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Being back home is not exactly what Louis thought it would be.
See, he likes his family - loves them, of course - but with five sisters and a brother, two of whom are only a few months old and have constant belly aches and demand attention so much that his other pair of twin siblings gets even louder because they want attention too- it’s just a bit much. And, like, his mum’s boyfriend is a very nice guy, but Louis moved out way before they got together, and he’s not home that often, and all though they’ve been together for a while now and they’re getting married and they have the new twins together, Louis can’t help but feel like a bit of a stranger in his old home.
It’s all kind of exhausting, to be honest, and it results in him hardly getting to spend any quality time with any of his family members. And everything is just chaos and loud. Loud.
Also, Louis is an independent man, okay? He’s his own person, and he has his own life. He also has a very lovely, very cute, very cuddly, very sexy boyfriend, and it’s not Louis’ fault that Harry doesn’t enjoy being alone in their flat. As it is though, Louis is nothing but considerate - at least when it comes to Harry - so of course he’s going to take that information into consideration when he tries to decide whether or not to drive back home a couple of days before he’s supposed to.
So, he thinks about Harry and how he’s been alone in their tiny flat for, like, four days already and how he must be a bit bored, and how quiet it must be and - Um, mum, I think I’m gonna have to go back a bit earlier than planned, it’s just, like, school and work and, um, you know - and his mum definitely knew, if the look she gave him was any indication.
Okay so he’s missed Harry. He’s entitled to miss his boyfriend though, and he’s entitled to miss orgasms when he’s been without one for five days after having them nearly daily for like a year. And he’s entitled to miss silence as well, he’s pretty sure.
Daisy and Phoebe cries - and so does Doris and Ernest, but that has absolutely nothing to do with Louis’ departure - and Fizzy tells him to bring Harry next time, and Lottie mutters that she’s jealous he gets to leave this madhouse. Louis promises he’ll be back soon - yes, with Harry, I swear - and that he loves them all very much, and then he calmly walks to the car, gets in, and takes a big breath.
It feels a little bit like freedom.
---
He doesn’t tell Harry he’s coming home early. Harry loves surprises, of the good kind anyway - not to be self-absorbed or anything, but this is a good surprise - so Louis leaves early enough to be home before Harry gets back from school, makes sure he has time to stop by the supermarket on the way as well.
Harry gets home right around ten past four, because somehow he always manages to catch the same bus, even though they go every ten minutes during rush hour. He's a bit of a creature of habit, Louis usually says. Harry never protests.
Louis’ gonna make him dinner, he decides, which doesn’t happen too often, just cause Harry really likes to cook. He’ll buy a bottle of wine as well, maybe some flowers, make a real romantic meal out of it.
That typical movie-scene thought strikes him for a second - Harry doesn’t come home and I’m left with cold food and burnt out candles looking like an idiot - but Harry always comes home on Wednesdays, it’s his study-day and Louis doubts he changes his routines just because Louis’ out of town.
--
The supermarket is fairly empty, what with most people being either at work or in school, so Louis rather enjoys walking around and getting everything he needs. He takes his time, trying to decide the right brand of pasta, and if he needs to buy eggs, and whether the grated Parmesan or the whole block is the best way to go. He chooses a bottle of red he knows Harry really enjoys, even though it is a tad too expensive for a weeknight dinner, but, no, it’s a date he decides, and buys a bag of red heart-shaped tea lights as well.
Just because he already has Harry doesn’t mean he shouldn’t woo him every once in a while.
By the time he’s checked out it’s already past three, so he hurries by a flower shop, buying two bouquets of red roses - though not the most expensive ones, he’s not made of money - and drives home.
Because Louis is a man that strongly believes in taking as few trips back and forth from the car as possible, he gets everything inside with just one. Sure, his duffle is digging into his shoulder, and his fingers goes a bit numb as he cuts off all blood-circulation by carrying three bags in one hand so that he wont harm the flowers in his other, but it’s worth it. Like always.
He sets the bags in the hallway, heading for their bedroom first to leave the duffle and grab a table cloth, since they have a huge wardrobe, and it’s easier to just keep all fabric-related things in there. Harry says they’re only for special occasions, since it’s easier to keep the surface of the wooden table clean than to wash the table cloths all the time, and Louis agrees. This is a date night though, so he grabs the white one with the subtle, cream floral print and gathers the bags from the hall on the way to the kitchen.
