyes. Louis isn’t very good at hiding his annoyance or his anger, it's usually all over his face, and Harry doesn't need to see him to know what he must look like. Whatever he's thinking though, he seems to rein it in with a sharp cough, swallowing back whatever scathing remark he had planned and letting out a loud sigh instead. “So, what’s the theme then? Turn of the century? Since he was around for it?”

“No.” Harry chooses to ignore the slight, clearing his throat a little but remembering to keep his voice soft. “I was thinking an American theme. Maybe golden age? Great Gatsby? Lots of champagne and diamonds. Craig didn't really give me an idea of what he wanted but I figured that was to taste.”

“Sounds nice, darling. Very posh and class.” Louis seems genuine in his response, his tone slipping low into that cooing he does that Harry likes to think belongs to him. Harry has only heard it directed at him, at the very least, Louis' Northern accent thickening a little. “I suspect you'll invite all of London's finest and most expensive then?"

"I was given an appropriate list." Harry admits with a shrug, doesn't feel like being offended again. "I'm allowed to bring Zayn, so that will be nice. Someone of normal caliber."

"I reckon I'm on the list as well. Posterity's sake and all." Louis prys just a little. "Large party and with you as the host. Shall I fill a room with flowers for you then? White roses as far as the eye can see? Don't need a green light with eyes like yours.”

“Am I your Daisy then?” Harry asks, rubs his fingernail down the side of his thumb. They’re painted a pale pink, a pearly sheen on top. The last time they saw each other, between Niall leaving the room to fetch another guitar and Liam coming in to pull Louis for a meeting, Louis had kissed his knuckles down to his fingertips, blue eyes gleaming up and Harry's breath had caught hard in his throat.

“Would you like that?” Louis asks, softly like he’s afraid he might spook Harry if he’s louder. It’s the type of tone that is used for secrets and confessions. “Think you fit the part already, wouldn’t you say? Some beautiful socialite that belongs to someone else? An impossible dream.”

“That’s not very fair, is it?” Dropping his gaze to his lap again, Harry takes in a shallow breath, chest feeling tight. He knows he shouldn't say it but it comes out anyway. "I don't think I belong to anyone."

"No. I suppose you don't."

Louis lets it linger, not a barb exactly but the sad and honest truth. Harry doesn't belong to anyone he's willingly given himself to, not anyone who doesn't have a price tag on him. It's a bittersweet realization, something that makes Harry pull the blanket around him a little tighter, annoyed that he's so affected.

Seeming to sense the mood, Louis finally lets out a little cough, interrupting the tension to further along the idle chatter.

"Have you picked a place then? The Triumph maybe? Down on the East End? Has that gold and glass ballroom, real class."

"I've tried. It'd be perfect but they're completely booked up for the twenty-sixth." Harry pouts a little, sighing loudly. He had called nearly a week ago to book the place but the woman on the phone had been insistent they were completely rented out.

"Ah, love, you should have told me. I can work it out for you. When did you say? The twenty sixth?" Louis asks flippantly and in the background, there is the sound of a keyboard being typed on.

"I already tried. They're completely booked." Harry argues, sighing again loudly. "Believe me, I was on the phone with the agent for a good thirty minutes. There is no moving of the schedule."

"Well, considering I own the place, I think they'll make an exception." Louis lets the words linger, said in an off hand sort of way that makes Harry's stomach drop a little, chest warming up. It's just so easy for him to take control of things, to figure them out, to fill in when Harry is left with an open hand and no plan.

"Really?" Harry ends up gasping, free hand straying up to his mouth. "Oh Lou, you have no idea how much that would help me. I've been calling places all afternoon."

"Of course, baby. Whatever you need."

And like that, the room gets sucked out of oxygen. Harry actually hears himself gasp at the pet name, mind going blank except for that word repeating over and over in Louis' slurring accent. It just feels so natural for him to call Harry that, like it's how it's always been, when in reality it's almost like a curse - a forbidden word that sparks a thrill every time he hears it.

"Thank you."

Harry mutters, draws his eyes down to his hands again, feels that festering knot of anxiety starting to twist up in his stomach. It's like he's afraid that somehow, from all the way across the flat, that Craig knows. That he's going to come bursting out of the bedroom door any minute, accusations falling from his cruel mouth.

"Right." Louis mutters shortly, only the hint of frustration bleeding down the line. "Well, I should probably try to sleep and you should go back, you know, with him."

"It's not what you think." Harry answers quickly, feeling like he needs to get it out. "It's just sleeping. He asked and I-"

"I shouldn't know this." Louis interrupts him, not cruelty, but with this hollow kind of sound to his voice. Harry hates it.

"I know but-" He tries to explain himself, though honestly, Harry isn't sure where he's going with it. Louis doesn't give him a chance though.

"I can't know, baby. Don't tell me. Because you know that the thought of him on top of you is-" Louis abruptly cuts himself off, the words he didn't say left to linger in the silent space between them. Harry desperately wants to know what he's going to say but just as he gets the courage to ask, his bedroom door swings open.

"Harry? What are you doing? It's four in the morning." Craig growls out, his dark and gray hair sticking up in the back from his hand. "Who the f*ck are you on the phone with?"

"It's my sister. She's on holiday and forgot time zones." Harry automatically replies, has to fight the cringe from happening as Louis sighs loudly in his ear.

"What? Oh. Well, come back to bed." Craig mutters, waves an annoyed hand at him. "It's too late for chatting."

"Okay darling. I'm coming." Harry lies, waits for Craig to disappear - bedroom door left open - before he turns his attention back to the phone. "Alright love, have a-"

"Yeah yeah. Your employer calls." Louis snaps, any sort of mirth or affection lost in his tone now. It's like a spell has been broken and Louis is back to his annoyed and vicious way of speaking when Craig is involved. "I'll talk to you later."

"I'm sorry. Goodnight, love. Talk to you soon." Harry rambles, can't seem to end one word before the other one is beginning. He barely hears Louis' quiet goodnight before he's hanging up the phone, pressing the screen into his chest.

There is something rotten and sour building up in the back of Harry's throat, but if it's tears, Harry doesn't have the time to let them out. With as cruel as Louis' words had felt, he's right. Harry is still on the clock, so it's with a hesitant sigh that he manages to get up to his feet. He's nearly across the living room when his phone buzzes in hand though, Harry pausing and nearly dropping his phone when he checks the notification.

It's another selfie, this one a little further away so Harry can see the full length of Louis' tattoo, his chest, down onto his stomach. He's still a little sleep rumpled but in this picture, he's looking at the camera lens with a definite gleam to his eye, incredibly sexy and alluring. It's followed shortly under with a text note reading 'sleep well, baby.' Harry has to take four deep breaths before he manages to get up out of the chair.

- - -

It's been a long day in the studio already when the mic suddenly fizzles loudly and gives out. Harry is in the middle of a chorus, high note held suspended in the air and then swooping down to a slow scale. It would have been perfect if they had actually managed to get it recorded, but as it is, Liam instantly yanks out his phone and starts yelling for a tech and Niall uses the opportunity to stretch his legs and go for a spot of tea.

Squirming a bit on his stool, Harry pulls his phone out just as Louis comes into the booth, thumbs flying over the screen. It's apparently now the standard between takes, Harry replying to caterers and event staff and florists. Louis has given his opinion a few times, some insight into which designers to use or what would look nice in the venue. Harry had taken all of his suggestions with big eyes and a soft 'thank you' and how is Louis supposed to feel bad about that?

He lets the tech in, the guy hurrying to disconnect the mic and undo a few wires. Louis tries to pay attention, tries to keep his focus on amp levels and feedback registers but Harry sighs at his phone, tugging at his bottom lip, and Louis' eyes dart over to him again.

"f*ck." Harry mutters, tapping a few times before letting out a louder sigh.

Louis watches as Harry runs a hand through his curls, ruffles them up before pushing them to the side. It's a practiced, agitated sort of move that Louis wishes he could have helped with, would love to sink his fingers back along those soft strands, tilt Harry's face up to him.

It feels like he's going a little mental with it. Louis isn't stupid. He knows that this birthday party must be leading up to something, must be a big show of Harry's loyalty. Craig doesn't deserve it but that's besides that point. Still f*cks him up a little though, the wondering and jealousy, the knowledge that Louis has had his hands all over Harry but it's not like he can claim that as any worth when Harry's practically been branded by Pritchard.

"Should be all set, Mr. Tomlinson." The tech interrupts Louis’ downward spiraling thoughts, packing up a few pliers into his small kit. “All fixed for you. Shouldn’t cause you any more trouble.”

“Great, lad. Thanks.” Louis mutters, arms crossed over his chest and thumb against his bottom lip, he swings his gaze slowly along the curve of Harry’s spine. He’s still typing away at his phone, furrowing slightly. Louis wants to trail his hand down the soft fabric of that shirt, pull Harry into his side, bury his nose in the sweet scent of his curls.

“If you need anything else, I’d be happy to help Mr. Tomlinson.” The tech – Nate maybe? – nods again, awkwardly coughs after like he’s waiting for something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t seem to get it and Louis barely notices him backing out of the room, a little jerky in the movements. It's not that Louis runs a company on fear, just expects things to be done well and quickly. He must be a little nervous to be around the boss is all.

"Mr. Tomlinson. Uh, Mr. Tomlinson, sir." Harry mocks with a loud snicker as the door clicks shut, trailing his eyes up from his phone with a grin. "Anything for you, Mr. Tomlinson."

"What are you on about, you cheeky thing?" Louis laughs loudly, swatting his hand at Harry's knee. His legs are crossed, sat pretty on top of the stool, so he can't escape when Louis changes the motion, slipping his palm up Harry's thigh instead.

"You can't tell me you didn't notice. He was basically frothing at the mouth for you." Tilting his phone away, Harry uses his free hand to trace his fingertips over the front of Louis' shirt, slipping his fingers between the buttons, using it to tug Louis closer. "Was pretty sure he was going to offer to drop to his knees if you so much as looked at him."

"Oh, is that so? Guess I was distracted." Louis murmurs, leans in and presses a slow kiss to Harry's mouth. He tastes like green tea, like the gum he had been chewing on before they started recording. Louis can feel the bite of it on his own tongue.

"Hm? By what?" Harry asks, grinning wide enough his dimples dent his cheeks.

"By looking at you and hoping you'd drop to your knees." Louis can barely get it out without grinning, laughing when Harry's jaw drops, slapping a hand down on his shoulder.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Harry scoffs, playing at being offended even as his cheeks turn rosy.

"Very much." Agreeing, Louis uses his grip on him to reel Harry back in for another kiss, slow and sweet, uses his tongue to trace over the curve of Harry’s cupid’s bow before slipping inside. It causes Harry to hum in pleasure, arching his back to get closer, arms going around Louis' waist.

"You want me to suck you off?" Leaning back, Harry whispers it against Louis' mouth, those wide green eyes trailed up to Louis'. "Wrap my lips around you? Right here?"

"And ruin that pretty voice of yours?" Louis asks, trails his thumb down along Harry's jaw, dips into Harry's dimple before tracing along his bottom lip. "When I need you to record an album for me?"

"You're the one who always tells me to warm my throat up first." Harry smirks, tongue coming out to lap along Louis' fingertip. "Is this not a good throat exercise, Daddy?"

"Watch it." Louis growls, glances up at the booth to make sure it's still empty before he grips the back of Harry's curls, tugs his head back so Louis has an easier time of ravaging him. “Such a dirty mouth on such an angel face.”

He f*cks his tongue into Harry's mouth like he wishes he could inside of him, a little rough and overwhelming but Harry moans low, hand desperate on Louis' back, scrambling for purchase. He only pulls away when Harry's phone pings again, a notification coming through on the screen.

"Sorry. It's Zayn." Harry is gasping when he pulls back, bites at his bottom lip as he reads over the screen. "He's bailing on me for this afternoon."

"For what?" Louis rocks back on his heels, runs a hand through his hair, tries to cool off. It should only be a moment before the others are back anyway. It’s not like in the office where they can lock the door, send everyone away.

"He was supposed to go dress shopping with me for the party, but I think he has plans with Liam instead." Harry shrugs a little, letting out another adorable sigh. "It's not a big deal. I have stuff at home I could wear."

“Do you want me to make Liam work? I could come up with something for him to do.” Louis offers, can’t stop himself from reaching out and fixing the collar of Harry’s shirt, straightening him out a bit. At least this way, it won’t be as obvious that they’ve been ruffling each other up. “Could break a contract or have someone leak out something out of a NDA.”

“No, no.” Giggling, Harry taps his hand onto Louis’ chest again, lets it linger as he types a few more words on his phone. “I think they have reservations at Le Gavroche. Zayn has been ecstatic about it all week. I must have missed the times lining up.”

“Le Gavroche, eh?” Louis lets the French roll over his tongue, sounding out the words. “Very class. Payno has good taste.”

“I think Zayn would be pleased with going to McDonalds if it meant a real date he wasn’t being paid to attend.” Harry sighs a little melancholy, fingertips spreading out over the seam on Louis’ buttons, feeling out the small brass circles. He looks a little sad for a moment, wistful maybe, as he stares at the back of his own right hand. They’re ringless for once but Louis notices the way he rubs his thumb over his right, middle finger’s lowest knuckle. “I can’t take that from him. I’ll just pick something from my closet. I have to have something with tassels and some beading. It’s not really about what I’m wearing anyways.”

"I could go with you." Louis offers, holds back his cringe at how eager he sounds, turning on his heel to fiddle with a few cords behind him. He can’t seem to reign it in when it comes to Harry, always wants to fill up all his free time with him, jumps at the chance. Louis isn’t usually like this, he plays it cool, but with one hopeful, big eyed stare from Harry and Louis can’t stop himself. “Shopping that is. If you want company or what not. I have an open afternoon. Susie cleared me schedule.”

“You would…Are you sure? It’s kind of boring. I mean, all I’ll be doing is trying on clothes. And I’m pretty picky.” Harry glances up from his phone again, nibbling on the corner of his lip. “I don’t want to annoy you or anything.”

“Love.”

Louis doesn’t want to think about what in Harry’s life has caused him to be insecure about something as simple as a shopping trip. Or the way he seems to shrink in on himself when Louis steps back over to him, shyly dropping his eyes. Reaching down with a gentle hand, Louis guides Harry’s face back up, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to go. Besides, an afternoon of watching you try on expensive clothes sounds like a dream compared to sitting up in my office with nothing but the view to keep my company.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped, a match catching to flame as Harry’s face breaks out in a slow grin, the type that makes his dimples go deep and his eyes gleam. Louis loves this smile. Loves it so much because it feels like only Louis can really pull it out of him. He’s never seen Harry even remotely smile like this at anyone else, least of all Craig, so it feels like a secret. Like a glow hidden in a book that only Louis can find because he knows the right page.

“Alright. The company would be nice.”

“It’s a date then.” Louis smirks, can’t help it with the way Harry’s head springs up, mouth falling open a little in a gasp. Before he can say anything though, Liam and Niall both come bounding into the room and whatever Harry was about to say is lost in the noise.

- - -

Louis isn't a stranger to this kind of shopping. He has a plethora of siblings, after all, and once he made it big, he made it kind of his thing to take them out and spoil them. It's just that usually when he has Lottie or Fizzy, Louis resigns himself to sitting on couches, drinking expensive champagne or wine, and giving his opinion every time the girls come out of the fitting room. Or, if he really likes the brand they're in, he'll browse for himself or peruse. Louis likes to think of himself as casually fashionable, more geared towards tailored cuts or sportswear than flashy trousers and such.

Shopping with Harry though, is an entirely different experience all together.

They enter a boutique in Soho that Louis has never even noticed before, some foreign name etched into the glass on the front door. Inside, the displays are laid out to seem almost intentionally messy - like a thrift shop with a thousand pound price tag. Whereas Louis often finds himself in black and white stores - places like Chanel, Hermes, Yves Saint Laurent, hell even Adidas - this shop seems to boast every color, fabric, and design possible.

Harry is greeted warmly by one of the shop girls, who comes to kiss both his cheeks with an air of familiarity around them. Louis doesn't have to wonder how often Harry has come in here, judging by what he saw in Harry's closet, he's not afraid of a bold pattern or a bit of sequins. Still, it sits warm and fond in Louis' chest, Harry bringing him somewhere that screams of his personality and taste.

"No, thank you Lizzie. I think we'll just browse for a bit, love." Harry is saying, a pleasant grin in place as he tilts his head in Louis' direction. "I've brought reinforcements this time."

"I see." Lizzie, who is a five-foot three mass of neon pink hair, nods once with a sly smirk taking over her lilac painted lips. "Shall I start a room then for you? The big one in the back? For you and Mr.- "

"Tomlinson. Mr. Tomlinson." Harry fills in easily, leaning back on his heels so he can hook his arm through Louis', pulling them together. Louis tries to ignore how warm it makes him, that little showing of territory, Harry claiming him. "And yes, thank you."

"Of course. I'll get that right open for you." Lizzie nods again, small hands clasped before her in a short bow. "Mr. Styles. Mr. Tomlinson. Please let me know if you need anything else."

She scurries off, kitten heels tapping on the polished tile floor. It isn't until she's out of ear shot that Harry lets a little giggle slip out, leaning into Louis' side. It puts him close enough that Louis can feel the heat of Harry's body through his hoodie, gets a waft of his floral perfume as he shakes his head a little.

"What is it about you that makes everyone want to call you that?" Harry asks, tilting his head a little like he's thinking about it, a loose curl hanging down to frame his cheek. "Mr. Tomlinson. You really can't help it, can you?"

"Help what?" Louis scoffs lightly, shuffling his feet apart a bit. It seems to only make Harry's grin widen though, dimples in his cheeks.

"That! Right there. You can't help just giving off this-" Harry pauses, searches for the word with another one of his giggles. "This big dick energy. You walk in a room and everyone instantly knows you're the boss. Daddy to the max."

Louis has to smother his own loud laugh behind his hand, delighted when the sound only makes Harry snort in response. It gains them a few looks from the other patrons in the shop but Louis doesn't care, uses the opportunity of distraction to slide his hand down, lacing their fingers together. It seems to jolt Harry into realization, but before he can do anything, Louis tugs him forward, brushing a kiss to his cheek.

"Is that what you thought when you saw me?" Louis murmurs, breathes the words directly into Harry's ear. "Knew I could be your daddy?"

"Wanted it." Harry confesses, the jovial mood from before suddenly replaced by a static electricity, like a magnet rocking them towards each other. No matter how bland the situation, they always seem to come back to this – to here with the hushed words and lingering touches. "Could tell you knew what to do."

"Oh, I do. You know that up close and personal now, don't you baby?" Louis asks, reaches up his free hand to brush a few curls behind Harry's ear before kissing his jaw. "Bet you've been thinking about it too. Sitting pretty in that studio, singing your songs for me, wondering when you can take a break and come sit in my lap instead. Want to be rewarded for every note you hit the first time."

"Daddy." Harry whimpers and Louis can tell he's biting his bottom lip. It'd be so easy to tug him out of the store, could have him spread out over the backseat of the town car before they even made it halfway back to Louis' flat. But that's not the point of this trip. Louis was promised a day of playing dress up and he just caught sight of a gogo dress that screams Harry's name.

"Ah. But we are here to shop, remember?" Louis asks, pulls back and holds up a finger between them, playfully tapping Harry's nose when he tries to move away from it. "Dresses first, playing later."

"But-" Harry starts to whine, that little bratty tinge to his voice, but Louis is quick to shut it down with a raising of his brow.

"Do what I say now or you won't get anything."

Harry seems like he thinks about fighting it, bottom lip jutting out before he gives an audible sigh, tossing his curls back. Louis has half a mind to slip his hand into them and tug for the attitude, but Harry sweetens the defiance with a shy little grin, leaning in to rub his nose against Louis' in a soft bunny kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are practically luminescent.

"Come help me pick something nice out, Daddy. Please."

"Alright, darling. That was sweet. Come on then." Louis nudges his head towards the rack. "Let's have a look."

They spend the next half an hour browsing around the store. Whereas Louis usually is a spectator in these types of things, Harry seems genuinely interested in his opinions. He constantly picks something out of a rack and turns to Louis for his approval, waiting to see if Louis will choose a counter offer instead. Whenever Louis suggests something as well - a silver tank top with tassels, a cashmere pair of flares, a mini dress made of the lightest shade of pink georgette - Harry immediately adds it to the pile. It isn't long before they have a nice sized stack going.

Harry seems unbothered as he makes his way towards the back corner of the store, arms heavy with clothes, and ducks through an elegantly carved doorway. It leads to a short hall, the sides lined with numbered doors. He doesn't stop until he gets to the last one on the left, to which Lizzie seems to appear out of nowhere - taking his selections and hanging them on a small rack just inside the room.

"These too." Louis holds out his own, giving a nod of thanks when she adds them to Harry's growing options. Just as before, when she's done, she gives a short bow and then immediately makes herself scarce.

Spotting a plush chair in the corner, Louis is about to head for it when Harry suddenly reaches for him, snagging a finger in the side pocket of his hoodie.

"Where are you going?" Harry asks, a tinge of pouting caught up in his voice, bottom lip curved out to match.

"To sit?" Point a finger over, Louis furrows his brow in confusion. "And wait?"

"No, come in." Harry tugs a little, not enough to rock Louis out of his stance, but enough it is apparent he wants Louis to follow him into the dressing room. "Don't you want to help?"

"Do you need help?" Louis teases lightly, allowing himself to be led towards the white painted door a few steps. “Really, darling?”

"Not getting them on." A wicked grin slowly spreads over Harry's face, tugging Louis closer and closer until Louis has no choice but to step into his space, Harry's back hitting the doorframe. It's not like Louis doesn't know what he's doing. Harry likes being held in place, likes it best when Louis takes control, when he gives him just enough to keep Harry craving more and more. He decides to play into it, rocks forward to pin Harry down, leaning into his face.

"Taking them off?" Louis asks, already knowing what Harry was implying, watching that black swallow up the green. "You want me to help you strip, baby? Gonna let me see what panties you're wearing today?"

"You can take them off too." Harry murmurs, so close his lips brush against Louis' in the faintest of kisses. "Let you have them if you want."

"Hm," Louis can't help to hum, leaning back just slightly to look over Harry's face. He looks already gone for it, a blush high on his cheeks. It hasn't escaped Louis that Harry hasn't pulled his phone out once since they got to the boutique, entirely focused on Louis and Louis' attention, even if the thing has been vibrating off and on the whole time. It makes something hot and delicious fester in Louis' chest, overcome with the urge to keep Harry's attention on him.

"You want to play then, baby? Want to be a good boy for me?"

"Yes Daddy." Harry gasps loudly, mouth falling open on a silent moan. He's good though, perfect, doesn't lean into Louis anymore - stays still and takes what he's given. It's like he already is in the scene even before Louis called for it to begin.

This is a dangerous game. Even Louis knows that, knows that these things have to be taken with extreme caution. Still, he can’t help the way it makes his blood race, hot under the collar as Harry watches him, waits for instructions. They’ve dabbled in this a little before now – Harry submitting, begging, being perfect under Louis’ capable hands. What this is now though, this is another level, another step deeper – one in which Louis is willing to go – but only if they’re both on the same page.

“You’re sure?” Louis asks, lets his tone go solid and normal again, a little higher pitched. “Harry. You have to tell me you’re sure.”

“I am.” Nodding once, Harry guides his hands up over Louis’ chest, hooking them over his shoulders, leaning into him. All Louis can see is those green, green eyes and that strawberry tinted mouth, can smell the violet and honeysuckle when Harry leans in to kiss him gently. It’s a chaste press of lips, more of a reassurance than anything else. “You already have me. Take what is yours.”

Louis isn’t sure he breathes in the next three minutes, struck a little speechless by the words, by the permission. Being a dom isn’t something that Louis has ever taken lightly, and now, with Harry – it feels like even more a responsibility. This is precious. He moves, reaches up a hand to grip into Harry’s hip, pushing him back far enough they can both get into the fitting room and shut the door. It’s a simple, rectangular space with white walls and a large mirror on one end. Opposite, a plush chair is pushed into the corner with the rack of clothes just behind. Louis leaves Harry in the center of the room and goes to claim it as his own, sinking down into the embroidered silk like a king on his throne.

Hands fisted on either side, Harry stands still where Louis left him, only movement the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks a little unsure, heels together, just staring at Louis with an air of expectation around him. Like he knows, eventually, Louis will give him a command. It’s almost intoxicating – the power that it holds.

“I believe I was promised a fashion show.” Louis murmurs, lets his voice go deeper again, that little growl hinting in between the thickening of his accent. “Wasn’t I?”

“Yes.” Harry nods enthusiastically, jolting a little when Louis clears his throat pointedly, correcting instantly. “Yes Daddy.”

“That’s better.” Louis offers the praise a little warningly, a reminder to Harry to watch himself, before he reaches out a hand and touches the rhinestone edge of the gogo dress he picked earlier. “I want you to take your clothes off.”

Harry doesn’t try to agree again, just instantly begins. He slips the hem of his jumper up and over his head, dropping it a little absent mindedly onto the hook on the wall. He’s two buttons in on his shirt when Louis clears his throat again, fingertips pointedly tapping where they rest on either side of the chair. It’s a non-verbal cue but Harry looks a little caught so Louis is careful to give him instructions.

“Slower.”

It’s like a new part of Harry comes undone at the word, his shoulders rolling back, eyes going half lidded as his fingers still on his blouse. He does as commanded though, eases a button through the hole and makes sure to flick the fabric open a little, exposing inch after inch of his chest until it too joins the jumper on the hook. He uses his toes to kick off his boots, tossing his socks after them and then starts on his jeans. This takes the longest with Harry painstakingly popping the button and then slowly dragging down the zipper. They finally pool around his ankles after Harry has to bend to work the tight denim past his pale thighs.

From his vantage point, Louis can see the back of Harry in the mirror and the sight is almost rival to the front. The panties are a pale lilac today, lace on the front with thin straps that arch just under the soft curve of Harry’s hipbones. They continue on along his lower back before they disappear between his cheeks with a small v cut out, ass left completely exposed. Louis can just make out the fading bruise on the bottom right cheek where he loves to sit his teeth, works that bruise in every time he gets to spend his time on Harry.

“Very pretty, baby.” Louis coos, smirking a little when Harry fidgets, running his fingers along the satin straps. “Did you wear those today in hopes I’d see them?”

“Yes.” Harry doesn’t even hesitate, confesses immediately. “I was-“ He censors himself though, biting his bottom lip and Louis gives a short tut with his teeth.

“Now, use your words. You know you can tell me.”

“I was hoping you’d see them.” Harry starts again, face gone rosy, down onto his throat. “And like them on me. Wanted to show you all day but we were working.”

“Get to show me now though.” Louis grins, raising a finger and curling it towards himself, beckoning Harry forward. “Let me have a look, yeah, little dove?”

Harry shuffles forward until he’s poised right before the chair, hands still obediently at his side. His fingers curl up into fists though when Louis reaches out, lets the tips of his fingers brush along the lacy front of the panties, tracing the strap at his hip. They are incredibly soft, delicate in a way that seems to only be found in expensive lingerie. Louis knows Harry has an extensive collection. He wants to see all of it.

Curving out against the lace and silk front, Harry's co*ck twitches every time Louis rubs his thumb along the front of them. He's already so turned on, leaking a little even from the light petting. It must have been torture inside of those tight jeans, all caged up against the unforgiving denim. Leaning in, Louis kisses just above the hem, trails his mouth in a straight line until he can nip at the edge of Harry's belly button.

"Daddy." Gasping, Harry's hands relax and then flex. He doesn't reach for Louis, even if he wants to, which Louis rewards with another kiss, this time in the center of his butterfly.

"You're not going to make it into one of these dresses, are you darling? Already too eager for it." Louis sighs, caresses his hands along Harry's waist. "Been waiting all day, haven't you?"

"I can wait! I can." At the thought of disappointing Louis, Harry instantly starts shaking his head. "I can be good. I will be."

"Hush." Louis soothes, pushes on Harry's hips to get him to take a step back, giving him enough room that he can stand. "I'm not mad. I have a better idea. You didn't do anything wrong."

Seemingly unconvinced, Harry moves to pull his bottom lip back into his mouth but Louis leans in instead, stops the motion with his own mouth. He kisses him slow, lets himself take his time, lets it linger sweet and then deeper. Caressing his hands along the straps of the panties, Louis curves both of his hands onto Harry's cheeks, grips his ass as he sucks on his tongue, dragging his over his bottom lip instead of letting Harry do it to himself.

"Please." Harry whimpers when Louis pulls back to breathe, eyes still closed as he leans into Louis. "Please Daddy."

"Aw, darling. Already begging and you don't even know what for." Louis teases lightly, presses a series of kisses along the sharp cut of Harry's jaw.

"Want whatever you want. Want you." Moaning low in his throat, Harry jolts a little when Louis suddenly reaches up, gripping the side of his neck with his thumb against his Adam's apple.

"Quiet, angel. You don't want everyone to hear you, do you?" Louis pulls back to say, expecting to get a nod from Harry or at the very least a verbal agreeance. What he's met with his Harry's wide, pupil blown eyes staring at him, mouth shut tight. It's only when Harry swallows thickly that Louis realizes what's caused the instant reaction.

