And Boys Will Be Girls, Harry/Louis, 4/4
Title: And Boys Will Be Girls [4/4]
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. Title taken from Lola by The Kinks.
Word Count: 1, 372 [5, 000 + total]
Summary: Burlesque club!AU. He’s boldly beautiful. He’s half naked and Harry’s heart is betraying him, just as his eyes are, near enough cracking his ribs with it’s beating. Harry’s never seen a boy exude such elegance before, so smooth and fae with each ballet toe point perfectly controlled. He’s never seen a boy with sparkling stars pressed over his nipples and feathered fans laid below him like clouds, and although Harry has looked a little too closely at guys who’ve stood beside him in bar queues or grazed up against him in mosh pits before, he’s never found one to be so alluring it’s clawed at his lungs.
Warnings: Slurs and other language, alcohol, explicit sex.
A/N: Inspired by this prompt at 1dkinkmeme.
“Sit,” Louis commands, hand pressed to Harry’s tummy, and Harry obliges, backs onto Louis’ bed. “Good boy, stay there, kay?” He dips his thumbnail into Harry’s belly button, through the worn cotton of his shirt, and then disappears into another room.
Harry stays. Cuddling back into the mass of cushions and blankets that is Louis’ bed, with his eyes tracing all of the string light hung up across the room. A web of tiny blinking bulbs that highlight tacked up photos- of Louis, Zayn and Liam mostly, some Erotique posters and little mounds of clothes, CDs and old alcohol bottles- weeping candles wedged into the openings. Harry breathes it all in and remembers to switch off his phone [anything to keep his hands busy], ignoring that he has six missed calls from Jack.
“Close your eyes, Hazza,” He hears, the words a breathy Marilyn Monroe rush from beyond the doorway and he hasn’t argued yet tonight so without question, his eyes slip shut.
There’s a barely-there weight in his lap then, limbs unfolding around him and those bloody perfectly tiny hands skidding up from his back to his nape, to his hair. They lace tightly, knuckles and curls, and Louis’ teeth proceed to snap at Harry’s bottom lip. He has fangs, Harry thinks, and a firefly glow burning through his eyelids. His chest clenches.
“Eyes open now,” Louis urges, and Harry sees nothing but unfocused sweeps of thick glitter and shiny blue, before Louis kisses him again.
More raw than their first, as though Louis’ intent is to bruise Harry’s bowed lips. Harry growls, finally, and gets his hand around the meat of Louis’ ass- almost saying ‘no, sweetheart, I don’t think so.’ He feels smoother fabric than denim cutting into the curved flesh and drags back, all saliva and panting, to get a look at Louis. Tiny shiny shorts and star pasties; guileless eyes staring back at him, a sharp face of subtle make up.
“You look pretty,” Harry drawls, dumbstruck. He blinks sweat from his eyes so that the burlesque vision becomes even clearer. “You look so fucking pretty Louis, Christ.”
Louis ducks his chin to his chest and loosens his hands in Harry’s hair. For a flash of a second he seems unsure and Harry cups his cheeks and initiates the crush of their next kiss; licks his way into Louis’ mouth and is sure that he can feel the boy’s heartbeat in his tongue. His own is somewhere near his throat now and racing hard enough to choke him. It unlocks something, a hurry to get from tongues tangling to cocks and hands and damp skin colliding.
“Less clothes,” Louis whines into the hot open wetness of Harry’s mouth, yanking the hem of Harry’s t-shirt out of the way and scratching his nails at the zipper of Harry’s jeans. The heel of his palm ruts against Harry’s crotch as he does so and Harry sees a cascade of light like dust motes.
Harry nods and lifts Louis from his lap- tendons straining in his arms, dick straining at his jeans. Louis scrambles around in his bedside table once Harry’s set him back down, and the eighteen year old tears off all of his clothes with little care- t-shirt, jeans, and boxers unceremoniously lost to the floor. When Louis turns back around he exhales through his nose and swallows Harry whole with the blue pools of his eyes. There’s a square packet and a bottle of lube tucked in his left hand and his right daces up Harry’s arm- those tattoos of Harry’s beneath his curious fingertips. He rubs lightly over the iced gem inked not too far from his arm pit and uncaps the lube with is teeth, tears open the condom packet, too. Well practiced, Harry thinks.