The good thing about having a neat freak as a boyfriend is that the kitchen is always clean. Alas, Louis can get right to dressing the table, straitening out the cloth and picking a few roses to pull petals from so he can scatter them over it. He's not really a perfectionist, but Harry kinda is, and he wants it to be pretty, so he takes his time to make sure the plates and wineglasses are parallel with each other and that the tea-candles and petals aren’t bunched up anywhere. He also puts a few candles on the counter, to, like, enhance the mood. The rest of the flowers are placed in a vase on the counter top as well, as the table got to crowded.
That being done, he realizes that he has almost twenty minutes to spare before he needs to start the food, as it's easy to make and he wants it as fresh as possible. He bites at the side of his thumbnail as he makes sure everything looks alright, and then decides to be even more of an awesome boyfriend, and empty his own bag.
For once, he's brought some clean clothes home - mostly socks and underwear, since he packed for more days and extras - but, seeing as the new twins seemed to have an ongoing competition to see who could spit up on his clothes the most, it’s not as much as it probably should be. Still, he doesn't give in to the temptation of just chucking it all in the laundry, and folds what’s clean - boxers included, because Harry is that kind of a guy - and puts them away, before bringing the rest of the clothes to the hamper in the bathroom.
It’s nearly full, he sees, so he thinks fuck it I’m going all out today and grabs the plastic baby tub they use to carry stuff back and forth to their launderette. He’s pretty sure he’ll be rewarded generously in bed later.
He fills it with a few of his own clothes, the ones he uses the most, and then drops the rest of them to the floor, so that he can grab some of Harry’s from the hamper - it’s no use doing laundry to be a good boyfriend if he only does his own, is it? He sticks to dark colors, mindlessly picking up things with dark shades without even looking at them as he mentally goes through the recipe for the pasta dish, even though it’s one of the few he knows completely by heart.
But then he feels something weird in the mess of clothes. He rubs the fabric between his thumb and index finger; it's really soft and feels nothing like what any of them usually wears, so he pulls it out completely to inspect it, curious. The curiosity is soon replaced with something else though. Dread. Heavy like a bag of rocks at the bottom of his stomach.
It’s- well, it’s pretty he can’t ignore that. It’s lingerie, black and, low cut - hipsters, he’s pretty sure they’re called - a thin row of ruffles along the edges, thick silky laces criss-crossing up the sides and ending in neat bows, while a pink silky bow is placed on the center of the front.
He stares at it, feels almost mesmerized, because, like. This belongs to a girl. A girl who took her panties off in their flat.
There’s a rock in his throat as well, it seems, as Louis swallows for what feels like the first time in years. He hasn’t really breathed either, it turns out, as the air burns his lungs. He feels- he feels oddly calm. A silent sort of acceptation, like he’s watching the world crumble in front of his eyes and there‘s nothing he can do about it. He’s just paralyzed, in a trance, numb.
Numb. That just about covers it. He blinks a few times, eyes dry and prickly, throws the panties into the basket and adds a few more garments.
Laundry. He’s doing the laundry.
Louis knows people cheat. It’s not even the first time it's happened to him, so he probably should’ve seen it coming. But he really, really didn’t.
Figuring he has enough clothes by now, he throws the washing powder and softener on top, grabs the keys and a few coins from the counter and heads down the stairs and out.
The fresh air does nothing to clear his head.
It’s just. It’s Harry. Harry who says things like ‘when we get married’ and ‘When we get our house out in the countryside’ and ‘Would you rather we adopt or have a surrogate?’ Harry, who said that he’d never cheat. Ever. That if he fell for someone while dating someone else he’d end his relationship before he’d let anything happen.
People change though, don’t they?
He wonders if she’s pretty. If she’s got round full boobs or a stomach that’s flatter than Louis’. Wonders if Harry likes fucking her as much as he likes Louis fucking him. He doesn’t fool himself into thinking the underwear could belong to a friend who had an accident or that someone gave it to Harry as a joke or that it belongs to Gemma; he knows Harry would’ve told him in their nightly phone calls. Harry always fills him in on his days, tells him everything that’s happened.
Or, apparently not.
He balances the tub as he unlocks the door to the student facility that's only for the people living in the surrounding student houses. It only has ten washing machines and five tumble driers, but at least half of them are available at all times, so it’s not a problem.