"Oh." A wicked, devilishly fond grin slowly takes over Louis' face, brow raising as Harry doesn't so much as blink. "Is this it, then? You like it when I put my hands on your throat?"

As if unsure if he can speak, Harry leans into the hold instead, pushes against the thumb on his throat until it dents his skin. And isn't this interesting? Louis hadn't even considered the possibility of this when they first started - whatever this is. But it makes sense. Harry's whole life is so out of his own control. Of course he would crave a collar, something to ground him, a physical reminder of safety and security.

"Baby." Louis starts slowly, slipping his thumb off just so Harry can focus on his words. "Can you snap?"

"What?" It seems to spark Harry out of his daze, blinking a few times to clear his head.

"Can you snap, love? Your fingers?" Raising his free hand, Louis demonstrates, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together to create a snapping noise.

"Oh. Yes." Harry nods, lifting a hand and mimicking the motion.

"Good. Good boy." Rocking back a little, it's almost torture when Louis has to remove his hands from Harry's skin, though he knows it's important for this next part. "Now, I want you to take your panties off and hand them to me."

"Yes Daddy."

Answering automatically, though he does give Louis a lingering, confused stare as he bends down, Harrys drags the satin straps over the softness of his thighs, over his calves, stepping out of them one foot after another. When he straightens up, the lilac colored fabric is bunched in his hand, co*ck heavy and trailing over the laurel on his left side. Harry doesn't hesitate to hold them out, though his brow is a little furrowed.

"Thank you." Louis takes them, rubs his thumb over the slightly damp front patch. When he steps forward again, Harry doesn't move.

"Now."

Instructing softly, Louis uses his freehand to reach for Harry's wrists, bringing one up after another until they are pressed together before their chests, almost in a mockery of Harry praying. When he's satisfied with the placement, Louis takes one of the long straps of the panties and loops it around Harry's wrists, the silk resting just below his anchor. Twisting them, Louis repeats the action again, tethering his hands together.

"Very good." Marveling at how pretty it all looks around Harry's pale skin, Louis lets his hands rest on Harry's forearms, waiting to meet his eyes again before continuing. "Can you snap your fingers for me now, love?"

Twisting his hands a little, Harry manages to get his fingers together, snapping them again. Louis can't help the quick warmth spreading through him at Harry's easy following of orders, leaning in to kiss him as a reward. It's only when Harry starts opening his mouth, trying to lean into it, that Louis pulls back again.

"I want you to snap your fingers if you want to stop, okay? No matter what." Making sure to keep eye contact with him, Louis speaks slowly and sure. "You won't be in trouble."

"Okay Daddy." Harry acknowledges, practically thrumming. His co*ck is leaking still, sticky trail along his hip, gone red. Louis is tempted to reach for it, to see how long it'd take to get Harry off, but it'd ruin what he has planned for next.

Forgoing further instruction, Louis rocks back on his heels, lifting up the hem of his shirt and going for his belt. It's a simple one, black leather with a silver buckle, whishing slightly when Louis yanks it from his jeans. If Harry suspects what’s about to happen next, he doesn’t let on as Louis stares at him, tracks his gaze slowly from the blown pupils to the splotchy blush to the leaking co*ck. Harry is a vision – a creature that poets and artists have been trying for years to capture. He’s singular in his own brilliant and gorgeous way.

Carefully, almost tender, Louis reaches up and loops the belt around Harry’s shoulders, lets the leather dangle down to tease him for just a moment before he threads the buckle again. The clicking of the prong over the leather feels deafening in the small fitting room as Harry draws a sharp breath and holds it, eyes going huge the tighter Louis pulls. They’re close enough that Harry can’t miss the soft, soothing sounds whispering out from between Louis’ teeth, sweet words of comfort. If Harry is nervous, he doesn’t show it, doesn’t resist though, let’s Louis tighten the belt closer and closer until the buckle sits snugly against his Adam’s apple. Slipping his fingers behind, Louis checks for enough space that it won’t strangle him unnecessarily, before he latches the belt in place, giving it a few inches of slack before he wraps the tail around his fist a few times.

Louis has never been with anyone, has never dreamed of anyone, who is as good at this as Harry is. It doesn’t even seem like a skill, like it’s part of his instinct, swims through his DNA. All Louis has to do is nod his eyes to the floor, tug on the belt turned leash slightly, and Harry folds. His knees hit the blush carpet, head upturned, tied hands clasped before him like a prayer. God isn’t here though, in this room, no one to spy or turn judgement on the two of them.

“Good boy.” Louis praises, reaches his free hand out to sink into Harry’s curls. “Very good.”

Leaning into the touch, Harry’s eyelashes fan over his cheeks, lips parting on a ragged breath. He’s so turned on, trembling even from the soothing touch, fingers curled down tight. Louis wants to keep this image in his mind forever – the ease of submission, the trust, the golden lights all over Harry’s skin. It’s a thrill of getting caught and also the knowledge that this belongs to him – this version of Harry – pleasured and submitting Harry – belongs to Louis and Louis only.

“Special baby, aren’t you? One in a million type of boy.” Louis coos affectionately, slipping his hand out of Harry’s hair to reach for the front of his pants, working open the button. “Been thinking about this all day, if I’m being honest. Couldn’t stop looking at this mouth.”

As if subconsciously, Harry trails his tongue quickly over his lips, already stained and bruised from their rough kisses. His oral fixation isn’t exactly a secret – always tugging and biting on his lips, chewing gum constantly. Louis has thought about this a lot, thought about how good Harry would be at it, what he’d look like with his lips stretched around Louis, moaning deep in his throat.

“You want to, darling?” Louis asks softly, works his trousers down enough that he can get his co*ck out. He’s sticky at the tip, flushed red as Louis jerks himself a few times, relieves some of the pressure. It’s an honest question – sure to ask for consent even as Louis’ whole body seems to catch fire as Harry slowly rolls his eyes up to stare up at him, licks slow over his bottom lip. “Gonna show me how good you can be on your knees for me? Earn it with no hands? Come on angel. Tell me.”

“Please.” Harry gasps sharply, eager with a hint of a whine at finally being given permission to speak. “Please Daddy. Want you. Promise to be so good for you.”

He goes to lean forward, manages to rub that bottom lip of his just over the crown of Louis’ co*ck in an aborted kiss just as Louis tugs on the leash, halting Harry mid-lean. It’s not enough to throttle, but it catches sharply, jolting Harry and letting another pearl of precome leak down the length of Harry’s co*ck. This isn’t the time nor the place to explore that, Louis isn’t about to get into choking in the middle of a high end boutique’s fitting room, but he files it away for later.

“Spoiled brat.” Louis clicks his tongue, uses the leash to ease Harry back into his original position – knees spread, sitting low. “You just expect to get it on your own terms now? Think you can call the shots?”

“No Daddy!” Harry whimpers, shaking his head slightly. His hands flex in his binding but he doesn’t reach out, only settles down where Louis put him. “I just want it. I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

“Aw babe. I know. You just haven’t been given the right Daddy, have you? Someone to take care of it. That ache in you no one has ever satisfied, huh?” Louis coos again, leans down to brush a kiss over Harry’s forehead. “But I’m here now. Going to give you exactly what you need.”

“Please.” Whimpering again, Harry sits so pretty, though it must be killing his knees to sit so low. And Louis can’t deny such a perfect request, adores it when Harry knows just how to make up for his bad behavior.

“You remember how to snap?” Louis asks, uses his hand to wrap around the base of his co*ck as Harry demonstrates the movement, his fingers cracking loudly. “Good boy. You snap if you need to, okay?”

Louis waits for Harry’s nod before he steps forward, leans in slow enough that Harry knows it’s coming, meets the tip of his co*ck with an open mouth and a stuck out tongue. The inside of Harry’s mouth is perfection, so warm and wet, like he’s been salivating for it the whole time. They’ve not done this, stuck mostly to grinding and quick hand jobs, the mix on the piano. There is nothing to prepare Louis for how perfect Harry does this, how his mouth opens wide, lips tight, taking him further and further until Louis taps into the back of his throat.

Heaven is this. Louis is convinced. Harry keeps his eyes trained up, the image of innocence and devotion as Louis slowly rocks his hips back and then forward again. He isn’t trying to hurt him, just wants to see how much he’ll take, but Harry doesn’t flinch away from it. Even as his gaze goes a little watery, Harry keeps taking him in deeper, lets Louis set the pace, just thrusting in slowly. It’s hard not to get caught up in the soft slurps Harry lets out, moaning under his breath, wiggling on his knees.

“sh*t baby. That’s good.” Louis groans, rolls his head up to stare at the crystal light above them. He can’t afford to get too out of control on his next part, needs to focus as he lifts the hand holding the leash and sends it behind Harry, wrapping the leather tighter around his palm before sinking it into Harry’s curls.

The touch is unexpected and Harry pulls back to gasp loudly, laves his tongue over the tip even as it drags over his jaw, left to hang free from lack of hands between them. It doesn’t seem to bother Harry who turns his head slightly to the side, enough to press open, wet kisses along Louis’ shaft. It’s a marvel how he makes something so messy, dirty, look like some sort of worship. Like he can’t get enough of it. It’s enough of a confirmation, a surge of heat coils hot and festering in Louis’ spine and he grips the base of his co*ck, steading it.

“Open your mouth, baby. Real wide for me.” Louis barely recognizes his own voice, the growl going deep as Harry does what he says. He stays on his knees, sits back on his heels, and stares up at Louis with wide, glassy eyes as Louis leans into it, thrusts fully back into his mouth.

Louis trusts Harry to know when to snap, when to say no and mean it. That’s the only reason Louis knows he can tug hard on his hair, his leash, chokes him every time as Louis’ hips snap forward and Harry leans into it. It’s perfection and heat and overwhelming pleasure that has Louis’ knees feeling like jelly in a matter of moments. He can’t stop though. Every thrust in, Harry’s throat constricts around him, seems to be dragging the very high from inside him, sucking it through hallowed cheeks. Harry makes these cut off little moans too, high pitched and needy, squirming on his knees. He already knows better than to ask for more than what he’s getting, even as his hands raise up and then fall back against his chest, nestle in just under his sparrows.

Louis can’t stop watching him, can’t keep his eyes off the way Harry’s blinking through his tears, mouth drooling down his chin. It’s probably a good thing Louis made him strip first, messed up and dripping from everywhere. It’s a sight that Louis hopes he can remember forever, remember who made Harry like this, who brought him to this level of pleasure and release. It’s clear that’s all he’s been craving, someone to know what to do and how hard to push, to keep him safe but also bring him over that last cusp. The fine line between base touch and euphoria.

Face wet with tears, Harry’s big eyes have gone glassy, unfocused as he continues to let Louis f*ck into his throat. Even his clasped hands before him are all twisted up in the panties, messy and eager and perfect. Louis lets his free hand slip down, pets over his wet cheeks, gives him gentle praise even as Harry seems to only tighten his mouth. He drags his tongue in dizzying lines over the bottom of Louis’ co*ck every time he drags back, sucking hard at the tip and just under the crown. He’s an expert, already knows all the places that he can touch, play with, to make stars dance behind Louis’ vision.

“f*ck, baby, I’m close.” Louis hisses through his teeth, hunches over a little to keep his voice down. There is no way they’re being exactly discrete, though Louis doubts anyone is going to interrupt them. “So good for me, angel. Like a f*cking dream. Love you like this. Take it so well.”

It’s as if the admission of Louis getting close only spurs Harry on. He seems to throw himself into it, eyes slide shut, hands clasped before him as Louis pushes inside. He must be nearly choked by now, the leash tight in Louis’ hand, but he remembers to slacken it every time he pulls back, lets Harry gasp in a breath – wet and sharp - before Louis is pushing inside again. It’s a thin line between pain and pleasure and Harry seems submerged in both, wiggling on his knees like he can’t get enough of it.

“Made for this. So good. So, f*cking good. Oh sh*t.” Louis’ mouth won’t stop as he thrusts, careful to keep his grip on the leash tight, collar at Harry’s throat snug, as he finally lets go.

Harry swallows it all, coaxes it from Louis with his tongue tracing over his shaft, throat flexing. He just kneels there, eyes half open, suckling at him like it’s the only thing Harry ever wants to do. Even when Louis is empty and spent and inching back, Harry remains there, lips soft moving over the crown of Louis’ co*ck until he’s forced to release it.

Dropping to his knees, Louis goes to reach for Harry’s own erection, wants to get him off too – only to realize two incredibly important things at once. First, Harry isn’t exactly Harry at the moment. And second, he’s already come. Ropes of white clinging to the carpet between his knees as he rests his hands back against his butterfly, mouth open a little in ragged gasping breaths. Louis can tell – now that he’s on Harry’s level – that his pupils are blown wide and unseeing, a low whine emitting from his throat the minute Louis gets in eye level but not close.

“Easy love. S’alright. I’m here. You’re safe.” Louis murmurs, reaches out careful hands and pulls Harry towards, lets him resist if he wants. He doesn’t, nearly collapsing into Louis, burying his sticky face into Louis’ shoulder. “There’s a good boy. You were so perfect for me, darling. Couldn’t have asked for a better baby.”

Louis doesn’t have that much experience with subspace, but he does what feels natural in the situation – what he knows Harry will like, what will comfort him. He’s held Harry before after, kept him close and kissed his hair. Harry is tactile. One of his major love languages is physical touch so Louis keeps him close, rubbing his hands over Harry’s back, along his sides, before careful to press firmly enough that it won’t tickle or entice him. He wants Harry coming down, coming back to him.

“Going to take this off you, okay?” Louis murmurs, keeps Harry’s head on his shoulder as he reaches between them, carefully unhooking the belt.

He regrets it immediately when he sees the bruise forming where the edges of the belt cut into his skin. It’s going to be hard to explain, Louis knows that, careful to avoid touching them in case he aggravates them more. Louis will just have to buy him a scarf or something, a dumb lie to confuse Craig if he asks. He is gentler when he undoes the panties, careful not to over stretch them, freeing Harry’s wrists and rubbing a thumb over the bones, easing circulation back into them. They don’t look as bad as his neck, but Louis still plants kisses along them, just to sooth them in his own way.

“Haz, babe.” Louis whispers, keeps his movements slow and easily followed. The last thing he wants to do is startle Harry. “I’m just going to move us to the chair, alright love? Can you help me get you up?”

In the end, it’s more Louis than Harry. He gets to his own feet first before bending over and hooking his arms under Harry’s, nearly dead lifting him off the floor. Once he’s upright, Harry immediately clings to him, reaches for Louis’ arm, holds on tight. It only takes them a few staggering steps until they’re both collapsed in the plush armchair in the corner, Louis guiding Harry into his lap, cooing in his ear gently.

There is no time limit to these types of things, no clock counting down. Harry stays sniffling a little, curled up with his knees to his chest, leaning into Louis’. He doesn’t turn away from any of the soft kisses Louis presses to his hair though, his cheek, brushing his face with the side of his thumb. It must be another fifteen minutes before Harry seems to come back, lulled into it by Louis’ slow words, his positive praises, his sweet, sweet little nothings.

“Daddy?” Croaking, Harry finally raises his head, voice quiet and wrecked in the otherwise silent room.

“Hey lovely.” Louis greets with a small smile, his hand warm on the small of Harry’s back. “There you are. Was wondering when my baby was going to come back.”

“I’m sorry.” He seems to suddenly realize what he’s done, trying to sit up straighter, but Louis clicks his tongue and holds him closer.

“Nonsense. You didn’t do anything wrong, love.” Louis waits until Harry glances at him, a little shy, before he lowers his voice even softer. “Do you…Do you understand what happened?”

“Yes.” Harry immediately nods, face going a further shade of rose. “I just wasn’t – I haven’t gone there. Um. With someone before. So, I’m not sure-”

“Oi, darling.” Louis reaches a hand up, cups the side of Harry’s face. “We don’t have to talk about it yet. Especially not in some ritzy changing room, yeah? Rather get you home and get cleaned up before we figure it out, alright? No pressure.”

“Okay.” Harry grins wide, leans in so he’s kissing Louis with his smile. “My place?”

“Alright.”

Louis, true to his word, helps Harry back into his clothes, grimacing with him when he has to help him yank his jeans up over his sweaty thighs. There is nothing to be done about the marks on his neck, looking vibrant and angry, but Louis does slip off his own hoodie, pulls it around Harry and zips it up, tucks the hood up to hide some of the damage. Harry just brushes his fingers over them almost lovingly when he sees them in the mirror, twists his head to see the worst of the damage, fixing the collar only when Louis gives him a pointed cough.

They make their way through the boutique with heads down a bit, careful to try to avoid anyone who might have overheard. They’re almost to the front door though when Louis gives a short sigh, kissing the edge of Harry’s jaw before turning on his heel with a muttered ‘Just a moment love.’

Lizzie looks startled when Louis comes up to the counter, cheeks bright enough to match her hair. Digging in his pocket, Louis manages to produce a business card out of his wallet, sliding it over the cash wrap to her with what he hopes is his most charming smile.

“The clothes in the changing room, we’ll take the lot. Send them and the bill for the er-“ Louis lowers his voice just a little, makes sure no one can overhear him. “For the carpet to me secretary. She’ll get it all sorted.”

“Of course, Mr. Tomlinson.” Lizzie nods once, chartreuse tipped fingers gripping the card off the glass top. “Please let Mr. Styles know it’s always a pleasure doing business with him.”

“Ah. Probably not as much pleasure as my business with him but I’ll send along the message.” Louis winks at her, watches her mouth fall open before he’s back across the floor, arm wrapped around Harry’s waist, leading him out to the street beyond.

The ride over to Harry’s apartment is silent in the back of the town car except for the wet smacks of their lips, too caught up in kissing to realize they’ve reached their destination until Paul – Louis’ driver – pointedly coughs from the front seat. His knowing stare is nothing compared to the one that Felix – Harry’s doorman – gives him. He’s a portly man with a crop of white hair that sticks out under his hat in a jolly sort of way. He gives both of them a deep nod before opening the front door, ushering them in with a quiet ‘Good evening, sirs.’

They get cleaned up in the bathroom together, quick wipe downs interrupted by slow kisses. Louis is extremely careful when he drags the washcloth over Harry's neck, but any guilt about it dissipates at the look on Harry's face - half lidded eyes, raw mouth. Louis could spend all day looking at him like this, feels a little light headed when Harry leans into the touch.

"I liked it." Harry murmurs, like he already knows Louis has mixed emotions about it. "Want your hand next time."

"Next time?" Louis can't help but scoff a little, lessens his grip to move the towel down Harry's chest. "Think we might need to work up to that, love."

"We can start slow, if you want." Harry shrugs a little. He's sitting up on the counter, naked as the day he was born, and it feels dangerous when he wraps his legs around Louis' waist. "Spanking? Tying me up? Maybe a blindfold?"

"Oh? You've got a checklist then?" Louis can't help the fond tilt of his head, letting his arms droop to wrap around Harry's waist. "A wish list, hm?"

"Honey Do List." Grinning wide enough his dimples pop, Harry leans in to receive the kiss Louis was obviously going to give him.

"How do you know I don't want to start with vanilla stuff? Holding hands and kissing you on the doorstep? Plain ol' missionary with the lights off?" Louis teases with a backwards step, letting his arms fall back down to his side.

"Louis, darling."

Harry gives an unimpressed huff, hoping down and plucking the hoodie off the hook by the door. It's the same one Louis put on him at the boutique, the gray fabric worn and thin, a small hole in the cuff from a cigarette burn. He pulls it on, pausing in the doorway to glance over his shoulder, the hem of the jacket just long enough to tease at the bottom of his cheeks, barely covering him.

"You ate me out on top of a piano after you stole my panties at a party. Last week, you put your hand over my mouth and jerked me off in the recording booth while Liam took a nap in the next room. I think we're a little far from vanilla."

He disappears then, leaves Louis flushed and thrumming, just thinking about it. It's not exactly a lie. They haven't been slow about any of this. But how is Louis supposed to hold back when Harry is so good at it? So perfect with his teasing and his submission and his willingness to please? Louis is addicted to everything Harry does - from his smile to his jokes to his long winded explanations to that tongue thing he does when he eats. He's caught up. Love sick, nearly.

He won’t let himself go down that train of thought though, abruptly forces himself to stop it. Louis doesn’t think he’ll be able to recover if he starts thinking about the emotions that seem to be brewing up in his heart every time he so much as looks at Harry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to just be fun, easy kind of f*cking. But it’s not. And Louis knows that.

When he manages to pull himself together (and his pants up), Louis comes out to find Harry has pulled on a pair of sweats, standing in the doorway of his closet with his hands on his hips. He's got his head tilted and Louis comes up behind him, plants a kiss just to the curve of his throat. He smells good here, floral and sweet.

"Thinking hard, little dove?" Louis asks, sneaks his arms around Harry's waist, under the long hem of the hoodie.

"You promised to help me shop for a dress and then you distracted me. Now, I have nothing to wear." Harry sends a pout over his shoulder, nose wrinkling slightly.

“Nothing to wear?” Louis laughs loudly, nodding his head towards the walk in. “Nothing? In that whole department store in there? Nothing at all?”

“Help me.” Harry whines a little, twisting out of Louis’ grip. “It needs to be shiny. Think roaring twenties. Flappers. Art deco.”

“Yes, darling. I know. I’ve been helping you plan it, remember?” Louis rolls his eyes but he sinks into the closet, going straight towards the back where he’s seen a few sequins from the open doorway.

He shifts through a few things, vetoing anything that looks too modern or too harsh. Whatever Harry wears, it has to be soft. Should sculpt around his body, highlight his figure, his deceptively thin waist and the soft curve of his hips, nearly hourglass when Harry accents it right. He settles on a pearly white number with tassels at the bottom and a fluted sleeve, pulling it out from the midst of the chiffon and silks. It has a mermaid shape to it, tight around the bodice and waist and flares out at the knee.

“How about this one? Pretty enough for a pearl?” Louis asks, holding it out in front of him. The back is embroidered with crystals, looks almost bridal in its design. And Louis immediately shuts down that idea. Harry in a wedding dress is too much even for his imagination.

“Oh, I love that one. Haven’t worn it yet either.” Harry sighs dreamily. He’s moved to rummaging through his lingerie dresser, hand deep among the lace and satin. “But too complicated. It has really small hooks up the back of it.”

“So?” Louis asks, steps across the carpet towards Harry, examining the dress. “What of it?”

“It’s hard to get out of. Drunk fingers and all.” Harry shrugs, separating out a pair of lace cuffs from their matching garter belt, a thin chain running between them. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I think I can manage, love.” Louis scoffs out a laugh, leaning over to kiss just behind Harry’s ear where he’s sensitive, growling into it. “I think we both know I'm very good with my hands.”

“Oh.” Harry lets out a soft moan, head tilting back, lapping over his lips as he fights to get the words out. “I have no doubt you could get me in and out of it.”

“Let me see it then.” Louis uses his free hand to ghost over Harry’s waist, settles his palm on one of the laurels. “I was promised a show, remember?”

"No, because I'll want to wear it and he'll just end up ripping it at the end of the night." Harry whines a little, taking a slow breath as he tries to arch into Louis' warm chest. It'd be so easy for them to slip back into it, the heat already simmering between them, Harry still a little hazy around the edges from the subspace. But when he tries to move himself further into Louis' grasp, he's met with empty air.

Louis has taken a few steps back, his body pressed into the opposite wall and shelves. Between them, the dress is sprawled out on the floor from where Louis dropped it. The hem is going to crease something fierce with the way it’s fallen but Harry doesn’t dare reach for it, caught off guard by the look of absolute pain on Louis’ face. It’s a fleeting thing – wide eyes and a gaping mouth – before it seems like he remembers himself. That fierce – powerful – mask slips on. The one reserved for board room meetings and business. Harry has seen it before – that rage – but it’s never been at him.

“What the f*ck are you playing at?”

He doesn’t say it as much as spits it, hands curled at his side into tight fists. The tone makes Harry flinch but he doesn’t dare move from his spot, feels like his legs have been welded to the floor.

“Is this a f*cking game to you then? Having a go at it? A f*cking laugh for later?” Louis continues on, the arch of his eyebrows coming into a deep furrow between. “Answer me!”

“I don’t-“ Harry chokes out, back going straight, jumping at the sharp bark of a command. Louis doesn’t talk to him like this. If anything, everyone else gets that brash and bite, not Harry. He gets the gentle brush of the back of a hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking-“

“Don’t know what I’m talking about? Don’t know what I’m bloody talking about?” Louis points his finger down to the floor where the dress is laying crumpled and sad against the hardwood. “Are you having me pick out the dress you’re going to let that dickhe*d rip off of you? Wrap you up like some f*cking present for him? Here, lad, happy birthday. Oh, the bruises on his throat? Just ignore those.”

“Louis, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” Harry’s brain is short circuiting, words all jumbled in his mouth so it all comes out slow and half formed. But he can’t get his tongue to work when Louis’ eyes flash like that, a little bark of a mocking laugh coming between his lips. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Why is this happening?

“Oh. Oh no. I don’t think you did.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Louis gives a short shake of his head. He’s so confident in his lashing, so cruel in the way he says things now. “So tell me, darling, is this it then? Your big birthday present to him? Letting Prick-chard get it in? Give him a big party for his birthday when really the surprise is getting between your legs?”

“Don’t.” Harry recoils from the harsh wording, biting into his bottom lip.

“Don’t? Don’t what?” Louis’ asks, tone hinging on hysterical, all Yorkshire slur and brass. “Don’t call it for what it is? You’re standing there letting me pick out your outfit like I’m supposed to be alright with it? Like I’m not dressing you up so another man can f*ck you? When an hour ago, I had me co*ck down your throat.”

The words land like a slap, sharp and stinging to Harry’s face. He shuffles back a step, slams his waist and hips into the dresser behind him, shutting the drawer of lingerie with a sharp clap. Louis doesn’t seem to regret it though his face is turning red, a gleaming in his eyes. It’s the light reflecting off them, the chandelier above them scattering beams all over the room, catching on the expensive clothing, the designer handbags, the custom shoes.

Harry doesn’t know why it’s all coming unraveled before he can even get his hands around it. He wants to go back to half an hour ago, back when they were in the bathroom, sharing slow kisses and being entirely too domestic for what this relationship is. And that’s the kicker, the barb that twists deeper into Harry every time he catches himself feeling too much – wanting too much. It’s always the reminder that this – whatever it is between them – it’s not permanent. It’s fun for Louis. It’s a perk of a job, nothing else. Why would a man like Louis Tomlinson care about someone like Harry Styles anyways?

“You knew,” Harry starts slowly, has to force his mouth to move around the words, ”from the very beginning who I was and what I do. You don’t get to throw it in my face now.”

“Oh, I know very well who and what you are.” Louis says it while he pushes himself off the wall, stalking towards Harry. “And what you sound like and what you taste like and all the other parts of you that you sell to him.”

“Stop it.” Shaking his head, Harry recoils further, wraps his arms around himself. “At least you know who I’m with. Where I am. You could be f*cking half of London and I wouldn’t know. I tell you when I’m with him. You tell me nothing!”

Louis’ laugh is loud, head thrown back, throat flexing. Any other time and Harry would love that laugh, that absolute delighted sound. Now though, it’s clipped by sarcasm, by a mocking little lilt to it when Louis lowers his head and stares directly at him, eyebrow raised.

“Now love, that’s just petty. You know for a damn fact where I’ve been. All those late night phone calls. Those little closet meet ups. The backseat of my car. My hands all over you. You know.” Louis moves fast, arms coming down so his hands press into the dresser on either side of Harry’s waist, effectively pinning him back against the wall. “But come on, baby, we were playing a game, weren’t we? You want me to play pimp to you then? Pick it all out? Should I choose which panties he gets to rip off you too? Pretty little garter set for his princess? What position you do it? Seems like a man that only knows missionary to me, but I could be wrong.”

“Stop it.” Harry repeats himself, turns his head to the side, tries to get away from Louis’ harsh words, from his teary eyes. “Just stop.”

“Why? I thought we were planning it out. I chose everything else for the f*cking party.” Louis scoffs loudly, though he doesn’t put his hands on Harry, just keeps going with the words that feel like blows. “Should I just be in the f*cking room then? Give him pointers in the moment on how you like it? How he should touch you? Doubt it’ll last more than a few minutes but I can make sure you’ve given a good time-”

“Why do you even care anyways?” It’s the final straw as Harry turns his head back, whips it around and leans forward, gets in Louis’ face. He’s never been so bold but he’s sure if he keeps hearing it, taking the lashes from Louis’ clever tongue, he might never survive this. Harry might just wilt there forever. “Why the f*ck does any of it matter when you haven’t even f*cked me yourself? Is that what it’s about? Are you mad because you didn’t get first go at it? Then fine, let’s go!”

Harry shoves Louis’ arm out of the way, stalking out of the closet and towards his bed instead. He needs to move, hot and sweaty under the hoodie, chest heaving. He’s not even sure he’s pulling in full breaths, this panicked sort of anxiety squeezing into his chest. When he gets there, Harry reaches down for the tie on his joggers, hands shaking so hard he can barely start in on the knot.

