captain's privilege (hs/lt)
title: captain's privilege
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
word count: 2,200 words
summary: it's a steak and blowjob kind of night. (post-match head, essentially.)
notes: this is short and stupid, but hahaha. wish i was harry.
Louis sinks down onto the bench in the empty dressing room, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.
He's wet and he's distantly aware that he's cold and that he's shivering, but it has to be adrenalin. Everyone's gone - to the pub or home or... he's not sure. He needs a minute away from the screams, the hugs, the cameras.
He's overwhelmed in a way that he hasn't been in a long time. He's overwhelmed with love for his town, for the fans, for the sport, for his family. He's overwhelmed with the sheer rush of emotion that comes from kicking a ball, from a successful cross, from a gritty slide-tackle.
And it's not like he's unaccustomed to being adored. He's not. It's stupid and shitty, but he's used to the screams, the marriage proposals, the admissions of undying devotion, all of that. He's not ungrateful or anything, he's just. Well, it's been almost three years. Three years of constant adoration is fucking mindblowing, yes, but it's also become a little hollow. He's well aware that his talents are secondary to his looks, to his relationship with his band, to the band as a whole. He's well aware he's not appreciated so much for what he can do as he is for the image he presents.
But tonight. Tonight was different. Tonight he was out with his old mates - his old mates who just see him as Tommo, the loud little shit from down the street - doing what he hasn't been able to do for two years. He was out having a kickabout with his mates and it felt right. It felt like something he was good at, something he knew about, something he's felt inside him forever.
Except, shit, he was on the pitch at Keepmoat playing against footballers he idolised (or hated) ever since he was a kid, with ten thousand people watching, yelling his name, being there for him to see what he could do, not what shade of trousers he was wearing or how often Harry left his hand on his back for too long.
There's a shuffling by the door and Louis cracks open an eye.
Harry's standing there, leaning against the doorjam, smiling softly. "Hey, skipper," he says.
Louis grins a little. "Here for an autograph?"
Harry raises his eyebrows and nods. "'ve got a kit for you to sign," he says, pulling a tiny shirt from his pocket, tossing it at him.
Louis grabs it, flips it over. LUX 17 it says. He laughs a little. "Got a sharpie?"
"Haven't you?" Harry gasps. "Big footballer that you are, gotta be prepared, Lou."
Louis smirks. "Shouldn't I have people to carry that around for me by now?"
Harry laughs. "Oi, the success is getting to your head. Next thing we know, you'll be stropping around, demanding transfer to Real Madrid. Or worse, Chelsea."
"Well," Louis says, tilting his head, considering. "John Terry is at the end of his game. Also racist. And generally a shit person. I could do better than him."
"John Terry's also about three feet and a billion stone bigger than you, babe," Harry says back, pushing himself away from the door and stepping over to stand in front of Louis, looking down at him. "Though you held your own out there wonderfully. Was a bit worried all the big strong men would push you down and I'd have to carry you to hospital."
Louis rolls his eyes and halfheartedly kicks out a foot at Harry's knee. "Tosser."
Harry hums consideringly and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it on the floor at Louis's feet. Louis arches an eyebrow as Harry gingerly gets on his knees in front of him.
"Captain's spoils?" Louis says.
Harry smirks and slides his hands up Louis's thighs, chuckling a little. "You're cold, Lou. Why haven't you showered yet?"
"Was waiting for you," Louis says, shivering.
"Mm." Harry runs his fingertips under the edges of the compression shorts before reaching up to the waistband and tugging at the elastic of both pairs. "Lift up," he says.
Louis stays where he is and looks down at Harry's expectantly. Harry sighs. "Lift up, captain," he amends.
Grinning smugly, Louis braces himself against the wall and tilts his hips up, giving Harry access to pull his shorts down, pooling them around his ankles and boots on the floor. He settles back down on the bench, gasping, "Fuck," as his bare arse touches the cold wood.
Harry snorts as he bends down, kissing a line up Louis's right thigh to his hip. "Think I can warm you up?"
Louis laughs breathily. "You've got a good a shot as any, I s'pose."
Smiling into the crease of his hip and thigh, Harry mumbles, "Bet you'd get millions of offers tonight. So fucking good out there, Lou. So fucking amazing."
Closing his eyes and leaning his head back to bump against the wall, Louis sighs. "Yeah?" he says quietly, and immediately feels pathetic.
Harry glances up at him, lifting his lips from where they were sucking a mark into the thin skin stretched over his hipbone. "God, Lou, don't you know?"
Louis scrunches his face up and strokes a hand through Harry's hair, tugging him back down. Harry resists minutely.
