(no subject)
Fandom: One Direction
Title: Los Angeles, I'm Yours
Synopsis: Louis is spending all his time in the States moping about, but Harry has different ideas when he manages to sneak his way onto a closed set during a break in shooting. Louis follows him, as Louis is apt to do, and the boys wind up making memories on the ICarly soundstage.
Characters/Relationships: Stylinson
Rating: R
Warnings: I write awkward penising, so don't expect a smutty masterpiece. I've got some kinks to work out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, least of all Stylinson.
Other: For aimmyarrowshigh who had a terrible week and wanted Stylinson.
Louis is sitting poolside watching Harry teeter on the diving board. He's counted the hair flips-one, two, three. Harry smiles at no one and takes the plunge. Louis has to crane his neck to see the shaggy mess of hair floating underwater. Sometimes Harry can stay at the bottom of the pool for whole minutes. Minutes plural, and it always makes Louis a little nervous. He finally resurfaces, breathless, and it takes everything for Louis to pretend he's been staring at his phone this whole time.
God bless February on the West Coast.
The boys move inside after the evening turns cool. Harry's a shivering mess as he heats a kettle for tea. There's five hotel rooms between them all, but it's just easier to spend time together in between shooting.
The Americans are a bit much sometimes. Comedy is a different endeavor for the 12-25 demographic in the States. Louis is tired of laugh tracks even if he's not tired of signing autographs for the fans. This job is a bit give and a bit take. The Americans are nice, but pretending to be a Ken doll for the masses is giving Louis penis envy.
“Earth to Lou,” says Harry.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to mope the whole trip?”
“I'm not moping,” he says.
“Tell it to the judge,” Harry says in his best American accent. He wipes the hair off his face and hands Louis a mug of Earl Grey. Louis is about to say something witty, but Harry ducks out of the kitchenette. The force of his shivers propels him toward the bathroom like a wet puppy.
“He's right though, Lou,” says Niall over his shoulder.
“Oh, shut up, Niall,” says Louis.
Liam and Zayn exchange a look. Niall is used to being the brunt of the boys' bad moods so he barely flinches. Louis feels like shit just the same and disappears into his room.
***
Zayn is the one to wake Louis up in the morning. He dresses quickly in sweats and a jumper. Wardrobe and makeup will decide what he looks like today. No need to put any extra thought into it. He comes out of his room and sees that Harry and Liam are gone. Niall is putting on his shoes with his eyes closed. Louis musses his hair as he walks by, and Niall opens his eyes at the same time as he smiles.
"All right, Lou?" he manages. Louis thinks he might have been taken with Niall once. His boyish mannerisms paired with all the sex appeal of his forefathers makes Niall a bit of a popular lad. Still, Louis is convinced that Niall is the only truly straight man on the planet.
"Better, thanks, mate," says Louis. "Where are the others?"
"Liam thought he'd treat Harry to some tea at Starbucks. They're going to meet us at the studio, I reckon."
Louis is a bit hurt. Harry usually lets him buy the tea. They make a ritual out of it. Both of them wear vaguely matching outfits, Harry borrows some of Louis's shoes, and only Harry ever orders anything. Louis thinks it's pretentious and downright wasteful to spend three quid on a cup of tea when he can brew a better kettle at home. He tries to keep his wits about him as they get into the SUV that will cart them away to the sound stage. It was fun for the first few days, but now he just wants his time spent in the States to end.
It's not that he's not enjoying himself. Sunny days spent poolside have been kind to his complexion. He'll be one of the only people in England with a tan in February.
***
The handler is talking to them like they're adults, which is something. The show is run rather professionally despite the bubblegum feel of it. Everywhere there are colors and humongous Gummi bears. There are stairs leading every which way, and he doesn't know if he should envision David Bowie or M.C. Escher. Liam has to keep nudging him to keep his mind on all the stuff they're being told.