“What are you doing?” Louis murmurs from the doorway, standing awkward now with his hands at his sides, brow furrowed. “Wait-“

“Come on, Tommo.” Harry sneers, glances up through blurry eyes, blinks hard to keep the tears at bay. “Come f*ck me so you’ll feel better when I go do my f*cking job. You want to put it in me first. Have something over him. Then let’s get it in me.”

Giving a sharp hiss, Harry keeps fumbling with the ties, so caught up in his words and his trembling that he just keeps making the knot worse. It’s the words too, the raw and hiccupped way he’s sneering at Louis, teeth clenched tight. Harry can barely breathe let alone make a sentence, but it’s the longer Louis stares at him, mouth open, that the tension seems to rise.

“How-“ He gasps sharply, a warbled sob making its way out of his throat, shattered and thin. “How do you want me? Hands and knees? Face down in the bed? Promise I won’t make a sound. Isn’t that what men like?”

“Harry, wait.” It’s the first time Louis’ voice has lost it’s hard edge, tone gone soft as he steps forward, hand out. “I didn’t mean-“

“You did though. You did mean it.” Abandoning the strings on his joggers, Harry looks up. His green eyes are misty, turned bright and gleaming in the bedroom light, cheeks gone a blotchy shade of red. “So go ahead and call me it. Since you’re already thinking it.”

“I never said that. I never have ever thought of you like that. I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why him? You don’t even like him!” Louis starts slow and his tone turns desperate, loud in the still flat. “You always say it’s your job, but why?”

“It is my job!” Harry repeats for what feels like the millionth time, arms spread wide. “Who do you think pays for this? For the lights to stay on? For the f*cking food in my fridge? For the opportunities that I’ve been given? This is what I chose to do. You know that. You’ve known this whole time!”

“But it doesn’t have to be him!” Louis’ stresses, bringing his hands together before him, pointing his steepled fingers forward. “It never had to be him!”

“Then who? Who else is going to pay for all of this?” Harry throws his arms up, looking around. “Sugar daddies aren’t exactly easy to come by.”

“Me!”

Louis’ voice is so loud, shouting as he takes a step forward, tone dipping sharply into nearly hysterical. It makes the room go silent afterwards, Harry’s mouth caught open on a gasp, cheeks flushed pink. Before him, Louis just stares, chest heaving as he tries to calm down the panicked breathes wheezing out of his chest.

“How much does it cost, love? Just tell me and I’ll make it happen. Whatever you want. You can have it.”

There have been times when Harry has been made to feel less, when a man has put his hands on Harry and he’s been hurt. Sugar babying isn’t always glamorous vacations to Ibiza and shopping trips filled with designer goods. It’s painful, jarring, but nothing - nothing has ever come close to the image of Louis reaching for the wallet in his pants pocket. It hits Harry so hard in the chest he’s sure he’s never going to draw in a breath again.

“Get out.”

Harry whispers, arms curling around himself, pulling the edges of the hoodie tight around him.

“Baby, please.” Louis’ voice cracks, the tears that he was trying to hold back threatening harshly at his lash line, pooled up and making his eyes gleam. “Please just listen-“

“Get out of my house.” Harry repeats himself, voice nearly gone as he starts to shake his head. “Go.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this. I’m asking you. I’m giving you another opportunity.” Louis starts rambling fast but Harry starts walking towards him, backing him up and out of the bedroom, both of them spilling into the hallway.

Whatever bubblegum colored, soap bubble dream that Harry had let linger above his head pops with a solid, heavy blow of reality. Of course, Louis’ solution is to buy him. There aren't any feelings there, no hidden romance, no cherry colored fairytale for Harry to swoon and sigh over. It’s this – the harsh light shining on a situation that Harry should have never gotten himself into. It’s a business transaction and Harry is being asked to sell himself once again.

“I don’t want to hear this. Get out, Louis.” Harry shakes his head, eyes trained to the floor. “Just go.”

“Please, just hear me out. You don’t have to do anything with him anymore. I can make it all go away. I can fix it.” Louis pleads even as he nears the front door, words sharp and desperate. “Harry.”

“I’ve been sugaring for nearly five years,” Harry whispers, voice faint and broken, eyes betrayed when he looks up and meets Louis’. “And no one, no one has ever made me feel cheap and easy as you have. I’m not some whor* you can wave a dollar in front of and get what you want, Louis. I thought you knew that. I thought you knew me.”

He reaches over, yanks the front door open with a sharp tug. Louis can do nothing but back out of it, stare with huge eyes and an open mouth as Harry gives him one more once over, eyes blurry with tears, before he slams the door in Louis’ face. No one is around to hear either of them start to sob, separated by the ornate wood.

- - -

The Fitzgerald’s themselves couldn't have done it better. This is the type of event that resonates, that people talk about for months, end up on lists of highlights of the year. No detail has been spared, no corner overlooked. It's like the moment you step foot in the ballroom, you're transported back to the Roaring Twenties. There are crystals and feathers and jewels draped over everything, decadence and glamor, the jazz band in the corner harmonizes with the crooning singer up front. Even down to the champagne fountain in the corner, truffles wrapped in gold.

Harry has never been more proud of himself, standing in the center of it all, an ostrich fan clutched in hand as he moves the feathers, sending cool air over himself. Everything from the gold flooring to the overhead skylight - all cut glass - is magnificent and nearly divine with the way it all flows together seamlessly. If he wasn't so passionate about singing, Harry might have a future in event planning.

"Starshine!"

A voice interrupts Harry's musing, a figure cutting through the crowd until Zayn appears, arms wide spread in greeting. He's dressed to the nines - a tailored charcoal suit with a deep burgundy waistcoat, embellished with a paisley motif. He's coiffed his hair up, showing off the sharp curve of his cheekbones, his dark eyes, the tattoos on his neck barely peeking out of his collar. Harry only gets a moment to take in the whole picture before Zayn is enveloping him in a tight hug.

"You've really outdone yourself. Really. The place is amazing." Zayn coos, pulling back to cup the side of Harry's cheek in a friendly pat. "Remind me to have you plan my next birthday, yeah?"

"It had to be perfect." Pulling back, Harry lets his gaze sweep over the room again, taking it all in. "Really does feel like another time, doesn't it?"

"It does. And you - Hazza. Look at that dress." Zayn takes a step back, giving him room. "Give us a twirl then."

Unable to keep himself from grinning wide, Harry pivots on his heel, making sure the long strands of beading on his dress flare out with the motion. It's a cherry red color, chiffon with an art deco beading motif up the front, sleeves thin. It shimmers bright in the golden light of the room, like a beacon with his long curls hanging loose around him, a crystal headband with jeweled feather to the side, long rubies hanging down by his ear. Harry had kept it simple on the make up too, just enough shimmer to accent but not enough to take away from the effect the costume had.

He had agonized on what to choose for tonight, itching to put on the white dress that Louis had picked for him, the McQueen flapper dress. And yet every time he went to pick it off the floor, his stomach twisted and he was paralyzed all over by their fight. The yelling and the tears tracking down Louis' face when he backed out of Harry's flat. It had all been so horrible and Harry shudders again from even letting his mind wander there. But no. He can't let himself get caught up in that again, has to focus on the job at hand.

"Craig is going to eat you up." Zayn clucks his tongue, gaze passing slowly over him. “Luckiest man here. Really, can’t even see the room when you’re in it. Wouldn’t be surprised if half the men here try and take you home. Honestly.”

“Stop.” Blushing, Harry swats at him, reaching out to pull Zayn into his side. “You’re just partial because I gave you an invite. Speaking of, where is your lovely chaperone for the evening? I believe I said you and guest.”

“Liam?” Zayn sighs a little dreamily, barely containing his grin as he tries valiantly to make his tone go back to casual. “I left him at coat check. Told him I was coming to find you.”

“You just abandoned him? Poor Liam.” Harry giggles, looping his arm tightly with Zayn’s as he tugs him towards the bar. “In a crowd like this. You know he’s so shy.”

“Liam? Shy? Where did you get that idea?” Zayn laughs loudly, craning his neck to see Harry clearly. “Not everyone has to be Louis Tomlinson loud, you know.”

“I didn’t mean-“ Harry isn’t sure why the mere mention of the name has his stomach falling out, but it does, back gone stiff. He hasn’t told anyone about the fight, not even Niall who texted him nearly every day for the past week asking if he was recovered from his laryngitis enough to come to the studio. Harry had blown him off though, citing no voice so no phone call every time.

“He’s really not. Besides, I’m sure he’s met up with the rest of the lads.” Zayn dismisses, looking around as if he expects to see them. “I’ll see him later.”

“Okay.”

Harry shrugs for lack of better things to say. He knew Louis had gotten an invite. Knew because Harry had personally given it to him in his office before Louis had picked him up and put him on the desk. They had snogged for what felt like an hour, Harry’s mouth stinging and a little raw when Louis had finally sliced the envelope open, complimenting Harry through his soft gasps about the embossing of the card. Harry hadn’t even let him read the whole thing before he was dropping to his knees.

It’s all over now though. Harry knows that. It’s all been f*cked up and turned messy expectations and feelings. And Harry knows that the majority of it is his fault. How can it not be when Harry knows better? The first rule of him sugaring is to always protect his heart. He can’t get caught up in some romantic notion that a man with dollar signs attached to every act of affection actually cares about him. Yes, Louis never paid for it, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to if Harry had asked.

It just had felt different with him. It was never like with Craig or any of Harry’s other daddies. When Louis kissed him, it was like the air was being pulled from the room. Like every one of his nerve endings was high tuned, played like the strings of a guitar by Louis’ talented fingers. He had touched him and Harry had never wanted it to ever stop, to ever end. Even after, when they had laid together on the couch or even in the chair in the fitting room, the way Louis had whispered to him, had talked him down, taken care of him had all felt exceptionally real.

But now, it’s over. And it’s left this gaping, festering, weeping hole right in the center of Harry’s chest.

“You know, we could go find him.” Zayn is saying, sipping out of the whiskey he just ordered. “Say hello to the 28 Records boys.”

“I really can’t. I have to make my rounds.” Harry brushes his hair back over his shoulder, pulls himself tall. He doesn’t have time to be heartsick, all torn up because Louis’ isn’t his soulmate or whatever. He has a job to do and he has to do it now. “Craig is probably wondering where his host is anyways.”

“Wait, did something happen?” Zayn, brilliant and observant that he is, turns to settle a hand on Harry’s waist. “Did someone say something to you? Did he do something? I’ll kill him meself, Harry. I will. And I’ll make Liam help me hide the body.”

“Nothing happened. It’s fine.” Harry forces the thin smile onto his face, leaning into kiss Zayn’s cheek. “Really, Z. I’ve got to dash though. I’ll check in with you later, alright? I owe you a dance.”

“Hazza. Harry!” Zayn protests, trying to catch Harry’s hand, but he’s too quick.

He weaves through the crowd expertly, nodding his greeting to those around him, being careful to seem attentive but busy. It’s the role he’s supposed to play tonight. It only takes him a few minutes to find Craig – stood to the side with a large crowd around him. Harry can’t even breathe a sigh of relief, holds it back as he presses himself into Craig’s side, leans in to kiss his cheek in a move that he hopes reads as blind adoration.

“There’s the birthday man!” Harry croons, feels a little relief when Craig actually looks happy to see him, leaning back in to peck his mouth. “I was worried I wasn’t going to see you all evening.”

“Doll face.” Craig greets, turning to wave his drink at the men around him. “I was just telling the lads how I was so lucky to have someone plan something out like this for me. Harry did it all himself. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Was my pleasure, darling.” Harry places his hand gently on Craig’s chest, lets him wrap his arm around him, palm settling a little too low on his waist. “It’s not every day someone turns fifty, now is it?”

“No, it’s not.” One of the men shakes his eyes, his beady eyes careful as they roam over Harry. It’s a familiar stare, hungry and poaching. Harry knows better than to recoil, keeps himself perfectly still. He’s there to be stared at, isn’t he? Always on display when Craig is paying for it.

“He’s just the sweetest, my boy, just like peaches.” Craig gives a cheeky grope of Harry’s ass and all he can do is grin through it. The other lads laugh it off and Harry remembers to count his breath, to let it all go slow.

It’s easier then to let his mind wander, not needed in the conversation as the men chortle and laugh around him. Harry is good at this, disassociating, knowing the right time to smile and laugh. He takes Craig’s wandering hand with an air of ease to it, leaning into his side, hand on his chest. To the outside, Harry is sure he looks close to a doting, loving wife. Someone to stand beside Craig, to be his partner, how very far from the truth the whole farce is.

He's on the third verse of an old nursery rhyme, reciting Mary Mack until the lines seem to blur in his brain. It's something he does sometimes when he's meant to stand and be pretty but not contribute. Remember little poems or verses in a song, anything familiar and comforting, a game to play while he waits to be needed. Craig is in the middle of telling some long winded story about one of his board meetings, getting all the men around him invested. It's boring and obnoxious and that must be why Harry allows himself to turn his head at the exact moment the crowd decides to open up.

It really is an uncanny skill that he has. Harry has seen a lot of powerful men in his time, a lot of dollar signs and status hanging around the necks of the elite. But no one, no one commands a room's attention quite like Louis Tomlinson. It's like the static electricity in the room is centered on him as he walks forward, flanked as always on either side by his crew. Harry at least knows most of their names now - Niall and Liam on either side, then falling behind in ranks is Oli and Calvin and Luke and that other guy - Mark maybe.

He looks immaculate, like he stepped out of the black and white screen of some Peaky Blinders film. A black suit tailored close to his body, tailored so his shoulders look broad, biceps flexing under the slightly tartan printed fabric. His shirt is buttoned up with a slim tie, hair spikey and coiffed up from his face. It's a dark contrast to his piercing gaze that seems to sweep over the room with an air of disinterest until it lands directly on Harry.

There it is. That same familiar feeling of the air being sucked out of Harry's lungs, stomach turned hot and coiling. All Louis has to do is raise an eyebrow and Harry has the distinct urge to drop to his knees, to pull away from Craig's pitiful hold on him. It takes all of Harry's willpower not to, turns his hips a little further into Craig's side, is not proud of the way he does it to show Craig's palm on his ass.

Louis' reaction is slow, hands rubbing together before him, a co*cky little tilt to his head. It's a game, after all. Even Harry knows that as he reaches up to brush the curls off his shoulders. The bruises on his neck have mostly faded over the week, though he did have to take some concealer to the worst ones in the front, hidden under the crystal choker Craig bought for him. If it's cruel - hiding another man's mark under another man's present, well, Harry can be a little bitter too.

"Pay attention, princess."

Craig's hand seems to come out of nowhere, reaching up to grip Harry's chin, yanking his head back over. His fingers are a little sweaty, clammy on Harry's expertly done up face as Craig leans in and kisses him hard. It's a claiming sort of kiss, more to show off for his friends than for pleasure, but Harry closes his eyes against it, lets it happen. Craig doesn't bite him when he's open like this so it's a plus.

"Let's go for a dance, yeah?" Craig murmurs, breath smelling sharply like scotch when he leans in to kiss Harry again. "I know you'd like that."

He's happy with Harry. Pleased at him throwing him such an extravagant and well thought out event. Craig likes when he's the center of attention, when he outshines others, and with Harry on his arm - no one really compares. It's when he starts leading them over to the dance floor that Harry manages to send a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Louis raise his arm. Slipping against his side is some pretty thing, a boy with big eyes and a ton of gold curls framing his jaw. Harry doesn't know who he is, only manages to catch a glimpse of him, but Louis seems familiar enough when he starts guiding him towards a couch, laughter caught up in his hair.

It's one thing for Harry to be with Craig. It's another for Louis to flaunt some new tart around. Harry has been with Craig the whole time. Louis knew that, has known that, so is this how the revenge is going to go now? They're just going to shove their relationships in each other's faces? Harry doesn't have time to think about it, doesn't dare let his mind wander there when he has a job to do.

Craig spins him in a slow circle before drawing him close, fitting his hand low on Harry's back while he holds the other against his shoulder, the both of them dancing chest to chest. He's usually got about an inch on Harry, a good fifty pounds heavier, but with Harry's kitten heels, they're about the same height now. It's enough for Harry to know how to make himself look smaller, shoulders rolled in, looking up through his lashes.

"You've done a very good job tonight, doll face." Craig coos at him, leads them in a small circle. "I'm very impressed."

"Wanted your special night to be something to remember." Harry answers honestly, tries to pour as much affection and sugar into it as he can. "You deserve a big party. You work so hard all year. Should celebrate you."

"Are you going to celebrate me?" Craig asks with a fond smile, his eyes sparking a little. It's the unspoken agreement, the end of it all. "Been waiting a long time to unwrap my favorite present."

"Don't want to spoil the surprise." Harry whispers, leans in to kiss Craig's cheek. It must look so pleasant to everyone watching, like two lovers celebrating in the middle of the gold dancefloor. Harry can celebrate the aesthetic of it all, can’t he? "Haven't even gotten to your cake yet, Daddy."

"Maybe you can give me a taste, hm? A little preview of what I'm about to get?" Craig's hand slides down Harry's back, rings catching on the expensive beading before he grips a handful of his ass again. "Think I deserve it, princess. I've been a very patient man."

"Daddy!" Harry gasps, turns his head to the side to hide his burning cheeks. It's not coy or playful or even that attractive, the way Craig paws at him. He’s a man that knows what he wants and what he paid for, lacking little finesse when it comes to actually getting it. Harry tries to hide the curl of disgust threatening on his lip, but just as he puts his head down on Craig's shoulder, he sees him again.

Louis has made his way to the couch by now, sat in the middle with his legs spread open, looking casual and confident with his lads around him. But Louis has always been like that, fits into any social circle he wants to, places himself in the center of attention. Harry can see from here that he’s nursing a few fingers worth of scotch, glass in hand, head tilted as Oli whispers into it, grabs his attention about something. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes seem to gleam a little gold, and it’s almost as entrancing as the cut of his shoulders when he sets his elbows on his knees.

Resting his cheek down against Craig’s shoulder, Harry lets himself look, lets it be obvious. It’s not like Louis isn’t staring right back at him, unbothered as the crowd moves around them, breaking their line of vision until someone shifts away and they have it again. As hurt and angry and upset Harry is, it feels almost soothing to have Louis’ attention on him. To know that when he’s looking, Louis is looking right back, that he’s being seen. Seen in a way that only Louis has ever really been able to.

The trumpet behind them starts a slow melody, the piano coming in just behind. Harry closes his eyes against the familiar tune, can almost imagine Billie Holiday herself crooning from the stage.

I'm a fool to want you
I'm a fool to want you
To want a love that can't be true
A love that's there for others too

Raising his glass off the table, Louis lifts it a little higher in a toast, tips it back just as the boy – the pretty one in the lace suit - leans into his side. He’s sitting next to him, legs crossed, head tilted down as he murmurs at Louis – like it’s familiar, intimate. It’s cutting, the curl of his hand on Louis’ shoulder, down onto his chest, grinning at whatever he’s saying. Louis doesn’t flinch away from it, lets him do what he wants, his lips caressing over Louis’ jaw. It sits heavy in Harry’s chest, compresses against his lungs, makes his stomach turn over.

He knows that the kiss is too high. Louis has a sensitive spot a few inches down, more towards the back of his neck. It’s just beyond a freckle there. Harry has lapped over it before, can almost hear the catch in Louis’ high moaning when he bit into it. Harry had found it himself one afternoon spent snogging in the back of Louis’ car parked out at the pier.

“Craig-“ Harry gasps, goes to pull away, some half-formed excuse trying to wedge its way out of his throat. Anything to get away, to hide from the sight of someone else trying to discover it, away from Louis’ head tilting into the kisses.

“The song isn’t over yet, darling.” Craig slips his hand out of Harry’s, slides it along the back of his neck, shoving him down. It’s an iron grip, the way his fingers wrap into his curls, keeping him in place as he slowly begins to sway them again. “Don’t.”

“I just need the restroom.” Harry tries to say again, knows better than to make a scene, but Craig’s hold on him doesn’t let up, palm firm around his neck. “Please-“

“I said no.” Voice going deep, Craig’s nails bite into Harry’s neck around the crystal choker he’s wearing, sharp enough to draw blood if Harry keeps wiggling away from it. It’s like prey in the jaws of a lion, Harry going limp instantly when Craig rotates his hips forward, his hardon dragging along Harry’s hip. “Be good now, pet. Let’s not ruin it.”

Taking a slow shuddering breath, Harry leans his cheek a little harder into Craig’s shoulder, makes sure to roll his posture into him. It must look so intimate, the way they curve together, Harry a shimmering beacon on the floor and encased in Craig’s arms. Harry wonders if that’s how it looks to Louis, if he can tell something is wrong in the way Harry is holding himself, the blank expression on his face. Or is Louis lost in the caresses of someone else?

Craig turns him, puts his back to the scene unfolding before Harry, keeps his hands where he wants them. This way it’s easier for the music to swallow Harry up, to dull out his other senses, to try and forget about everything else. It doesn’t help though, not when Harry closes his eyes, not when he can see Louis’ grinning face – the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the fond tilt of his head, the way he runs his hands over Harry’s back to soothe him. How can something that was so sweet feel so bitter now? How can it torture him like this? When Louis doesn’t even seem that bothered anymore?

“Can I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” A man in a smart fitting suit has taken over the stage, arms outstretched with palms towards the crowd. “I hate to interrupt such a lovely evening but I’d be doing a disservice if I didn’t draw attention to the man of the evening. Craig Pritchard? Where are you, mate?”

A spotlight sweeps over the dancefloor, illuminates the pair of them in dazzling white light. Harry is immediately released, some space put between them. It’s alright for Craig to show him off when he has control of the narrative, but this is the time of the evening when the cameras are allowed to come out. Paparazzi worked a very careful contract out – enough press to keep the event relevant without giving too much private information away. Harry knows to fade into the background very quickly, let Craig get pulled up on the stage for pictures and the bringing out of the cake. It doesn’t matter that Harry was the one to pick everything out, to organize it, down to the orchids and hydrangeas on the five tiered cake. His place is only to be called on when needed.

Harry sees it for the escape it is, careful not to draw too much attention to himself as he retreats across the dancefloor, makes his way to the hallway off the side. He thinks he sees Zayn, his name being called softly, but Harry doesn’t stop until he’s behind the closed door of one of the stalls. His makeup is impeccable even if he’s getting weepy, doesn’t dare let the tears fall, just dabs at the black droplets from his mascara. Setting spray only does so much. He still has a long evening ahead of him. Can’t be anything but impeccably professional.

“Pull it together, Styles.” Harry hisses at his reflection, wipes his fingertips over his dry cheeks. “You know how to do this. You should have known better. Don’t get f*cked up over some boy.”

Standing before the mirror, Harry rolls his shoulders back, flashes his best grin at himself. It’s sharp enough to dent into his dimples, teeth white against his bitten at lips – a beauty queen wrapped up in red crystals and chiffon. Harry would kill for a shot or five right about now, anything to take the edge off, but he knows he needs to be level headed tonight. Craig will be drunk by the end of the evening and if Harry wants this to go easy on him, he’s going to have to be the one to lead things.

Just the thought has tears forming again and Harry sniffles sharply to keep himself from letting them fall. He reaches a hand down, pinches the inside of his wrist, tries to focus on that pain then the emotion welling up inside of him. This is all his fault, he knows that, but he can worry about it later. When he’s home and buried under a mound of blankets, washed clean. It’s not the time.

“Stop. Stop it.” Harry reprimands himself, one last glare in the mirror, before he yanks his expression back into order. He can’t go around scowling at a party. “Go, Harry. Just f*cking go. Go do your f*cking job.”

Satisfied with swallowing the tears back, Harry smooths the straps of his dress, snatches up his bag from the counter and quickly makes his way out of the door. Everyone is singing out on the dancefloor now, voices crooning along to Happy Birthday. It’s deafening and Harry is worrying with the bottom of his skirt, that’s why he doesn’t notice anything before him until he runs directly into it.

“Oi, easy darling.” Warm, familiar hands come up to hold Harry by the back of his arms, steadying him from toppling them both over.

“Louis.” It comes gasping out of Harry’s mouth before he can stop it, quick to bite down on his bottom lip to prevent any other words slipping.

Louis is just as gorgeous up close as he was across the dance floor, blue eyes gleaming up at Harry in the dim hallway light. There is no evidence that he just had someone all over him, no streaks of spit left over, no bruises on the column of Louis’ throat. Harry doesn’t know why he looks for it, but he does, can almost imagine what that stubble would feel like against his own cheek.

“Hey, are you alright-“ Whatever Louis is about to say dies on his tongue as Harry straightens instantly, his surprise turning into a deep scowl. As much as this hurts, it’s so much easier to fight it with anger than sorrow. It might be breaking his heart, but Harry still remembers Louis’ harsh words.

“I don’t remember your new whor* being on the guest list.” Harry sniffs, pulling himself out of Louis’ grasp.

“I seem to remember it saying plus one.” Louis answers quick, sassy flick to his head. He gives it back just as hard as Harry does, meeting him with a raised eyebrow. “Or do you not remember hand delivering me the invite?”

Harry remembers. And Louis knows that. Remembers the searing kisses, the crystal ashtray hitting the floor when Louis had picked him up and put him on the desk. The laughter muffled into the collar of Louis’ jumper when he had accidentally tickled Harry’s sides trying to get his blouse open. The panted breaths that followed after, the tea stain from the knocked over cup on the edge of the fine linen paper.

“Piss off.” Harry rolls his eyes, makes to step around Louis and go towards the ballroom when a hand catches his elbow, tugging him back.

“Harry, wait.” Louis flinches a little under Harry’s glare, careful to drop his eyes as his fingers ghost from the top of Harry’s forearm to his hand. “I just- You look – You went with red.“

“It seemed most fitting.” Harry shrugs a little, shifting his weight around. Anyone could come around the corner and see them, see how close they’re standing. “Perhaps I should have painted a giant A on my shoulder too? Pin it to the front so everyone knows?”

“You look really beautiful.” Louis says it soft, whispers it between them like he’s not even sure he should say it. And he shouldn’t. It’s not fair, not in the slightest, that he gets to be gentle with Harry after all he’s already said. “I wanted you to know. The dress. The party. You’ve done an amazing job, darling. Truly.”

“Thank you.” Harry nods once, schools his expression as neutral as he can as he squares his shoulders again, pulling away. “Goodnight, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Baby, wait-“

Everything in Harry is screaming at him to leave, to not wait to hear this. Whatever Louis is about to say is going to ruin everything, Harry can feel it, can almost taste it in the air between them. But with every passing tick, he finds himself rooted to the spot, staring at the blond curl of Louis’ eyelashes over his cheeks. Harry can barely refrain from leaning forward and kissing them, pulling Louis into him, but they can’t. This can’t happen anymore. Harry’s fragile heart can’t take it.

“My phone will be on. All night.” Louis looks up with this unreadable expression in his eyes, brows tense, mouth in a firm line. “It’ll be on, okay?”

Harry nods once, confused and choked up with it. Even if he had something to say, he never gets a chance to spit it out though before Louis is leaning forward, quick in the shadow of the hallway. His lips fit around Harry’s bottom one, the gentlest brush of skin against skin, familiar places being filled in by each other. It’s a sweet caress, chaste and purposeful, Louis letting his tongue flirt along the seam of Harry’s mouth, before he yanks himself away.

He retreats then, shoes clicking loudly on the floor as Louis nearly runs from the hallway, leaving Harry standing there with his fingertips pressed to his mouth. It wasn't hard enough to bruise, though Harry's lips feel warm against his skin, like the memory of some other time. Like the first time, the kiss on the piano bench, when Harry forgot every reason why they shouldn’t do what they were about to do.

"Hazza?"

Peeking around the doorframe that Louis just exited, Zayn glances around before he enters the narrow hall. His collar is a little messed up now, cheeks glowing, but he looks at Harry with furrowed brows, running a quick hand through his hair.

"Zayn. Hey. Alright, love?” Harry asks, only realizes he’s panting a little when he rubs his hands down the front of his dress. Snapping back into the perfect host is hard when his heart is beating nearly out of his chest, face warm.

“Was that Louis running out of here?” Zayn points a thumb over his shoulder. “What happened? Did he say something to you?”

“No. It’s fine.” Shrugging his shoulders, Harry tries to center himself again, remember how to put one foot in front of the other. “It’s just - Do you think it’s possible to break your own heart?”

“What?” Reaching a hand out, Zayn gently cups Harry’s shoulder, steadying him a little. “What are you on about? Have you been drinking, Starshine? A bit pissed?”

“No. It’s not. I just.” Harry takes a deep breath, lets it out slow through his teeth before leveling Zayn with a wide eyed stare. “I think I need your help.”

- - -

Louis doesn't know why he even came here. He loves his house on the outskirts of London, loves the space, the garden outback with the footie pitch. It's his family home, the one he uses when his mum and the girls come to visit, big holidays and celebrations that need a bit of spreading. But right now, it's empty, dark shadows crawling along the walls, silent except for the sound of Louis' own footsteps pacing the downstairs.