Louis walks over to the one in the far corner and puts the coins in, hearing the click as it unlocks, pulls the box and bottle out of the basket and sets them on top the machine. Usually, he grabs all the clothes one by one and throws them in there, but he doesn’t want to touch it again, so he takes one of his own t-shirts and uses it to ball up everything else, stuffing it inside. He wonders if her vaginal fluids will mix in with his own clothes, feels sick of the thought and puts on the heaviest, longest program with the highest temperature, just to be safe.
He just feels like such an idiot, like, how could he not know he was being cheated on? Again. But even now, looking back, he can’t find a single sign, can’t remember anything being off or weird. And Harry’s always been a shit liar, hasn’t he, but maybe not when it really matters.
A girl walks in, and Louis doesn’t even realize how close he is to crying before he has to focus on not doing so. She gives him a small smile - his responding one is weak at best - before she unloads her wash and transfers it to one of the tumble dryers. She shouldn’t do that, because it really wears on the clothes - it’s why Harry only allows it with towels and big things like sheets.
He wonders if Harry changed the bed after he fucked her. Or if they used the bed at all. Maybe the couch or the kitchen table or the wall.
Louis’ gonna have to leave. Pack a bag and stay with a friend. He has a few he knows would let him borrow the couch for a few nights.
It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it, because Harry was the one who let Louis in when he broke it off with Andrew. Well, Harry was the one who made him break up with Andrew, the one who made Louis realize that a year and a half with a boy means shit when he’s an absolute arsehole. And they had barely know each other for two months, but all it took was for Harry to find Louis silently crying to himself in a park near campus. He didn’t even force Louis to tell him what happened, just took him back to his flat and said he could stay for as long as he wished.
He never really moved back out.
He clears his throat and takes a deep breath just as the girl leaves again, door automatically locking behind her. The smell of detergent and clean and artificial is so strong he can almost taste it, but it gives him a tiny bit of distraction. He puts the washing powder and softener back in the empty basket, wonders what Harry’s gonna say, how the break-up will go, if he’ll even put up a fight at all.
It’s just. He is dependent on Harry, he really fucking is.
When they met, Andrew had- fuck, Andrew broke him in so many ways - and Harry’s the one who’s put him together. Even when they were just friends, he’s always made Louis feel like he matters, like he’s good enough. And now.. Now, he feels like he felt that day Harry found him in the park- no, worse, because at least that didn’t make him numb, and helpless, and shattered. Completely and utterly shattered.
A dry sob escapes his throat and he tries his best to swallow it back down. Fuck. He sniffles, clears his throat, coughs, blinks, rocks on the balls of his feet to his heels a few times; he wont, he wont, he wont, not now, not here. When he feels less like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, he grabs the basket and the keys again, and heads out.
Andrew? I just, I feel like we never talk anymore, like, I try - I try to communicate, but you just - like. When is the last time we had a proper conversation, you know?
Haven’t you ever heard the saying, Louis, ‘if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all‘?
He’d never felt more worthless than he did that day, and still, it feels so insignificant compared to this. Andrew was never the one, but Harry, Harry is. Could be. Was. Was, because Harry made his choice, he can’t have both.
His eyes are prickly and dry and he thinks once he’s made it inside, maybe he’ll let a few tears out. Not too many though, doesn’t want his face all red and splotchy and disgusting when he has to face Harry. Doesn’t want Harry to look at him and think Thank god I chose her instead. A cruel part of his mind tries to imagine Harry with that girl, giving her the face of every female friend of Harry’s that he knows, but he can’t. He simply can’t imagine Harry with anyone but himself, and he thinks that only makes it harder.
Harder to accept, harder to understand, harder to move on from.
He must’ve spent longer in the launderette than he thought, because as soon as he enters the flat again, he hears someone coming towards him from the kitchen. He knows it’s Harry, but he really doesn’t want it to be. He’s not ready.
“Louis?!” Harry calls from around the corner. He doesn’t need to see him to know how excited he is, and it’s like a stabbing pain straight in his gut, all the air knocked out of him. He forces it right back in with a huge gulp, just as Harry comes into vision. “Louis!” He says again, and he’s smiling, grinning, beaming at him, arms spreading out to give him a hug and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
He ducks under Harry’s arm in a swift move, clutching the washing basket so hard his fingers hurts, and makes a beeline for the bathroom.