Funny, he doesn't remember getting a permission slip for a field trip. The sooner this woman stops talking, the faster they can all do their jobs and get home.
Harry is looking equally attention-deficit. He keeps tipping his head back and staring up into nothing. If anyone is in danger of enraging the handlers, it should be this kid. He's blissfully willful, but he's got the face of a starved kitten. Last he checked, no one could say no to a starved kitten, especially not in America.
Finally, she stops talking. The boys are given an hour lunch break because the poor fucking interns have to rearrange the sets so that they can start filming. Louis seems to be the only one who notices when Harry gets up and walks toward a large door at the other end of the building. Zayn and Niall are talking to a few of the extras while Liam sits down. The look on his face says he's about to call Danielle, and if he weren't about to go do something stupid in the name of love, he'd probably mock Liam outright.
Harry disappears through the door and peeks his head out moments later. He finds Louis despite the crowd and nods his head. Louis isn't as suave as Harry, but he manages to go unnoticed long enough to sneak between Harry and the door.
It's dark. Harry lifts his phone up and finds a switchboard. Louis doesn't really approve of the way Harry starts pressing buttons. The last thing he wants to do today is shut down production. The record company already has enough restrictions on them now they're in the States, but something tells him Simon wouldn't be thrilled if he had to reimburse production costs if Harry were to break something.
"Harry, what are we doing?"
"Exploring. We've got an hour to figure out what we're getting ourselves into," he says. Louis can't see his face, but Harry sounds a bit more serious than usual. A light goes on, and the boys both look at its source.
It's a coffee table, sort of. Harry approaches it with Louis shortly behind.
It's a coffee table, yes, but it's also a giant fish bowl. Like ... four legs, a square top--but fish are swimming around in it.
"I think they're real fucking fish," says Harry. "We have got to get one of these for the flat."
"I'm not getting some tacky table inspired by an American children's show put into our flat."
Harry sighs and taps on the table. A few of the fish scatter. Harry follows their progress around the table with mild interest as a whole bunch of things that need to be said slowly become unsaid. Louis sits down and halts Harry's lap around the table. The table is more sturdy than he would have guessed. It's made from plastic. He wonders what the repercussions are for this sort of ecosystem. How does the water get cleaned? How do the fish get fed?
"I'm sorry I've been a killjoy, all right?" says Louis.
"I don't care about the bad moods, Lou. I just don't like seeing you so depressed all the time. America was meant to be fun. Spend some time on the beach, drinking illegally again, reliving our youth by way of acting like total twats on American television."
"I just miss us, Hazza."
Louis pats Harry on the cheek.
"We're right here. I've been here this whole time."
Louis scoots back on the table. He pats the space in front of him. Harry crawls up and sits on his knees. Louis adjusts so that he's got one knee in between Harry's legs. Somehow he knows better than to touch him. They should talk before his mind goes immediately to sex.
"So you're saying I should stop being a twat and enjoy myself?"
"I'm saying that you should really enjoy me romping about in board shorts and sunglasses. I don't do it for my benefit, you know?"
Louis cracks a smile and looks around the set. It's a lot of purple and pink. There's televisions with green tape covering the screen. Louis wonders what it is about Gummi bears on this show. He makes a mental note to ask someone about it.
"What now?" asks Louis. You want to see if we can't find something to go with our new table?"
Harry shakes his head. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Harry disappears through one of the false doors that leads to another set. He comes back with a pillow and lays it behind Louis. Louis lays back, his feet dangling over the table at the knees. Harry settles in beside him, and they enjoy the semi-illuminated set where they'll be spending the better part of a week filming.
"I just don't want to be pretending I'm a teenager for the rest of our lives, Harry," says Louis. "At some point I want to grow up."
Harry laughs rather unkindly but then muffles the sound in Louis's shoulder. "Yeah, all right, Peter Pan."
"Come off it," says Lou. "Peter Pan didn't want to grow up. I want to grow up."
