For A While (2/3)
Parts: 1
They don’t touch Harry’s whiskey, if only because Louis has enough cans of beer and other goods in his rucksack to last them the rest of the night.
Louis does this thing where he pulls Harry’s hood redundantly over his beanie and even ties the pull strings together in a neat little bow beneath his chin. And though he’s initially skeptical about the sunglasses that Louis pulls out of his bag, Harry figures he looks silly enough and puts them on, completing his look for sure-fire anonymity.
“I don’t even recognize you,” Louis declares proudly.
“It’s dark,” Harry says lamely.
“No shit, you’re wearing sunglasses,” Louis deadpans, but he sounds amused nonetheless. “It’s for your well-being, Curly.”
Harry mutters something under his breath, but Louis just chuckles and draws him into the open, looking helplessly foolish.
Regardless, it’s effective enough that they can walk around for the next hour or so, drifting wherever their feet (or streams of people) might lead them. Harry doesn’t know why he didn’t think of this earlier when he’d been looking for a place to end up, doesn’t know why he didn’t just throw himself into his surroundings and hope for the best.
Then again, he probably wouldn’t have met Louis a second time around, and he doesn’t really like how that sits with him.
They wander into a small ring of people gathered around a lantern, two of them playing their guitars while the others sing along. It reminds Harry of Niall for a moment, and he briefly wonders what they might be doing right now. But then Louis hands him another beer and just smiles at him in a way that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Harry thinks that whatever they’re doing, it can’t possibly compare to this.
No one pays Harry any attention, or at least, not beyond a normal capacity. Everyone is here to drink and shoot some shit, but most importantly, they’re here for the music. And somehow, Harry feels like he’s having another experience entirely just by being here undetected - singing when everyone else sings and drinking when everyone else drinks. And when they break into a rousing chorus of One Direction’s first single, Louis is the only one to notice the way Harry’s breath hitches in amazement.
He’s also the only one to wrap an arm around his shoulders in some wordless notion of encouragement or pride or something else that makes Harry’s stomach flip flop inside him.
“This is so much fun,” Harry whispers later, leaning in and breathing hot air onto Louis’ ear.
Louis shivers at the sensation but smiles in a sated kind of way. “Leeds is always fun,” he explains matter-of-factly.
Harry turns his attention to the game of football in front of them; they don’t know his name and he doesn’t know their name, but he’s cheering for all of them anyway.
“First time.”
Louis turns to him, and Harry can see something like awe in his expression. Or maybe it’s just disbelief at how utterly sheltered Harry is, especially by normal pop star standards.
“Hmm.”
Louis licks his lips. Then he digs into his rucksack, pulling out two more beers. Harry’s pretty sure he can already feel it, can already feel the heat that’s crowding his collar and creeping into his cheeks. It’s a dizzying kind of happiness, but sitting this close to the boy he hasn’t really known all that long, he wonders how much alcohol has to do with that.
The older boy hands him a can. “Cheers to that, then. First time at Leeds…you’re in for a treat, pop star.”
Louis manages to down half his can in one swallow, and Harry takes the opportunity to kind of just watch.
***
Not even thirty minutes later, they peel off from their new group of friends (“See you tomorrow!” some scream, and Louis laughs and salutes them as they walk away) and into the surrounding darkness. It never really gets quiet here, Harry figures, regardless of time of day.
Or maybe that’s just the slight pounding of his head and the buzzing in his ears from all the alcohol he’s had to consume in the last hour, give or take. So if he needs to loop his arm around Louis’ to keep himself upright, then that’s what he does. Louis just makes a content little noise in the back of his throat and leans into Harry as they walk.
“First night meeting your standards?” Louis asks.
Harry thinks about how he’s always wanted to come here with someone important, always wanted to hold them close while watching one of his favorite bands. It probably won’t happen, but…he’s having fun as it is.
“More or less,” he says, just to be a little shit.
But Louis hums and replies, “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”
Harry has lost track of where they are, but he’s roamed around with Louis long enough to know that they’re not really heading in the direction of a campsite - neither one of theirs.