"Lou," he says. "You smashed it. You were a proper footballer. I heard Fowler talking out there to Saunders, right, and he was making comparisons to Gerrard, to Giggsy. Fuck, Lou, it's unbelievable."
"Shut up," Louis mutters. "Not gonna get me hard by talking about Steven goddamn Gerrard."
Harry smiles, shakes his head. "Fine," he says. "But we're talking about this later. I'm gonna praise you so much you'll think you made the wrong career choice, mate."
Louis snorts, but Harry ducks back down, tickling Louis's skin with the ends of his hair, and spreads Louis's thighs as wide as they'll go with his hands on the inside of his knees, fitting his shoulders between.
Louis grunts, "Wait," and toes off his boots, kicking them to the side, pushing his tangled shorts off as well. Harry smirks.
"Much better," he says, and hooks Louis's legs over his shoulders.
Louis's fingers tighten in Harry's hair. "Oh god," he says.
Harry sucks another bite to the inside of Louis's thigh, close enough to his cock to get his hips bucking.
"Harry," he whines.
Harry looks up again, all heavy lidded eyes and pink mouth. "What'd'you want, Lou?" he whispers. "Captain's choice."
Louis gazes down at him, brushes his thumb down the line of his jaw, over his swollen bottom lip, over his cheekbone. "Feels like a steak and blowjob kind of night, yeah?"
Harry buries his laugh into Louis's skin. ""S'what I was thinking," he says.
"Then stop bloody teasing!" Louis snaps, tugging briefly on the curls wrapped around his fingers.
Harry laughs again and spreads his huge hands back between Louis's legs, pushing them off his shoulders and as wide as they'll go. He glances up again, licking his lips showily, before licking a stripe up Louis's half-hard cock.
"Shit," Louis sighs.
Bringing his hand up to fondle at his balls, Harry licks again and again, sliding his tongue up and down, coaxing Louis to full hardness despite the cold of the dressing room. He pulls off, jacking slowly, his saliva slicking the movement. Harry stares down, watching Louis's cock disappear in his huge hand.
Louis bucks his hips up slightly. "'m ready," he says.
Harry grins filthily. "Oh, I know, captain," he says, and slides his hand down to grip tightly at the base, pressing his lips to the head. His tongue flicks out, stroking at the slit where precome is bubbling lazily.
"Harry," Louis grits out.
Harry smiles once again, this time around his cock, and bobs down, taking him halfway, tongue flicking. Louis clenches his fingers briefly, before relaxing and stroking through his hair, cradling Harry's skull in his hands.
"Yeah, Haz," he breathes. "C'mon, you're so good."
Harry lifts off a bit, pressing his soft lips to the head, and then goes back down, hollowing his cheeks, and the slick heat of Harry's mouth causes Louis to punch out a deep breath, clenching his fingers again. Harry starts bobbing in earnest, sliding his tongue roughly against the underside of Louis's cock, lips tight, squeezing around him.
He pulls off again, working his mouth against the head, teasing, tongue flickering soft licks until Louis is so hard, so wet inside his mouth. He groans and Harry leans back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"Gonna go for it?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.
Louis blinks down at him. "Are you sure?"
Harry smiles. "It's your night, Lou," he says, clasping one of his own hands around Louis's at the back of his head. "Take what you want."
Louis lets out a strangled little noise and flutters his eyelashes.
"C'mon," Harry urges again, and fine. Fine. Louis drags Harry's head back down and Harry closes his eyes, taking Louis back in as deep as he can, before relaxing his throat and completely submitting. Louis's hips twitch forward and Harry groans around his cock, sending vibrations up through him like a heavy bass. Keeping his hand tightly on the back of Harry's head, Louis guides him up and down, staring wide-eyed at himself disappearing in and out of Harry's mouth, hard and red and slick; at Harry's lips, full and tight around him; at Harry's face, relaxed and open, with slight tears forming at the corners of his eyelids.
"God," Louis moans, and pushes him all the way down, gasping as Harry's throat flutters around him, swallowing but never choking. "God, Harry," he says, holding him down, and Harry's fingers clench at his thighs, pressing in, fingertips whitening. Louis pulls him all the way off and Harry sits back on his heels, gasping. Louis brushes his thumbs over his cheekbones, wiping at the tears there. "So good for me."
Harry stares into his eyes and licks his lips again. "Come for me, yeah?"
Louis smiles faintly, and Harry takes him in again, all the way down, swallowing tightly then pulling off, up and down, each time taking Louis in all the way, fucking him into this throat in earnest.