"I don't even want to know what's with the sudden preoccupation with maturity. Like ... is your biological clock ticking. Is your fruit withering on the vine there, big boy?" Harry asks. He has his chin on Louis's shoulder and is wiggling his eyebrows.
"How do you manage to make sex talk sound like you're reading multiplication tables?"
"Sex talk?" Harry asks. "I thought we were talking about how you have been a giant wanker the past few weeks."
Louis nudges him in the ribs. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry, Harry."
"Don't mention it, Lou," says Harry.
The moment becomes peaceful after that. Harry just stares up at the nothingness above, and Louis stares at Harry. The hollow of his throat rises and falls whenever he swallows. Louis leans over and places an open-mouthed kiss right at the base of Harry's neck. He doesn't mean to start sucking on Harry's skin, but it happens because he can feel Harry's pulse against his bottom lip. He feels the pulse speed up.
He's not sure what's going on, but there's some movement happening. Suddenly Harry doesn't have a shirt on, and he's straddling Louis's waist. Louis isn't sure where this animal energy is coming from, but he's not going to question it. He can already see the hickey forming on Harry's neck.
"What are we do--"
Louis is caught off-guard by the fact that Harry is undoing the button on his trousers. Harry is nimble and surprisingly strong for someone so skinny. He manages to lift Louis up by the waist and pull the trousers down in one swift movement. He then follows Louis's body back upward. A hand sneaks under Louis's shirt. Harry places his palm just above Louis's heart.
"Someone could see us," says Louis after a minute.
"Louis, when are we ever going to get the chance to snog on a goldfish coffee table ever again?" asks Harry.
"Probably never," says Louis.
"Then shut the fuck up and kiss me," says Harry.
Louis grabs around Harry's waist and sits up. Harry's weight in his lap feels unsubstantial compared to recent months. Harry's lost weight, and the forums are abuzz with cocaine conspiracies. Harry wraps his legs around Louis.
They kiss for a long time. Harry's lips are swollen when he pulls away, and Louis can't even keep his eyes open. The lack of sunlight makes the place feel timeless. Harry knows that eventually the kissing will have to end or lead to something more. He can tell Louis is up for anything, for any degree of debauchery on a children's television set. Even the fish below seem interested in the progress.
"Lay back," says Harry after a minute. Louis opens his eyes and just stares at Harry. It's only when Harry moves off the table and kneels down in front of Louis that his eyes practically burst open.
"You don't have to do this, Hazza," says Louis.
"Well, I'd give you a wank if I had anything."
"How charitable," says Louis though he's smiling.
"I didn't take off your trousers just for the hell of it. Maybe if you get laid you won't be such a twat to work with."
"Oh, so you're doing this for the good of th--"
He's cut off by a trail of wet kisses leading up his inner thigh. He can see Harry's curls almost glowing as he narrows his eyes. He reaches above his head and grabs onto the table. It's been weeks since they've done anything. Louis is worried it might be awkward, but it doesn't feel awkward as Harry begins sucking on his inner thigh. It's Harry's favorite game to give him hickeys where no one will see.
"I'm not sorry for being a prat if this is what it gets me," says Louis. His cheekiness is rewarded with a love bite and a teasing stroke of his erection through the cloth of his boxers.
"Don't press your luck," says Harry.
After that little comment, Harry seems determined to drive Louis mad. He doesn't actually pay any mind to the erection straining in Louis's boxers. He does tickle Louis's ankle and nibble on his knee. He even moves up far enough to blow a little raspberry into Louis's stomach. It's only after he's done reeling from the sensation that he realizes Harry's somehow slipped his boxers down to his knees.
"Don't say I never gave you anything," Harry says.