“Where are we going?”
“Thought we could walk around for a while. Are you opposed?”
Harry doesn’t care; he rests his head on Louis’ shoulder. It should be more difficult than it really is, given the slight height difference. But they seem to fit anyway.
“No, not at all.”
“Nice.”
Harry realizes he’s still wearing Louis’ sunglasses and he can’t see for shit, but with Louis guiding him, he figures it’s not really a problem.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened with your friends? Or, your band, rather.”
Harry swallows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…you’re kind of just here with me, yeah? I’m guessing that’s not how you expected your evening to go.”
“Who says?”
Louis laughs and it rumbles from deep inside his chest. “A valiant attempt at being smooth. But really, anything I should be worried about? Have they abandoned you? Have you abandoned them? Oh my god, have you murdered them and am I technically an accomplice now?”
Harry wants to tell Louis that he doesn’t have to worry about anything, but he’s too busy turning his face into Louis’ shoulder and just giggling there.
“C’mon, Curly. What gives?”
“‘M not curly,” Harry mumbles. “Not really anymore.”
“Still pretty curly,” Louis says casually. They stop walking, and when Harry peels the sunglasses off and looks around, he notices that they’ve managed to find a deserted clearing, concealed from everywhere else by the darkness. He wonders if they’re allowed to be here.
Louis sighs, but he lets Harry stay at his side. “You don’t, like, have to tell me anything. I was just wondering. ‘S not every day that a normal lad like me gets to spend some time with a pop star like you, innit?”
Harry winces at this use of ‘pop star,’ almost like it sets him apart from Louis and everything else they’ve done that night. Maybe it does, but he doesn’t want to think about that. Instead, all he can think about is the overwhelming warmth rushing to his head, and shit, he just needs to lie down.
He shrugs, holding onto Louis even tighter. He’s glad that they’re not looking each other eye-to-eye.
“Had a rough day, I suppose,” he explains, voice low. “Just - people can be mean, you know? And I just want everything to be perfect and great and fun and it’s not all the time, and…” He sniffles, and how embarrassing is that?
“Hey.” Louis pulls out of Harry’s grasp, only to pull him into a tight embrace. “Shouldn’t have asked. Forget I did.”
Harry thinks he might need a shower, but only because Louis somehow still smells nice and he can’t even imagine what he must smell like right now. But it’s not stopping Louis from holding him closely, fingers threading through waves of brown hair. It should be weird, but it isn’t.
“It’s fine,” Harry mutters into Louis’ neck.
“We’re not going to talk about it,” Louis decides firmly. “We’ll just - we’ll be perfect and great and fun, alright? We will.”
Harry nods and finally pulls away, his head spinning.
Louis takes one good look at Harry, his blue eyes digging deep.
“Let’s get back to the site, yeah?”
Harry doesn’t miss the invite there, so he grabs onto Louis and follows him back.
When they get there, it’s only Stan and another girl sitting beside a lantern. They’re talking, and Stan looks a little more than determined.
“Back, then?” Stan looks at Harry. “You, too.”
Harry grumbles his greetings.
“Harry’s not feeling well,” Louis says quickly, not really bothering to stop. “So he’s staying with us. Piss off for the night, Stanley.”
“Oi, that’s my tent, too!”
“Not tonight,” Louis says, unzipping the canvas. “Kip with Sara tonight. She won’t mind.”
Harry doesn’t see Stan’s reaction, but he hears him huff a little in surprise, followed by a healthy dose of laughter from the girl he assumes is Sara, and he figures Stan probably isn’t all too disappointed by the change in arrangements. He shucks his boots off before falling into the tent, a little easier than usual with the newfound wobbliness in his legs.
He notices a flashlight turn on from Louis’ side of the tent, just enough to illuminate the second sleeping bag he figures he’ll be stealing from Stan tonight.
“He won’t mind?” he asks, eyes wide and seeking Louis in the dark.