“Louis?” Harry asks, sounding confused. It doesn't take many seconds before Louis hears footsteps following him. It must be at that point, as Harry walks into the bathroom seeing Louis turn the tap on to rinse out the basket - we can’t put clean clothes in it when it’s just been filled with dirty laundry, Louis, the clothes wouldn’t be clean anymore - that he realizes that Louis has done laundry. Louis can see the way his body freezes for a second, teeth digging into his bottom lip, his eyes flickering back and forth between Louis and the hamper with dirty clothes.
“You did ..laundry.” He says after a moment, it’s easy to tell, by the way he talks, that he’s nervous. Serves him right.
“Wanted to surprise you.” He bites out. “Guess how surprised I was, when I found your girlfriends panties.”
“No.” Harry says, stepping into the bathroom. “No, no. No!” Louis keeps his eyes on the water as he pours it out of the basket before pumping some soap into his hand to quickly wash it. “Louis! Louis, it’s not like that it’s- Louis, look at me.” Louis doesn’t, but then Harry sobs, and says please, and Louis is only human. He doesn’t turn though, just looks up through the mirror.
Harry’s eyes are sad and wet and there might be a tear running down his cheek, but Louis doesn't want to look too closely. Instead, he turns his gaze down as he rinses the basket again. “Louis, you know me! Just. Look at me, look at me and tell me you really think I’d do that to you.”
He does as told, roams over Harry’s face and his eyes, and he doesn’t is the thing, he doesn’t think Harry would really do that, because it contradicts with everything he knows about him. But still- “Whose is it then?” He asks, as he puts the basket upside down over the sink to dry out and turns around to face Harry.
Harry sighs, wiping his cheeks with the side of his hand, bites at his lip. “It’s-” He starts, but he chokes on his own words, and Louis sniffles, shakes his head, though it’s mostly to himself. He still doesn’t know what he believes, but nevertheless, the panties exists and he needs an explanation for that. “Just.. come?” Harry asks finally, sounding dejected and small, he tilts his head towards the door and Louis raises an eyebrow, but nods once, following as Harry walks out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom.
Harry walks to the bed, mumbling something Louis doesn’t catch, before turning to the wardrobe. He opens one of the doors, the one that leads to where they keep the quilts and table cloths and winter clothes, and crouches down to pull out the shelf with the bed sheets. Louis really doesn’t think this is the time to change the bedding, and he’s about to voice that, when Harry shoves them all down on the floor and then reaches in - as far as he can it seems - and comes back out with small a red fabric bag. There’s something written on it in golden, curly letters in the bottom right corner, but it’s not something Louis recognizes.
Harry holds it for a moment before he stands back up and walks the three steps over to the bed. He can hear Harry swallow as he shakily widens the opening of the bag and turns it upside down over the mattress. Louis silently watches as several colorful fabrics falls out, and it takes him a few seconds to realize they’re all panties. Harry has his head hung down, teeth digging into his bottom lip, as if he’s shameful.
He- he has lady panties in their closet. He collects them. He- “Are you a serial killer?” Louis blurts, the words leaving his mouth before he’s even thought them. But it’s not impossible, he thinks in retrospective; serial killers do collect trophies, though it wouldn’t make sense to wash-
His thoughts are interrupted by Harry laughing. Well, it’s more like one laugh, sounding wet and kinda desperate, and it’s followed by a small sniffle. “No.” He says, wiping at his nose and shaking his head slightly, before he mumbles “I. um. I wear them.”
“Oh.” He wears them. That makes- “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Harry breathes. There are a lot of questions circulating in Louis’ head right now, and he doesn’t even know where to start. His head hurts with how quickly things have changed, with all the emotions and thoughts that has harbored his brain for the past half hour. “I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Harry says quietly, “But I’d just started to, like, explore it, when we got together, and I wasn’t comfortable with it at all, and then it just-” He cuts himself off with a shrug. “Not everyone is okay with things like that.”
“Yeah.” Louis agrees, because he understands. If it was a thing for him, he’d be terrified to share it too. “It’s okay, Harry.” He tacks on, because Harry’s still all stiff and awkward and Louis doesn’t like it.
“I just. I just wear them sometimes. When I’m alone. It’s no big deal or anything, I- I can stop.”
“It gets you off though, doesn’t it?” Louis asks, curious now, wondering what Harry looks like prancing around with nothing but woman’s lingerie on. Harry’s cheeks are red - he’s red all the way down to his neck actually - but he only hesitates for a moment before he nods.
“But I don’t-” He stars again. Louis cuts him off.