Louis can't even formulate a response to that. Harry's lips are so hot around his erection that he cries out. Any and all concerns he might have had about being caught in a compromising position with Harry are long gone now. Harry uses his tongue in ways that ought to be illegal. He curls his tongue at the tip as he pulls back. Louis isn't sure how he does it, but he never remembers to ask afterward. His stomach contracts when Harry takes him in again. This time Harry uses some of the skills he learned in One Direction boot camp to hum from deep in his diaphragm. The vibration is overwhelming enough because Louis can feel it all over, but when Harry begins speeding up his motions, Louis is no longer concerned with stamina. He's not going to last long, not with Harry humming like that--a sensation that doesn't seem to stop though Harry must be running out of air. The part that does him in is when he feels Harry's fingernails scratching down the inside of his thigh. It's too much.
He arches upward and bites down on a knuckle to silence his moan. Harry swallows almost sheepishly and pushes the hair out of his eyes. One edge of his smile is curled upward. Louis just knows he's about to say something clever, something completely characteristic of Harry right after sex. He waits until Louis is dressed before grabbing his own shirt. The silence between them is amiable as Harry takes his time button each of his buttons.
"It's not fair you were born with charisma and a natural talent," says Louis.
"Yeah, well," says Harry. "You just have to know what information to pay attention to in boot camp."
"What were they teaching you in your lessons?"
"How to give blowjobs and succeed in having hair that defies the laws of gravity. Come on. We're lucky we didn't get caught. Let's get back."
"I feel rotten. I didn't even get to return the favor."
"Well, there's always tonight," says Harry with a wink.
They both stand in unison and sling their arms around each other's shoulders. They find Liam camped out in front of the door still texting. Louis can't be sure, but it seems as though he's been acting as a gatekeeper for them without having to be asked. To his credit, Liam acts surprised when they burst through the door.
"Where have you two been? Hair and makeup are ready to go."
"We already look so fabulous that they don't need to see us today, Liam," says Louis.
Harry slinks away just the same, holding his hands behind his back like some sappy little schoolboy. Louis watches him for a minute until the sound of all the beeping from Liam's phone drives him nuts. Still he's all smiles for now, and not even Niall can sour his mood.
Title: Los Angeles, I'm Yours
Synopsis: Louis is spending all his time in the States moping about, but Harry has different ideas when he manages to sneak his way onto a closed set during a break in shooting. Louis follows him, as Louis is apt to do, and the boys wind up making memories on the ICarly soundstage.
Characters/Relationships: Stylinson
Rating: R
Warnings: I write awkward penising, so don't expect a smutty masterpiece. I've got some kinks to work out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, least of all Stylinson.
Other: For aimmyarrowshigh who had a terrible week and wanted Stylinson.
Louis is sitting poolside watching Harry teeter on the diving board. He's counted the hair flips-one, two, three. Harry smiles at no one and takes the plunge. Louis has to crane his neck to see the shaggy mess of hair floating underwater. Sometimes Harry can stay at the bottom of the pool for whole minutes. Minutes plural, and it always makes Louis a little nervous. He finally resurfaces, breathless, and it takes everything for Louis to pretend he's been staring at his phone this whole time.
God bless February on the West Coast.
The boys move inside after the evening turns cool. Harry's a shivering mess as he heats a kettle for tea. There's five hotel rooms between them all, but it's just easier to spend time together in between shooting.
The Americans are a bit much sometimes. Comedy is a different endeavor for the 12-25 demographic in the States. Louis is tired of laugh tracks even if he's not tired of signing autographs for the fans. This job is a bit give and a bit take. The Americans are nice, but pretending to be a Ken doll for the masses is giving Louis penis envy.
“Earth to Lou,” says Harry.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to mope the whole trip?”
“I'm not moping,” he says.
“Tell it to the judge,” Harry says in his best American accent. He wipes the hair off his face and hands Louis a mug of Earl Grey. Louis is about to say something witty, but Harry ducks out of the kitchenette. The force of his shivers propels him toward the bathroom like a wet puppy.
“He's right though, Lou,” says Niall over his shoulder.