“Your cock is really big,” He states, quite bluntly, before slides the rubber over it and then squirts some of the lube over his palm and takes Harry’s erection in hand.
He’s not really jacking Harry off, just slicking him up. His touch is lazy and languid but Harry finds himself coming undone beneath it, anyway. His green eyes blow out and he pulls so much of his lower lip into his mouth, his teeth almost touch his chin. Louis shakes his head and his hair reminds Harry of feathered fans. He’s bloody beautiful, he really is. As Harry watches, as memorized as he was a week ago, Louis starts to drag down his metallic hot pants. It takes some effort, considering they fit like a second skin, but Harry enjoys the way time slows right down.
Once he’s unhooked the pants from his slender ankles Louis lets his fist go from around Harry’s dick and flips around in is lap, anchors his knees on either side of Harry’s thighs, spreading. His fingers wet with lube still, he just breathes in deep and presses one of them inside of himself. Lets Harry see. The pucker of his entrance; his finger pushing deep; the delicate pattern of is spine as he arches in on himself. Harry forgets that language exists and simply curls his hands around the swell of Louis’ lower back, where his butt begins- probably leaving light lilac bruises where he squeezes. Louis’ single finger becomes two, three, four, and his breathing becomes as ragged as Harry’s ever heard a girl mid-shag.
“Need to fuck you know,” Harry croaks up against Louis’ neck and Louis nods with everything that he has left to give; twists around again so that he can nuzzle his face into Harry’s throat as he gets a hand around Harry’s hilt and lowers himself onto his cock.
They fuck like animals and through the haze of thrusting and grinding and teeth scraping against salt-tainted flesh, Harry can’t shake all sorts of ridiculous cliches. Louis’ the tightest he’s ever felt, his best lay since the excitement of losing his virginity. He looks so delicate- iced with sparkles and so much daintier than Harry- but he’s quick paced and roaringly loud; all about bucking back and yanking Harry’s curls from his skull. The kiss before their mouths get a chance to meet and stutter out groans. Harry works his hand between their bodies to start wanking the other boy and feels drunk on the power of Louis’ neck snapping back and his broken, high pitched keen.
“The stars Hazza, my stars,” Louis whispers towards the ceiling, and Harry blinks his way into clarity-
“Huh?”
Louis rolls his eyes and then lets them close, moves one trembling hand from Harry’s head to his own chest to show Harry. He runs his fingertip between two of the sequined points and Harry knows.
“Oh.”
He smirks and rips each of the stars wickedly from Louis sensitive skin. Like a plaster. Louis emits a pleasured pained growl the like Harry has never heard before and Harry lets himself enjoy the entirety of it before he darts forward to sooth Louis with his tongue. He latches onto each pink nipple in turn, lapping at them, sucking the nubs into his mouth. Beneath the left, Harry feels Louis’ heartbeat; feels it’s crescendo just before the boy’s release spurts between them. He comes second later, with a string of swear words for good measure.
Harry’s not really one for hanging around usually- and the girls usually suggest that he leave, too. Uni dorms and early morning classes thrown around as their reasons. Louis wants to cuddle, though- practically begs Harry to wrap his tattooed arms around his slim chest and be his big spoon. Harry doesn’t argue, not when Louis relaxes like a dream and Harry can watch the reflection of fairy lights playing on the glitter caking his skin. The sparkles are the first layer of him, Harry thinks, and he has this distant urge to wipe them away and find something more. They’re his vintage t-shirts and chelsea boots.
“Can you make eggs benedict?” Louis asks, quite suddenly, when Harry assumes he’s already fallen asleep.
“I... actually, yeah...” Harry laughs, eyebrow arching.