He had left the party early, just after the cake was sliced, was tired of watching everyone play along to some charade. Louis knows half the people of there didn't even know Craig, weren't interested in some birthday celebration. They were there for the price tag, for the status, for game of it all. Regardless of how well Harry planned it, there will always be bottom feeders at events like that.

And there is the main issue itself - Harry.

To say Louis feels like an asshole is an understatement. He shouldn't have said what he said, shouldn't have tried to make more of it than what it is. Just because Louis can feel himself getting attached doesn't mean that Harry does. Louis has no right to drag his pathetically soft heart into it.

Watching them together though - that had driven the nail deep in the proverbial coffin of Louis' own suffering. It didn't escape him how happy Harry had looked - like a doting housewife, dressed up and shining, hanging on the arm of his undeserving and clearly lacking husband. He had welcomed every guest with his arm looped through Craig's, that wide, cheerful grin of his, taking the time to kiss cheeks and remember names. Louis had half a mind to go up to them himself, to see a flicker in that lovely mask Harry was wearing, but he was afraid. Afraid he wouldn't see it and then he'd know that his presence there didn't affect Harry as much as it was affecting Louis.

"f*ck."

Louis mutters to himself, digging around in his trackies until he can pull his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He won't smoke in this house - not when he always has the little ones over. Instead, he slips out the back patio doors, makes his way over to the edge of the pool. It's quiet out here, a little too chilly to swim but the pool is heated, and Louis reaches down to flip the lights, illuminating the backyard in a deep cerulean.

It's just past one, or so he figures, his phone buried deep in his pocket. The ringtone has been turned up all the way though, do not disturb turned off for the evening. Louis meant what he said to Harry, even if it was a shoddy excuse for an olive branch. But how was Louis supposed to say 'call me if you need me. call me if it's bad and you need help or you're sad or he doesn't know how to touch you the right way or hold you after.' If Louis starts thinking too much, he's never going to close his eyes again, imagination too vivid. All he can see is Harry's pink and blotchy face, his eyes glassy in pleasure, his hands reaching for Louis.

"Christ, Tomlinson." Louis shakes his head roughly, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. "Get it together."

He came out here to smoke, not get f*cking emotional over sh*t he can't control. Concentrating, Louis slips the filter between his lips, flickering the lighter. The breeze chooses then to ghost through the garden, extinguishing the flame before it can even really catch. Louis hits the wheel a few more times with little result, growling obscenities around the now slightly damp foam. Reaching a hand under his shirt in a last resort, Louis ducks his head down, uses the small tent between his body and the fabric as a block so he can finally get it going.

The first inhale is deep, has Louis' cheeks hollowing, letting himself taste the nicotine on his tongue. Nothing quite as likely to put himself at ease as a new Marlboro, the smoke drifting from between his lips, hazy cloud that gets disrupted at the sound of a voice.

"You know, as attractive as that was, that is incredibly dangerous."

Smoke rushes out of Louis' lungs, making him cough and hack sharply, nearly dropping the cig from between his fingers. He can barely see past the ring of light from the pool but it doesn't matter long as the figure steps forward, heels clicking on the tiled edge. Harry cuts an impressive figure – illuminated blue in his knee length coat, his glossy curls. Even his eyes look almost a little supernatural, gleaming a little.

“Christ!” Louis manages to upright himself, taking in a sharp gasp of air. “Harry? How the f*ck did you get in here?”

“Guard at the gate took one look at me and just…buzzed me in. Apparently, he thought you were expecting me.” Harry shrugs a little, voice drawling slow and deep. “Do you often get strange men dropped off in the middle of the night?”

“What? No!” Louis pushes himself up off the chair, feels it better if they’re both at least standing.

“Relax, Lou. He barely glanced at me when I said I was here for you.” Harry rolls his eyes, lifting his hand to inspect his manicure, rubbing a thumb over his nails. “He’s watching footie, you know? Manchester’s winning.”

“Really? f*cking dickhe*d.” Louis leans back on the pool chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Glad I’m paying him an arm and a leg for protection then.”

“Am I dangerous?” Taking a few steps towards him, Harry glances around, mouth raising in a slow smirk. “Scared I’m going to rob the place? Come to murder you?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Louis changes the subject. He doesn’t want to get into how dangerous Harry is, the damage he could do if he put his mind to it. “A paid gig, if I remember?”

“You’re an arsehole, you know that?” Harry’s cheerful grin turns sullen, brow coming down in a deep furrow. “You say one thing and mean the entire different. Has to be your way. Has to be you calling the shots. Big boss man, Louis.”

“I’m not going to fight with you anymore.” Louis rolls his eyes, takes the last drag of his cigarette before flicking it towards the grass. “I’m sorry I f*cked it up, okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. It’s not fair of me to get mad about sh*t that I already knew about. I’m sorry but if you think I’m going to have a screaming match with you in my garden, you’re wrong.”

“Well, good. Because I didn’t come here to.” Huffing, Harry reaches towards his collar, smoothing the fun lining against his throat.

“Then what did you come here for?” Louis sighs miserably, turning his attention back just as Harry’s coat hits the patio.

It really was a magnificent coat – black velvet with embroidery and a mink in lay. It’s entirely forgotten at the sight before him now though. Louis isn’t sure where to look first, starts at the top and makes his way down, cataloging every detail. Harry is wrapped in baby blue silk – thin straps that start at his shoulders, criss crossing over a lace bralette, plunging deep so it shows the length of his butterfly tattoo. The garter sits just under it, a skirt of chiffon flirting with the idea of hiding his panties, lace and sheer netting, cut high above his laurels. The straps of the garter are clasped in place to his thigh highs, stockings a pale white against Harry’s already china pale thighs, making his long legs stretch for miles before disappearing into the heeled oxfords he had on all night.

“Holy sh*t.” If Louis was breathless before, he doesn’t even think his lungs will ever inflate again as Harry carefully caresses his fingertips up his side, ghosting them along his sternum to his hair, brushing it back.

“Come here, Daddy.” Harry murmurs, lips pulled back in a seductive little grin. “Come get what’s yours.”

Louis doesn't think, mind completely overwhelmed by the sight of Harry, the cheeky little way he's staring at him through his eyelashes. He's over there before he even recognizes himself moving, Louis' hands falling to his hips, gripping tight. Harry must know what he intends to do as he jumps as soon as Louis has a good grip on him, wrapping his legs tightly around Louis' waist. Gasping hard as his hands cradle Louis' face, pulling him forward and into an eager kiss.

It’s rough, lips clicking against teeth, pressed hard into each other. Harry tilts his head though, uses his hand in Louis’ hair to move them until it goes from rushed to so good all at once. Open from the start, Louis laps across Harry’s full lips, traces his cupid’s bow with a cheeky smirk, pulling back just to watch Harry slowly blink at him. He already looks half ravaged, flushed pink and warm. Louis staggers them back a few steps, sets Harry up on the small storage chest along the side wall, meant to store the pool accessories.

With the added support, Louis finally has the room to lean back, to take in up close how the lace front of Harry’s panties tent over his already hard co*ck. It looks obscene, glistening a little behind the floral decals, and Louis moves to go to his knees when Harry’s hand tangled in the sleeve of his shirt stops him. He tugs him back up, yanking on Louis like a needy child until he’s standing again, tall enough that Harry can demand more kisses. They’re just as hard as before but they’ve turned syrupy, Louis’ thumb dragging along Harry’s jaw, pulling his chin down to f*ck his tongue deep into his mouth.

"Wait, f*ck. Lou, wait."

Moaning loudly, Harry pushes his palm flat to Louis' chest, separating them a few inches. The moment they see each other though, they both lean back in, desperate not to lose the taste of each other. Louis has his fingers all curled up in Harry's hair, head tilted back so he can trail his lips over his jaw, when Harry finally manages to push them apart again.

"We can't." Harry gasps, writhing a little as Louis' free hand starts stroking along the inside of his thigh. When Louis looks up at him though, raising a slow eyebrow, Harry is quick to continue. "We can't. Not out here."

"S'fine. Neighbors are over a kilometer away." Louis shrugs it off, latching a finger under the thin garter strap and snapping it sharply. It creates a faint welt where it hits against Harry's milky thigh and Louis goes for it, leans down to trace the line with his tongue. "Look too perfect. Can't wait."

"Daddy!" Harry whines, tosses his head back as Louis works a mark just under the head of his tiger tattoo. It's a violet red, worsened when Louis latches back onto it, sucking slow with his tongue tracing it in little circles. It's enough to have Harry's co*ck twitching, pressed up against the thin lace of the panties, dampening the front. It takes all of his will power then to set his hands on Louis' shoulders, pushing at him until Louis finally raises his head.

"What baby? You don't want it?" Louis teases, strokes a few fingers under the strap again, teasing over the welt and now love bite. "Something tells me you do."

"Not outside." Harry shakes his head, gasping a little. "It's cold."

Pouting, Harry wiggles forward a little until he can push his hands down on the edge of the storage chest, slipping down from his perch. Louis doesn't move out his way, spreading his legs a little, so Harry has to step into his space - leaning in to brush his nose along Louis' in a soft caress. It's close enough to kiss, close enough to sink back into what they were just doing, but Harry doesn't let them. Instead, he ghosts his lips against Louis', exhales slow, before pulling back with a little grin.

"You know, I'm wearing a custom Bordelle lingerie set. Work over a thousand pounds." Harry retreats from him then, lets his fingertips linger until the last minute. The view from the front was breathtaking, but there is just something about seeing Harry's ass framed in thin, baby blue straps that does something to Louis, has his co*ck leaking, chest hot. “Hand dyed Louis blue by special request.”

"Baby, you look, f*ck!" Louis groans, has to reach down to adjust where he's pressed firm and hard against the front of his trousers. "Heaven sent, little dove. Like a f*cking angel. Can't believe you’re real."

"You like it?" Harry asks over his shoulder, already sauntering towards the sliding glass door, hips swaying to make the skirt swish. "Dressed up just like a present for you. You want to come inside and unwrap me?"

It’s so bratty and hot and perfect and Louis can feel himself salivating as he starts following after him. He just needs Harry back against him, needs his hands all up in those curls, needs to feel it on his own tongue when Harry moans for him, rocks against him. It’s addicting – the way Harry goes needy and glassy eyed, submits with a coy grin and a flicker of his eyelashes. He’s about to catch up with him when Harry glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Daddy! Wait, the coat!” Harry whines, that little high pitched voice of his he gets when he’s playing. “It was expensive too!”

“Alright, alright love. I’ve got it.” Louis can’t help the fond roll of his eyes, rocking back on his heels. “Everything about you is expensive.”

“Yeah, but-”

In a cruel twist of his hips, Harry pushes his back into Louis’ chest, grinds up against him in a sharp roll of his body that has the wind knocking out of Louis’ lungs, stomach bottoming out. His ass feels like heaven, plump and curved up against the front of Louis’ trousers, but before he can reach for his hips, Harry is pulling away with a grin.

“You can have this for free if you want.”

“Can’t give me something I already own.” Louis growls, uses Harry’s own game against him as his hand darts out, smacking the back of his fingers sharply against the smooth curve of Harry’s ass.

“f*ck!” Harry whimpers, fingers flying to his mouth to keep himself from being louder, before he reaches out to fumble with the door. “Hurry Daddy! Please.”

And with that, Harry slips through the door, the clip of his heels disappearing into the inner workings of the house.

Louis uses the time it takes to grab up the coat and flip the pool lights off to catch his breath. There is something magnetic about the way Harry is, something that keeps Louis’ hyper focused on him any time he’s near. It’s no secret that Harry turns heads, has the whole room watching whenever he steps into any room. Would probably cause car wrecks and construction accidents if he ever just wandered down a busy street. Still, Louis has to keep a level head in this. Their fight is still poignant between them, a tension hanging even with the way Louis’ heart is racing from seeing Harry in all that blue lace.

Locking the backdoor, Louis takes the stairs slowly, tries to regulate his breathing. If they’re doing this, actually doing this, he needs to keep himself straight – for lack of better terms. It’s almost a funny pun and Louis thinks briefly about explaining it to Harry, only for the words to die on his tongue as he pushes the bedroom door open.

Sat perched on the edge of the bed, one knee crossed delicately over the other, is Harry. He’s left his shoes lined up by the door, hair fanned out behind him as he leans back on his hands, an innocent little smile gracing his full mouth. It would look almost chaste if not for the way Harry slowly uncrosses his legs, leaves them wide open, balanced on his toes on the floor, as Louis stares at him.

“Hi Daddy.” Harry bites his bottom lip, barely contains his knowing little grin.

“Hey baby love.” Louis coos back at him, steps slowly into the room and into the cradle of Harry’s legs. He’s pretty sure he could live in this space, could spend forever pressing his body into Harry’s, watching his eyes dilate slowly in the dim bedroom light.

“Kiss me.”

It's not a request, a sweet demand as Harry arches his back, tilts his face that much more until he's practically begging with his eyes. Louis is weak for it, weak for the soft, strawberry pucker of Harry's lips, his big eyes. Can't resist burying his hand into Harry's long curls, guiding them mouths together. It's gentler than the ones outside, more sweet caress then desperate bite - shimmering warm. The heat is already building, no need to scorch just yet even as Louis rocks his weight forward.

They topple into the sheets, half hanging off the end in a desperate roll of bodies. Harry's stockings slip over the blankets, wrapping himself tight around Louis, moaning low in his chest as they grind together, trying to get friction that keeps misaligning. Growling a little, Louis wraps an arm around Harry's waist, the other going to his thigh as he walks his knees forward, bodily lifting and then dragging them up he can lay Harry down against the pillows. All of Louis' house is expensive, luxurious in its own way, but his bed is his crown jewel - and Harry propped up on Egyptian cotton and silk, looking like an angel on a cloud is a thing of fantasy.

"Sometimes I look at you, love." Louis murmurs, pushes himself up his elbow so he can brush the stray curls from Harry's face, stroking his cheek. "And I don't think my breath will ever come back."

"Oh." The flush spreads over Harry's cheeks, panting a little already when he catches Louis' hand, kisses his knuckles. "You know you're beautiful too. Stunning, really. I don't think you realize it."

"Trying to flatter me, pet?" Louis teases gently, shaking his head with a fond roll of his eyes. "You've already got me in bed. Don't need any more persuading."

"I mean it." Brow furrowing a little, Harry says it so earnestly, intense with the way he reaches up for Louis' cheek. "You have to know-"

"Wait, Harry." It's that thing, that thorn niggling into the back of Louis' brain, enough to make him create a little space between them - if just so they both can breathe. He can't do this if they don't get it out. If they don't at least soothe a bit of the balm between them.

"What? What's wrong?" Harry looks startled, sets his hand against Louis' chest, palm flat like he isn't sure if he can. It's soothing though, the slow drag of his thumb over the fabric, back and forth.

"I just-" Louis struggles with it, but he knows he can't just put it off. There is too much surrounding this. So, he takes another deep breath and pushes on. "Are you okay to be here? Like, is it safe for you? Because you said you were supposed to be with him and-"

Gently, Harry moves his fingers up to Louis’ lips, stopping him mid-rant. He doesn’t look angry at Louis’ question, if anything, there is something almost melancholy about the way his gaze sweeps down from Louis’ face to where their bodies are still pressed so tight. It hangs there – the fight, the anger, the tears. Even the pleasure and desire between them can’t just erase what happened a week ago.

“I am here, isn’t that enough?” Harry asks softly, fingertips slipping along Louis’ jaw, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Yes baby, of course it is." Louis presses his lips to the heel of Harry's hand, can't seem to stop pouring out all his affection. "But you and I both know you're not supposed to be here."

"Who says?" Gaze following his fingers, Harry brushes a few loose hairs back from Louis' fringe. "Who says I can't? I'm still allowed to make my own decisions, aren't I?"

"Are you? Because the last time we talked, it didn't seem like it." Louis doesn't say it meanly, just with this deep sigh that pushes his face further into Harry's palm.

"It doesn't have to be about him, Louis. It doesn't." Harry murmurs, strokes his thumb over Louis' cheek. "He's not here."

"Harry." Louis goes to sit up - maybe they should have this conversation with a little more clarity - but before he can, Harry's fingers are gripping the back of his neck, keeping him close.

"You said when we're together that it's just you and me. That no one else should matter." Pushing up on his elbow, Harry leans in, connects their lips in a slow kiss. It lingers, mouths aligned, a slow curl of tongues meeting only after a few seconds of the first press, opening up to one another.

"So, I don't want to talk about anyone else. Not right now." Harry gasps between them, keeps sitting up until he can shift his weight, and flip them over. Louis collapses back into the bed as Harry straddles his hips, garter straps tight across his thighs. It causes the top of his stockings to cut into him a little, creasing the smooth skin on his thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” Harry leans down, tugging on the hem of Louis’ shirt so he can plant a row of open mouthed kisses along his hip. “Let’s not ruin it, yeah?”

"Okay baby. Alright." Reaching up to caress over the thin straps criss crossing over Harry's hips, Louis follows the curve of the laurels up until he can fit his hands into the familiar dip in Harry's waist. It feels good to guide him down, to not stop them from sinking into a series of feverish kisses. "Don't want to fight anymore either. Just want you, yeah?"

"Yeah Daddy." Harry nods, turning his attention to the curve of Louis' throat. He goes directly for the sensitive spot just a little higher up behind his ear, like he already knows where to find it to have Louis moaning high in the back of his throat.

From this angle, he can see down the length of Harry's body, watches the curve of his shoulder blades as he kisses along Louis' throat, back arched sharply. It tilts his hips up, ass pointed high and outlined in blue lace and silk, like a heart shaped valentine with Louis' name all over it. He slides his hands down Harry's waist, over his back, before he grabs a cheek in each warm palm, playing with the supple skin. Harry is so soft everywhere, like cream and satin, and Louis holds him a little rough before tugging on them, spreading Harry open. He can't reach the lube from the angle he's laying, but the feeling of Harry's warm hole against his fingertips gives him an idea.

"Darling." Louis coos, runs a hand through Harry's curls before guiding his face up. He's so lovely, flushed pink with his eyes a little hazy, makes the green of his eyes practically sparkle. "Dressed up so nice for me. Being so good. Are you going to let me spoil you?"

Slipping a hand between them, Louis circles his fingers over the head of Harry's co*ck, the red tip barely peeking out from the waistband of his panties. It had lagged a little when they were talking, but it's fully hard now, twitching under Louis' teasing. Harry tries to rock into it, to get his knees under him so he can grind, but Louis pushes a hand to his back, keeps him down while he plays with him. It must be good because Harry's eyes flutter, having to open his mouth twice just to talk.

"Please." He whines, pushing up against Louis' fingers. "Please Daddy."

"Please?" Louis asks, lays his head back against the pillows to watch, loving the desperate rutting of Harry's hips. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want." Gasping, Harry finally manages to open his eyes, biting at his bottom lip as he mumbles. "Want to be spoiled."

"There it is." Louis smirks, slipping his hand slowly off of Harry's co*ck, stroking over his hipbone instead. "Alright love. You're going to have to get up on your knees, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Quickly, Harry walks his hands back, gets himself up even if the soft cotton of the bedspread combined with his stockings makes his legs go a little wide. Louis can use it to his advantage he realizes as he adjusts himself, pushes another pillow behind his head and makes sure his neck is thoroughly supported. Then, he reaches forward and hooks a finger through one of the straps laying across Harry's belly.

"Come here." He murmurs the command, watches closely as Harry crawls forward, up the length of him. When he reaches parallel with Louis' waist, he pauses, only for Louis to tug harder on the lingerie. It's not until he's near Louis' shoulders that his eyes go wide, Harry biting into his bottom lip hard enough it looks like he might break skin.

"Easy baby. Don't hurt yourself." Louis reaches up a hand, gently pries the skin out of Harry's mouth, brushes over it with his thumb. "You don't have to be quiet, alright, little dove? No one in this big house but us."

"But Daddy-" Harry cuts himself off, nervous fingers fluttering over the soft triangle front of his bra, whimpering when he accidently brushes over his nipples through the lace.

"It's alright. I'll just snap my fingers if it's too much, okay?" Louis soothes, petting his fingers down along Harry's thighs again. "You remember that, right?"

"Yes. I remember. I just haven't-" Harry struggles again, dropping his gaze and his voice as he mutters. "I've never done this."

"Never done what? Ridden someone's face?" Louis asks, is careful to keep the teasing out of his tone. He doesn't think Harry - glassy eyed and turned on as he is - will take kindly to the barbs. "It's not really complicated."

"No, I've never been eaten out." Harry huffs a little, twists his fingers in the hem of Louis' shirt. "Like, ever."

"Wait, what?" Liquid heat pours through Louis' veins, something possessive and demanding building up inside his chest. He can't help sitting up, reaching a hand to grip the back of Harry's neck and pull him into a dirty kiss. It's open and wet and Harry is already moaning low in his throat when Louis pulls back to breathe the words between them. "So, on the piano?"

"Yeah. No one else has ever wanted to, Daddy." Harry mumbles, keeps leaning in for these frantic little pecks like he can't stop himself. "Just you. You're so good to me. Can't compare you to anyone else."

"Alright angel. Come on, come on." Louis loves to hear Harry's voice go raspy and hot, but he can't wait anymore. He needs it now. Stripping off his shirt, he collapses back into the pillows, reaching out a hand and hooking it back under the garter strap, snapping it harshly against Harry's thigh. "Come sit on my face, baby doll. Want to spoil you rotten. Eat that puss* out until you're dripping for me."

Harry moans brokenly, careful when he throws his leg over Louis' shoulders. He's facing the headboard, already knows what to do as he reaches up to grip the bars, Harry's rings clicking on the metal as he holds on tight. Louis gets one look at him, up the long length of his body, his down turned face, before he's reaching his hands up and firmly gripping Harry's hips, tugging him down.

There is no way of going about this other than eager and messy - and Louis does both. He doesn't use his hands, keeps them firmly on Harry's waist in case he should try to squirm away. No, Louis wants him close, wants him writhing on his tongue. It leaves Louis to tilt his face up, nuzzle into the soft skin of Harry's perineum, his balls encased barely behind lace, lapping at it with little kitten strokes of his tongue before guiding himself back. The fabric of the thong is thin and already a little damp, and Louis makes it more when puckers his lips and sucks a kiss just over Harry's rim through the fabric.

The noise that comes out of Harry is animalistic - a wail wrapped up in a cry as his thighs tremble on either side of Louis' face. Down here, he is only surrounded by Harry - his smell and his taste and the brush of his soft skin. It's overwhelming and Louis gets a little high off it, drags the fabric to the side with his teeth, nips at the soft curve of Harry's cheek before pushing his tongue against him again. This time, he laps over his rim, broad strokes of his tongue, before pointing and slipping inside.

"Da-Daddy! Daddy!" Crying out, one of Harry's hands slides from the headboard, down between his spread thighs. He strokes over Louis' hair at first, like he can't decide what to do, but as Louis flicks his tongue back and forth quickly, Harry's hand clamps down. He uses it to ground himself, frantic little tugs as he tries hard not to ride into the pleasure.

If being smothered between Harry's thighs was the way Louis went out - well, it would be worth it. He's so tight, even against Louis' prodding, slick and wet with spit now. With the way Harry is grinding down on him, it gives Louis a free hand to slip in and help, pushing a finger in with his tongue and crooking it. It doesn't take him long after that to get the second one in, searching around until he's stroking his fingertips over Harry's prostate, playing with the soft curve of it.

"f*ck! Oh f*ck me." Harry is moaning now, full chest moans that echo around the bedroom, voice wrecked. It's the hottest thing Louis has ever heard, made better when Harry starts bouncing a little on the fingers and tongue inside him. "Daddy! I'm close. Please please."

Louis could let him come like this, would love it really, but it's not what he wants tonight. This is all about finally coming together and Louis is so hard he thinks he might die if he doesn't get inside Harry soon. So, he releases his death grip on Harry's waist and snaps his fingers, having to try it twice to get them to work.

Instantly, Harry is lifting a leg off him, collapsing into a pile near Louis' waist. He's panting hard, cheeks flushed red with a few tears clinging in his eyes, but he looks at Louis with real concern, brow furrowed.

"Are you okay? Did I-" He doesn't get to ask his question because Louis is up on his knees, kissing him.

He doesn't give him the option of pulling away, plunging his tongue into Harry's mouth so he can taste himself - taste the salt of his skin, the creaminess of what's hiding between those divine legs. He uses the kisses as a distraction so he can open his own trousers, pushing them down to his knees.

"Want to see you, baby." Louis murmurs, kicks his clothes off, strips himself bare as he pushes Harry back down. He’s too eager now, wants everything at once, hands trembling a little as he reaches for the small clasps of Harry’s garter belt. “Want to see all of you. Love your body, darling. Perfect for me.”

Harry whimpers, pushes himself up so he can help Louis undo the small clasps running up his waist. The garter belt hits the floor with a soft thud but Louis takes his time getting the stockings down, rolling them slowly over Harry’s legs, following them with a series of open mouthed kisses. He sucks a bruise just under the tiger tattoo, spreads Harry’s legs a little to lap at the soft skin on the side of his knee, delicate in the way he holds Harry’s ankles and finally drops the soft mesh off the side of the bed. It leaves Harry in his bra and panties, the straps of both crisscrossing into each other, caging in his torso.

With deft fingers, Louis starts working the straps of the bralette down, leaning up to suck at Harry’s nipples through the thin lace. They’re puffy behind the light blue, rubbed a little raw by the fabric and Harry’s insistent squirming. They’re a good mouthful for Louis though who sucks hard on both before getting the bra down and going back for them. Harry moans loudly at the attention, hand warm on the back of Louis’ neck, though he doesn’t try to control him. It’ s more there for a weight than anything else.

“Christ, little dove. Don’t you look divine.” Louis murmurs, as he drops the bra off the side of the bed, fingers reaching eagerly for the waistband of Harry’s panties. They’re stretched tight over his co*ck, uncomfortably so, but looking like some debauched artwork really - lace extended over the thick line of him. “So wet for me already, aren’t you? Soaking your knickers. Already know this puss* tastes nice. Can’t wait to get it around my co*ck.”

“Yours, Daddy. Please.” Harry moans, beats Louis to the punch as he hooks his thumbs in the straps at the side, peeling the panties down his thighs, lifting his feet to get them off. His co*ck springs back against his stomach, so red it’s nearly purple, looking intentionally mouthwatering with the laurels on either side to bracket it in. “Come on, come on.”

“Patience.” Louis chastises with no bite, yanks the bedside drawer open, retrieving the lube and a condom. He's still in control, even as his mind is whirling in every direction, focusing down on the task at hand.

Although Harry is still wet against his rim, it's not nearly enough. Louis slicks his fingers while he works at Harry's nipple again, sucks hard on it to get Harry moaning before biting. It's enough of a distraction that he barely notices when Louis slips two fingers into him, pushing in hard and crooking his finger. Harry is so sensitive everywhere - responsive like no one else Louis has ever known. It's perfect the way he whines in the back of his throat, back arching up before Louis shifts his weight and pins him down.

"Now, darling. Be good for me." Louis murmurs, laps over Harry's bruised bottom lip. "Lay still and let me open you up. You want me inside of you, don't you? Want to be full?"

"Yes, Daddy. Yes. Please. I'm sorry." Harry gasps, using all of his willpower to push his hips back down to the bed. His eyes have got that glassy sheen to them, already a little drunk on pleasure, and he just keeps staring at Louis with this awestruck and armored expression. It's enough to drive a man crazy.

"Gotta confess, love. Been thinking about this ever since I saw you." Louis keeps his voice low, intimate as he works a third finger into him, breathing the words into Harry's ear. They're so close their bodies are aligned, every inch pressed to bare skin. It's intoxicatingly intimate. "How lovely you'd sound under me. Perfect princess in my bed. Letting me give it all to you."

"You can have it. Daddy, please." Harry whispers, voice wrecked with how loud he's been moaning, just from the foreplay. "Want you. Only you."

And how sweet does that sound spilling out of Harry's bruised, strawberry mouth? Louis has to kiss him then, slow and open, curling their tongues together as he slips his fingers out to pull the condom on. He gets situated then, slips between Harry's legs, props him up so he's bowed, ass resting on Louis' strong thighs. They're so close Louis can actually feel it when Harry gasps, his chest gone tight, mouth open, as Louis finally slips in.

Euphoria. That's the only way to describe it. He's so tight around Louis, burning hot and slick from being prepped for so long, and Louis is addicted from the moment he hears Harry's little groan when Louis bottoms out. He pulls back to watch, mesmerized as those green eyes flutter open to meet his, Harry staring up at him with nothing less than absolute pleasure.

Louis’ chest goes warm with it, caressing his fingertips over Harry’s cheek, brushing his curls back. He looks so beautiful, breathtaking, really, with his eyes gone wide and his mouth left open a little. He’s panting, spread out against the pillows. Louis can feel it churning up something dangerous inside of him, affection turned soft and intimate. If he was love sick before, this has only made it worse. He’s never felt like this about anyone, never this strong affection, the dire need to keep Harry close and happy. He just wants them to be like this always – drowning in each other, for each other.