“He won’t mind,” Louis replies, and Harry is more than a little surprised to find that the other boy has taken his shirt off. And he attempts his best to hide his disappointment when he pulls a new one on. “You’re fine, Hazza.”
The nickname is all the encouragement Harry needs, so he slips into the sleeping bag and gets comfortable. He’s got an air mattress in his tent back with the boys, but this somehow feels more authentic and more in line with the kind of weekend he’d been hoping for. Drowsiness immediately clouds his periphery, and he could be sleeping in a ditch somewhere and still be comfortable, he’s so tired.
“I don’t know what bands to see tomorrow,” Louis admits quietly. “But all I can think about is getting some fish and chips for lunch.”
Harry snorts. “We’re at Leeds and all you can think about is the food?”
“‘M hungry. Whatever.”
Harry sighs happily. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”
“Okay. We should bring a flask, too. Be more subtle.”
“Have you got one?”
“Yeah.”
“Excellent.”
“Harry?”
“Yeah?” His head feels heavy, so he closes his eyes.
There’s a pause, wherein only the distant sounds of people chanting and singing and bands playing at unholy hours can be heard. But Louis’ breathing is loudest of all.
“D’you reckon you’re drunk?”
Harry doesn’t really have to think about that one. “Yeah. Why?”
“Okay.”
And there’s a shuffling noise and not much else Harry can distinguish in the darkness until he feels a puff of warm air just above him before soft, wet lips are on his.
This - this is really nice, even though it’s dark and at an awkward angle and Harry’s so tired he could fall asleep at any moment. But Louis’ lips offer the kind of encouragement and companionship that Harry needs right now, so he kisses back and takes and takes and takes.
One of Louis’ hands finds its way to Harry’s cheek, and Harry’s only glad that it’s dark right now, otherwise Louis would see just how brilliantly scarlet he must be right now. Everything else around him is a muffled, hazy sea of sense, but his attention is narrowed clearly to where it matters, where Louis’ lips are moving against his.
But then Louis is pulling away, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth and his chin once before rolling off to his side of the tent. They’re both breathing heavily.
Harry wants to say something, but he can’t do much of anything at the moment.
So when Louis says, “Goodnight, Harry,” he says mm-hmm, and he can barely register Louis’ gentle laughter before sleep comes for him.
***
When Harry wakes up the next morning, it’s to the muffled sound of a Script song he knows word for word. He can barely register the stiffness in his lower back when he remembers yesterday - last night, specifically, and how it’s led to him waking up now, slightly sore and decidedly not on his air mattress.
His mouth feels fuzzy in the way it only ever feels after a night of drinking, and when he rolls over, he sees Louis lying down on the opposite side of the tent with earphones in, legs crossed, and one foot bobbing to the beat of the song. It takes another second before he realizes that Louis is the one listening to the Script song.
He tries for ‘good morning,’ but what comes out is “Mmmmpf.”
But somehow, Louis hears, and his eyes widen in amusement when he sees Harry stirring.
“Hazza!” He sits up and pulls his earphones out. “Morning, sleepy.”
Harry blinks. Louis looks…well, he looks clean, and it makes Harry slightly envious. He feels a mess, head heavy and mouth scratchy, and Louis looks like he’s had an entire day already. And when Harry sees a carton of food near the head of his sleeping bag, he deduces as much.
“Wozzat?” he grumbles, collapsing back onto the sleeping bag and bringing his forearm across his eyes; it’s too bright, even through the canvas of the tent.
Louis laughs and Harry can hear him moving closer before he feels a light kiss on his forehead that sends butterflies coursing through his body. He screws his eyes shut even tighter under his arm.
“Breakfast,” Louis explains simply, tugging on Harry’s arm and lifting it off his face. “C’mon. I’ve had a shower already, so why don’t you brush your teeth and whatever and have some food and then we can get on our way?”
Harry groans; it’s more than he can process right now. Besides, does anyone actually shower at Leeds? He vaguely remembers the baby wipes thrown into the boot of his car.