“I just need to know, like, do you- um, are you like, gender liquid?” Harry’s lips curls up for a second before they drop down again.
“I’m not gender fluid, no. Just a boy. ..who likes wearing pretty lingerie sometimes.”
“A pretty boy wearing pretty things.” Louis agrees, and Harry smiles properly this time, albeit a small one. It makes Louis breathe a bit easier. "So like, no cheating right?” He asks, just to be a hundred percent sure.
“No!” Harry rushes out, turning to face him. “Never, I’d never, ever do that to you.” His eyes are all wide and his nostrils flared and there’s a frown between his eyebrows, and Louis knows this face very well; it’s the one he always makes when he’s being truthful and persistent while they discuss something important. “I love you so much,” He adds, reaching his knuckles out and stroking them against Louis’ forearm before he drops his hand again, like he’s still unsure about this. “You’re it for me, you know.”
Louis stomach twirls and flutters all pleasantly, a welcome change from heavy feeling he had earlier. “And you for me. I love you too.” Harry smiles, his shoulders dropping as he lets out a shaky breath.
Louis eyes the pile of colors on their bed again, hesitating for a few seconds before he asks, “So, which one is your favorite then?” Harry looks up, gazes at him for a moment, eyes searching, before he steps closer to the bed, reaching out and grazing his fingers over a few of the panties. “Which one is your favorite thong?” Louis corrects himself. Harry casts him another glance before reaching for something purple. His posture becomes a bit stiff again, hesitant, like he’s not sure whether or not Louis will burn all his lingerie in front of him, but he takes the purple thong between his hands and shows it to him anyway. The thong itself is just plain, but it has a tiny see-through lace skirt attached. It’s in two layers, the bottom one maybe an inch longer than the other, the same purple color as the thong. And there is, of course, a small purple bow front and center.
“It’s, um, it’s new. I’ve only worn it once.” Harry says, his cheeks regaining some of the color that they’ve lost over the past couple of minutes.
"Will you put it on for me?” Louis asks, trying to sound as soft and encouraging as possible, because he’s not yet sure if Harry actually wants him to be a part of this.
To be honest, he’s not quite sure what he thinks of it himself. Lingerie isn’t something he’s given much thought at all, seeing as he knows he’s been gay since bodies started to become something interesting, and lingerie has always been something he’s associated with girls. And, like, boobs. But he’s definitely willing to try for Harry, he’s kinda curious about it, doesn’t think Harry could look bad or unattractive in anything. Besides, it’s not like Harry will look like a girl when he puts it on, fuck, he’ll probably look more like a boy than ever, because that tiny thong will certainly not conceal his cock.
“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, drawing Louis attention up from where he’s definitely been staring at Harry’s crotch. His eyes goes right back though, when Harry starts unbuttoning his jeans. He takes off both his jeans and boxers straight away, bending over to pull them off of his legs.
“Shirt too.” Louis says as Harry starts pulling the panties on. He stops with them halfway up his thighs to throw his shirt over his head and then pulls them up completely, trying his best to fit his half-hard cock against his hip.
It’s- It’s such a contrast; the panties compared to Harry’s broad shoulders and abs and strong thighs- but then again, it’s such a match to his red-bitten lips, and soft hair and big, trusting eyes. He’s standing all pigeon-toed, his arms behind his back, hips swaying back and forth in a movement so small Louis is pretty sure he’s not even aware of it, and he looks- “Gorgeous.” Louis says, as he takes him in for probably the fifth time, roaming his eyes over his body and face, trying to commit it to memory.
Harry, Harry he fucking preens, tucking his chin in and blushing and grinning, and fuck, Louis loves this boy so much, it’s absolutely ridiculous. Louis steps forward, touching him properly for the first time in literal days, as he winds a hand around Harry’s upper arm and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s not rough, rather sweet and slow actually, like hello and I love you and I missed you and you’re perfect, and we’re good. When Louis pulls back, Harry has this sweet smile curled over his lips, like he understood everything Louis tried to convey with it, and it makes Louis smile along, makes him press another sweet kiss to the corner of Harry‘s mouth.
The thing is, though, that Harry is still sporting a semi, and Louis’ not about to let that go, so he slides a hand up Harry’s chest, lets it rest in the crook of his neck and asks, as sweet as he can, “Will you get on the bed for me darling?” Harry bites back down at his lip, so Louis pushes his thumb against it till Harry lets it go. Once he has, Louis leans up to press a kiss there, “Give your lip a rest, yeah? You’ll tear it.” He says, though he knows Harry’s probably gonna be back to biting it as soon as Louis gets to fuck him, he always does. Worst case, Louis will just force him to use lip balm for a few days.
