caught in the crossfire of my own thoughts
(originally posted at my ao3)
pairing: harry/louis (one direction)
rating: NC-17
word count: 1436
warnings: pwp, unprotected sex, crossdressing
summary: harry's standing in the doorway, dressed in a tomlinson 17 jersey and tiny pleated black skirt, complete with matching knee-high socks and sneakers. louis' mouth immediately goes dry and and he can’t stop staring.
notes: inspired by this gorgeous fanart by tadeles, title from ellie goulding's my blood
Louis strips off his jersey and throws it in his bag to deal with later. He can’t wipe the ridiculous grin off his face, giddy and filled with adrenaline after the game.
He sits down on the nearest bench and leans himself back against the wall of the locker room, listening to the distant sounds of the remaining crowd emptying out of the stadium. He’s alone for the first time all night and lets himself relax and stretch out his sore calf muscles before he has to shower, find Harry, and head home.
“Hey, Captain.”
Louis jumps, snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Harry’s voice. “You scared the fuck out of me, Haz,” he says, bending down to untie the laces of his boots. “I’m about to hop in the shower but we can leave in a few-”
“Louis,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the smirk in his voice so he looks up to see Harry standing in the doorway.
Harry, standing in the doorway, dressed in a Tomlinson 17 jersey and tiny pleated black skirt, complete with matching knee-high socks and sneakers.
“I, oh my god, okay. Hi,” Louis says. His mouth has gone dry and his tongue feels about ten sizes too big and he can’t stop staring.
“Hey,” Harry repeats, walking toward Louis until he’s standing right in front of the bench. He rests his palms on the wall behind Louis’ head and leans forward to press a kiss against the shell of his ear. “You were really good out there tonight,” he says.
Louis feels a shiver run up his spine as he runs a hand up Harry’s exposed thigh, from the top of his cheerleader’s sock to the underneath of the hem of his skirt.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks.
Harry nods and straddles Louis’ lap, moving his hands to wrap around the back of Louis’ neck. “Yeah,” he says, rolling his hips slowly against Louis’. “’m pretty sure everyone out there thought so. Man of the match and all that. Running around in your tiny shorts, you looked so fit.”
Louis groans at the feeling of Harry pressed against him, the way his skirt has fanned out against his thighs. “My shorts? Why are we talking about my shorts when you’re in this?” he asks, running his hands over Harry’s ass and grabbing at the material of his skirt.
Blushing, Harry buries his burning face into Louis’ neck. “Do you like it?” he mumbles.
“I really, really do,” Louis replies, glancing down at the bulge in his shorts. Harry giggles at that and sucks a lovebite into Louis’ skin as a reward. Louis pushes both of his hands under the back of Harry’s skirt and swears aloud when he discovers Harry’s not wearing anything underneath.
Harry smiles, a tiny, teasing hint of tongue and teeth. He runs his hands down Louis’ naked torso, settling down by his hips and playing with the waistband of his shorts.
“I want you to fuck me, Lou,” he whispers.
Louis immediately moves to wriggle out of his shorts but Harry stops him, moving the elastic waistband down just enough so that he can pull Louis’ hard cock out. Harry runs his hand down the shaft, squeezing the base quickly before spreading precome around the head of Louis’ dick.
“Fuck, Harry,” Louis groans, shifting his hips up into Harry’s grip. He can’t stop admiring the way Harry’s skirt is sitting so perfectly on his hips, number 17 jersey riding up to expose his toned stomach. Harry’s cock is sticking out obscenely through the folds of the skirt and pressing against Louis’ naked torso.
He can’t stand it anymore, not having Harry’s mouth against his, so Louis grabs Harry by the backs of his thighs and pulls him closer for a proper kiss. They both sigh happily into it, tongues pressing together. Harry angles his mouth down to suck on Louis' lower leap teasingly.
“C’mon,” Harry says impatiently. “Wanna ride you.”
Louis squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a breath to calm himself down, moving his hand around to press his fingers against Harry’s hole. When his fingers come away wet, his eyes widen in shock as he stares up into Harry’s face.
“Did you - what? Already?”
Harry bites his lip and shuffles forwards on his knees, lifting himself up over Louis’ hips. He uses one hand to guide Louis’ cock inside him, the other gripping Louis’ bicep to ground himself.
As soon as Louis is buried deep, Harry lifts himself up and sinks back down, setting a quick, sharp pace.
“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Louis says, groaning with each thrust. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”
Harry laughs and wraps his arms around Louis’ neck again. “I told you, you looked really, really fit. And I - oh,” he breaks off with a gasp, “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You certainly did,” Louis says. He twists his hips up into Harry’s in a way he knows will get Harry riled up, grabbing at the material of the cheerleaderesque skirt before capturing Harry’s mouth in another wet kiss.
They kiss lazily for a while, Harry’s hands playing with Louis’ hair and Louis still obsessing over Harry’s outfit. Harry shifts himself slightly so the angle changes and he lets out a moan that echoes throughout the entire room.
He flushes with embarrassment but can't bring himself to truly care. The head of Louis’ dick is hitting his prostate perfectly now, and Harry can feel himself getting closer and closer to orgasm, already worked up after fingering himself in the loo before he'd found Louis.
“Babe,” Harry breathes, head dropping down against Louis’ shoulder, “’m gonna come, you feel so good, I need, ah, please.”
Louis runs his hand along Harry’s thigh again, toying with his knee length sock, teasing him until Harry is begging for Louis to touch him properly. Harry’s hands are gripped in Louis’ hair, pushing his aching dick against Louis’ stomach, desperate for friction.
Finally, Louis gives in and wraps a hand around him. Harry shudders in relief, coming all over his skirt after just a few strokes of Louis’ hand. Harry bounces himself up and down for as long as his knees and thighs can handle, before he collapses bonelessly against Louis’ body. He manages to stand up on wobbly legs though, leaning against the wall for support. He looks back at Louis, still sitting on the bench with arousal written all over his features.
“You want to finish what you started?” Harry says, pushing his ass out and hiking up the back of his skirt.
Louis laughs in surprise, says “I started nothing, you slag!” but stands up and presses himself against Harry’s back anyway.
He pushes his cock back inside Harry straight away, fucking into him as hard and fast as he can. He moves the skirt up and out of the way so he has full access to Harry’s ass, gripping each cheek and watching his cock slide in and out easily.
From this angle he can focus on the 17 printed against Harry’s back. His own name written above it.
Louis can feel Harry’s socks pressing against his own shins, the bottom of Harry’s skirt hitting his thighs with every movement. It’s all too much, and he tenses up, lets out a quick warning, before coming deep inside Harry.
Harry sighs and moves to stand up straight, stretching out his back and turning to face Louis with a satisfied smile. Louis looks a complete wreck, hair askew and shorts fallen down around his ankles. Harry suspects he must look much the same with drying come on the front of his skirt and dripping down the insides of his thighs.
“We should probably shower and get out of here before someone comes looking for us,” Harry suggests casually, bending over to help Louis pull his shorts back up.
Louis yelps and shoots him a horrified look. “Are you saying you didn’t lock us in here? Someone could have walked in!”
Harry shrugs, too fucked out and content to care. He tugs Louis by the wrist to the shower stalls, dragging him inside the nearest one and locking the cubicle door behind him.
“Strip off, then,” he says, taking off his own skirt, jersey, and socks.
“Bossy. You’re lucky you looked so fucking good in that skirt,” Louis grumbles, stepping out of his pants. “Can you keep it though? I mean. Just in case.”
Harry just laughs at him and kisses him under the spray of the shower, congratulating him again for a game well played.