"Perfect, baby. So f*cking perfect." Louis murmurs, cants his hips back and then pushes forward, going deep and slow. He's pretty sure neither of them are going to last very long with all the build up, but he wants to make it good.

"Louis." Whimpering, Harry's fingers scramble over Louis' sides, up onto his back, pulling him down so they can kiss again as Louis starts a rhythm.

There will be time for playing and denial some other time. This is all about the intimacy of a first time. They take it slow, Louis staying deep inside of Harry, grinding into him while Harry wraps his legs around Louis' waist, keeps him close. He seems to like Louis' weight on him, moaning into his mouth and clinging to him while Louis rocks forward to meet him, dragging his co*ck between them. Rough friction eased by sweat, enough to tease but not enough to get anywhere, though Harry keeps rutting up into it like it will. It's only when Louis shifts a little, gets the angle perfect to brush over Harry's prostate, that he loosens his grip - hands flying to his own hair.

Using the space, Louis hooks a hand into the mattress and rears up a bit, gets to see the flush that has worked its way from Harry's cheeks down to his chest, rosy with pleasure. He's leaking all over his stomach, twitching hard when Louis finally wraps a hand around him. This he knows - knows the intimate way Harry likes to be touched, thumb teasing his slit, jerking with a twist of Louis' wrist. It comes second nature now and Harry is keening in the back of his throat, crying out in a matter of moments.

"Close, little dove?" Louis gasps, his hips snapping forward, driving Harry up the pillows. "You want to come for me? Think you deserve it?"

"Yes! God, yes. So close, Daddy." Harry pants, tears building up in the corner of his eyes. He's not slipping into subspace yet but he's gripping onto Louis like he's sure he'll float away. "I've been good. Been such a good baby for you."

"You haven't, haven't you?" Louis teases, slips his fingers down to feel along Harry's rim. "Wish you could see the way you take me, darling. Gripping me so tight. Like your puss* was made for my co*ck."

"f*ck, please." Harry begs brokenly, elegant fingers scrambling over his own stomach, aiming for his co*ck but Louis pushes his hand away. His grip is tight when he starts tugging on him, twisting at the tip just like how Harry likes it.

"No. When I say." Louis chastises, rocks his hips in hard, pushes into Harry's prostate and stays to grind. It pulls an inhuman groan out of Harry who desperately tries to hold back but fails exquisitely, writhing against the bed as his co*ck leaks everywhere. It's only when Louis is sure he can't take much more that he leans in, laps his tongue gently along the curve of Harry's cupid's bow.

"Come."

It's a simple command but Harry follows it instantly, shouting Louis' name over and over until it's a whimpering mess. He shoots hard, come splashing up to his chest, back arching sharply into the air. Louis has to scramble to keep his hips where he wants him, f*cking him through it until the vice of Harry's pleasure pulls Louis over the edge. He follows Harry's cries with his own, moaning high as he feels himself slip over the edge.

It takes almost all of Louis' strength to pull out and crash to the side, having half a mind to roll the condom off and tie it. His whole body is thrumming with pleasure, hot with it and panting, even as Harry rolls onto his side, burrows his face into Louis' neck. They’re both disgusting, sweaty and sated, but Louis will worry about that later - for now it’s nice to rest together.

"Did so well for me, pet. Absolutely perfect." Louis soothes a hand down Harry's back, petting over his sweaty shoulders, into his hair. He’s warm all over, slick under Louis’ wandering fingertips, shaking a little as he comes down. "Daddy is so pleased with you."

"Thank you. Thank you, Daddy." Harry whimpers, mouthing wetly at Louis' shoulder, onto his collarbone. "f*ck, why did we ever wait this long to do this?"

"Saved the best for last, s’pose." Louis answers with a little shrug. He feels good, excellent really, with his nerves still twitching and Harry laid out basically on top of him. They could stay here like this for ages and Louis would find absolutely no reason to move. It’s late. No one is going to bother them.

“Won’t be the last time though.” Raising his head up slightly, Harry pouts out his bottom lip, fingertips tracing over the script just below Louis’ collarbones. “Right? Because I-“

“No love.” Louis shushes gently, craning his head up to gently kiss him, a chaste and soothing little peck. “You think now that I finally had it all, I’m going to give you up? This is only the beginning.”

“Good.” Harry steals one more kiss before he puts his head back down, absentmindedly drawing shapes with his fingers as he tries to catch his breath.

A good ten minutes go by when Louis finally catches some semblance of his breath, coming down slow even if his body is still thrumming, high off his org*sm. He’s gentle when he pushes his hands into Harry’s waist, guides him over onto the pillows with a lingering kiss and a promise to be right back. Harry clings to him but ultimately lets him go, panting hard up at the ceiling with his arm thrown over his eyes. Louis lingers for just a moment in the doorway to admire him – debauched and thoroughly f*cked, before he slips into the bathroom to clean up and for a flannel.

He catches his reflection when he's letting the water warm up, gaze shifting over the scratches on his ribs, the love bite just below his collarbone, caught up in the ink there. He looks freshly f*cked, hair a mess and a grin tugging at his lips – boyish and elated. It feels good, perfect really, with Harry's taste in his mouth and his perfume lingering on Louis' skin now. They've marked each other up, claimed each other in their own way.

When he comes back out, Harry hasn't moved much, though he's breathing a little steadier. He watches Louis through half lidded eyes as Louis cleans him up, is gentle with stroking over his stomach, his chest, down between his thighs. There are bruises there, fingerprint marks like Louis left evidence all over him – and in ways he did, made it so he had to linger, so that Harry would remember this later. It’s with that thought lingering in the back of his mind that Louis abandons the flannel in the hamper to be dealt with later and climbs back up on the bed. It feels like any space between them is too much, like a cavern when in reality it’s only a few inches.

“Do you want something to sleep in?” Louis offers, wrestling the blankets down from under them. “You are staying, yes?”

“Yes, I’m staying.” Harry murmurs softly, situating himself back onto the pillows before slipping his legs under the duvet. He stays on the right side, the one closer to the window, the side that Louis had just been calling Harry’s side since the first time they toppled into this bed together.

“And no. Can we just-“ He flushes a little, surprisingly shy considering what just happened, before he continues a little quieter. “Can we just sleep like this? I like it. Feeling you against me.”

“Yeah, baby. ‘Course. Whatever you need.”

Leaning over, Louis slips a hand along Harry’s smooth cheek, guides his face into a kiss. It’s the softest all night, lingering and sweet. It’d be easy to get caught up in it, let the warmth in his chest fester and bubble and Louis would spill it all over. Would say the words he’s not allowing himself to think, let alone say. But it’s so hard when Harry blinks up at him with the sweetest smile, eyes glittery and bright in the dark room, looks like an angel with Louis’ heart in the palm of his hand.

They end up laying on the same pillow, close enough to breathe each other in. Louis fits his arm around Harry’s waist, traces along his spine with a lazy caress of his fingertips while Harry strokes over his chest. It’s pleasant, intimately close, and Louis has never felt a connection like this. He’s sure if he closes his eyes, he could see the cherry red line connecting his heart to Harry’s. It has to be there – some sort of cosmic fate leading them to each other. Or maybe it’s a pipe dream, but a dream is better than having nothing.

“I think-“ Harry whispers, watches his hands as he talks, “that I should apologize for what happened at my flat.”

“Haz, you don’t have-“ Louis tries to dismiss it, doesn’t want to ruin the cocoon of warmth between them, but Harry just bites his lip, shaking his head.

“I do. I do have to.” His thumb drags along the curve of the 78 on Louis’ chest, traces it with the edge of his fingertip. “I don’t know why I did it. Why I asked you. I think, in some ways, it just felt natural. For you to choose. To control it.”

“Because I’ve helped pick out your clothes before?” Louis asks, tries to understand. Even if it hurts to. All he can see is that pearl dress, the one looking like it could have been for Harry’s wedding, laying rumpled and discarded on the floor between them.

“No. Yes. It just felt like-“ Harry’s voice goes slow, drawling a little as he tries to find the words. It doesn’t help that he’s exhausted now, huffing a bit to hide a yawn. “Safer. For you to choose. So, I wouldn’t have to. But I knew that you were there. With me. In a way. I’m sorry. I know that’s selfish.”

“Baby.” Stomach gone tight, Louis reaches a hand forward and guides Harry’s face up, wants to see him when he gets out the next question. “What are you saying? You wanted me to be there with you? In some way or as a comfort or?”

Something flits through Harry’s expression – there and then gone before Louis can even figure out what it was. Did he read it right? Was that fear? The mask of a censor slamming down so Harry smooths out his eyebrows, his down turned mouth. No matter how much training Harry has gone through, it can never get rid of how everything is always written all over his face. Louis knows that by now.

“I mean. It’s not a big deal.” Harry laughs and it’s this weird, hollow sort of noise. “I obviously work for him. He pays me for my time. And I’m here because I want to be. I mean, you’re hot and all. So, it just seemed like a good idea to have you play Daddy and pick out my clothes. I didn’t realize how offensive it was going to be.”

“Harry.” Louis tries not to recoil, doesn’t know how to rectify in his brain that Harry looked him clear in the face and lied to him. Or not even lied, just didn’t say what it was.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” Harry leans forward, pushes closer until he can tangle their legs together. “What does matter is I’m sorry for putting you in that position. It wasn’t fair and I know why you got upset.”

“Alright.” Louis doesn’t think he has the energy to fight, nor does he feel like pulling his heart out of his lungs right now, even if everything feels too tight and choking. He just wants this to linger a little longer – the illusion of intimacy, the dream of them being closer than some weird friends with benefits thing they’ve started. “Well, I should also say I’m sorry for freaking out the way I did. I didn’t mean to say half the sh*t I did. I was just mad and I know I don’t have any right to tell you what to do with your life.”

“Unless it’s in the contract.” Harry gives them both an out, wiggling his eyebrows a little as he lands the punchline. “Very Mr. Gray of you.”

“Do you want me to go get the spatula, darling? Think you deserve a spanking?” It tastes like ash in Louis’ mouth to tease like this. Bitter at the thought that Harry couldn’t even tell him the truth. But what is Louis supposed to do? Grab him by the shoulders and shake him? Beg Harry to love him back the way Louis knows, damns himself, he loves Harry.

“Later. I think you’ve already done your best on me tonight.” Harry grins, dimples and all, and Louis has to kiss him before he does something stupid. It’s a simple one, enough of a balm to soothe the burning in Louis’ chest, before he wraps his arms around Harry, turns him over.

They fit together like they were made to – knees in the back of knees, Louis’ arm around Harry’s waist and Harry’s cheek on Louis’ Far Away tattoo. It’s ironic really – the feeling of Harry covering the words and yet Louis has never felt him so distant before. How can he be there, in Louis’ arms and his bed and his heart, and yet he’s still a million miles away from him? So far Louis isn’t even sure he’ll ever be really able to reach Harry again.

“Goodnight Lou.” Mumbling a little, Harry drags Louis’ hand up to kiss over his knuckles, gentle and sincere and it’s like all that bitterness inside of Louis catches on fire and ends in smoke. He can’t even be mad. Not really. Not when he doesn’t even have the balls to tell Harry how he really feels.

“Goodnight babe.” Louis kisses the back of Harry’s neck, holds him impossibly closer. Maybe if he holds him tight enough, it will give Harry a reason to stay.

- - -

Harry should have known that this would happen – this need, addiction really, an itch that he can’t scratch until he has it. But he can’t entirely be blamed. No one prepared him for how good this was going to feel. How perfect it is with Louis inside of him, the sunlight streaming in through the open window, early morning and pleasure. It illuminates the whole bed, turns Louis’ eyelashes blond, his skin still summer tanned, glistening with sweat as he arches his back against the bed, thrusts his hips up.

The thing is – Louis is effortlessly gorgeous. He doesn’t even have to try. It’s woven into the very fabric of his being – from the cut of his shoulders, the curve of his bicep flexing as he holds Harry’s wrists down, his mouth bruised raw from kissing Harry endlessly. One glance from those eyes – the bluest eyes Harry has ever seen, like drops from the very sky – and everything melts away. All that matters is them in this bed, the bed brewing between them, coming together over and over again.

Spreading his legs a little wider, Harry pushes his palms down into Louis’ ribs, rocking back onto his co*ck. It’s deep in this position and Harry has been bouncing for a while, enough his thighs are burning, sweat dripping from his chin, sore inside. Louis won’t let him go any faster though, keeps him riding slow and deep, working himself up and then easing off until Harry is almost mad with it. He’s got Harry’s wrists in his hands too, keeps his palms down, so Harry’s co*ck is free to hang – untouched and dripping.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Gorgeous with the way you ride my co*ck.” Louis murmurs, voice pitched low. He’s been sweet talking Harry since he climbed on top of him, giving him little praises and compliments the longer Harry lasts. “My own angel, huh? Sent down and everything.”

“Yeah. Just for you.” Harry nods helplessly, keeps moving up and down, only faltering when Louis tugs on his arms. He ends up grinding a little harder this time, dragging Louis’ co*ck over his prostate so Harry has no choice but to moan. “Please, Daddy.”

“Please? Please what?” Even on his back, Louis is in control, teasing Harry with a slowly raised eyebrow. He’s sweating too, fringe hanging on his forehead, sweat caught in the hollow of his throat. They’ve been at this for over an hour, ever since Harry woke up with Louis digging into his lower back, working each other over and turning it inside out. Harry hasn’t ever done it like this – where every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, turned on and sparked up.

“Want to come. Please.” Harry pants out his response, dragging himself up before he drops down again, trying to do the most without being able to move his arms. He tilts his head back, shakes out his hair while he grinds down on Louis, flexing his thighs. He knows how to work this position to his advantage, even if Louis is in control, Harry still has some power. Proves it when he squeezes, flexing inside to grip Louis that much tighter.

"f*ckin' hell." Louis curses wildly, bucking his hips up as Harry starts rolling into him, trying to get enough room between to go back to bouncing. "Harry!"

"Want it. Want you. Come on, Daddy. Give it me." Harry whines, not caring how much of a bad boy he's being, not waiting for Louis to give him a command. He is tired of this game, wants his reward now. He's feeling close too, leaking all over between them, when he's momentarily caught off guard by the loud rattling of his phone on the nightstand.

It's vibrating hard enough to indicate a call, Harry not even considering it really as he throws his head back again. He's so close, so f*cking close, hitting all the right spots inside of him that have stars bursting behind Harry's eyes. This might be the best he's ever been f*cked, so warm between them, Louis deep enough he can feel it in his throat. Last night was good, sweet and lovely really, but this morning is perfect in a different way - sensual and a little dirty.

"Baby," Louis chokes out, his own heels digging into the mattress as he thrusts up into Harry, slamming into him hard. It makes Harry's eyes roll back, every nerve ending on fire as he tries to keep hold back just a little longer. "Phone."

"Forget it." Harry whines, bounces hard enough the mattress is squeaking in his desperation, body making it rock into the wall. He just needs a bit more, just for Louis to keep rolling his hips up like that, to keep grinding into his prostate. Harry's never come untouched with someone being inside of him before, hadn’t come untouched at all before Louis, but he sure as hell is going to try.

Louis seems to have other plans though as he releases Harry's wrists to grasp his hips instead, biceps flexing as he pulls him down and forces him to stop moving, both of them panting hard as they stare at each other. The phone stops, then starts again, and Louis rolls his gaze to it with a lazy flick of his head.

"Who is it?"

"Wh-What?" Brokenly, Harry rubs a hand over his face, feels the tears clinging to his fingertips. He doesn't care about the call right now. He cares about this.

"The phone, Haz. Answer the phone." Louis has this dangerous little glint in his eye, reaching over to snatch the cell from the nightstand. It has a lilac colored case on it, little painted violets on the back, and Harry's stomach drops a little when the screen gets tilted towards him and Craig's name flashes across the screen.

"But-" Shaking his head, Harry means to protest, but Louis is already thrusting the phone towards him.

"Answer it."

With narrowed eyes and his lip caught between his fingertips, Harry swipes his thumb across the screen and pushes it up against his ear. His face is sweaty and the phone sticks against his cheek, cool to the touch against his warm skin.

“H-Hello?” Harry greets, tries to regulate his breathing, but it’s no use. He’s panting too hard to sound anything other than winded.

“Doll face, hey. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Craig asks, voice cracked and low. He doesn’t sound mad, exactly, just off. Like he’s come off a rough bender. Considering what happened last night at the party, Harry can understand why.

“Oh. No.” It’s hard to concentrate on the conversation when Louis has taken it upon himself to rub his thumbs along the laurels at Harry’s hips, gripping him tightly. He does it with this little self satisfied smirk on his face too, eyebrow raised as Harry’s mouth falls open, lost on what he was saying.

“You sound winded.” Craig’s sharp tone brings Harry back, forces him to focus as he closes his eyes, has to escape the image of Louis’ electric gaze roving all over him. Even naked, Louis still can make Harry feel stripped bare.

“I’m at a spin class.” Harry feels it more than hears it when Louis snorts, body jolting enough that he rocks his hips up, dragging his co*ck deliciously inside of him.

“Spin class?” Craig doesn’t sound impressed.

“Yeah. Spinning. Bicycles.” Harry explains, rambles a bit as he reaches up to run his hand through his hair. Anything to keep himself from moving again, from thrusting back on the thick heat burning up through his core. “Really uh – good. For my legs. The riding.”

This time, Louis lets out a snicker that he immediately hides behind his hand, has to muffle it in case it gets picked up by the phone. It wrinkles his eyes a bit, fond and mirthful at Harry’s unintentional play on words. He doesn’t even look sorry when Harry sends a pointed glare down at him, a warning raising of his finger as if to silence him. Raising his own fingers, Louis mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and then immediately settles his palms back on Harry’s waist. It’s just a precursor to him rolling his hips up, does it slow and deliberate, doesn’t let Harry get a choice as he rocks back into him, shallow but strong.

“Right, well. I think we should discuss what happened last night.”

Craig coughs to the side of the phone, voice gone brittle. He hacks for a few minutes, distracted enough he doesn't catch Harry's soft moan, his breathing gone a little harsher as Louis starts guiding him into a rhythm. It's a dangerous game, the one that they're playing. Harry has never been quiet, never could hold back with Louis. It's made even worse with how long they've been playing. Harry was already tender from last night when he climbed on top this morning, bruised from Louis' eager hands, it seems to only turn him on more though - the bursts of sharp pain he gets every time he thrusts down.

"Harry?" Craig comes back, voice sharp, and Harry's eyes meet Louis', sees the way his gaze flickers to the phone with annoyance.

"Sorry, we're uh-" Harry pants, runs his free hand through his hair to get it off his face. "We're going up a hill. What did you want to talk about?"

"Last night. The party. I thought we made arrangements." Craig snips. He has this way of talking sometimes that makes it feel like he already knows what he wants to hear - just wants the person to finally say it. Usually Harry is good at guessing it but with Louis' palm wrapping around his co*ck, he can barely string two thoughts together.

"We did. But D-Daddy!" Harry bites so hard on his lip he tastes blood, stares down in horror as Louis plants his heels and sits up. It changes the angle, has Harry dropping down hard and fast, no room for sharp bounces but instead a deep grind that has Harry gritting his teeth together so tight his jaw aches.

“I don’t want to hear the excuse.” Craig snaps, doesn’t seem to even notice that Harry is all but falling apart, starts in again with his low grunting. “That’s all it ever is with you. I pay you out the ass and for what?”

Louis soothes his bites with a few open kisses to Harry’s collarbone, down onto his chest, where he takes Harry's nipple between his lips. He's just everywhere at once - inside of Harry, hand on his co*ck, mouth on his chest. And Harry can't hold back like this. Why is the game suddenly so intense? Because Louis can clearly hear Craig's annoyed chirping through the phone?

"How is it that every time we make plans, I somehow end up too drunk to stand? How is that Harry?" Craig questions and what sounds like him slamming his hand down on the table behind him echoes down the line. It has Harry's attention snapping to him, even as his own fingers curl tightly in Louis' hair.

"It was your birthday, darling. Of course, you were drinking. I didn't want our time together to be ruined by that." Harry murmurs, has to think hard to be able to come up with some excuse. He's so close though, Louis working him over with just the right amount of pressure and pain and Harry has to get off the phone. Right now.

“You know, you think I don’t notice. You running off with that tatted up chav all the time. Whispering to each other.” Craig starts in, a hint of a slur still around his words. Harry can almost imagine him sitting in his bed, some pajama trousers on, gray chest hair curled tight between his pecs. He’s probably sipping on some tea with the shades drawn, sprawled out in his expensive sheets. “You know I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“Zayn and I have been friends since we were in primary.” Harry scratches his nails down Louis’ back, receives a bite to his chest in reply. It’s enough to have Harry hissing through his teeth, trying to cover it up with a cough. “Besides, I think he’s seeing someone.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” Craig drawls in a nasty sort of way, paired with an invisible eye roll. “You introduce him to Tomlinson yet? Bet he’d like that one. You know, I warned you about what happens to pretty boys-“

“I’ve got to go.” Harry interrupts, can’t believe he actually had the courage to do it. He must be delirious though, out of his mind, to sass Craig while Louis stares up at him with gleaming eyes, spitting down where he’s tugging on Harry’s co*ck, slicking the way. And how cruel is that? Craig yelling at Harry over last night when all Harry can focus on is the flickering heat exploding in his spine, sat atop Craig’s self proclaimed worst enemy? Does it make it better or worse?

"I want to see you tonight. Six o'clock." Craig's tone shifts, something rough coming into the way he says the words. "Dinner and then I get what I paid for, alright?"

"Yeah, Daddy. Sure." Harry agrees, anything to get the phone call to be over. "Whatever you want."

“Whatever I want?” Louis mouths the words, arm tight around Harry’s waist as he suddenly snaps his hips up, f*cks into him with all his strength. It knocks the wind from Harry’s lungs, a gasp barely smothering the cry of pleasure Harry lets out when Louis keeps doing it.

"You know what I want. Now, I'm going to go sleep off whatever the f*ck happened last night." Craig grunts, dismissive and annoyed. "Don't be late, Harry. I f*cking mean it."

"Okay. Okay, promise." Panting hard, Harry barely has the mind to end the call before he's coming.

He throws his head back, nearly screams up at the ceiling as he shoots off, coating over Louis' hand, his chest, his stomach. Louis’ grip on him changes, runs his hands up his back, keeps Harry up right as Louis thrusts a few more times before following him over. They’re a mess in the afterglow – sweaty and holding on to one another, trembling in a tangle of limbs and smeared kisses. Harry abandons his phone somewhere in the sheets to be able to wrap himself up in Louis’ arms, holds his jaw to kiss him over and over and over, not even worrying about trying to get a breath until he absolutely has to.

“Christ, you’re amazing.” Louis finally murmurs after he has to fall back a little, moaning brokenly as he sees the state he’s left Harry in. His hair is a while mess, curls pointing in every direction, face turned splotchy and red. There is blood on his lip from biting it and his body is flushed, sticky with sweat and with come, still perched in Louis’ lap.

“You’re amazing.” Harry barely gets out, uses all the strength he has to finally raise up on his knees, swinging a leg over before immediately collapsing back into the bed. Louis follows him, sprawls out on his back with a hand gently on Harry’s chest, stroking over his ribs there, rubbing in the bit of come under his palm.

They lay like that for a few minutes, just basking. Harry, could honestly, stay here like this forever – naked and warm, smelling like sex and Louis’ cologne. It feels remarkable, soaking up someone else, just filled to the brim with it – overflowing in Louis. Harry can’t stop himself from grinning, from being overwhelmed and happy. Even if somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s reminded how temporary this whole thing is.

To say Harry is attached is an understatement. It crept up on him – or at least the knowledge did. But now it sits heavy, festers in his chest when he’s near Louis. He’s in love. There is no denying that dangerously warm sensation in his chest, that need to be close, the way his heart races whenever Louis gives him a grin or a welcoming kiss. Harry wasn’t prepared for it – was in too deep before he even realized what was happening.

“You know, that was really stupid.” Rubbing his hands over his face, Harry pushes his curls back from his cheeks, trying to smooth them into some sort of semblance. They’re a mess from last night, added on by Louis’ insistent fingers this morning.

“He didn’t even know.” The corner of Louis’ mouth raises in a small, satisfied smirk. He doesn’t seem that concerned. “Besides, from what you’ve told me, he wouldn’t know what you sound like getting your brains f*cked out anyways.”

“Louis!” Harry cries in disbelief, turning his head sharply to stare over at him.

“What?” Cackling, Louis rolls over onto his side, reaching out a hand to grip the back of Harry’s neck, dragging him into a kiss, even as Harry protests. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t good. I saw your face. I know how hard you came.”

“Lou-“ Harry tries to shake his head, but he lets out a soft moan instead, distracted by the curl of Louis’ tongue in his mouth. He does this thing where he sucks on Harry’s bottom lip, little pulls that seem to go directly to Harry’s co*ck. It shouldn’t be possible for him to get hard again this soon, but Harry’s co*ck twitches like it’s going to try.

“Tell me it wasn’t good.” Louis’ stubble drags deliciously along Harry’s jaw, down onto his throat where he peppers a few kisses there, teases his teeth at the spot just behind Harry’s ear that drives him insane. “Tell me I’m not the best you’ve ever had.”

“You’re co*cky.” Harry knows it’s a weak argument, even as his back arches, arms wrapping around Louis. He can feel the goosebumps raise on his arms, still tingling from the org*sm but with the way Louis touches him, everything seems to light back up.

“I’ve earned it.” Pushing himself up, Louis caresses his fingers along Harry’s brow, pushes his fringe back at his temples. “Haven’t I?”

He looks oddly sincere, those blue eyes staring down at Harry with a smile so sweet it’s almost saccharine. Harry leans up to taste it, kisses him soft and loving and with all that syrupy emotion he’s been trying to swallow back for months and months. He knows why they waited this long, knows why it was dangerous for them to fall into bed like this. Before, it was just dirty playing. Now, Harry knows what Louis sounds like when he comes undone, has memorized the feeling of Louis inside of him, carved the memory of them together inside his brain. Now nothing will ever be enough. Just this.

“Yeah. You have.” Harry nods helplessly, has to kiss him again in case he lets the words slip out.

They make out for a few more minutes, distracted by the slide of skin on skin, the warmth of the blankets around them. It would be so easy just to stay, to forget the world around them, but both of them know it’s not possible. Or at least, Harry remembers it, collapsing back into the mattress and then forcing himself to roll over, throwing his legs over the edge and sitting up.

“No lie in then?” Louis asks behind him, props himself up on the pillows, reaching over for the pack of smokes on the nightstand.

“It’s eleven.” Harry grins over his shoulder, running a hand through his hair again. “We can’t stay in bed all day, darling.”

“I don’t see why not.” Shrugging a shoulder, Louis lights up, turning his head to exhale the smoke away from Harry. “No one around to stop us.”

“No, but all I’ve had is champagne in the past twelve hours and I’m filthy.” Pushing himself up, Harry tosses the blankets back, glancing at Louis over his shoulder as he stands. He’s not shy about his nudity, nor the bruises lining his waist, the dried come on his stomach and thighs. Why should he be? Louis did it to him.

“Uh huh.” The cigarette hangs precariously from Louis’ lip, mouth left slightly open as he stares at Harry, pupils slowly eating up the blue of his eyes.

Sauntering over to the door, Harry opens it to the ensuite, can feel Louis watching him every step he takes. It’s intoxicating, the push and chase, the little games they play with each other. Harry gets a thrill off the shift in power, the way he has Louis staring at him, wanting him, waiting for further instructions. Harry could get used to it, having a metaphorical leash he can tug on to get Louis to pay him attention.

“Come on, Daddy.” Harry curls his finger, bites his lip with a practiced sweep of his eyelashes too. “Aren’t you hungry? Help me get cleaned up and then I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Oh, I think I’ll just eat now.” Louis plays right into Harry’s plan, abandons the cigarette in the ashtray as he all but sprints from the bed, Harry’s giggles getting lost in his shoulder as he all but carries him into the walk in shower.

- - -

"I know where my kitchen is, darling. I'm fully capable of making the tea." Louis calls over his shoulder, taking the last few steps to reach the ground floor. He's glad no one is around to see the wide grin spreading over his face, can't help the dopey gleam in his eyes as he hears Harry's laughter from upstairs. If no one is there to witness him being dumbly in puppy love, then it doesn't count right?

Tugging his phone out of his trousers, Louis is halfway through his notifications - a dozen or so texts from Liam freaking out about something, a few missed calls, more emails - when he runs into something. Something that is a little shorter than him with a mass of blond hair piled high up in a ponytail at the top of her head.

"Lottie!" Louis doesn't jump. He doesn't. He does grab her by the shoulders though, pushing her back half a step in his attempt to keep his balance. "What the f*ck are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? It's Sunday!" Lottie's expertly filled in brow raises, lips pursed. "Mum tried calling you all of last night but you never answered so she just loaded everyone up and came over. Sunday brekkie, remember? You agreed to this weeks ago."

"Wait, now?" Whipping his head to the side, Louis tries to crane and see the door. He vaguely remembers his mum saying something to him about this last time they were on the phone, but honestly, Louis’ been a bit preoccupied as of late. "Who all is here?"