“Mm haven’t got clothes. Or a toothbrush.”
“You can wear some of mine,” Louis offers easily. “It’ll help with the whole secret pop star thing. And…just use my toothbrush. Whatever.”
Harry blinks awake at that. “What?”
Louis shrugs, unfazed by the look of confusion on Harry’s face. “I’m not going to talk to you if you’re smelly all day. Besides, it’ll be cute!”
“Cute?”
“Cute,” Louis agrees with a quick nod. “Like, sharing a toothbrush and whatnot. I’ll throw it away later, if you want, and swipe an extra one from Stan if I can manage it. But you need to brush your teeth, Hazza. Up and away you go, c’mon.”
Before Harry knows what’s happening, he’s being pushed into the bright summer daylight with Louis’ toothbrush in one hand, shower toiletries in the other, and a towel and some of Louis’ clothes slung over his shoulder. And if the rest of Louis’ group seems surprised to see a member of One Direction stepping out into their campsite, they don’t show it.
“Morning!” Stan calls from one of the folded chairs, Sara sitting on his lap.
“Morning,” Harry greets with a smile, and he’s off to get ready.
When he gets back to the tent in one of Louis’ ratty striped shirts, Louis is sitting up on his sleeping bag, fiddling with his Leeds wristband. He grins when he sees Harry.
“Was my toothbrush disgusting after all?”
Harry merely shrugs, but he bites down on his lip to keep from smiling. He throws everything at Louis’ feet. “Thanks, mate.”
“Any time.”
They eat quickly, with Louis lunging for one of Harry’s sausage buns unexpectedly and causing both of them to fall into a fit of laughter that has Harry gasping and practically choking for air. They sit close to each other, knees bumping, and Harry remembers their kiss from last night all too well but if Louis isn’t saying anything about it, then he isn’t going to, either.
“So, Harry,” Louis starts once he’s finished drinking some of his orange soda (“It’s like orange juice,” he explains when Harry tells him that soda isn’t appropriate for breakfast).
Harry scrubs his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah?”
“Two things. I’ve got two things.”
He raises a brow. “Okay. What is it?”
Louis sits up a little straighter with a serious expression on his face, and Harry can’t help but think that it’s at least a little adorable.
“One. I think we should go undercover today, the full MI5. For the sake of your anonymous-ness, you know?” he adds when Harry stares at him perplexedly. “We’ll fit you with sunglasses, beanie and all, and I’ll…I dunno, I’ll put a part in my hair or something so no one can tell, yeah?”
Harry can’t keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. And when he stares down at his shirt - Louis’ shirt - he thinks he’s off to a good start already. “Only if we pretend we have handguns, too.”
“They’re a must,” Louis says all too seriously. “Second thing…”
“Yeah?”
Louis gets all intense for a moment, like he’s having difficulty concentrating properly.
“I think you should let me kiss you. Like, again. Today, I mean. All day, really.”
That’s probably the last thing Harry plans on hearing. His brain gets all fuzzy and his mouth gets all dry, and he’s pretty sure Louis can tell.
“I mean,” Louis says a little flippantly, waving his hand. “We’ve already done it once, yeah? I rather liked it and like, it can be a weekend thing. It can be a Leeds thing.”
When put like that, it makes sense. Perfect sense, really. And there’s hopefulness in Louis’ face that’s kind of irresistible.
Harry glances downward, hoping that the blush high in his cheeks isn’t very noticeable. But when he looks up at Louis, who seems equally bashful and flushed, he can’t help but laugh.
“You don’t have to,” Louis blurts out when Harry’s gone too long without speaking. “It’s just that, well, everyone else has already paired off? Even Stan, and I know that that was my doing, but - ”
“You’ll come with me to my favorite bands, then?” He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know what he's getting himself into with this boy he's known less than 24 hours. But somehow, it feels right. “I - would you?”