Louis leans back and tangles his fingers between Harry's, still gripping his thighs. His hips are moving of their own accord, meeting Harry's mouth in a set rhythm, and Harry squeezes at his his hand briefly before pulling it away and wrapping it back around the base of his cock, screwing his mouth down until his lips are kissing at it, sucking in earnest.
"Oh god, Harry, oh god oh god, I'm gonna come, oh god," Louis gets out through gritted teeth and Harry pulls back till just the head is in his mouth and starts jacking his hand furiously, slick noises coming from every stroke. His orgasm hits and Louis bangs his head back against the wall, biting his lip, unable to stop a high whimper from this throat, unable to stop his eyes squeezing closed. He feels Harry swallow around him, holding him in his mouth, sucking lightly, tasting everything.
"Fuck," he whispers as his head starts to clear. He opens his eyes and stares down at Harry. Harry gazes back at him, smiling softly, red cheeks and red lips and red-rimmed eyes.
"Hey," he says.
Louis laughs weakly. "Hey."
Harry pushes himself up, wincing at the ache in his knees, and settles on the bench beside Louis, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in so his head catches in the curve of his neck.
"You're beautiful," Harry says quietly, "always. Out there on the pitch, in here, onstage, everywhere. You're so fucking talented, Lou."
Louis snorts and presses a kiss to Harry's adam's apple. "I know. I'm the best, essentially," he says.
Harry sighs, kisses the top of Louis's head. "Wish you could see it like I can, you know?"
Louis just shakes his head, but reaches out to grab Harry's other hand, tangling their fingers together. "Shower with me?"
"'Course," Harry says. "Then I think the Man of the Moment needs to make an appearance at the pub, yeah?"
Louis chuckles. "You gonna buy me a drink?"
"Mate," Harry laughs, "I think I'll have to join the queue to buy you a drink. Captain of the damn town tonight, you are."
Louis rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet, a little unsteadily. "Shower with me, buy me a drink, take me home, and I'll pay you back for sucking my brain out my cock, yeah?"
Harry smiles up at him, eyes soft. "Sure. But I haven't even come close to finishing your reward, skipper."
Arching an eyebrow, Louis points at him. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he says, and turns to walk to the showers, hips swaying. He glances back to Harry, smirking. "Coming, then?"
Harry grins wickedly. "I sure hope so."
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
word count: 2,200 words
summary: it's a steak and blowjob kind of night. (post-match head, essentially.)
notes: this is short and stupid, but hahaha. wish i was harry.
Louis sinks down onto the bench in the empty dressing room, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.
He's wet and he's distantly aware that he's cold and that he's shivering, but it has to be adrenalin. Everyone's gone - to the pub or home or... he's not sure. He needs a minute away from the screams, the hugs, the cameras.
He's overwhelmed in a way that he hasn't been in a long time. He's overwhelmed with love for his town, for the fans, for the sport, for his family. He's overwhelmed with the sheer rush of emotion that comes from kicking a ball, from a successful cross, from a gritty slide-tackle.
And it's not like he's unaccustomed to being adored. He's not. It's stupid and shitty, but he's used to the screams, the marriage proposals, the admissions of undying devotion, all of that. He's not ungrateful or anything, he's just. Well, it's been almost three years. Three years of constant adoration is fucking mindblowing, yes, but it's also become a little hollow. He's well aware that his talents are secondary to his looks, to his relationship with his band, to the band as a whole. He's well aware he's not appreciated so much for what he can do as he is for the image he presents.
But tonight. Tonight was different. Tonight he was out with his old mates - his old mates who just see him as Tommo, the loud little shit from down the street - doing what he hasn't been able to do for two years. He was out having a kickabout with his mates and it felt right. It felt like something he was good at, something he knew about, something he's felt inside him forever.
Except, shit, he was on the pitch at Keepmoat playing against footballers he idolised (or hated) ever since he was a kid, with ten thousand people watching, yelling his name, being there for him to see what he could do, not what shade of trousers he was wearing or how often Harry left his hand on his back for too long.
There's a shuffling by the door and Louis cracks open an eye.
Harry's standing there, leaning against the doorjam, smiling softly. "Hey, skipper," he says.
Louis grins a little. "Here for an autograph?"
Harry raises his eyebrows and nods. "'ve got a kit for you to sign," he says, pulling a tiny shirt from his pocket, tossing it at him.
Louis grabs it, flips it over. LUX 17 it says. He laughs a little. "Got a sharpie?"
"Haven't you?" Harry gasps. "Big footballer that you are, gotta be prepared, Lou."