Harry crawls on the bed, hands and knees, giving Louis a great view of his arse. It’s so great, in fact, that when he goes to flip himself over to his back, Louis stills him with a hand against his hip. Harry gets the direction, and Louis places a kiss to a knob at the bottom of his spine, before retreating to get the lube from their nightstand. He kneels behind Harry once he’s got it, uncapping the bottle, but stopping himself before he pours some out over his fingers. After another seconds thought, he closes it again, placing the bottle on the bed.
Louis grabs the string of the thong with his right thumb, pulling it to the side for better access, spreads him open while he’s at it, and Harry moans quietly as the fabric tightens over him. He leans in to bite a small bruise into his left cheek, knowing how much Harry loves feeling it when he sits down the next day. It gets the reaction he expected, a sharp inhale and a shiver down the spine, and Louis smirks against his skin before he twists his head right, licking over his hole. It’s not Louis favorite thing to do, to be honest, but he does love the reaction he gets out of Harry, and it’s absolutely completely worth it when Harry’s thighs quivers with the effort of keeping himself upright as Louis traces his rim with his tongue, barely breaching in before he’s pulling back again.
It’s only three or four swipes of his tongue before Harry’s legs fall further apart, another five or so before he drops from his hands to his elbows, just a couple more and he can’t keep his moans in, tries to bite them into the pillow instead. Louis loves to hear Harry’s noises, but they live in a flat complex that isn’t exactly sound proof, and it’s definitely the time of the day when other people are home, so he appreciates Harry’s effort. He can still tell that Harry is close though, sees it in the way his spine is arching and his thighs haven’t stopped shaking, so with a few more licks in and around and another bite at the mark he left earlier, he reluctantly pulls back to get the lube again.
It’s easy opening him up when he’s already this pliant. Louis uses his right hand, so he switches the string of the thong to his left and makes sure his thumb is constantly pressing against the mark that is now a deep red color. One finger goes in without struggle, and he only moves it a few times before he slips in the second one. It’s a tight fit, it always is in the beginning, but they’ve done this so many times now, Louis knows all the tells and signs without Harry having to say a word.
He twists and scissors his fingers, keeping away from the prostate because he knows Harry’s strung enough as it is, and instead just works on making him loose and relaxed and ready. He brings in a third finger when Harry starts pushing back against him, his face half-burrowed into the pillow and the tips of his hair getting darker where it’s resting against his sweaty neck. He mumbles something, words sounding like complete gibberish, but Louis pauses and instead leans forward to press a wet kiss to his hip as Harry catches his breath to speak again.
“Ready.” He finally breathes out, making Louis frown, as he twists his fingers, considering. There’s still too much resistance, but he knows Harry likes it like this sometimes. Rough.
“You sure baby?” He asks, pumping his fingers a few more times, and Harry nods against the pillow, moans ‘please’ so low Louis barely catches it. He does though, so he pulls his fingers out, Harry’s back arching with it, and quickly slicks himself up with the lube, smearing the excess from his fingers over Harry’s already slick hole.
He takes his time entering, inch by inch, because he knows even though Harry can be a whiny fucker, literally, he’ll appreciate it in a few hours. It’s not easy, because Harry keeps pushing back, keeps trying to draw him in, and it makes Louis loose his concentration, loose the string of the thong. It really shouldn’t feel that good; the way the tight string of fabric runs along his cock, and he grips it a bit too hard, basically yanks it to the side - because, shit, over-stimulation - and Harry gasps. It’s not out of pain though, so Louis swallows the apology on the tip of his tongue and runs a finger under the hem of the lingerie instead, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake.
The lace skirt isn’t as sexy now, it’s edges around Harry’s crack darkened with the wetness of the smeared lube, all filthy and dirty, but fuck it looks so good when it’s on his boy. He gets a good grip on Harry’s hips, knows it’ll leave ten red imprints on his light skin for hours after, uses it as balance as he pulls himself halfway out and slowly glides back in. It’s still a bit of a tight fit so he keeps his pace careful for the first few thrust, and can’t help but smile a bit as Harry impatiently arches his arse higher in the air. It’s not as easy to keep the thong in control when he speeds up though, it keeps slipping from Louis’ slick fingers and Harry’s slick skin, and Louis stops - getting the whine he knew he would - and bites at his lip. “Should we, like- maybe you should take it off?” He suggests, giving it a thug in case Harry had any doubts about what it is, but Harry just shakes his head.