Louis blinks back curiously, but it doesn't take long before he's absolutely beaming. “You can set the agenda, I don’t care. I don’t have a favorite or anything, so we can see whatever bands you want to see. I’m just along for the ride, mate." He pauses thoughtfully. "Oh, and I’ll protect you, I suppose. From all your crazed fans and what have you."
And that’s kind of the best thing Harry’s heard.
So he gets up on his knees and pulls Louis in by his shirtfront, crashing their lips together without any real finesse. They're angled awkwardly and there's still the initial wariness that comes from not really knowing each other, but it turns soft and brilliant and it's surprisingly familiar already, and Louis just sighs happily into his mouth.
“A Leeds thing,” Harry repeats when he pulls away, his forehead resting on Louis’. “I kind of like that.”
“Thought you would,” Louis says a little breathlessly. “Ready to go?”
***
He doesn’t get stopped for pictures or autographs every five minutes, which is…weird, and decidedly unlike yesterday and every other day of his public life since this whole One Direction thing started. He sees Louis catch him peering out somewhat wistfully from behind his sunglasses, and the older boy laughs a little disbelievingly.
“Is it weird for you, walking around with us commoners like this?” His eyes are twinkling and there’s a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Is it actually a physical need for you to sign your name onto something? That's dog behavior, that is: marking your territory and whatnot.”
“Piss off,” Harry retorts, but he’s smiling when he shoves Louis fondly in the arm. “It’s just…strange, all right? Haven’t had time to myself in a while.”
Louis sidles up close to Harry so that their bodies are aligned as they walk. “Yeah, but you’re not actually by yourself, are you? I’m here, your number one fan.”
Harry snorts. “You’re not a fan.”
Louis shrugs. “Fan of you, I suppose.” He kisses Harry on the cheek and walks ahead, leaving the younger boy to blush in his wake.
The first few artists they see aren’t anything particularly special: just some bands that Harry remembers from one place or another that he wants to see out of curiosity. They’re mostly loud and indistinguishable from the other, with only mildly catchy songs.
Still, it’s better than if he were milling about with the boys, or even Gemma for that matter. He knows he’d have to deal with frustrating questions regarding his taste and apparent lack of sensibility, so it’s nice to be here with someone who doesn’t ask questions, but nods and hums along to the music instead.
Louis is kind of great like that.
He’s also kind of great in the sense that he’s pretty shameless about kissing Harry in public - like, really shameless. If he’s not kissing Harry’s jaw or cheek, then he’s attacking his lips at full force without any warning. It’s almost like a game, wondering when Louis will kiss him next.
But whether he’s mildly rocking out to Royal Bangs or taking a picture with his phone or just walking, he’s never not surprised by the way Louis’ arm will snake around his waist and pull him in, greeting him with a smile and kissing him until all he can say is ‘Oh.’
They head back to the campsite around 3, only to grab crisps and a couple of beers each. Harry takes the opportunity to text Liam back, if only because he can practically see the other boy’s Concerned Eyebrows and he doesn’t want him to worry. Plus, it seems like the right thing to do.
met someone, just hanging out x.
He looks at the message once, twice. It's short and Liam won't be satisfied with it but - whatever. He's not like, leaving the band or anything drastic, so they can deal. Plus, Louis' hands are on his waist and his lips on his shoulder, so he's kind of busy right now.
When The Naked And Famous take the Radio 1 stage half an hour later, Harry is beside himself, so utterly awed that this is his life right now. Clouds are rolling in and he’s getting goosebumps along his arms, but thank god for Louis, because he’s yanking on Harry and jumping and twirling him around. He’s confused at first and a little bit embarrassed, but when they’re dancing like that, he figures there’s really no time to be cold.
Maybe it’s post-performance high or the several beers that they’ve had to drink in the last hour and a half, but Louis is a lot of fun and all over the place. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever met a person quite like Louis before, because being with Louis is very much like flying a kite on a windy day: unexpected, kind of scary, but mostly just so goddamn exciting.