“Oh, shut up, Niall,” says Louis.
Liam and Zayn exchange a look. Niall is used to being the brunt of the boys' bad moods so he barely flinches. Louis feels like shit just the same and disappears into his room.
***
Zayn is the one to wake Louis up in the morning. He dresses quickly in sweats and a jumper. Wardrobe and makeup will decide what he looks like today. No need to put any extra thought into it. He comes out of his room and sees that Harry and Liam are gone. Niall is putting on his shoes with his eyes closed. Louis musses his hair as he walks by, and Niall opens his eyes at the same time as he smiles.
"All right, Lou?" he manages. Louis thinks he might have been taken with Niall once. His boyish mannerisms paired with all the sex appeal of his forefathers makes Niall a bit of a popular lad. Still, Louis is convinced that Niall is the only truly straight man on the planet.
"Better, thanks, mate," says Louis. "Where are the others?"
"Liam thought he'd treat Harry to some tea at Starbucks. They're going to meet us at the studio, I reckon."
Louis is a bit hurt. Harry usually lets him buy the tea. They make a ritual out of it. Both of them wear vaguely matching outfits, Harry borrows some of Louis's shoes, and only Harry ever orders anything. Louis thinks it's pretentious and downright wasteful to spend three quid on a cup of tea when he can brew a better kettle at home. He tries to keep his wits about him as they get into the SUV that will cart them away to the sound stage. It was fun for the first few days, but now he just wants his time spent in the States to end.
It's not that he's not enjoying himself. Sunny days spent poolside have been kind to his complexion. He'll be one of the only people in England with a tan in February.
***
The handler is talking to them like they're adults, which is something. The show is run rather professionally despite the bubblegum feel of it. Everywhere there are colors and humongous Gummi bears. There are stairs leading every which way, and he doesn't know if he should envision David Bowie or M.C. Escher. Liam has to keep nudging him to keep his mind on all the stuff they're being told.
Funny, he doesn't remember getting a permission slip for a field trip. The sooner this woman stops talking, the faster they can all do their jobs and get home.
Harry is looking equally attention-deficit. He keeps tipping his head back and staring up into nothing. If anyone is in danger of enraging the handlers, it should be this kid. He's blissfully willful, but he's got the face of a starved kitten. Last he checked, no one could say no to a starved kitten, especially not in America.
Finally, she stops talking. The boys are given an hour lunch break because the poor fucking interns have to rearrange the sets so that they can start filming. Louis seems to be the only one who notices when Harry gets up and walks toward a large door at the other end of the building. Zayn and Niall are talking to a few of the extras while Liam sits down. The look on his face says he's about to call Danielle, and if he weren't about to go do something stupid in the name of love, he'd probably mock Liam outright.
Harry disappears through the door and peeks his head out moments later. He finds Louis despite the crowd and nods his head. Louis isn't as suave as Harry, but he manages to go unnoticed long enough to sneak between Harry and the door.
It's dark. Harry lifts his phone up and finds a switchboard. Louis doesn't really approve of the way Harry starts pressing buttons. The last thing he wants to do today is shut down production. The record company already has enough restrictions on them now they're in the States, but something tells him Simon wouldn't be thrilled if he had to reimburse production costs if Harry were to break something.
"Harry, what are we doing?"
"Exploring. We've got an hour to figure out what we're getting ourselves into," he says. Louis can't see his face, but Harry sounds a bit more serious than usual. A light goes on, and the boys both look at its source.
It's a coffee table, sort of. Harry approaches it with Louis shortly behind.
It's a coffee table, yes, but it's also a giant fish bowl. Like ... four legs, a square top--but fish are swimming around in it.
"I think they're real fucking fish," says Harry. "We have got to get one of these for the flat."
"I'm not getting some tacky table inspired by an American children's show put into our flat."