“No no no.” He mumbles, wiggling his hips to get Louis to move again.
“You sure? I might loosen the slack a bit.”
“Don’t care, we’ll buy a new one, come on.” He turns his head to give Louis the best glare he can with eyes glazed over and his pupils blown, and Louis relents, hooks it with his thumb again, but puts his hand a little lower on Harry’s hips.
“Let me know if I hurt you though love, yeah?” He presses, leaning forward to kiss between his shoulder blades. Harry nods.
“S’good.” He assures again, so Louis takes his word for it and starts thrusting again.
He builds the rhythm back up easily, Harry’s body rocking with the force of it, and it’s great, it’s fantastic, sex with Harry always is, but Louis keeps thinking about how his cock must look right now, whether it’s pulling at the fabric or if it’s settled against his hip, head poking out, or if it, perhaps, has escaped it’s confinements all together. It drives him crazy with curiosity, wanting to see so bad, so he pulls out quickly, making Harry mumble something that sounds like what, and then grabs his hips to turn him, manhandling Harry’s pliant body so he lies on his back.
It’s a sight to behold indeed.
“Look at you.” He breathes. His voice is laced with awe, but honestly, look at him. Harry’s skin is red and sweaty, his nipples borderline purple and his lips a color to match. His cock is pink at the tip and so, so hard, almost flat against Harry’s abs, the hem of the panties now snug right at the start of the shaft, bunched fabric hiding his balls from view. His eyelashes are wet as they flutter open, red-rimmed, glossy eyes landing on Louis’ own, but his gaze still not completely there, like Harry can’t properly see him through the haze in his mind. “Fuck.” Louis says, flattening his hands on Harry’s thighs and reveling in the warmth of his skin. “You look gorgeous.” He adds, making Harry smile, though he still seems a bit unfocused. “My beautiful baby.”
Harry whines as Louis let his palms slide up and down from his groin to his knees, just watching him and the way he reacts. Louis’ never really been one for dirty talk, though he’s always liked complementing his boy in bed, and Harry’s always liked being complemented but, “You really like this, don’t you darling?” he can’t help but point out. Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and Louis immediately tuts, leaning over to free it with his thumb. “What did I say about hurting yourself like that?” He chides, biting back a moan as Harry takes the opportunity to suck Louis’ thumb into his mouth instead. “Cheeky.” Louis bites out. His cock is throbbing and Harry’s looking nothing short of fuckable, but his need to rile him up a bit more somehow wins out.
He pulls it out with a small pop, brings his hand down to Harry’s arse instead, runs the thumb through his crack and smirks when the pad of his finger catches on his rim, Harry’s breath audibly catching in his throat as a result.
“Is it just panties then?” He asks, keeps petting his thumb over and around Harry’s hole, but never pressing in. “Or do you like other girly things as well?” Harry doesn’t answer - not that Louis really expected him to - just breathes heavily. “No need for lipstick,” He concludes on his own, “They’re such a lovely shade already.” He licks his own lips slowly, smirks when Harry mirrors him, legs somehow falling further apart. He runs the fingers of his free hand under the panties again, light touches that probably feels like tickling, before he grabs at the lace and yanks. “Maybe one of those tennis-skirts, hm? No underwear beneath so I can fuck you whenever I want.” Harry’s cock twitches at his words, a pearl of precome appearing at the tip, and Louis tries his best to hide the smirk that attempts to curl it‘s way onto his lips. “Yeah?” He says, pressing the tip of his thumb inside. “Maybe you could ride me with the skirt on as well.” It makes Harry arch, hips thrusting into the air, a breathy moan escape him, and Louis has to grip the base of his cock for a second to keep himself in check. He’s so fucking close though, and it’s obvious that Harry is as well, so he moves his hand to pull at Harry’s legs to get him closer, hoists him up so he can hook his legs over Louis’ shoulders.
It’s not a position they use often, it feels less intimate somehow, but he figures it’s the best solution for him to be able to keep control over the string of the thong, as well as doing basically all the work, seeing as Harry is completely boneless and unhelpful. He fucks him with both hands grabbing his arse, to spread him open and keep him in place. The thong is slightly digging into his skin where he’s hooked it over back of his right hand, and, as a result of the stretch, creating a small, but constant, friction against Harry’s balls when he moves.