“And will you come and see me dance next week, too?”
“Mhmmm.”
“Be here in the morning, then. I’ve actually already hidden your shoes.”
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. Title taken from Lola by The Kinks.
Word Count: 1, 372 [5, 000 + total]
Summary: Burlesque club!AU. He’s boldly beautiful. He’s half naked and Harry’s heart is betraying him, just as his eyes are, near enough cracking his ribs with it’s beating. Harry’s never seen a boy exude such elegance before, so smooth and fae with each ballet toe point perfectly controlled. He’s never seen a boy with sparkling stars pressed over his nipples and feathered fans laid below him like clouds, and although Harry has looked a little too closely at guys who’ve stood beside him in bar queues or grazed up against him in mosh pits before, he’s never found one to be so alluring it’s clawed at his lungs.
Warnings: Slurs and other language, alcohol, explicit sex.
A/N: Inspired by this prompt at 1dkinkmeme.
“Sit,” Louis commands, hand pressed to Harry’s tummy, and Harry obliges, backs onto Louis’ bed. “Good boy, stay there, kay?” He dips his thumbnail into Harry’s belly button, through the worn cotton of his shirt, and then disappears into another room.
Harry stays. Cuddling back into the mass of cushions and blankets that is Louis’ bed, with his eyes tracing all of the string light hung up across the room. A web of tiny blinking bulbs that highlight tacked up photos- of Louis, Zayn and Liam mostly, some Erotique posters and little mounds of clothes, CDs and old alcohol bottles- weeping candles wedged into the openings. Harry breathes it all in and remembers to switch off his phone [anything to keep his hands busy], ignoring that he has six missed calls from Jack.
“Close your eyes, Hazza,” He hears, the words a breathy Marilyn Monroe rush from beyond the doorway and he hasn’t argued yet tonight so without question, his eyes slip shut.
There’s a barely-there weight in his lap then, limbs unfolding around him and those bloody perfectly tiny hands skidding up from his back to his nape, to his hair. They lace tightly, knuckles and curls, and Louis’ teeth proceed to snap at Harry’s bottom lip. He has fangs, Harry thinks, and a firefly glow burning through his eyelids. His chest clenches.
“Eyes open now,” Louis urges, and Harry sees nothing but unfocused sweeps of thick glitter and shiny blue, before Louis kisses him again.
More raw than their first, as though Louis’ intent is to bruise Harry’s bowed lips. Harry growls, finally, and gets his hand around the meat of Louis’ ass- almost saying ‘no, sweetheart, I don’t think so.’ He feels smoother fabric than denim cutting into the curved flesh and drags back, all saliva and panting, to get a look at Louis. Tiny shiny shorts and star pasties; guileless eyes staring back at him, a sharp face of subtle make up.
“You look pretty,” Harry drawls, dumbstruck. He blinks sweat from his eyes so that the burlesque vision becomes even clearer. “You look so fucking pretty Louis, Christ.”
Louis ducks his chin to his chest and loosens his hands in Harry’s hair. For a flash of a second he seems unsure and Harry cups his cheeks and initiates the crush of their next kiss; licks his way into Louis’ mouth and is sure that he can feel the boy’s heartbeat in his tongue. His own is somewhere near his throat now and racing hard enough to choke him. It unlocks something, a hurry to get from tongues tangling to cocks and hands and damp skin colliding.
“Less clothes,” Louis whines into the hot open wetness of Harry’s mouth, yanking the hem of Harry’s t-shirt out of the way and scratching his nails at the zipper of Harry’s jeans. The heel of his palm ruts against Harry’s crotch as he does so and Harry sees a cascade of light like dust motes.
Harry nods and lifts Louis from his lap- tendons straining in his arms, dick straining at his jeans. Louis scrambles around in his bedside table once Harry’s set him back down, and the eighteen year old tears off all of his clothes with little care- t-shirt, jeans, and boxers unceremoniously lost to the floor. When Louis turns back around he exhales through his nose and swallows Harry whole with the blue pools of his eyes. There’s a square packet and a bottle of lube tucked in his left hand and his right daces up Harry’s arm- those tattoos of Harry’s beneath his curious fingertips. He rubs lightly over the iced gem inked not too far from his arm pit and uncaps the lube with is teeth, tears open the condom packet, too. Well practiced, Harry thinks.