Harry sighs and taps on the table. A few of the fish scatter. Harry follows their progress around the table with mild interest as a whole bunch of things that need to be said slowly become unsaid. Louis sits down and halts Harry's lap around the table. The table is more sturdy than he would have guessed. It's made from plastic. He wonders what the repercussions are for this sort of ecosystem. How does the water get cleaned? How do the fish get fed?
"I'm sorry I've been a killjoy, all right?" says Louis.
"I don't care about the bad moods, Lou. I just don't like seeing you so depressed all the time. America was meant to be fun. Spend some time on the beach, drinking illegally again, reliving our youth by way of acting like total twats on American television."
"I just miss us, Hazza."
Louis pats Harry on the cheek.
"We're right here. I've been here this whole time."
Louis scoots back on the table. He pats the space in front of him. Harry crawls up and sits on his knees. Louis adjusts so that he's got one knee in between Harry's legs. Somehow he knows better than to touch him. They should talk before his mind goes immediately to sex.
"So you're saying I should stop being a twat and enjoy myself?"
"I'm saying that you should really enjoy me romping about in board shorts and sunglasses. I don't do it for my benefit, you know?"
Louis cracks a smile and looks around the set. It's a lot of purple and pink. There's televisions with green tape covering the screen. Louis wonders what it is about Gummi bears on this show. He makes a mental note to ask someone about it.
"What now?" asks Louis. You want to see if we can't find something to go with our new table?"
Harry shakes his head. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Harry disappears through one of the false doors that leads to another set. He comes back with a pillow and lays it behind Louis. Louis lays back, his feet dangling over the table at the knees. Harry settles in beside him, and they enjoy the semi-illuminated set where they'll be spending the better part of a week filming.
"I just don't want to be pretending I'm a teenager for the rest of our lives, Harry," says Louis. "At some point I want to grow up."
Harry laughs rather unkindly but then muffles the sound in Louis's shoulder. "Yeah, all right, Peter Pan."
"Come off it," says Lou. "Peter Pan didn't want to grow up. I want to grow up."
"I don't even want to know what's with the sudden preoccupation with maturity. Like ... is your biological clock ticking. Is your fruit withering on the vine there, big boy?" Harry asks. He has his chin on Louis's shoulder and is wiggling his eyebrows.
"How do you manage to make sex talk sound like you're reading multiplication tables?"
"Sex talk?" Harry asks. "I thought we were talking about how you have been a giant wanker the past few weeks."
Louis nudges him in the ribs. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry, Harry."
"Don't mention it, Lou," says Harry.
The moment becomes peaceful after that. Harry just stares up at the nothingness above, and Louis stares at Harry. The hollow of his throat rises and falls whenever he swallows. Louis leans over and places an open-mouthed kiss right at the base of Harry's neck. He doesn't mean to start sucking on Harry's skin, but it happens because he can feel Harry's pulse against his bottom lip. He feels the pulse speed up.
He's not sure what's going on, but there's some movement happening. Suddenly Harry doesn't have a shirt on, and he's straddling Louis's waist. Louis isn't sure where this animal energy is coming from, but he's not going to question it. He can already see the hickey forming on Harry's neck.
"What are we do--"
Louis is caught off-guard by the fact that Harry is undoing the button on his trousers. Harry is nimble and surprisingly strong for someone so skinny. He manages to lift Louis up by the waist and pull the trousers down in one swift movement. He then follows Louis's body back upward. A hand sneaks under Louis's shirt. Harry places his palm just above Louis's heart.
"Someone could see us," says Louis after a minute.
"Louis, when are we ever going to get the chance to snog on a goldfish coffee table ever again?" asks Harry.
"Probably never," says Louis.
"Then shut the fuck up and kiss me," says Harry.
Louis grabs around Harry's waist and sits up. Harry's weight in his lap feels unsubstantial compared to recent months. Harry's lost weight, and the forums are abuzz with cocaine conspiracies. Harry wraps his legs around Louis.