He strikes up conversation with unsuspecting passersby, talking about the weather and that “horrible, horrible” band they’ve all just seen like it’s the most casual thing in the world. And Harry has to bite down hard on his lip whenever the older boy does something ridiculous, like pour too much vinegar on his fish and chips, or ask some poor girl for her bandana so he can tie it around his forehead instead.
And Harry finally breaks into a fit of giggles when the girl hands it over, smiling and saying, “Goes better with your outfit, anyway.”
Louis doesn’t let up with his whole secret agent thing either, and Harry’s more than willing to go along with it. He ducks when Louis tells him to duck, hides behind a canteen when Louis tells him to hide, and chugs beer when Louis tells him to chug (“Everyone else around is drunk,” he says manically. “You’ll never fit in if you’re sober, Curly!”). He’s pretty sure no one suspects anything of him, not in those sunglasses and that beanie anyway, and he's pretty sure that no one’s even looking at him to begin with.
But as the afternoon goes on and Louis gets louder and his eyes get narrower and crinklier, Harry doesn’t think he minds that much. And if anything, he’s more than grateful for the lack of attention when he drags Louis behind the BBC stage, snogging him with music in their ears and stars in their eyes.
***
“We haven’t taken a picture together yet.”
Louis turns to Harry, looking like he might have misheard. Everyone else around them is screaming, impatient for Foster The People to take the stage, so it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility if he’d missed Harry’s words.
“What?”
Harry wipes away some of the sweat collecting beneath his fringe. He wants to take the sunglasses off, but Louis said no, so on they’ll have to stay.
“You and me,” he enunciates carefully. “A picture. We haven’t taken one together.”
Louis’ lips quirk up into a devious grin.
“Me? A picture with Harry Styles?” He’s chuckling through his words, pointedly ignoring the way Harry is rolling his eyes in spite of a very obvious blush. “Could I really be that lucky?”
“Nevermind,” Harry grumbles, angling himself away from Louis. The cheers are getting louder. “Tosser.”
“Hey.” Louis moves closer to Harry, close enough that their arms are bumping. He leans in and whispers into his ear. “You’ll sign it and everything?”
Harry barks a laugh in spite of himself, drawing a few concerned glances from people around them. He has to cover his mouth with both hands, and Louis looks immensely pleased with the reaction.
“I just want a picture,” Harry explains a little petulantly. “Just so I can look back on this weekend and know that I didn’t make you up or something.”
“Maybe you did make me up,” Louis replies matter-of-factly. “Maybe you’re actually unconscious and lying in a ditch somewhere. Maybe you’re crazy.”
Harry groans, folding his arms. Music is starting.
“Fine,” he says a little loudly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want.”
Harry loves this album, has always wanted to see them live. The lights are blinking wildly onstage and the crowd is a writhing sea of people high and buzzing on energy and music and life and it’s all just so wonderfully brilliant. He’s bobbing along to the beat, ever-aware of Louis’ rocking motions behind him, and he’s thinking I’ll draw until I’ve broken every law when he feels hands high on his hips and warm breath huffing against his ear.
“I want.” Louis’ voice is low and something else Harry doesn’t understand in the moment. “I want, okay?”
Harry’s breath hitches and he wonders if Louis can feel it where his fingertips are dancing at the edges of his abdomen. He leans back instinctively, a little more relaxed than he’d been only moments ago.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Okay,” he intones. “Ready?”
Louis nods into Harry’s neck, kissing there once and swiping teasingly with his tongue. It’s - that’s somehow both the filthiest and the most intimate that they’ve been all day and it’s enough to make Harry shiver.
“Yeah, alright,” he says a little nonsensically, pulling his phone up so that it’s pointed right at them.
It takes a couple tries and a flash or two to get the lighting right, but the last and best picture has both of them staring into the camera with lights and people dancing at the edges. It’s a little blurry, but they’re both smiling so brightly and widely - maybe a little more than necessary - that it doesn’t matter.
He smiles and hits ‘save,’ resting his head back onto Louis’ shoulder so that their cheeks brush. “Thanks.”
“I better not see that on the Internet,” he murmurs, grip tightening on the younger boy’s waist.