Louis smirks. "Shouldn't I have people to carry that around for me by now?"
Harry laughs. "Oi, the success is getting to your head. Next thing we know, you'll be stropping around, demanding transfer to Real Madrid. Or worse, Chelsea."
"Well," Louis says, tilting his head, considering. "John Terry is at the end of his game. Also racist. And generally a shit person. I could do better than him."
"John Terry's also about three feet and a billion stone bigger than you, babe," Harry says back, pushing himself away from the door and stepping over to stand in front of Louis, looking down at him. "Though you held your own out there wonderfully. Was a bit worried all the big strong men would push you down and I'd have to carry you to hospital."
Louis rolls his eyes and halfheartedly kicks out a foot at Harry's knee. "Tosser."
Harry hums consideringly and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it on the floor at Louis's feet. Louis arches an eyebrow as Harry gingerly gets on his knees in front of him.
"Captain's spoils?" Louis says.
Harry smirks and slides his hands up Louis's thighs, chuckling a little. "You're cold, Lou. Why haven't you showered yet?"
"Was waiting for you," Louis says, shivering.
"Mm." Harry runs his fingertips under the edges of the compression shorts before reaching up to the waistband and tugging at the elastic of both pairs. "Lift up," he says.
Louis stays where he is and looks down at Harry's expectantly. Harry sighs. "Lift up, captain," he amends.
Grinning smugly, Louis braces himself against the wall and tilts his hips up, giving Harry access to pull his shorts down, pooling them around his ankles and boots on the floor. He settles back down on the bench, gasping, "Fuck," as his bare arse touches the cold wood.
Harry snorts as he bends down, kissing a line up Louis's right thigh to his hip. "Think I can warm you up?"
Louis laughs breathily. "You've got a good a shot as any, I s'pose."
Smiling into the crease of his hip and thigh, Harry mumbles, "Bet you'd get millions of offers tonight. So fucking good out there, Lou. So fucking amazing."
Closing his eyes and leaning his head back to bump against the wall, Louis sighs. "Yeah?" he says quietly, and immediately feels pathetic.
Harry glances up at him, lifting his lips from where they were sucking a mark into the thin skin stretched over his hipbone. "God, Lou, don't you know?"
Louis scrunches his face up and strokes a hand through Harry's hair, tugging him back down. Harry resists minutely.
"Lou," he says. "You smashed it. You were a proper footballer. I heard Fowler talking out there to Saunders, right, and he was making comparisons to Gerrard, to Giggsy. Fuck, Lou, it's unbelievable."
"Shut up," Louis mutters. "Not gonna get me hard by talking about Steven goddamn Gerrard."
Harry smiles, shakes his head. "Fine," he says. "But we're talking about this later. I'm gonna praise you so much you'll think you made the wrong career choice, mate."
Louis snorts, but Harry ducks back down, tickling Louis's skin with the ends of his hair, and spreads Louis's thighs as wide as they'll go with his hands on the inside of his knees, fitting his shoulders between.
Louis grunts, "Wait," and toes off his boots, kicking them to the side, pushing his tangled shorts off as well. Harry smirks.
"Much better," he says, and hooks Louis's legs over his shoulders.
Louis's fingers tighten in Harry's hair. "Oh god," he says.
Harry sucks another bite to the inside of Louis's thigh, close enough to his cock to get his hips bucking.
"Harry," he whines.
Harry looks up again, all heavy lidded eyes and pink mouth. "What'd'you want, Lou?" he whispers. "Captain's choice."
Louis gazes down at him, brushes his thumb down the line of his jaw, over his swollen bottom lip, over his cheekbone. "Feels like a steak and blowjob kind of night, yeah?"
Harry buries his laugh into Louis's skin. ""S'what I was thinking," he says.
"Then stop bloody teasing!" Louis snaps, tugging briefly on the curls wrapped around his fingers.
Harry laughs again and spreads his huge hands back between Louis's legs, pushing them off his shoulders and as wide as they'll go. He glances up again, licking his lips showily, before licking a stripe up Louis's half-hard cock.
"Shit," Louis sighs.
Bringing his hand up to fondle at his balls, Harry licks again and again, sliding his tongue up and down, coaxing Louis to full hardness despite the cold of the dressing room. He pulls off, jacking slowly, his saliva slicking the movement. Harry stares down, watching Louis's cock disappear in his huge hand.
Louis bucks his hips up slightly. "'m ready," he says.
Harry grins filthily. "Oh, I know, captain," he says, and slides his hand down to grip tightly at the base, pressing his lips to the head. His tongue flicks out, stroking at the slit where precome is bubbling lazily.