They kiss for a long time. Harry's lips are swollen when he pulls away, and Louis can't even keep his eyes open. The lack of sunlight makes the place feel timeless. Harry knows that eventually the kissing will have to end or lead to something more. He can tell Louis is up for anything, for any degree of debauchery on a children's television set. Even the fish below seem interested in the progress.
"Lay back," says Harry after a minute. Louis opens his eyes and just stares at Harry. It's only when Harry moves off the table and kneels down in front of Louis that his eyes practically burst open.
"You don't have to do this, Hazza," says Louis.
"Well, I'd give you a wank if I had anything."
"How charitable," says Louis though he's smiling.
"I didn't take off your trousers just for the hell of it. Maybe if you get laid you won't be such a twat to work with."
"Oh, so you're doing this for the good of th--"
He's cut off by a trail of wet kisses leading up his inner thigh. He can see Harry's curls almost glowing as he narrows his eyes. He reaches above his head and grabs onto the table. It's been weeks since they've done anything. Louis is worried it might be awkward, but it doesn't feel awkward as Harry begins sucking on his inner thigh. It's Harry's favorite game to give him hickeys where no one will see.
"I'm not sorry for being a prat if this is what it gets me," says Louis. His cheekiness is rewarded with a love bite and a teasing stroke of his erection through the cloth of his boxers.
"Don't press your luck," says Harry.
After that little comment, Harry seems determined to drive Louis mad. He doesn't actually pay any mind to the erection straining in Louis's boxers. He does tickle Louis's ankle and nibble on his knee. He even moves up far enough to blow a little raspberry into Louis's stomach. It's only after he's done reeling from the sensation that he realizes Harry's somehow slipped his boxers down to his knees.
"Don't say I never gave you anything," Harry says.
Louis can't even formulate a response to that. Harry's lips are so hot around his erection that he cries out. Any and all concerns he might have had about being caught in a compromising position with Harry are long gone now. Harry uses his tongue in ways that ought to be illegal. He curls his tongue at the tip as he pulls back. Louis isn't sure how he does it, but he never remembers to ask afterward. His stomach contracts when Harry takes him in again. This time Harry uses some of the skills he learned in One Direction boot camp to hum from deep in his diaphragm. The vibration is overwhelming enough because Louis can feel it all over, but when Harry begins speeding up his motions, Louis is no longer concerned with stamina. He's not going to last long, not with Harry humming like that--a sensation that doesn't seem to stop though Harry must be running out of air. The part that does him in is when he feels Harry's fingernails scratching down the inside of his thigh. It's too much.
He arches upward and bites down on a knuckle to silence his moan. Harry swallows almost sheepishly and pushes the hair out of his eyes. One edge of his smile is curled upward. Louis just knows he's about to say something clever, something completely characteristic of Harry right after sex. He waits until Louis is dressed before grabbing his own shirt. The silence between them is amiable as Harry takes his time button each of his buttons.
"It's not fair you were born with charisma and a natural talent," says Louis.
"Yeah, well," says Harry. "You just have to know what information to pay attention to in boot camp."
"What were they teaching you in your lessons?"
"How to give blowjobs and succeed in having hair that defies the laws of gravity. Come on. We're lucky we didn't get caught. Let's get back."
"I feel rotten. I didn't even get to return the favor."
"Well, there's always tonight," says Harry with a wink.
They both stand in unison and sling their arms around each other's shoulders. They find Liam camped out in front of the door still texting. Louis can't be sure, but it seems as though he's been acting as a gatekeeper for them without having to be asked. To his credit, Liam acts surprised when they burst through the door.
"Where have you two been? Hair and makeup are ready to go."
"We already look so fabulous that they don't need to see us today, Liam," says Louis.
Harry slinks away just the same, holding his hands behind his back like some sappy little schoolboy. Louis watches him for a minute until the sound of all the beeping from Liam's phone drives him nuts. Still he's all smiles for now, and not even Niall can sour his mood.