“Maybe I should borrow a pair from you, you think I’d look good one of those panties?” He says as casually as he can manage, As doesn’t know if Harry’s into that or if he only likes wearing them himself. He keeps his thrusts at a rather slow pace while he talks as a means to hold his attention, but he kind of doubts Harry‘s lucid enough to pay attention to his words at all.
He’s actually a bit startled when Harry breathes “Fuck, yeah, yeah. Yes.” but he speeds up as a reward.
“Well, I do have quite a girly bum.” He says, Harry moaning in agreement, and Louis thinks he’d wear anything, do anything, if it means he gets to see Harry like this. As good as the teasing is though, as pleasurable and hot and fun, Louis is physically unable to slow his pace again, strung to tight on the feel and smell and sound of Harry, so he gives in and chases his own orgasms with hard and fast thrusts.
It’s the sight of Harry that gets him there, the way Harry’s back is in a constant bow of pleasure, and his arms are slumped over his head, not even bothering to bring himself off as he just takes what Louis gives. He can’t help but be selfish for just a bit longer, gripping tight as he spills into Harry, before he slows down and wraps one hand around Harry’s cock, his own still buried deep inside him. It’s hardly three strokes before Harry comes, breathless and soundless, over his own stomach, cheeks red and thighs quivering - the epitome of beauty, really.
“God I love you.” Louis says once he’s laying next to Harry, breath back to almost normal, and his thighs not giving him random jolts of muscle pain anymore. “Also, I need to exercise more.” Harry laughs, pretending to slap him with the back of his hand, but instead curling his fingers around Louis’ upper thigh. Louis turns to look at him, this beautiful boy that is still only his, but frowns once he sees the teeth marks harshly pressed into the left side of Harry’s raw bottom lip. “And you need some lip balm.” He adds as he reluctantly gets up.
Louis looks disheveled himself he notices in the mirror before opening the cabinet, could really use a shower too, but a washcloth will do; they’re gonna have to change the bed sheets anyway. He realizes he’s hungry as he makes his way back to the bedroom, now that his mind isn’t a mess anymore and he’s able to pay attention to his bodily needs again. He makes a detour heading for the kitchen as he knows Harry’ll be hungry too, he always is when he gets back from school. He’s glad he didn’t start on dinner earlier though, they’ll make it fresh tonight instead, after a nap. For now, he grabs the cookies he bought and a water bottle from the fridge and heads back to their room.
Harry's half asleep when Louis climbs back in bed, dumping the cookies on his own pillow while he moves to sit next to Harry. His boy blinks sleepily up at him, and Louis kind of wants to tease him for being an old man seeing as he mainly just laid there like a - very sexy - sack of potatoes while Louis did the work, but it’s been a tough day emotionally for them both, and that always tires Harry out.
So instead he pushes the water bottle into Harry’s hand, demands he has a few mouthfuls at the very least, while he wipes him off with the cloth before balling it up and tossing it to the side. Harry grunts, will most certainly give him an earful about how disgusting and unhygienic that is later, but whatever, he’s got more important things to do; helping Harry take the thong off, for example.
It’s ruined, truth be told. It’s almost pooling around him, the thread or elastic band or whatever stretched beyond repair and some stitches torn out so that the skirt has fell off in patches. They weren’t that rough though, so it clearly must’ve been some cheap stuff. He lifts Harry’s legs one by one to pull it off.
“Think we’ll just throw this away.” Louis decides, flinging it in the same direction as the washcloth. “And lets buy some better quality next time, yeah?” He adds, just to make sure Harry knows he’s still okay with this.
Harry smiles dopily, but winces shortly after, running a finger over his lip. Louis rolls his eyes - in a much too fond way, probably - and straddles Harry’s waist. He grabs the small plastic ball of pharmacy lip balm, screws it open and scoops a decent amount onto his middle finger that he then gently smears over Harry’s lips.
“I’ll feed you small bites of cookie.” Louis tells him strictly, “So that you wont smudge it and your lips can heal a bit while we nap.” He makes sure to cover Harry’s lips completely, a little bit over and around the edges as well just to be sure, and it makes Harry pout.
“I’m fine.” Harry says petulantly.
“Hella fine.” Louis agrees, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek once he deems the lips properly coated. “but your lip’s not.”