"Who do you think? Mum, both twins. Fizzy came up with me so we beat them by a few minutes but she stayed out to help with the car seats." Lottie pushes Louis' hands off her, smoothing her fingers over the invisible wrinkles in her jumper. "Why are you freaking out?"

"I'm not. I just didn't expect you to be here." Louis answers quickly, shrugging his shoulders in what he hopes is nonchalance. "Forgot."

"Wait." Narrowing her eyes, Lottie's expression slowly morphs into a mischievous grin fitting of a younger sibling. "What are you up to?"

"I'm not up to anything. Seriously." Louis rolls his eyes, running a hand through his still damp hair. "Go help Mum with the babes, yeah?"

"No. I know you. You did something. You’re in trouble." Her words turn slow, inching towards Louis with a pointed finger, only to freeze at the sound on the stairs.

Louis doesn't even have a chance to warn him, can't turn around fast enough before Harry is rounding the corner on the landing. He's half dressed - cream colored shirt left open over his bare chest and stomach, hair dripping a little around his neck and shoulders. If it weren't obvious enough already, it's clear that Harry is wearing Louis' clothes, trousers a skosh short in the leg.

"Darling, I really think you are the only person in the world I'd believe could burn water. Do you need-" Finally looking up from his buttons, whatever Harry was about to ask dies on the tip of his tongue as he freezes on the landing, confused gaze sweeping from Louis to Lottie and then back. "Oh. Hello."

"Louis William Tomlinson!" Lottie's knuckles slam into Louis' shoulder, punching him solidly just shy of the bone. "You slag! What the f*ck?"

"Shut up. Shut up!" Louis snaps as Lottie begins another sharp smack of her hand. He doesn't need to panic. It's fine. He can figure this out. “Charlotte! Stop it. Behave.”

"Mum is outside! With the babies! And you have a half naked model in your house. Wearing your clothes." Lottie all but shouts, waving her arm in a big circle in the direction of the front door. "What are you going to tell her?"

"Honestly, Lots. Not f*cking helping by screaming at me." Sing-songing, Louis turns towards Harry, who is desperately slipping pearl buttons through their eyelet, eyes gone huge. He's not exactly lining them up, shirt skewed a little, crooked at the middle as he stumbles down the last four steps. It’d be adorable if it weren’t for how obvious both of them look – shower damp and flushed, couldn’t look guiltier if they tried.

"Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Here, how about pleasantries. Lovely to see you, Harry. How is it being signed by my dickhe*d older brother?" Lottie says, not without a knowing little smirk on her face, co*cking her head to the side. It makes her look startlingly like Louis, even down to the curve of her nose. "This a perk of the job then? Home visits?”

“It’s not what it looks like?” Harry cringes, half shrugging at how pathetic of an excuse that is. Louis resists slapping a hand to his forehead. “But I can go. I can sneak out the back. Call a cab.”

“No, love, you don’t even have your shoes.” Louis hisses, doesn’t know why he feels the need to whisper. He hasn’t been this scared of being caught since high school, sure his mother is going to round the corner any moment with her impressively knowing face. He’s not half wrong as before Louis can manage to come up with a plan, the front door is opening.

“Stall them!” Louis whisper yells at his sister, shoves his hand into Lottie’s shoulder and pushes her towards the door.

It buys them a few seconds really, long enough for Louis to spin on his heel and undo half of Harry's buttons, redoing them with quick twists of his fingers before little footsteps sound down the hall. There are a chorus of voices too, lots of women calling out greetings in a thick, Yorkshire accent, but it's the little boy who gets there first. He comes peeling around the corner in a flash of blond curls with both of his arms raised high above his head.

"Lou! Lou! Lou!"

"Ernie!" Stooping a little, Louis lifts the toddler up into his arms, holding his brother to his chest in a tight bear hug. "There is my favorite lad!"

"We're here!" Ernie coos, pudgy hands coming to hold Louis' face, wiggling his legs. "Happy Christmas!"

"It's a bit early for Christmas, darling." Louis laughs, fitting the boy easily onto his hips. "But aren't you getting big? Swear you've grown two stone since I saw you last."

"Might as well have." Lottie rolls her eyes just as a set of arms is thrown around her shoulders. Following the little boy, the rest of the Tomlinsons make their way into the awkward hall between the stairs and the main lounge. First it's Fizzy with another blond haired toddler on her hip, this one is diligently sucking on her thumb though, big eyes roving over the room like everything is brand new and of interest. They're followed by Daisy and Phoebe, each carrying shopping bags and stopping the minute they take in the small crowd. It forces the last person in the room to pause just inside the doorway, the head of the Tomlinson gang to finally make an appearance.

Jay stands just above the two girls in height but her gaze could pierce through stone. She takes one cursory look around the place, seeming to catalogue everything, before leveling her eldest with a knowing stare, eyebrow raised.

Louis wishes he had the forethought to at least send Harry back upstairs instead. Not that he wanted to avoid him meeting his family, but maybe for something with a little more coverage, a shirt to hide the marks on his chest instead of proudly showcasing them in a constellation of purple and red. There is little to be done now though. Jay isn't stupid. She draws conclusions from the minute she sees Harry and Louis' matching wet hair, their guilty expressions, the awkward three meters of space between them.

“Good morning, darling.” Unshaken, Jay smiles over her family to her eldest, the phantom ghost of amusem*nt gleaming in her eyes.

“Morning, Mum.” Louis won’t give her the satisfaction of ducking his head, but he does look a little chagrined when he takes half a step over, arm reaching out to press his hand to Harry’s waist. “Mum, I’d like you to meet Harry Styles. Harry, this is my mum Jay.”

“Hello, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.” Harry’s voice comes out deep, a slight rasp to it as his cheeks warm to a rosy flush. Louis can feel him trembling a little under his fingertips, fighting every urge to duck his head.

“Good morning, Harry. Aren’t you very polite? I didn’t know Louis knew any posh boys.” Jay teases, grin spreading wide as she sweeps her gaze over them.

"Mummy," Ernie wiggles in Louis' arms, pointing out a chubby finger in the direction of the stairs. Harry is still standing there, hands clasped before him, knees tight together. He doesn't dare look at Louis, bottom lip curled into his mouth as he nods his head a little. "Louis got an angel!"

"Princess." Doris pulls her thumb out of her mouth long enough to correct in a tiny voice, immediately putting it back.

"I see that darling." Jay nods encouragingly, even as she turns her attention to Harry. It's almost eerie how much Louis resembles her, even down to the shape of her eyes. It's not an unkind stare, just a knowing one, a look only a mother can give. "And does Louis' angel princess know how to fry an egg?"

"Yes ma’am." Harry ducks his head in a sharp nod. “Quite well.”

"Good. Then you can help me." Putting a hand into Daisy' and Phoebe's shoulders, she pushes the girls forward and down the hall. "Come on, loves. I doubt the kitchen has moved since last time we visited. Doubt your brother has even been in there."

Back in charge, though it’s clear that even at Louis’ home Jay is still the matriarch of the family, she makes her way across the entryway and to the hall. Harry only has a moment to send a wide eyed, panicked look at Louis, before Jay is looping her arm through his and all but dragging him towards the kitchen. It’s not done unkindly but in a motherly sort of way that Harry knows better than to argue with. He has a mother, he knows the rules. It’s not until they’ve disappeared behind the swinging doors that both Fizzy and Lottie give each other an amused little smirk before turning their identical expressions to Louis.

“I really hope he likes you.” Fizzy drawls, shaking her head as she bounces Doris a little on her hip. “Cause if not, you’re never going to see him after this.”

“Shut up. That's not true.” Louis rolls his eyes, tries to let Ernie’s toddler mumbling be a distraction to the sound of pots and pans in the kitchen. He wants to know what they're doing, what Jay's saying, what Harry's saying. He doubts it'll be that bad but it's not like either of them had time to prepare.

“She’s going to eat him alive.” Lottie reaches over, pinches Louis’ cheek between her sharp nails. “Just wait until she finds out how you met.”

“Really, really not helping. Either of you.” Louis lasts only long enough for Ernie to get squirmy in his arms, before he’s sighing, hoisting the toddler higher on his side. "Harry can charm anyone. I've seen it with my own two eyes."

"While wearing your clothes?" Lottie asks, eyebrow co*cked.

"And meeting your mum?" Fizzy adds, snickering when Louis sends them both a tight lipped scowl.

"It'll be fine." Louis isn't sure if he should be that sure, but before he can question it, the swinging door of the kitchen is being propped open and Daisy is sticking her head out.

"Mum says you're being rude not offering us tea since it's the only thing you know how to make."

"Alright. To the kitchen then, babes." Drawing in a slow breath to prepare, Louis presses a kiss to Ernie's temple for good luck before he turns and heads into the kitchen.

It's not as bad as he suspected, couldn't have gone south in the few minutes they were apart. Harry has his hair pulled up in a loose bun, curls framing his face while he cracks eggs into a bowl. Phoebe is practically glued to his side, taking the shells from him and tossing them in the garbage disposal. Jay has started in on the potatoes, a butcher knife in hand, keeping the conversation light by asking Harry about being from up North. It's charmingly domestic - something warm and sweet settling deep in Louis' chest, oozing around his ribs like honey. It feels - easy. Like Harry fits into the loud and boisterous family, as if he's always been there.

"There you are," Jay glances up, wiping her hands on a towel nearby. "Spot of tea, love? And some milk for the babes?"

"Course Mum." Louis goes to walk by them, only for Jay to grab his elbow, pulling him into a tight hug. Even after all these years, she still smells just the way Louis remembers, like warm hugs after the bus and lullabies at night. Like comfort and home and safety.

"We're not done talking about this. But he is lovely, isn't he?" She whispers in his ear, kissing his cheek, before releasing him with a wide grin.

"Very."

Louis allows himself to peek over at Harry who is supervising Phoebe's quick whisking of the eggs. She isn't exactly graceful with it, at that awkward stage of puberty where your body doesn't always work correctly, but Harry doesn't try to correct her. Instead, he leans on the counter and watches, only distracted when Fizzy comes to join them and Doris immediately reaches for him.

Doris is a shy girl. She's always had attention on her at home, with familiar faces, but around strangers she clams up a bit. It's been a struggle to get her to be friends with anyone outside of her siblings, but it's almost an instant magnet. She seems to lock onto Harry, reaching out her chubby arms, until Harry swoops in and settles her up on his hip.

“That’s Doris. She doesn’t talk much.” Daisy chimes in, propping her face up on her elbows as she leans across the counter from him. “Mum says her and Ernest are just picky. That they can tell what someone’s going to be like without them ever opening their mouth.”

“It’s a gift.” Phoebe nods matter of fact, making a wide circle with her whisk. “Mummy says all of us have it. Tomlinson Foresight. Can tell someone is bad just by looking at them.”

Over the top of the girls’ heads, Harry catches Louis’ gaze, mouth curved down in a look of clear surprise and intrigue. They’re not exactly incorrect, though Louis would rather call it a good judge of character than a gift. It’s like a sixth sense really – Louis can read people, can feel out the room. Just like how he can tell, even from the slight raise in Harry’s shoulders, how incredibly nervous he is, stuck shy just like the baby that he’s holding, from all the attention on him. Louis grins at him, nods his head in encouragement, tries to reassure him that it’s going to be fine.

“Hi.” In the smallest voice, half muffled by her thumb, Doris blinks her large eyes up at Harry.

"Doris, is it darling? Aren't you sweet? I’m Harry." Louis can hear Harry cooing at her as he goes to get the mugs out of the cabinet, the kettle already filling in the sink. It’s almost uncanny how natural he is with her, with all the sisters really, even Fizzy seems amused by him and she doesn’t like anyone. Ever. "Shall we make a snack before brekkie?"

"Snack?" Doris bats her big eyes up at him, already enamored, a feeling Louis can definitely understand when Harry flashes his dimpled grin at her.

"Yes. You want some fruit? I think Louis might have some strawberries." Stepping around the sisters, Harry makes his way towards the fridge, pulling open the doors. “Maybe some bananas? Or kiwi?”

“Kiwi?” Ernie perks his head up from where it was resting on Louis’ shoulder.

“I doubt-“ Louis goes to disagree, shaking his head, but Harry waves it away with a quick flick of his wrist.

“I asked Martha to pick up some last shopping trip. She and I both agree you don’t eat enough fruit, love.” True to his word, Harry pulls out a small bowl of kiwis followed by a carton of strawberries, depositing both on the counter.

“Martha?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised. “When did you talk to my house keeper?”

“Last time I spent the-“ Freezing, Harry’s eyes go wide, mouth left open a little as he realizes his mistake. The room falls silent, even Jay’s knife has gone still on the cutting board. Back tracking, Harry tries to cover it, stumbling a little over the lie. “Last time I was here. For that recording session. You know?”

“Right.” Louis can feel at least three pairs of eyes staring at him, awkwardly lingering between the kettle and the island where Harry is. The younger ones won’t understand, but they can sense that they’re missing something, little heads whipping around to stare at their siblings. “Well, good luck with that then. I didn’t even know they were in there.”

“The plan was to sneak them into your food.” Harry explains, fidgeting with the edge of the strawberry carton. The whole conversation seems to have gone south, stretching tension thin between them, until Jay gives a derisive snort, her knife loudly going back to chopping the potatoes.

“Well, thank god someone is trying to take care of my boy. I was worried he was living on instant noodles and beer again.”

“Only on the weekends, mum.” Louis rolls his eyes, lets the ribbing allow for tension to dissipate a bit.

It's odd how easily it seems to go from there. Louis is used to loud mornings spent cooking with his family, lots of voices and singing with the radio on. It just feels familiar, like it is any other day in Doncaster, all piled into the quaint but lively Tomlinson kitchen, making a spot of breakfast, shouting over one another to be heard. Only difference is that this time, Harry is there. Harry, who could be a Tomlinson with how well he fits in.

Eggs are fried up with potatoes, toast and beans on the side. The baby twins get distracted by Harry hand feeding them fruit and keeping them entertained at the counter, and if Louis sneaks by to steal a piece of strawberry from Harry's fingertips, well, only Doris catches him doing it.

Before long, everyone is piled in at the rarely used dining table, passing plates around and talking over one another. Somehow, Louis ends up sat between Daisy and Phoebe in the middle of the table, Ernie too attached to sit anywhere other than his lap. It forces Lottie and Fizzy across, with miraculously Harry between, Jay taking her rightful place at the head with Doris now on her lap.

It's pleasant, if a bit rambunctious, and for once it's just - nice. Nice to be with familiar faces that don't require Louis to be anything but himself. He doesn't even pull his phone out, just lets himself laugh and add in on stories and cuddle his siblings, ankle hooked around Harry's under the table. It isn't until the foods run out and the tea has gone cold that it all comes crashing in on him.

Harry and Louis both are set on clearing the plates, sending the girls and Jay out with Ernie to the sitting room. They've just managed to pile the last few glasses into the dishwasher when Harry's phone begins buzzing loudly on the counter, an alarm for four thirty blinking on the screen.

"sh*t." Drying his hands on a rag, Harry swipes his thumb over it, shoving the device deep in his back pocket.

"Duty calls?" Louis tries to keep his voice neutral, unbothered, as he leans on the counter, watches Harry nervously running his now clean palms over the front of shirt. Or more, Louis' shirt, that barely hits the waistband of his trousers. It looks good on him though.

"I'm sorry. I've had a lovely time." Turning sharply to face Louis, Harry bites his bottom lip, glancing towards the swinging kitchen door. "I hope they won't think I'm being rude."

"No, love. I'll just tell them you need to go to work." Crossing over, Louis gently wraps his arms around Harry, tugs him close so their hips bump, tangled close. "You are going to work."

"I'd stay. Of course, if I was welcome. I hope you know." Harry explains, a little quickly, fumbling over his words. The anxiety is palpable, fidgeting and picking at himself. Louis doesn’t understand it. They both knew this was going to happen. "They're all so lovely, so lovely, and I don't-"

"Baby, it's fine." Louis soothes, reaches up to cup his cheek, guiding him into a soft kiss. It's enough to distract Harry's nervous biting, drawing in a slow breath as he leans into Louis, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. They fit together like this, all pieces lined up and sinking into one another. It'd be easy to get lost in it, and in some ways they do, one kiss leading into another into another - an endless press of soft lips and gasping breath.

It makes Louis wonder if they keep kissing like this, touching like this, clinging to one another if it will somehow convince Harry to stay. He's not dumb enough to not know where he's going. Louis heard the phone call. He heard Craig's barking orders, saw the way Harry flinched under the harsh treatment. But what can Louis do? Harry is going to go where the money is, and regardless of how many times Louis has burned to offer a replacement, he can't forget what happened the last time he did. Harry doesn't want him. Doesn't want his money or his loyalty. He just wants this - fun and affection for free. No strings.

It doesn't stop Louis from wanting to scream, beg, plead - choose me, stay with me. Let me give you my heart and treat yours kindly, like we deserve. I’ll give you anything, everything, always.

"Baby." Louis finally has to make himself pull away. He can hear laughter in the living room, has to remember himself a little, especially with Harry panting against his cheek.

"I know. I'm sorry." Harry says it but Louis, for the life of him, can't figure out why he's apologizing.

"Come on, love." Giving him a tight smile, Louis laces his fingers through Harry's and tugs him towards the door. "I'll walk you out."

They have to pass the group on the couches, all of the siblings getting up to hug Harry tight in goodbye. Even Doris, who clings to Harry’s leg hard until she gets picked up and given a kiss to the forehead. It's the Tomlinson way - being overly physically affectionate. When Jay pulls Harry into her arms, she tucks her face into his shoulder, whispers something that even as close as Louis is - he can't hear it. Whatever it is, Harry's eyes are a little misty when he pulls back, ducking his head in a quick nod as she kisses both of his cheeks tenderly. It seems even in the short amount of time, they've adopted him into their fold.

Then, they're standing before the front door and Harry's coat and his little bag is in his hand. It feels scandalous - Louis knowing what's inside of it, took the lingerie off of Harry with careful fingers last night. It's a good memory though, one seared in the back of Louis' mind, somehow makes up for and doesn’t make up for it at the same time.

“I’ll call you later.” Harry murmurs, runs his fingertips up and down the soft seam on the shoulder of Louis’ jumper. “Or, no. Probably tomorrow.”

“Phone is always on.” Forcing himself to not say more, Louis leans in and kisses him, doesn’t care that it’s a clear shot from the couches to where they’re standing. He just needs to, needs to cling to one more part of Harry before it’s taken away again.

“I-“ Harry whispers between them, close enough the word brushes against Louis’ own lips. “I just- If I could-“

“Don’t.” Louis flinches back, isn’t sure he can handle hearing another excuse, another reason why. He knows why. Knows who is waiting for Harry’s attention, who is paying for it. “Call me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Wiping at his eyes, Harry forces himself to take a step back and then reaches out for the door. He lingers just a second too long, backlit by the afternoon sun, glowing and lovely and so close if only Louis could just reach out and hold him. But then he’s gone and Louis is shutting the door behind him, taking in a slow breath before he forces himself to turn around with a grin.

“Who wants ice cream?”

- - -

The world flies by outside of the cab window but Harry has never felt so separated from it. It's like he's just observing from some distant, numb place where he can see it, smell it, feel the warm breeze on his face but it's not real. Like all the vibrancy of life is meaningless and bland - a caricature of itself.

He draws blood by chewing on his thumbnail, apprehension twisting tighter and tighter on his spine the closer they get to his flat. It's only a twenty minute commute from Louis' house and Harry's own flat but it doesn't feel like it. It feels shorter, like the cars and traffic are racing by and Harry doesn't even have a chance to calm himself down before they're nearing his neighborhood.

"f*ck." Muttering under his breath, Harry drags his hands down his thighs, tries to avoid looking at the small hole just to the left of his knee. He picked them specifically from Louis' closet because they looked worn in, comfortable, with little left over remnants from a time when Louis was wearing them.

When Harry tried to explain to Louis about the dress, he didn't exactly get it out right. It's not that he wanted Louis to pick out the dress for some kink or role to play. He wanted Louis to pick it because it felt - intimate. Like when Louis wraps his arms around Harry's waist and kisses him on the cheek, holds him close, soothes him with soft words of encouragement and strength. No one has ever done that for him. No one has ever seen Harry as anything other than capable and purchasable. Only Louis.

That's why it must feel so bad when Harry dragged himself out of that house - away from Louis and his lovely family. All he wanted to do was stay, to pull Doris back on his lap, to listen to Daisy and Phoebe prattle on about school and first crushes, even Fizzy and Lottie's loud ribbing on Louis felt good - natural.

He almost said it. Harry had the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to confess everything. He wanted to say it last night when Louis had first slid into him, held him close and stroked his hair, gentle even in the middle of passion. It had burned there, warm and festering in his chest as they lay there after, curled up together in the darkness. The confession that Harry has been trying to tell himself isn't real for weeks, but there is no use lying anymore.

He's in love.

Harry is undeniable, completely, overwhelmingly in love with Louis Tomlinson. And there is nothing to be done about it.

There are roles to be played in life. Harry knows that better than anyone, and this isn't one he can have or even audition for. Louis has made it clear from the beginning that this is just fun, a little thing he can hold over Craig. It's a bragging right, though Harry isn't sure that anyone has heard about it from Louis yet. It's just one of those things that powerful men want - no sweeter sin than taking your enemy’s girl.

So, Harry does what he's supposed to do. Louis told him not to say anything when he was leaving and that's the way it has to be. Harry has to accept it - and he has. Obviously has if he's already planning the rest of the night out. He'll go upstairs to his flat, get ready for his evening, and then he'll go to work. And whatever Craig pays for, he'll get, and that will be that. There is no other option.

That's what Harry tells himself as he exits his flat's elevator, walks down the hall. It feels eerily quiet up here this evening, no one coming or going, no music faintly tinkering out from behind the doors. Harry hasn't been back in a full day but it feels almost vacant - like everyone else on the floor knew to be out at this time.

Unlocking the front door, Harry leaves his shoes on the mat, drops his keys in the bowel and immediately stops in his tracks. There, sitting casually on his couch, glass of wine in hand, is Craig. He's only turned a side lamp on so the room is cast in shadows, interspersed with golden light. It's enough to illuminate his profile - his straight nose, salt and pepper stubble, and the scowl pulling down his lips.

“Oh.” Harry startles, nearly drops his phone from how hard. Hypothetically, he knew Craig could come over at any time. His name is the one on the lease, he pays the rent. He just never has. “Hello. This is a surprise, Daddy. I thought we were meeting at six.”

“We were.” Craig’s voice is calm, though it rolls deep from within his chest, tone cold. “But I have had the most interesting afternoon. I had to come see you in person.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it.” Putting on a smile, Harry keeps his own voice light, forces himself to start walking towards his room. “Just let me change first.”

“Kind of Tomlinson to borrow you some clothes.” Craig interrupts, stopping Harry in his tracks. “Didn’t want you walking across the lobby in the dress you wore for me?”

“W-What?” A deep heat curls in Harry’s stomach, makes his palms and the back of his neck go hot as he stands there, awkwardly pinned in place by Craig’s causal stare. And no. There is no way. No f*cking way. Harry has been careful, so careful the whole time.

“I just wonder, did you let him f*ck you in it? Surely not.” Scoffing, Craig shakes his head, wrist swishing around his wine. “It’s vintage, after all. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I don’t-“ Harry’s mind has gone blank, completely void of anything but that heavy fear coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. How did he find out? Where did Harry f*ck up?

“You know, when I first thought about this, I had my doubts. You were so sweet to me. So eager to do whatever it was that I wanted. I thought, at the beginning, that maybe you were just a little shy. Pretty boy like you, face of an angel, thought to myself – Craig, be gentle. You’ve got some innocent virgin on your hands. That’s why he won’t let you f*ck him.” Musing, Craig sweeps his gaze slowly over Harry – assessing and slow. It’s not the type of look that sits kindly on the skin, sinks in and turns cold.

“So, I thought, why not use it to my advantage? Tomlinson has been breaking records, making numbers I wouldn’t have even dreamed of at his age. How? How is he f*cking doing it?” Craig continues, scoffing under his breath. “No one could figure it out. All his bullsh*t about running a business the right way. No. What is Louis Tomlinson’s dirty little secret? Doesn’t have one? Okay. Let’s give him something to distract him. And wouldn’t you believe it – my new toy wants to be a big star.”

“No.” Harry shakes his head, can feel the tears already prickling at the corner of his eyes.

“Who pays your phone bills, Harry? Who bought you that new iPhone when yours got broken at my house?” Craig asks, takes a slow sip of wine as he stares at Harry over the rim of his glass. “Who introduced you to him? Told you to be so f*cking careful. Made you show me every contract and document he slid before you.”

“I signed NDAs. I trusted you to-“ Harry chokes, voice gone rough as it sits at the base of his throat.

“Trust? You want to talk about trust?” Finally, it seems to snap something in Craig, whose voice goes loud as he shouts. “I’ve been tracking you, doll face. Every email. Every file sent. Every time you were somewhere when you told me you were somewhere else. And you know what you got today? A little recording of your newest single. Let’s listen.”

The surround system in Harry’s house filters through every room, speakers integrated into the walls. It’s usually a nice perk – being able to listen to music or audio books throughout the home, but Craig has weaponized it. The beginning notes of a song Harry’s been working on tirelessly for two weeks starts up, piano swelling around Niall’s expertly played guitar. It’s not been easy trying to get a clear demo of the track as the transition is complicated and there is a tone shift in the middle that forces Harry to carry a high note for a long time.

“f*ck!” The music cuts out and Harry’s voice can be heard complaining that he can’t do it, that it’s too hard, they need to change the key.

“Craig, stop it.” Current Harry shakes his head, nausea creeping in the back of his throat as Craig holds up a hand to hush him. He knows what this is, flinches right on time when the audio picks up the door to the booth being thrown open. This was two weeks ago, a drizzly Tuesday that seemed to stretch on and on.

“Out! Everyone out!” Louis can be heard shouting, some words muffled as he’s too far away from the mic. Niall’s soft ‘You’ve got it, Hazza’ murmured on the tape.

“I can’t do it, Louis. I f*cking can’t. Change the key! I’m going to f*cking keep missing it.” Recording Harry whines, the reply not coming through as Louis shuts the door away, tells Harry to do it again over the headset.

There is some light bickering before the music starts up again and this time, Harry struggles. He’s pitching sharply, made to redo the line over and over – six times - until finally on the last one, with a growl of frustration, Harry completes the verse. It’s actually impressive the way he swoops from one note to the other, voice loud and clear – finally a perfect track. It seems to please Louis who can be heard on the recording shouting as he opens the door again.

“f*ck yes, Baby! That’s what I’m f*cking talking about!”

Craig raises his eyebrows, sipping slowly from his glass and Harry has to close his eyes. He doesn't want to relieve this, doesn't want to see the recognition on Craig's face when Harry knows what's about to happen. As much as he tries to shy away from it, closing his eyes only seems to heighten his sense of hearing, can pick up the shuffle of Louis’ sneakers on the carpeted floor, his elated shouting of how brilliant Harry is. Perfect. Done it so well.

It's like a living memory. He can see it in his mind – Louis coming into the booth, the way his hands had immediately flown to Harry’s waist, nearly picking him up in his excitement. They had crashed backwards, Harry propped up on an amp on the wall, muffling his giggles into Louis' mouth. There is the wet slide of their mouths, panted breath as Louis continues his praises between desperate kisses.

Harry can feel them on his lips, can almost taste how Louis had tasted like tea, a sharp tang from his cigarette he had just before. Hands deep in his curls, Louis had kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until Harry was a panting mess, legs wrapped around his waist, shirt unbuttoned with Louis’ hand all over his skin. It was Louis who got his jeans open, who reached inside and started Harry moaning - loud enough it ricochets through Harry's flat now.

Louis. f*ck. Oh my god.

It's followed shortly by Louis' own groans, hips rocking into Harry, grinding them together as he took them both in hand. Harry can still feel the drag of Louis' t-shirt against his nails as he had clawed at his back, crying out when Louis had expertly twisted his wrist just in the way that had Harry seeing stars.

The whole flat is full of their noises, accidently recorded when Louis got too excited and forgot to pause the recording. It's like a chorus of sharp Oh please, Daddy. Don't stop followed by Louis' So brilliant, darling. So f*cking good. You're a dream, baby. Harry can't escape it, flinching every time he hears himself almost slip, spill out all his feelings, so close to saying he loves Louis that it finally forces Harry to let his tears out.

Craig is unsympathetic. Harry stands there with tears easily flowing, holding his breath to keep back his sobs, and Craig waits until they come - waits until the very end of the recording - before he raises the remote and flicks it off. The aftermath is jarring - flat left silent and cold, just the two of them staring at one another. What had felt like a silly accident - reckless and dumb but relatively safe - has all been ruined by Craig's interception of that email. Harry hadn't even known what it was earlier when he got it - an accidental attachment sent from Liam who probably thought he was actually sending the correct demo.

"Well?" Craig asks, draining his wine glass. He still hasn't gotten up, casually sprawled over Harry's white, velvet couch.