"Harry," Louis grits out.
Harry smiles once again, this time around his cock, and bobs down, taking him halfway, tongue flicking. Louis clenches his fingers briefly, before relaxing and stroking through his hair, cradling Harry's skull in his hands.
"Yeah, Haz," he breathes. "C'mon, you're so good."
Harry lifts off a bit, pressing his soft lips to the head, and then goes back down, hollowing his cheeks, and the slick heat of Harry's mouth causes Louis to punch out a deep breath, clenching his fingers again. Harry starts bobbing in earnest, sliding his tongue roughly against the underside of Louis's cock, lips tight, squeezing around him.
He pulls off again, working his mouth against the head, teasing, tongue flickering soft licks until Louis is so hard, so wet inside his mouth. He groans and Harry leans back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"Gonna go for it?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.
Louis blinks down at him. "Are you sure?"
Harry smiles. "It's your night, Lou," he says, clasping one of his own hands around Louis's at the back of his head. "Take what you want."
Louis lets out a strangled little noise and flutters his eyelashes.
"C'mon," Harry urges again, and fine. Fine. Louis drags Harry's head back down and Harry closes his eyes, taking Louis back in as deep as he can, before relaxing his throat and completely submitting. Louis's hips twitch forward and Harry groans around his cock, sending vibrations up through him like a heavy bass. Keeping his hand tightly on the back of Harry's head, Louis guides him up and down, staring wide-eyed at himself disappearing in and out of Harry's mouth, hard and red and slick; at Harry's lips, full and tight around him; at Harry's face, relaxed and open, with slight tears forming at the corners of his eyelids.
"God," Louis moans, and pushes him all the way down, gasping as Harry's throat flutters around him, swallowing but never choking. "God, Harry," he says, holding him down, and Harry's fingers clench at his thighs, pressing in, fingertips whitening. Louis pulls him all the way off and Harry sits back on his heels, gasping. Louis brushes his thumbs over his cheekbones, wiping at the tears there. "So good for me."
Harry stares into his eyes and licks his lips again. "Come for me, yeah?"
Louis smiles faintly, and Harry takes him in again, all the way down, swallowing tightly then pulling off, up and down, each time taking Louis in all the way, fucking him into this throat in earnest.
Louis leans back and tangles his fingers between Harry's, still gripping his thighs. His hips are moving of their own accord, meeting Harry's mouth in a set rhythm, and Harry squeezes at his his hand briefly before pulling it away and wrapping it back around the base of his cock, screwing his mouth down until his lips are kissing at it, sucking in earnest.
"Oh god, Harry, oh god oh god, I'm gonna come, oh god," Louis gets out through gritted teeth and Harry pulls back till just the head is in his mouth and starts jacking his hand furiously, slick noises coming from every stroke. His orgasm hits and Louis bangs his head back against the wall, biting his lip, unable to stop a high whimper from this throat, unable to stop his eyes squeezing closed. He feels Harry swallow around him, holding him in his mouth, sucking lightly, tasting everything.
"Fuck," he whispers as his head starts to clear. He opens his eyes and stares down at Harry. Harry gazes back at him, smiling softly, red cheeks and red lips and red-rimmed eyes.
"Hey," he says.
Louis laughs weakly. "Hey."
Harry pushes himself up, wincing at the ache in his knees, and settles on the bench beside Louis, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in so his head catches in the curve of his neck.
"You're beautiful," Harry says quietly, "always. Out there on the pitch, in here, onstage, everywhere. You're so fucking talented, Lou."
Louis snorts and presses a kiss to Harry's adam's apple. "I know. I'm the best, essentially," he says.
Harry sighs, kisses the top of Louis's head. "Wish you could see it like I can, you know?"
Louis just shakes his head, but reaches out to grab Harry's other hand, tangling their fingers together. "Shower with me?"
"'Course," Harry says. "Then I think the Man of the Moment needs to make an appearance at the pub, yeah?"
Louis chuckles. "You gonna buy me a drink?"
"Mate," Harry laughs, "I think I'll have to join the queue to buy you a drink. Captain of the damn town tonight, you are."
Louis rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet, a little unsteadily. "Shower with me, buy me a drink, take me home, and I'll pay you back for sucking my brain out my cock, yeah?"
Harry smiles up at him, eyes soft. "Sure. But I haven't even come close to finishing your reward, skipper."
Arching an eyebrow, Louis points at him. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he says, and turns to walk to the showers, hips swaying. He glances back to Harry, smirking. "Coming, then?"
Harry grins wickedly. "I sure hope so."