Harry tilts his head and kisses the underside of Louis’ jaw. “Never.”
***
He eventually takes off the sunglasses, and it’s up to Louis to get him through the crowds without getting recognized. They’ve been riding on a buzz of alcohol pretty consistently all day, but it isn’t until later that night after they’ve finished all their beers and downed their flask that Harry feels any differently, like he’s spinning and spinning away and Louis is the only one that can keep him tethered to the ground.
“You’ve still got this one with you, then?” Stan asks when he sees them stumbling back into the campsite. He turns to Harry. “Why do I feel like there’s probably a search squad looking for you right now?”
Harry laughs, face pressed into Louis’ shoulder.
“He’s staying with us again tonight,” Louis says decisively, even though they haven’t talked about it at all today. “‘M hungry.”
“Yeah, I bet he is,” Stan replies, full of mirth. “And we’ve got - ” He looks around their site, where everyone is mostly laughing and singing and drinking. “ - absolutely nothing to eat. Sorry, mate.”
Louis groans, and Harry wants to kiss it away.
“What do you say, Haz? D’you feel like scavenging with me?”
“Mmm,” he mumbles against Louis’ throat. “No.”
“Hazza - ”
Louis is talking too much, so Harry starts pressing open-mouthed kisses to whatever exposed skin his lips can find. He’s more than pleased when Louis falls silent.
“Oi!” Stan yells, but he doesn’t seem too bothered. “None of that out here.”
Harry feels Louis lift a hand behind him, probably to flip Stan off. He’s warm all over and he’s certain that it’s all to do with Louis - Louis, who spent the whole day making him feel normal and extraordinary all at once. Who stole Harry’s phone and took a thousand pictures for him because he wanted him to remember. Who walked back to the campsite with Harry’s hand in his, not asking - and maybe not caring - what it meant.
“Tent,” he breathes concisely against Louis’ skin. “Please.”
Louis actually pulls away slightly, but Harry curls his fingers into the soft skin behind his neck and he can feel the wild beat of the other boy’s pulse all the same.
“Yeah,” Louis says, already a little wrecked. “Yeah, okay.”
If Harry hears Stan’s low wolf whistle in the background, then he doesn’t pay it any attention as he stumbles backward toward the tent with Louis grabbing onto his sides for purchase. It takes some fumbling with the zip, but they’re in the tent now and his mind is short-circuiting.
He lunges for Louis, but in the dark, he falls just short of the mark and lands half-sprawled across the other boy’s knee. Louis barks in laughter and that’s nice and all, but Harry was trying for sexy, not so much funny.
“Can’t see anything in this bloody tent,” Louis mutters, tinkering around with something in the dark. “We need - ah.”
Harry blinks twice before registering the lantern that he hadn’t noticed last night. It’s small and just bright enough that Harry can distinguish Louis’ knee from his neck. So when Louis sets it down and bats his eyelashes coquettishly and perhaps a little teasingly, Harry doesn’t miss his cue and just goes for it.
Laughter dies on Louis’ lips as soon as they’re under Harry’s, soft and pliant against his ministrations and noticeably eager for the way that Harry’s tongue swipes experimentally against Louis’. Harry gets on his knees and takes opportunistic use of the slight height advantage, pressing into the other boy and deepening the kiss.
“Shirt off,” he says, earning Louis’ laughter.
“Eager,” he says, and keeps kissing Harry.
“Mm hot.” Harry can’t even think beyond how good this feels.
He groans when Louis pulls his lips away, but it’s a new kind of groan when those lips start tracing patterns down the column of his neck.
“Hot? I’m actually kind of cold,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s throat, just to be an arse.
“Oh, shut up,” he says, but his voice breaks at the end and he’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t take his threat too seriously.
It’s been a while, really, since Harry’s been with a guy. Being in the public eye on a daily basis makes it kind of impossible, and the articles about his nightly and decidedly female conquests are much more a form of wishful thinking than anything else.