"Please, you have to let me explain." Harry gasps, hands clasped before him. It's all ruined. All of it. Everything that Harry had hoped wouldn't happen seems to be falling into place.

"Explain? What's there to explain?" Raising his eyebrows, Craig scoffs mockingly. "You let me pay you thousands of pounds for the promise of something you're giving away to him for free. Or wait, is he paying you too? How much? How much does your ass really cost?"

"Please, stop. It isn't what you think. It wasn't intentional, Craig. Please." Racking his brain, Harry tries to come up with an excuse, something, anything. "You have to let me-"

"I want to know, Harry. I want to know what he gave you that I hadn't already offered." Slowly, Craig unfurls his legs, pushing himself up. He's shorter than Harry by only a little but he seems to tower over him as he strides forward. "Was it cash? Check? Credit? How much did you charge him for sticking it in? Bet it was a pretty pound, huh? You're not like other boys. Isn't that what you told me?"

"We never-" Harry can feel the panic squeezing at his throat, cutting himself off with a choked sob. He's close to hyperventilating, shaking his head quickly. "Craig please. Please. I-"

"Oh. I see." Craig continues advancing until he's backed Harry into the opposite wall, looming above him as he reaches out a hand, gripping Harry's chin between his fingers in a bruising hold. "You let him f*ck you for free, didn't you? You stupid whor*. At the very least, I could have understood you doing it for money. But for what? That he'd respect you if you put out? See you as a real artist then?"

Harry can't talk with the way Craig has him pinned. He can’t f*cking breathe. It hurts, every word that he’s saying and his nails digging into Harry’s face and the way he has him pushed up against the cold wall. Harry has no leverage, no chance of getting away, not with the cruel twist of Craig’s mouth.

“Oh, tell me you didn’t think it was love.” Something crosses over Craig’s face, a sickly realization making him laugh – a barking sort of noise directly into Harry’s face. “Are you really that daft? That f*cking delusional? You’re an easy slu*t, Harry. A hole. No better than any of those boys or girls who come into a studio and offer to spread their legs to get their way. You think he loves you? That’s you’re special? You’re one of hundreds to him.”

“Stop.” Barely opening his lips, Harry whispers the word, can’t hear this anymore. It’s too much. It hurts too f*cking much – how true it is. How Harry knows that Louis will never and has never loved him. “Please, stop.”

“You think I’m going to stop? You robbed me. You took what I paid for it and give it to f*cking Tomlinson. f*cking Tomlinson? Of all f*cking people, that f*cking co*cky dickhe*d?” Craig shakes Harry’s face so hard it bangs into the wall behind him, a sharp tap that has Harry’s vision swimming, lip caught between his teeth hard enough to taste blood. “No. I’m getting what I paid for. All of it.”

A new fear creeps into Harry’s throat, burns hot in his chest. Craig isn’t taller than Harry but he has weight to throw around, thick arms and a heavy waist. Harry hasn’t ever fought anyone before, not for real, not outside of boxing lessons more geared towards fitness. He’s not even sure he could hold his own right now, but before he gets his hands between them – Craig is starting in again.

“This is what you’re going to do, doll face. You’re going to call him and break it off. Make it hurt. Make it stick. Tell him it’s all just been some elaborate game we’ve been playing. A little foreplay, friendly banters between lads, isn’t it?” Craig leans in then, breath hot and smelling thickly of Merlot as he glares into Harry’s eyes. His voice goes deeper, a threat growling from between his lips. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to release it all. Every sticky detail of how Louis Tomlinson – perfect music god that he is – is no better than the rest of us. How he forced himself upon you. Blackmailed you and abused his newest signed protégé to get what he wanted. How you were so afraid to tell him no when he threatened you.”

“What? That’s not-“ Harry gasps, shaking his head even as Craig’s grip tightens on him, jaw aching. “That’s not what happened. You can’t do that! Craig, wait.”

“Who is the press going to believe? You, who has been manipulated and scared this whole time? A faceless, brainless nobody? Or an anonymous source with all the receipts to back it up. With the money to do what I want.” Smirking, Craig raises an eyebrow with a co*cky tilt of his head. “I give them the stories, Harry. I write the narrative. I can make this into anything I f*cking want. You gave me all the information I needed. From what he made you sign to what you did for him. I know everything and I can tell it exactly how I want.”

“You can’t do this.”

In all the possibilities, in all the scenarios that had played out in Harry’s mind at night when he laid awake and was overthinking – this had never occurred to him. How could he have possibly known that Craig was watching his every move? Harry had been so careful, or at least, he thought he had. Harry had kept it so neutral in his phone, never discussed anything that Craig could have snooped and found, and yet the whole thing has been exposed.

“Can’t do this? I am doing this.” Craig huffs out another little laugh. “He’ll lose his contracts, you know. All that fame and fortune he’s worked so f*cking hard for, the success story he likes to tote on and on about. Little Doncaster lad who made it up from squalor to fame. But the mighty fall so hard, you know, in today’s world. Cancel culture and a good story. It does all the work for me.”

“I won’t help you. I won’t. You can’t make me do that.” Harry vehemently denies, shaking his head as much as he can with Craig’s nails digging into his face. “I won’t!”

“So, that’s your choice then? Stick with him and watch it get ruined? You think Louis is going to have anything to do with you when he finds out you gave me all the information?” Craig smirks, shaking his head. “That you sold the story. Your face will be plastered everywhere with his. He’ll know it was you all along. And then what? What will you tell him? What about his family? He has one, doesn’t he? All those little siblings relying on him for university and dreams. All ruined because you wouldn’t do what you’re told.”

Harry closes his eyes and all he can see is Doris’ little face, her big blue eyes gleaming up at him, a handful of strawberries clutched in her fist. Just behind with Ernie on Louis’ hip, surrounded on all sides by sisters and a mother who adores the very earth that her children walk on. But it’s more than that, it’s so much bigger than just today.

There is something so bright and lovely about Louis when he’s working on something. He’s so passionate about music, about the intricacies behind writing songs and lyrics that are honest and bold. Louis prides himself on being genuine – on being on the truest version of himself. Harry had seen it in real time – watched Louis work magic behind a switchboard, saw the genius of his words on a page. And how can Harry take that away from him?

How can Harry, who has seen Louis in his most intimate, do anything to hurt him? It’s not just because Harry loves him, though that plays a part. No matter what happens, Harry doesn't think he's ever going to recover from this, from the way his chest catches when he thinks of the soft way Louis kisses him, the sunlight turning his eyelashes blond. The little laugh he does that wrinkles near his eyes and his fond grin. Even the way he says 'Baby' all soft in Harry's ear when he's done something that pleases Louis. It's something that Harry will never forget, even as he opens his eyes to see Craig's gleaming at him.

"Call him."

It's cruel. So f*cking cruel that Craig actually grins when Harry reaches for his pocket. He gives him a few meters of space, goes back to sit on the couch, legs crossed. He's a spectator to his own plan now, gets to see it unfurl and fall into place, giving Harry very little choice in what is about to happen. He doesn't even know what he's going to say as he unlocks his screen, scrolling through his contacts until his thumb lingers just over Louis' name.

I wish I could have told you every time how much it meant to me.

Harry sends the thought into the air, hopes somehow, someway that Louis will hear it. Not today. Not when this is going to sting. But maybe later, one day when Louis finds himself sat before an open window, the summer breeze filtering in and he'll let his mind wander to a different time. Harry hopes that it's a pleasant memory and Louis will look at their brief time together as something nice, not ruined like it's about to be.

"Hey Baby! I was just thinking about you." Louis coos down the line the moment he answers, sounding soft and gentle. It's silent behind him, the girls must have gone home by now. "You get back alright?"

"Hi Lou." Harry wants to turn away, wants to not let Craig watch this, but the second he tries Craig makes a sharp noise with the back of his throat. It’s a warning, probably the last that he’s being allowed. "What? Oh. Yeah. I'm back. Got back a bit ago."

"You sound tired. Are you sure you're alright to go out?" Shuffling around, Louis' voice dips into concern. "I could come by and-"

"No." Harry interrupts, hates himself for how harsh it sounds. It isn’t his voice. It isn't his words that come spilling out of him. "I don't want to see you."

"Oh." It's such a definitive sound. Breathed on a gasp, a pause long enough to feel weighted before Louis continues. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"This is a mistake." Harry can taste ash on his tongue, mouth dry with it. He's always prided himself on being honest, always truthful, but this is not just a lie. It's an awful twisting of words. "I just realized. On the way home. Last night. I mean, you have to know it wasn't real."

"What are you talking about?" Louis doesn't let his voice waver, though that is something odd about the tone. Like he's holding himself back still. "What wasn't real?"

"It was just supposed to be a challenge, you know? Between Craig and I." Harry doesn't know where it's all coming from him, the lies and the vicious twisting of his tongue. "You've been showing off, you know, telling everyone how much better you are then them. Saying you're not like other execs. Craig wanted to see if I could make you f*ck up or whatever."

There is a long silence on the other end of the phone where Harry swears he can't even hear Louis breathing. It's probably the most cutthroat thing he's ever said. Harry can't even look at himself right now, has to close his eyes tightly to keep his sobs back as Craig grins at him.

"So, what then, you just went along with it? What was the goal? See if I'd f*ck you? For what?" Louis snaps, scoffing down the line. "What was the point, darling? So, you could run back and tell Craig about it?"

"It was just to see if I could." Harry replies, can tell his lie sounds weak even to his own ears. He sounds pathetic. Vicious and cruel for no reason. "It obviously worked. You're no different than any of them. You knew I wanted a contract and you let whor* myself out to you to get what I wanted. You're a fake, Louis. A liar."

"I'm a liar? I'm the liar?" Voice gone sharp, Louis lets out a scoffing laugh. "What the f*ck are you even saying? Do you even hear yourself right now? Love, you’re not making any sense."

"I don't know why you're getting so upset. It's not like you ever paid me."

Harry catches himself on a sob, has to let it linger long enough to wipe the tears off his cheeks, try and regulate his breathing away from the end of his phone. Across the room, Craig is grinning, fresh wine glass in hand. It's all a joke to him, a good show, and Harry just wants to run.

"Harry, I really need you to f*cking explain. Now." Louis' growls out between what sounds like clenched teeth. "Because I'm having a really hard time reconciling the man who was holding my baby sister this morning and the absolute sh*t you're spewing at me now. Who are you? Do you even know? Where is all of this coming from?"

"I told you." Harry gasps out, shakes his head at himself as he struggles to breathe. He doesn't want Louis to hear the panic attack, doesn't want him to know. "It was a mistake. This whole thing. I never should have done it."

"I don’t believe you." Louis cuts Harry off with a sharp scoff. “I don’t f*cking believe you. I was just with you. Are you telling me that meant nothing? Just a game every time you reached for me or crawled into my lap? Or that time in the bathroom at that stupid f*cking dinner? When I told you I would take care of you? All those hours we worked together on your dream? Not even last night, nothing at all last night when I was inside of you and you were crying and begging for me? It meant nothing then? I saw your face, love. I saw it all over your f*cking face.”

“Lou, I’m just trying to be honest-“ Harry squeezes his eyes tightly, rubs a hand over his face, palm coming back wet with tears. “I just-“

“Why are you lying to me? You call me a liar but are you even listening to yourself?” Louis’ voice does this sharp warble, cracking a little and Harry can hear him taking a deep breath. It’s painful the way he sounds so raw, so unbelievably hurt. “I have done everything I can to make sure you were comfortable with this. I asked you over and over if this is what you wanted to do. We set safe words. I asked for consent and apologized when things got too heavy too fast.”

“I’m tired of playing, Louis. I’m tired of it.” Harry interrupts just as Craig makes a sharp noise, eyes narrowed. He’s sounding too hurt, isn’t selling the narrative well enough. He needs to finish this now. “I’m tired of you.”

“Harry, just tell me what’s wrong. Just tell me. Why are you saying this?” Louis repeats himself, that anger flaring up again, showing in the way his accent slurs his words. “Why are you lying to me?”

"Are you f*cking daft? Can you not f*cking hear me?" Harry shouts, has to get it out loud and controlling before it chokes him. He needs off the phone. Right now. Right f*cking now. "I said it was a mistake. Every time we were together, I would come back and tell Craig and we'd laugh on how pathetic your whole charade is. You think you're better than everyone? You think you're so high and mighty because you run your business with respect and dignity? You don't. You're nothing more than a stupid, pathetic chav who can try all he wants but can never wash that Donny dirt out from under your fingernails."

"Stop!"

Louis' voice is so loud that Harry has to pull the phone from his ear, the noise bellowing out so even Craig can probably hear it. It takes all of Harry's strength to pull it back, listening to the sharp, broken sound of Louis choking on sobs on the other end of the line. And Harry has never felt so low, so f*cking pathetic and evil and all those nasty feelings banging around in his chest.

"I never want to see you again, Harry Styles."

Harry bites so hard into the soft skin at the curve of his hand that he draws blood just behind his thumb. He has to in order to keep the cry from launching out of his throat, the panic curling so tightly in his chest that he can't breath, just leans on the wall and slowly slides down it. Louis doesn't even give him a chance to respond, the line going dead a moment after he uttered his last sentence. It doesn’t stop Harry from hearing the sound of Louis crying repeating in his brain though.

Phone clattering to the hardwood, Harry covers both of his hands over his face and screams. He doesn’t care that Craig is watching him. Doesn’t care that it’s a loud, wailing sound that echoes around the modern looking flat. Doesn’t care that people on his floor can probably hear him, probably are wondering what the f*ck is going on. Harry has never hurt like this and it’s either scream now or he’ll never start breathing again. It’s when his voice has gone hoarse and he’s exhausted that he finally slumps down onto the wall, shoulders shaking and knees drawn to his chest. Then, Craig finally clears his throat. He doesn’t even look at Harry as he stands, passes by him with the sharp clip of his shoes on the hardwood, goes to the kitchen for another bottle of wine.

“If you’re done, our reservation is at six thirty. I suggest you get ready.”

- - -

Louis has never been one to believe in the paranormal, but he swears Harry is haunting him. Like a phantom that follows just a few steps behind Louis at all times, a shadow looming in the back of his mind. Louis sees him everywhere, feels him constantly, swears he hears his voice nearby. It lingers like an acidic tang on the back of his tongue, a constant reminder of the past four months.

When he got off the phone, Louis had immediately gone to take another shower. Took two just to try and scrub the memory of Harry's touch all over him, figured if he drug his nails hard enough over his skin, he'd remove the scent of Harry's floral perfume from his body. It didn't help, felt like a brand constantly embedded deep within him. Would catch the whiff of Harry on him whenever he turned his head.

When he got out, he immediately stripped the bed, couldn't stand to look at the messy sheets - the evidence of them finally coming together. There was no way to completely remove him from the house though. What was Louis supposed to do? Throw out the couch? Burn the piano? No, he went back to London, buried himself in his own flat there, the one that Louis uses when he needs to be closer to the studio.

Throwing himself into work was easy. He had other clients, other people who deserved his attention. Besides, it's not like Louis needed to be all that involved with Harry. There was Niall and Liam to oversee his contract - something that Louis didn't have the heart to dissolve. He wouldn't even breach that conversation with Oli yet. No f*cking way.

Because, well, no one knew.

How was Louis even supposed to explain to his friends what had happened? He never even told Liam. Was afraid of what he'd say. Oh yeah, Payno, by the way, you were right about f*cking my new artist. Should probably have made him sign a few more NDAs before I started f*cking him in my office. Yeah f*cking right.

Besides, it felt more real if no one knew, no one to tell him how bad of an idea it was to get involved knowing what Harry was, who he belonged to, how bad this could all go. And maybe that's what it really comes down to - if Louis didn't tell anyone, then maybe his heart wouldn't break when it all went up into smoke. But then again, it was never supposed to be like this.

Louis can't stop thinking about it, bitterly glaring at the couch across from his desk. It's been a week - a silent, ice storm of a week where Louis has been nothing but cold. He'd thought about going out, getting f*cking pissed and hooking up with some long-legged boy with dark curls and eyes Louis wouldn't have to look into. But every time he had pushed his feet into his shoes and grabbed up his keys, Louis would get rocked back with the memory of Harry's giggles in his ear or the soft way he'd brush his fingers over Louis' shoulders, and the ache in Louis' chest would make him give up the idea entirely.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Louis tries to focus at the sales report on his screen, the numbers on the Excel sheet blurring together. He's been at it for at least a few hours now when he's saved by his office door sliding open. Liam comes in with a take out cup of tea in both hands and a furrow between his eyebrows that means Louis is about to get bad news.

"Hey Tommo. Aren't busy are you, mate?" He asks, coming over to slide the paper cup across the desk. Louis can tell without raising his eyes that it's a London Fog, which means it must be really, really bad news.

"Just trying to make sense of the report from finance." Louis hasn't been sleeping great so when he looks up, his eyes burn a little, feel dry and unfocused. "What's up?"

"Haven't see you around downstairs much this week. Wanted to check in." Liam perched himself on the high-backed chair before Louis' desk, neatly crosses his ankle over his knee. "Been busy?"

"You have my schedule, Liam. You know what I'm doing." Picking up his cup, Louis takes a slow pull of the tea. It's just hot enough that Louis can focus on the burn on the tip of his tongue more than notice the curve of Liam's mouth.

They fall into a moment of awkward silence, each of them pointedly avoiding looking at each other. Louis isn't sure really why Liam is here, isn't sure that he's been doing anything of note that would make Liam think something is wrong. Except for the fact that Liam can't help being the father friend, makes it his business to be the one to check on Louis, to remind him that he has to be responsible and mature and never have too much fun. Though, Louis isn't sure this is what he'd define as a good time.

"Have you uh-" Liam drags his thumb nail over the label on his own tea. "Have you heard from Harry?"

"No." It technically isn't a lie, Louis figures, trying not to flinch at the sound of Harry's name. Just two weeks ago, he was sitting just where Liam is, grinning and teasing Louis over a quick lunch of burgers. Now, Louis can't even stand to think of those dimples, that curved smirk.

"He hasn't come to rehearsal. Won't answer the phone when I call. Only texted Niall to let him know he went out of the country for vacation?" Liam continues on, glances up at Louis with a co*cked eyebrow. "But I saw Craig at a gallery opening yesterday. So I wasn't sure if-"

"I haven't talked to him. And honestly, I'm not his f*cking keeper." Louis snaps, hates the way his voice has gone rough at the end.

He needs to pull himself together. There is no point in getting worked up over this. Louis knew, the whole f*cking time, that Harry was only hooking up with him as a distraction from Craig. It was fun - undeniably hot when they would sneak off to snog in some closet or when they fooled around on a couch in the office or in the studio. But that's all it was - fun, foolish and dirty but meaningless. It was Louis' own f*cked up fault for catching feelings for him.

For all the bravado and the loud mouth antics, Louis has a soft heart. He's kind under all that armor, quick to give parts of himself away. And Harry, well, he had weaseled his way inside. He had found Louis - an empty chested Tinman and had put a beat back into his heart. Louis knows it's cliche and he's bitter for it but love makes you like this. Love makes everything bright and hot until it becomes unbearable. That's why Louis' eyes are burning because either he's blinded by the memory of Harry's sleeping face next to him, skin warm against Louis', or he's too busy crying over the way Harry had screamed at him to ever recover fully.

"I know you're not his keeper. But you have been sleeping with him for five months so I was wondering if you knew if he was okay." Liam's voice yanks Louis out of his downward spiral, slams him back into the present.

"Wh-What?"

"Oh come off it, Lou. You weren't exactly subtle." Scoffing, though not unkindly, Liam shakes his head. "You were always whispering to each other, staring at each other from across the room. Couldn't take your eyes off each other - so bloody obvious about it. Not to mention, it wasn't exactly private in the booth. I heard the audio. Sent it to Harry on accident."

"The audio?" Louis asks, wrinkling his nose. "What audio?"

"You recorded uh-" Liam hesitates, cheeks gone red as he struggles to choose his words. "You know that day you sent us all out to lunch early cause Harry couldn't hit that note?"

"Yeah." Shrugging his shoulders, Louis tries to think back as Liam keeps going.

"You kept making him record it until he-"

"Oh!" Feeling his own face heat, Louis rubs a hand down his stubbled jaw, over his mouth. He very, very vividly remembers pushing Harry up on an amp - elated and turned on by how brilliant he was.

"Plus, I overheard Zayn on the phone so." Liam continues on, taking a sip of his drink. "Naturally, when I found out Haz wasn't showing up to work, I got worried. Not just about him but about you. What's going on, Louis? What happened?"

It's been incredibly hard for Louis, though he knows it was necessary, for him not to tell anyone. Not the full story. He had given his mom a very brief, if all a bit false, story of how Harry and him had met and got together. He didn't feel the need to really unhash all of their convoluted story to her. But with Liam, well, there isn’t' really anything he doesn't already know. He knows Harry. He knows Zayn. Which means he really knows the basic character of it all.

So, with a deep breath, Louis just lets it out. He tells Liam about meeting Harry at Craig's house at that stupid meeting. About how he went to see him at the pub and how they ended up hooking up the very night that Liam actually met Zayn. It's a complicated story and Louis leaves out some of the more gory and erotic details of it (especially the piano and the fact that Liam is currently leaning on the edge of the desk that Louis once bent Harry over and ate him out). But by the end, Louis is wiping at his eyes and Liam is frowning so hard his eyebrows are touching one another.

"So, wait, let me get this straight." Liam leans his chin on his elbow. "He comes over, unannounced after the party, you finally spend the night and the morning together. Which, he chose to leave his sugar daddy or employer or whatever, he left him on his birthday to come see you."

"Yeah." Louis answers, wipes a hand roughly under his nose. "Which is a bit ironic considering he planned the whole event himself."

"Exactly. Then, he spends most of the day with your mum. And the girls. And Ernie. Because they surprise you. And at no point does he try to leave early or say cheers, I've got to get going?" Liam asks in disbelief, shaking his head. "Doesn't make any bloody sense."

"He literally spent the whole day with all of them all over him. Don't think Doris left his lap the whole time, poor lass." Mouth twisting in distaste, Louis shrugs a bit. "Took to them so well too. Even Fizzy liked him. Could have changed his last name and no one would have an issue, really."

"I call bullsh*t." Liam interjects, sitting up sharply and pointing a finger at Louis. "I call utter bollocks. You don't meet someone's mum and baby siblings and then call an hour later and tell them they're a dickhe*d. No f*cking way."

"That's exactly what he did though." Louis lets out a bitter, choked little laugh. "Not a dickhe*d. No, he said I'm a stupid Donny chav. With dirt under me nails and everything. Might as well have called me trash. f*cking below him. Forgot that Harry is that good little Posh boy."

"He's someone's hired boyfriend. I don't think he's exactly one to talk of social standings." Liam rolls his eyes, but then starts right back in. "But no, I'm serious. What's the point? What was the motive? You said everything was fine when you were - uh - doing it?"

"God, you're a child. Doing it?" Louis rolls his eyes again, a little of his familiar sass dripping back into his tone. "Yes, everything seemed fine when we slept together. It was good. He was happy, wanted to sleep right next to me the whole time."

"So, something must have happened! What if Craig found out?" Detective Liam seems to be on the case as he pulls out his phone, quickly typing on it. "I bet that's what it is. Craig found out and made him break up with you."

"Lima," Louis interjects, only for Liam to keep going.

"No, I'm sure of it. That f*cking dick. I never liked him. Never."

"Payno." Louis tries again, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

"I can find out. I'll have Zayn go-"

"Liam!" Finally, Louis has to shout to get over Liam's rambling, making the other man stop and look up at him with wide eyes. "I love you, lad. But no. Harry didn't break up with me because Craig made him or there is some big plot as to why he had to do what he did. Because the truth is, we were never dating. We were hooking up. It was sex. Harry ended things with me because he was playing a game and he got bored of it."

"You can't believe that." Earnestly, Liam leans forward, hooks his elbows up on the desk. "Come on, Louis. You can't believe that. This is Harry. I refuse to believe that he would be so cruel without a reason."

“He doesn’t love me, Liam. He never did. I just tricked myself into believing that there was a chance.” Louis pats the back of Liam’s hand, smiling bitterly. “And now the game is done.”

It lands like a weight, the pressure of it filling the room as the two of them stare at each other. There isn’t much left to say. Louis knows, deep within his wounded heart, that what he said was true. Harry doesn’t care about him. And Louis was too dumb and too blind to realize what was happening when it did. He just wanted it to be real, wanted the kisses and the laughter and the lingering, soft touches to mean something but they don’t. They never did. And Louis, he just has to accept that.

“I’ll talk to Oli. Get his contract moved to someone else’s workload so you don’t have to be so directly responsible.” Liam swipes his thumb over his phone again, back into work mode. He’s a good lad. “Unless you want me to see if we can dissolve it?”

“No.” Louis answers before he even thinks about it, shaking his head. He knows that Harry wants this, genuinely, outside of Craig or Louis or anything. Harry is meant to be a star. Always has been. Apparently, Louis should have considered acting as another one of his talents. “I don’t want to do that to him.”

“It’s what he deserves if-“ Liam doesn’t get very far before Louis cuts him, tone gone serious enough it warrants no other argument.

“We’re a company founded on giving everyone’s dream a chance. That’s what I promised him when I signed him. He stays under 28 Records.”

- - -

Zayn knows something is wrong the minute he gets the front of door of the flat open. For one, there are no lights on. No curtains thrown open to let in the afternoon sunlight. No candles burning to make the space fill with the scent of lavender or fresh linen or honeysuckle. There are dishes in the sink, a dozen teacups all abandoned lonely with spoons still in them, filled with water. Mail is piled just inside the front door as well, a few smaller packages placed up on the counter like someone tossed them there with little other thought.

Making his way through the front hall, he pauses in the living room, trying to pinpoint where the solo occupant of the flat is. He had texted Harry earlier, hadn’t gotten a response, but after a week of complete radio silence – Zayn had been worried. That fear accompanied by Liam’s very random and very insistent comment this morning that he should go check on Harry and now he’s here – trying to find him in his own apartment.

Inching to the left, Zayn can hear soft music playing from the bedroom, scratchy and faint like an old record left to long to spin. The closer he gets, the clearer the lyrics are, pouring out of the half open doorway, Freddie Mercury’s voice pouring out hauntingly.

There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams,
yet slips away from us

Pushing the door open more, Zayn almost recoils with the amount of smoke that comes billowing out. It smells distinctly like Marlboros, a haze that lingers over the white washed walls of the bedroom, wafting out of the open window. It takes him a minute to even make out the figure on the bed, Harry a curled up ball towards the top, head buried in the pillows. He’s wearing a pair of pale, pink panties – simple cotton with strawberries printed on them, cut high on his hip. They’re a safe pair, just meant for comfort rather than something sexy. It’s the only thing he’s got on other than a red, zip up hoodie, a little frayed in the cuff of the sleeve, well worn and loved.

There's no chance for us
It's all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

With the next verse, Harry rolls more into the pillows, shuddering a little as he presses his hand to his face and shows the back of the sweatshirt. There, emblazoned over his shoulder blades in white lettering is the name Tomlinson. Zayn can tell even from the doorway that Harry is crying, made worse when he blindly reaches for the pack of cigarettes next to him and finds it empty. It springs Zayn into action, crossing the carpeted floor on silent feet, kicking his shoes off and instantly crawling up on the bed beside him.

“Hazza, babe. Starshine, look at me.” Zayn soothes, brushing Harry’s damp curls away from his face, holding his cheeks gently. “Take a breath, love.”

“Z?” Harry’s voice is completely scorched, smoke heavy and cracked. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days, eyes bloodshot and bruised around them, lips bloody from the length in which he’s bitten them up. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t answered your phone. I’ve been calling you for a week straight.” Trying to keep his voice soft so as not to scare him, Zayn is laying close enough to count the clumped strands of Harry’s eyelashes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He glances around, sees the overflowing crystal tea cup. “Have you been smoking?”

It takes Harry a moment so immediately dissolves back into sobbing the minute Zayn starts asking him questions. They’re miserable cries – choking on tears and trying to get breath out between shallow coughing. Zayn rubs his cheek and his back through them, tugs Harry across the mattress into his arms. He’s freezing, skin pebbled up from the fall breeze wafting through the window, chilling his wet face and hair.

“I did something terrible.” Whispering, Harry turns his face into Zayn’s throat, buries the words there. “So awful, Zayn. So f*cking awful. And I’m not – I’m not a good person. I don’t know how I’ll ever live with myself now.”

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks, rubs his hand back and forth over the thick embroidery on the back of the jacket, traces each letter with his finger. “What happened? Did something happen with Louis?”

“Please don’t.” Harry flinches hard, pulling back so he can wipe the edge of his cuff just under his nose. “I don’t want to tell you. You’ll hate me too.”

“I won’t hate you. Harry, I love you. You’re my best mate. Please.” Cupping Harry’s face again, Zayn touches his lips to his forehead. “Just tell me what’s wrong and we can figure it out. Whatever it is.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry launches into a long winded explanation of the fight with Craig followed by the conversation with Louis. He has to take breaks a lot to sob or hide his face in his hands – especially when he tells Zayn all the names he called Louis. It’s a broken sort of tale really with Harry dissolving into miserable tears at the end, hiding his face back into his pillow.

Zayn lays there with his hand still stroking over Harry’s back, lets it all wash over him. He knew the two of them were hooking up – it wasn’t like they tried to keep it much of a secret the few times Zayn had been with the pair. He just didn’t realize that Harry had gotten himself so deep. Harry has always had a soft heart though, prone to wanting attention and adoration, in love with the idea of love. And it’s not like Louis seems that hard to fall in love with – those eyes and that quick humor.

“And this is why you’re laying in bed in his clothes, smoking his cigarettes?” Zayn asks, not unkindly, just trying to understand. “Because you chose Craig over Louis?”

“What? No.” Harry lifts his head up, brow furrowed deeply as he tugs at his bottom lip. “I didn’t pick Craig over Louis. I had to end things or Craig was going to ruin his life. I couldn’t let that – I met his mum, Zayn. And all his siblings. There’s like a dozen of them. And they all adore him, so proud of all he’s done and accomplished and how he takes care of them now. How could I take that away from them? How could I ruin any of their lives for my own selfish reason?”

“Love? Love is your selfish reason?” Zayn scoffs a little, hand falling into the curve of Harry’s waist. “You didn’t think to tell him the truth? To explain to him why you needed to end it?”

“I couldn’t. Craig was right there and who knows how long he’s known for? He’s so…” Harry waves a hand, searching for the word. “He’s powerful and knew everything and had this whole plan. And I don’t know how to fight that. He was right when he told me I was a nobody.”

“You were somebody to Louis.”

Zayn feels like an asshole the moment he says it as Harry recoils, hands curled up before his chest, puckered mouth trembling. The crying had mostly stopped too but with a shaky breath, a fresh wave of tears starts pouring out, Harry doing little to stop them. Zayn doesn’t reach for his face again, just rubs his back, his shoulders. He didn’t mean for it to be cruel, just wishes that Harry could see it clearly. There were other options.

“I’ve ruined everything. I was so cruel, Zayn. So f*cking cruel to him. I’m a monster.” Harry weeps – his deep voice gone brittle from the smoke and out pouring of emotion. “And I-“

“And you what?” Zayn asks gently, reaches up to brush a few stray curls stuck to Harry’s jaw. “What is it?”

“I love him.” Harry hiccups between whimpers, sleeve stained on the edge with his tears. “I’ve loved him a while and I never told him because I thought – I just – It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was just fun, you know? But Z, if you could have seen him with me. He was always so careful and so kind. Never pushed me to do anything more than what I was comfortable with. And I – I hurt him. I could hear him crying. What sort of monster does that? Who the f*ck am I?”

“Alright love. Alright. Come here.”

Spreading his arms wide, Zayn pulls Harry into his chest again, arms wrapped tight around him to keep him from squirming away. He won’t just lay there and listen to Harry put himself down, regardless of how hurt or miserable he may feel. Harry isn’t a monster or an asshole or any of the terrible things he’s called himself. He’s scared and he’s hurt – something that Zayn knows the feeling of all too well and he won’t let him suffer alone. Rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s spine, Zayn hums quietly, soft little notes that transcend into soft Urdu. It doesn’t have to be translatable to Harry’s ear, he can find comfort in the lullaby, by the warm arms around him, by Zayn pressed close.

“I have to be up by seven.” Harry slurs, half asleep already with his cheek pressed into Zayn’s chest. “Craig is picking me up by eight thirty.”

“For what?” Zayn doesn’t want to ask the real question. Doesn’t want to know what Craig is making Harry pay for deceiving him for so long.

“Some party. Dunno.” Sighing, Harry opens his mouth to say something else but all that comes out is a soft snore, sinking deeply into sleep.

Zayn lays there for a long time just listening to him breathing and the soft scratching of the record player now moved off the spinning disk. He wishes there was something more he could do for Harry, something that might actually help, but he knows he can’t. He can’t tell Liam. He can’t tell Louis. No, all he can do is this – hold Harry through his sorrow and hope that somehow things will just miraculously work themselves out.

- - -

This feels familiar. Harry has done this same thing countless times before. Has it down to an artform really. So, it doesn't make any sense that he's struggling to even get through the basic mechanics of it. This is the fifth date that Craig has drug him out to in a total of two weeks, little rendezvous as he calls them, things he paid for and expects to be given. Their table is small, intimately perched next to the glass window of the restaurant so they can see out to the coast, watch the waves roll in, the gulls crying loudly above the seafoam.

Wistfully, Harry wonders what it must be like to be a bird. To take off whenever you feel like, to soar above the noise and dirt of the day to day world. How pretty London must look from way up there, how very insignificant all the people rushing around with their silly little lives and their silly little problems. In fact, that gull that just took flight is probably wondering why that boy in the window looks so sad when the sky is such a brilliant shade of red, orange, and burgundy.

Spearing into his salad, Harry chases a grape tomato around the bed of butter lettuce and kale. He hasn't had much of an appetite lately, living on cups of tea and cigarettes that he gags and coughs through. He learned early on not to inhale all the way, just let the taste of it linger in his mouth, the scent in the air. It hasn't done anything to quell the ache in his chest, just seems to rip the wound open a little more at a time, the lack of any real substance giving him this gnawing cavern where his heart should be.

"That's a forty pound salad." Craig comments, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. The fish on his plate stares up at Harry - unseeing and blurry. "Make an effort, Harry. Seriously, you look like you've just been to a funeral."

"Sorry." Harry answers half heartedly, bringing a slice of cucumber to his lips, biting into it.

"Really have to break you out of these tantrums. You're not exactly cheap to keep around." Muttering under his breath so a table nearby won't hear, Craig keeps going. "Don't recall agreeing to pay for a kill joy either. If you won't put out, the very least you can do is make our time semi-enjoyable. Or should I just f*ck a smile onto your face instead?"

"No." Harry startles enough he nearly drops his fork, flinching when Craig sends him a wink. He's been absolutely repulsive since he threatened Harry and forced him to end things with Louis. It's like any sense of filter or decorum have left and all that remains is the truth - this skeevy, manipulative monster with enough money flashing around to think he can get away with it.

“Course not.” Craig scoffs bitterly, stabbing his fork into the middle of his fish, tugging the meat off the bone. “Forgot, I don’t get Tommo privileges, huh? The discount for a free ride?”

Harry doesn’t bother responding, just turns his face back out to stare at the coastline. He’s been working on selling some of his designer clothes, some trinkets he doesn’t wear anymore or need, storing up his cash in a bank account that has always been his. Eventually, Harry knows, Craig will tire of this game and when he does, when he’s given up on trying to get Harry to be anything other than miserable but present – he’ll leave him. Harry wants to be prepared – needs to have a back up plan in case he wakes up one day and is suddenly without. It would be easier to focus on the back up plan, on wheedling some extra funds out of Craig, if Harry could muster any feeling other than despondent.

It isn't his fault that everything reminds him of Louis, every dumb and insignificant detail of their time constantly playing on a loop in his mind. Louis would have hated this place - way too posh and overly done. He would have ordered something that Harry could have stolen off his plate from - would have shied away from the vegetables on Harry's own but would have suggested desert just for them to share. They did that once, huddled under an umbrella on the way back to the studio from a late lunch, sharing a piece of cake between the two of them - Harry breaking off little bites and feeding it to Louis as they rushed through the streets.

Or maybe he already is. Maybe Louis is somewhere across town with another boy, someone pretty and soft spoken. They're probably holding hands while Louis talks extensively about some new documentary he's watched or some brilliant idea he has for the music industry. Maybe that boy is rubbing his thumb over Louis' knuckles, stealing bites of his chicken tetrazzini, smiling when Louis just rolls his eyes at him. Maybe Louis is falling in love while Harry's heart bleeds out of his chest.

"Craig!” A voice booms next to them, a portly man in a gray suit toddling over with a jovial grin. He’s red in the face, sweating a little at the temples even though the restaurant is cool with the breeze wafting in from the surf. “I thought that was you.”

“Richard, mate. Good to see you.” Ignoring Harry entirely, Craig stands to shake the other man’s hand. “Did you just get back? Thought you were out towards Bora Bora at the end of the season.”

“We did. Just a few days ago, really. You’ve got to come say hello to Margaret. She’ll be beside herself that you’re here. What are the odds?” Richard starts to turn, then miraculously seems to take note of Harry sitting there, still chasing that tomato lackadaisically with his fork. “Would your uh-“

“Nephew. On holiday from Uni actually.” Craig waves his hand in dismissal, already heading the way Richard had turned. “And no. He’s having a bit of a row. Best leave him. You know how the youth are nowadays. So concerned with their feelings.”

“Oh, hadn’t realized you had a nephew.” Richard’s voice blends in with the restaurant as the two men wander away.

Harry doesn’t even have the energy to be offended by the easy dismissal. Two months ago, he would have thrown a fit, a real one, with pouting and demands of apologies with blank checks. Now, he barely notices it all happen, instead distracted by the phone on the table. Craig has left it screen up, the black shiny and reflecting the restaurant chandelier, before it suddenly lights up. Harry wouldn’t think anything of it if it weren’t for the media message shown on the screen – a preview to a picture.

28 Records CEO, Louis Tomlinson, accused of building empire on lies, deceit, and abuse

Harry’s hands are shaking so hard he barely has the grip to pick the phone up, praying that Craig isn’t smart enough to lock his preview screen. He isn’t and Harry is able to open the message just far enough to read a few lines from the mock up article, font blurry and a little pixelated but legible if Harry brings the phone close to his face.

Music tycoon, Louis Tomlinson of 28 Records has been accused of intimidation, abuse of power, and sexual harassment. Documents were provided by an anonymous source showing intimate text messages exchanged between Tomlinson, age 32, and his newest signed artist, age 21, where Tomlinson has been shown to use threats to receive sexual favors in exchange for artistic support. Harry Styles-

Gasping, Harry stares down at his own name, the harshness of it in black text against a white background. He only gets a moment to absorb it in absolute horror before a next text comes in – this one another picture message. It’s a photo of Harry and Louis – a paparazzi snapshot of them standing in the hallway of Craig’s birthday party. In it, Louis has a hold of Harry’s arm and Harry is wide eyed and afraid. How they got the photo is a mystery in of itself, the lighting too contrasted so it looks like they’re in some bar, Harry’s expression caught just the moment after he bumped into Louis so he’s off balance and surprised. It’s taken from behind Louis so his face isn’t showing, though it’s obvious it’s him from the large bird tattoo showing on his forearm.

Set to release Friday. Text me with any changes

The last text comes through – this time with a name attached – Pierce and Harry’s world goes a little fuzzy around the edges. Craig had said if Harry did what he wanted, that everything would be fine. That he wouldn’t release any of the ‘evidence’ he had collected. That all Harry had to do was end things with Louis – final and severe – and everything would be fine. So why would he go back on his word? Why would he do it anyways?

There is no logical reason, Harry realizes, watching Craig laugh and talk to the couple across the restaurant, a totally different man than the one Harry knows. The Craig that is Harry’s is savage and malicious, vindictive for the pure joy of it. He’s the type of man that has been given everything so he expects it – expects things that aren’t even his to have. Harry has seen it, felt in the atrocious way he’s petted his hands over Harry’s skin, grabbed him, forced kisses on him. The severe bruises left on Harry’s cheeks from his treatment, the scars buried deep every time Craig made a threat or a joke or some pass.

Harry can remember every time Louis’ hands have ever been on him. Every soft caress and gentle pat and strong hug, arms wrapped tight with his face buried in Harry’s shoulder. It’s like for every wound that Craig would inflict, there was Louis with his words of encouragement, his witty banter, his kindness wrapped up in praise and support. Harry never had to say no to Louis because it was always wanted, always needed. Louis saw the part of Harry that was longing – a lonely, sad boy who wanted to be loved – and he gave him that. Gave it to him every single time, no matter what.

I saw your face, love. I saw it all over your f*cking face.

“What am I doing?” The words tumble out of Harry’s mouth, gasping sharp at the empty table, the lifeless salad, the wine left untouched in his glass. “What the f*ck am I doing?”

The phone tumbles from his hand onto the table, clattering loudly, but Harry ignores it, stumbling up onto his feet. His knees feel like mush, shaking as he is, but he manages to get himself up right, waving off the waiter who comes towards him. The other patrons at the table nearest him stare but Harry doesn’t see them, doesn’t even bother trying to apologize as he all but sprints to the door.

It’s drizzling when he gets outside, rain clouds heavy above him, waiting to split open at any moment. Harry left his coat at the check in desk when they got to the restaurant, shivering in a thin dress and boots, but it doesn't slow him down. He throws his hand up, half stepped off the curb as he fumbles with his bag with the other, finally pulling out his phone. It only takes him a few clicks before it's ringing, wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

"Pick up. Come on. Pick up." Harry mutters. waving his hand as another cab splashes by him. He's praying Craig didn't notice him gone yet.

"Hello?" Finally, on the seventh ring, a voice picks up, though he doesn't sound exactly thrilled to be answering.

"Liam? Oh, thank god." Harry gasps in relief, eyes briefly closing as he tries to catch his breath. "Where's Louis?"

"What?" Liam's voice goes hard, that thin cadence to it where he's not amused. "You have some nerve-"

"Li, please. I wouldn't ask if it weren't an emergency." By some miracle, a town car comes around the corner and stops before Harry. He fumbles with the slick handle as he gets the back door open. "Liam, please, please just tell me where he is. You can kick my ass later, I swear. I just need to see him. Right now."

"He's home." Dropping his voice lower like he's trying to keep someone from overhearing, Liam leans into the receiver. "The big house. But Harry, I swear, if you are coming-"

"Thank you. Thank you. I'm sorry." Harry rattles the address off to the cabby, promising twice the fair in tip if he gets him there as fast as possible. He still has Craig's credit card.

"Harry, I meant it. If you're coming here to start something you shouldn't be," Liam's voice goes rough, threatening in his own growly way. "I'll escort you out myself."

"I promise I'll let you once I've told him what I need to." Harry gasps, hanging up the phone before Liam can start asking more questions.

In the restaurant, this had seemed so easy - an immediate call for action. But now, with the scenery flying around them and the car gone silent, Harry isn't sure even what he's going to say. It's not like there is any script for things like this. No one to tell him how to explain it all. Zayn had told him that he needed to be honest, but honestly that feels like an easy way to get it all messed up again.

Harry can only do what he knows how to do and that is to show Louis his heart. It's a broken thing, battered and a little bruised, but it beats for Louis. Harry would do anything for him, would run back to Craig and let Louis live his life if Harry knew it would keep him safe, protect him. But the truth of the matter is, Harry knows it won't. So, he hopes that what he has to say is enough - even if Louis hates him, even if after all of this, he never wants to see him again.

The town car rounds the front garden, pausing out in front of the main door. Harry all but throws the credit card at the cabby, puts way too many zeros on the tip but it was worth it as he stumbles out of the backseat and into the pouring rain. It instantly sticks his chiffon dress to him, pale green fabric clinging to his chest, his stomach, his legs. Harry is sure you can see his tattoos through it but it's of little concern as he dashes up to the front door.

He only gets his hand raised before it's yanking open though, Liam standing there with a deep frown, broad shoulders blocking the door jam. His severe expression seems to lessen slightly when he takes in Harry - his wild curls, his soaked outfit, the desperate way he surges forward, tries to wiggle between Liam and the doorframe.

"Liam, please. Please. You have to let me in." Harry gasps, manages to hook an elbow into Liam's ribs and shove his way in. He'll apologize for it later.

"You really need to tell me what this is about." Liam tries to interject, following Harry as he kicks his boots off on the entry way mat, follows the familiar white carpet in his bare feet towards the back of the house. “This is ridiculous. Harry!”

"Louis? Louis!" Harry doesn’t care how crazy he must seem, how absolutely rude he’s being to poor Liam and the carpet that he’s dripping on and just barging in like this. He wouldn’t be doing it like this if it weren’t absolutely necessary but there is no way that once Craig gets back to the table, he won’t realize what has happened with the phone.

“Louis! Please, Louis!” Harry rounds the corner, nearly runs down the hallway to the studio room in the back. The light is on but Harry can’t wait, reaching for the knob and throwing it open hard enough the door slams into the wall behind it, reverberating loudly.

It causes the figure at the piano bench to jump, Louis turning sharply from where he was sitting, a cigarette in hand. It’s déjà vu – Harry rushing into the room, unsure but desperate, Louis sitting there calm and a little wide eyed. If only they could go back to then, to when Harry had slipped onto that bench, to the first time they kissed, to the warmth Harry had felt the first time Louis had sank his hands into Harry’s curls.

“Louis!” Harry gasps, so relieved he can’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. What a difference two weeks have caused too. Louis looks thinner, a little more pointed in the chin, with a cool gaze turned a little wide eyed as he takes in Harry’s sorry state.

“You’re soaking wet.” Louis comments and it’s so sweet to hear his voice finally, to listen to that accent swallowing up half his words.

“I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. I just-“ Harry wipes at his cheeks with the back of his fingers, trying to stabilize his breathing. His heart is pounding in his chest, shaking from the cold and the adrenaline, but if Harry doesn’t get this out now, he’s sure he’s going to pass out.

“I meant what I said, Harry.” Very slowly, Louis slips off the piano bench, setting his cigarette in the ashtray on the corner. “I don’t want you here.”

“I know. I know you don’t. And –“ Harry gasps sharply, has to press his lips together hard before he can get the next words out. “I know you hate me. I hate me too. But you have to listen to me, okay? Please.” Harry swallows back his tears, has to get this out. There isn’t enough time. “Just let me get this out and then I promise, I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never have to see me or hear about me or worry about me ever again.”

“I don’t want to-“ Louis tries to interject but Harry just keeps going, has to. There is no other option now. He has to say this.

“Louis, I’m begging you. Please.” Harry lets out a sob, isn’t sure if it’s rain water dripping onto his face or tears half spilt over, desperate. He wishes he could run over, could grab Louis’ hand, his face, make him understand but now that he’s under Louis’ gaze, he’s frozen to the spot. “Please just hear me out.”

“Alright.” Louis still doesn’t look sure, eyes narrowed a little, but it softens when Harry has to hang his head, try to regain some sense of control.

“When I got home that day, after the afternoon with your family, Craig was in my flat. He was waiting for me.” Harry explains, hands clasped tightly before him, clutched as if in prayer, hoping that if he clings hard enough his trembling won’t be obvious. “He knew about us, Louis. He knew everything. He broke my phone right after I got signed by you and he’s been using the new one he bought me to track me. Every call, email, text. He was getting all of it. And I never knew. If I had-“

Louis doesn’t say anything though his posture speaks volumes. He spreads his legs a little, stance wide as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. It doesn’t seem to be done in a defensive gesture though, more agitated than anything else. He must be going over all the evidence probably found on that phone – the late night calls, the flirty texts, the record of any musical dealings. It’s like Craig had made Harry into a spy.

“He had the recording of us – um. That day. In the studio. Uh, when I couldn’t hit that note and you- It must have been sent by mistake. In the email. Like the wrong file but he had-” Harry stammers, can’t help the way he blushes at the memory. “All of it. The whole recording. I don’t know if you-“

“I remember it.” Louis mutters, nodding his head once, cheeks gone rosy. Harry isn’t reassured by the motion but it’s better than the silence of before.

“He got so angry. Was screaming at me and was telling me how I cheated him out of money and he didn’t get what he paid for because- “ Harry sniffles, drops his voice a little quieter, “you were already getting it for free. How f*cking dumb I was because I was turning myself into one of those studio boys.” Harry hiccups then, bitterly letting out a small laugh. “How ironic, right? Craig lecturing me on how to be professional in a booth.”

”Harry, why are you telling me this?” Louis interjects, sighs deeply, rolling his shoulders back a bit. The jumper he’s wearing fits him well, a heather gray that clings along his biceps. Harry wishes he could touch him, could reach out for him, but he knows it’s not allowed.

“I just-” Harry runs a hand through his hair, lets droplets of rain fall onto his shoulders, down onto the carpet. “I didn’t have a choice. He didn’t give me a real choice.”

“Give you a choice on what?” Raising an eyebrow, Louis’ tone dips slightly, confused at the daunting choice of words.

“He said he was going to release all of it. Make it seem like you forced me, like I never wanted it. I couldn’t –“ Harry shudders in a breath, sniffling hard to keep the tears at the very least from causing him to break down again. It’s no use though, they keep falling no matter how hard Harry tries to hold them back. “Louis, you must know I would never betray you like that. And the way he was saying it, like you were some monster. Like you were like him and you abused me when you-“

“Harry.” Taking a half step forward, Louis raises his hand as if he’s going to touch Harry’s arm. “Breathe, darling.”

“I-I can’t. I couldn’t-“ Harry gasps, the panic twisting up in his chest, making it hard for him to draw in a breath. “He said he’d pay to make it however he wanted. He had the power to do it. I know he is. I know who he is and what it means when he throws money around. And how was I supposed to fight him? I couldn’t – He stood right there. Made me call you in front of him. Say all those horrible things to you. Like he got some sick enjoyment out of making me hurt you. But you just kept asking why I was doing it and your voice-”

“Oh love.” The anger seems to be melting away from him as Louis steps forward again, tone gone soft and gentle. “Baby-“

“And all I kept thinking about was Doris that morning. Telling you she loved you. And Phoebe and Daisy and Ernie and all of them. Your whole family loves you and depends on you and I was going to ruin it. I was going to f*ck it all up if I didn’t do what he said and Louis-” Harry whimpers, shaking his head. Whatever fight or strength he had left is gone – he’s shamelessly defenseless – feels stripped naked from the last of his armor. “I couldn’t do it. I know I was terrible. I didn’t have a choice. But then I was just at lunch and his phone went off and he’s going to release it anyways. It was all for nothing. He lied about everything.”

“He’s going to release the story?” Louis asks for clarification, not unkindly, close enough now that Harry could reach out for him if he ever felt he had the right to anymore.

“That’s why I’m here. I just saw it and I knew if I didn’t – I had to tell you. I had to warn you. I ruined everything but I just-“ Harry knows there is no going back now. It’s either honesty or nothing and he has nothing else to give but this. “I know you hate me. I know you never want to see me again. And I promise, I’ll go. I will. I’ll disappear. But I couldn’t let you- I couldn’t let you-“

Pressing his hands to his mouth, Harry curls his fingertips against his lips as he begins to bawl. It’s a sharp, aching sort of sound pulled out from his chest as he tries to draw in a breath. He feels himself waver, vision gone a little dark around the edges as he fights against his tightening lungs. Just as his knees are about to give out, spine gone liquid, strong arms wrap around his waist, a familiar scent of bergamot and spice filling his nose. Louis holds him tightly, squeezes until every crevice of Harry’s body fills up with his warmth, his calming touch.

“Hush now, little dove. Hush. It’s alright. I’ve got you now.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s ear, rests his cheek against Harry’s. “Just need you to breathe with me, okay? Slow breaths. In and out, there’s a good boy.”

Hiccupping wetly, Harry tries to focus his breathing to match Louis’, slowly inhaling through his nose and then out of his mouth. He’s suddenly aware of how cold he is – standing there in a nearly sheer, wet dress and bare feet, probably looks a mess surrounded by the warm leather of the studio, the gold records on the wall, the plush carpet underfoot. But Louis hugs him close regardless, practically holding him up when Harry sags down against him. Now that the adrenaline has started to wear off, Harry is suddenly exhausted, just wants to cling to Louis forever but he knows he can’t. He ruined it all. f*cked it up with his vicious mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Louis.” Harry whispers, cheeks resting on his shoulder, soaking up as much of the touch as he’s allowed. “I didn’t mean any of it. You’re so wonderful. I don’t want you to hate me. I know you do but I’m just so sorry.”

“I don’t hate you, baby. Could never hate you.” Louis pulls back far enough to meet Harry’s gaze, his own gone a little watery himself. He looks so earnest when he draws forward, presses a soft kiss to the curve of Harry’s lips. “I love you so much.”

“What?” Harry’s mouth feels numb saying the word, eyes gone huge.

“I love you.” Louis repeats himself, bravely reaching up to cup Harry’s cheek, strokes his thumb over the sharp bone there. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I think you love me too.”

“I do. I do love you.” Wrapping his arms tightly around Louis’ shoulders, Harry pulls him back into a hug, buries his face into the soft curve of Louis’ neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have never said those things-“

“It’s alright love, it’s okay.” Louis rubs at his back, kisses the stray part of Harry’s cheek that he can reach in this position. “We’ll figure it out, baby. We’ll get through this, okay? Remember, just you and me. No one else here but you and me. We’re a team, alright?”

“I don’t know what to do now.” Harry whimpers, clings to Louis’ jumper, his shoulder, any part he can. “I don’t know how to fix anything. And I’m so sorry-“

“Darling, stop.” Again, Louis is the one to draw back, holds Harry by the waist and kisses him. It’s tinge with salt from their tears, soft from the beginning but full of emotion. Harry has never been kissed like this. Never wants anyone other than Louis to ever kiss him again.

“What you’re going to do is let me get you a towel and some clothes, yeah? Because you’re distracting me a bit with the way you’re wearing this dress.” Louis teases, fondly tucks a strand of Harry’s curls behind his ear. “And then I’m going to make some calls and we’ll get this sorted. Pritchard isn’t the only one with money and power, you know? I’m a pretty important man myself.”

“You’re the most important man to me.” Harry replies, a little cheeky and with a small grin. Louis lets out a laugh with it, rolling his eyes before softening it with a kiss.

“I’m the only man for you.” He murmurs, nuzzles his nose against Harry’s, whispers the words just against his lips.

“You want to be mine?” Harry asks, tracks his gaze slowly from Louis’ pink lips to the curve of his nose to those brilliantly blue eyes.

“If you’ll be mine too.” It’s said without hesitation, Louis waiting until Harry gives a nod, giggling happily, before he seals it with another kiss.

- - -

The sound of the crowd is already booming as the town car rounds the corner. They’ve been media training for this for the past few days, long meetings with lawyers and PR and everyone who could possibly be involved. It doesn’t stop Louis from feeling the butterflies moving around in his stomach, shoulders a little tense as the car gets queued up in line. Harry is a vision next to him, finally wearing that white, beaded dress that Louis had picked out all that time ago. It looks just as exquisite on Harry as Louis had imagined it, a dream in soft pale gauze matching perfectly with the pearl necklace now draped around his throat. It was a gift from Louis – something to remind Harry of who is and who he belongs to.

“You look nervous. Should I be nervous?” Harry asks, fidgeting on the leather seat beside him. He’s been twisting up a straw wrapper until it’s a thin line.

“Are you nervous?” Reaching up, Louis traces his finger along the sharp cut of Harry’s jaw, gently poking just where he knows the dimple is.

“We’re coming out.” Leaning into the touch, Harry shrugs his shoulders a little. “Of course, I’m nervous. Zayn keeps texting me that there are like a million people inside.”

“It’s just an album release party for another group on the label. We’re just using it as a PR opportunity. It’s not even about us tonight.” Louis reassures, keeps his touches light but comforting. “The second we get inside, Niall and Liam promised to have drinks and a booth open for us, yeah? It’ll be fine.”

“What if it’s not? What if something happens?” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, makes Louis tug on it to get him to release it before he smudges his lipstick. “You paid the papers to run our story before Craig’s could come out. You beat him at his own game. It just feels…too perfect. Like we got away with something.”

“The only thing we’re getting away with is telling people that we’re in love and watching everyone turn jealous with how perfect we are.” Louis reassures, reaching down to entwine their hands with a co*cky grin. “Do you trust me? I told you, Oli and Liam figured it out. It’s a scandal – sure – but it’s not one to ruin anyone’s career. It gets your name out there for your own album release next year and I just look incredibly lucky to have gotten to you first.”

“I just don’t want him to find a way to ruin it.” Harry sighs deep within his chest, thumb tracing over the back of Louis’ knuckles, around his 28 tattoo. “I want this to be good. A good story. A happy one.”

“Everything will be fine, baby. I’ve got you. You’re my boy, remember? Never going to let anything happen to you.” Louis soothes, squeezes their hands tighter together. “Besides, we’re not selling a story. We’re telling the truth. And the truth always wins.”

“And sets you free. You did, you know, set me free. Didn’t even know I was caged in until you.” Harry murmurs, glancing out the window at the paparazzi now lining the walkway, the car pulling into its place. The driver gets out, goes around to open the door, before he does – Louis leans over and cups Harry’s face.

“I love you.” He whispers, nudging his nose against Harry’s, giving him a soft bunny kiss.

“I love you too.” Harry takes in a deep breath, smiling slowly at Louis. “Alright, Mr. Tomlinson. Let’s go introduce me as your lovely boyfriend, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” Louis grins, holds Harry’s hand tightly as he makes his way out of the car and onto the walkway.

Cameras instantly begin flashing, voices calling out to him, begging for a story, but Louis waits until Harry slips out and joins him, linking their hands tightly together before he makes his way forward. He meant what he said so long ago – it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or has to say. All that matters is this – Louis and Harry, just the two of them together – as it should be.