But this - this is so good and feels so good and it’s so far beyond wishful thinking that it’s kind of unbelievable. If he thought that Louis was sweet and chaste in the way he touched Harry earlier today, then he’s surprised by how filthy and fervent the older boy is working his way down Harry’s body. He can’t even remember moving until he’s flat on his back, lying down on a sleeping bag with his legs tingling and his chest heaving.
“You’re kind of ridiculously good-looking from this angle, did you know?”
Harry laughs in spite of himself. It doesn’t feel like someone stroking his ego or anything; it’s just a really, really nice compliment to hear Louis say it.
“The view isn’t too bad from here either,” Harry says, looking at Louis’ head between his thighs. He’s so hard; he’s straining painfully against his underwear.
Louis takes it as encouragement and noses against his crotch. Harry thinks he might jump out of his skin, more so when Louis reaches up with a hand that roams freely across his torso. His breath comes out in jutted little spurts, and he almost loses his breath entirely when Louis’ hand comes to massage him shamelessly through his trousers.
“This okay?” His voice is dangerously low and it makes Harry’s cheeks go warm.
“Yeah - god, Lou, yeah.”
“Excellent,” Louis says, and it isn’t long before he’s popped the button on Harry’s trousers and pulled on the elastic waistband of his pants, freeing him into the cool nighttime air.
Harry thinks he might die if Louis doesn’t do something right now, and it’s almost a tease the way that Louis sizes him up and gives an appreciative little hum.
“C’mon,” he urges impatiently, and without thinking, adds, “Didn’t you say you were hungry?”
Louis actually snorts into Harry’s hip, his laughter vibrating against Harry’s skin.
“You’re a fucking shit,” he says, but it’s fond and Harry plans on replying but stops short when Louis goes down.
It’s been all of five seconds, but Harry can tell that Louis is good at this - like, really good at this. He wonders how many times Louis has done this, how many have come before him, and it’s a question that resonates with unexpected envy.
But then he looks down and sees the way that Louis’ cheeks have hollowed out and how his lips have gone all swollen around his cock and he thinks he doesn’t mind, or that maybe he can’t mind, not right now when Louis is blowing him and looking so achingly perfect while doing it.
He brushes the fringe out of Louis’ eyes because he can’t not touch right now, can’t help himself from wanting to reach out and take every bit of Louis that he can. It’s almost unbearable seeing Louis like this, with his damp forehead and flushed cheeks and pink lips. But Louis barrels down even further and Harry bucks up before he can even help himself, tossing his head back and moaning unabashedly.
When he looks back down, Louis is looking straight at him, his eyes somehow so sparkling clear even in the dim lighting. And it’s like - he shouldn’t even be thinking this, but he can see Louis so fucking clearly right now and he’s almost sure he’s giving off the same kind of affection that’s mirrored in those jade green eyes.
It amounts to about five seconds of thought, but it’s all so much for Harry to handle in that moment that he breaks eye contact and screws his eyelids shut, feeling like he’s about to lose himself at any moment.
“Lou, I…”
Louis does this thing with his wrist and Harry’s gone, over the edge and gasping through his orgasm like there’s no air left in him. The older boy swallows like it’s nothing, and then he’s up and kissing Harry’s eyes, cheeks, chin, and slack mouth like he’s telling him it’ll be okay.
Louis curls up next to him and holds him close until he can see straight again. When he looks up, Louis is staring at him a little dazedly.
“Your turn,” he says gruffly and makes to straddle Louis before the other boy grabs his arm.
“You don’t have - I mean, I’m fine like this,” Louis says earnestly.
“No,” Harry says instantly, tugging his arm away and crawling down Louis’ front like it’s the most important thing he’ll ever have to do. “I’m gonna do this and you’re gonna love it.”
Louis watches Harry with wide eyes, pupils blown so that there’s only the slightest rim of green.
“Yeah - sure, okay,” he says, awed. “Don’t think it’ll take much for me to love it, though.”
“Mm-hmm,” Harry hums around Louis’ cock.
***
(Part Three)