“Your cock is really big,” He states, quite bluntly, before slides the rubber over it and then squirts some of the lube over his palm and takes Harry’s erection in hand.
He’s not really jacking Harry off, just slicking him up. His touch is lazy and languid but Harry finds himself coming undone beneath it, anyway. His green eyes blow out and he pulls so much of his lower lip into his mouth, his teeth almost touch his chin. Louis shakes his head and his hair reminds Harry of feathered fans. He’s bloody beautiful, he really is. As Harry watches, as memorized as he was a week ago, Louis starts to drag down his metallic hot pants. It takes some effort, considering they fit like a second skin, but Harry enjoys the way time slows right down.
Once he’s unhooked the pants from his slender ankles Louis lets his fist go from around Harry’s dick and flips around in is lap, anchors his knees on either side of Harry’s thighs, spreading. His fingers wet with lube still, he just breathes in deep and presses one of them inside of himself. Lets Harry see. The pucker of his entrance; his finger pushing deep; the delicate pattern of is spine as he arches in on himself. Harry forgets that language exists and simply curls his hands around the swell of Louis’ lower back, where his butt begins- probably leaving light lilac bruises where he squeezes. Louis’ single finger becomes two, three, four, and his breathing becomes as ragged as Harry’s ever heard a girl mid-shag.
“Need to fuck you know,” Harry croaks up against Louis’ neck and Louis nods with everything that he has left to give; twists around again so that he can nuzzle his face into Harry’s throat as he gets a hand around Harry’s hilt and lowers himself onto his cock.
They fuck like animals and through the haze of thrusting and grinding and teeth scraping against salt-tainted flesh, Harry can’t shake all sorts of ridiculous cliches. Louis’ the tightest he’s ever felt, his best lay since the excitement of losing his virginity. He looks so delicate- iced with sparkles and so much daintier than Harry- but he’s quick paced and roaringly loud; all about bucking back and yanking Harry’s curls from his skull. The kiss before their mouths get a chance to meet and stutter out groans. Harry works his hand between their bodies to start wanking the other boy and feels drunk on the power of Louis’ neck snapping back and his broken, high pitched keen.
“The stars Hazza, my stars,” Louis whispers towards the ceiling, and Harry blinks his way into clarity-
“Huh?”
Louis rolls his eyes and then lets them close, moves one trembling hand from Harry’s head to his own chest to show Harry. He runs his fingertip between two of the sequined points and Harry knows.
“Oh.”
He smirks and rips each of the stars wickedly from Louis sensitive skin. Like a plaster. Louis emits a pleasured pained growl the like Harry has never heard before and Harry lets himself enjoy the entirety of it before he darts forward to sooth Louis with his tongue. He latches onto each pink nipple in turn, lapping at them, sucking the nubs into his mouth. Beneath the left, Harry feels Louis’ heartbeat; feels it’s crescendo just before the boy’s release spurts between them. He comes second later, with a string of swear words for good measure.
Harry’s not really one for hanging around usually- and the girls usually suggest that he leave, too. Uni dorms and early morning classes thrown around as their reasons. Louis wants to cuddle, though- practically begs Harry to wrap his tattooed arms around his slim chest and be his big spoon. Harry doesn’t argue, not when Louis relaxes like a dream and Harry can watch the reflection of fairy lights playing on the glitter caking his skin. The sparkles are the first layer of him, Harry thinks, and he has this distant urge to wipe them away and find something more. They’re his vintage t-shirts and chelsea boots.
“Can you make eggs benedict?” Louis asks, quite suddenly, when Harry assumes he’s already fallen asleep.
“I... actually, yeah...” Harry laughs, eyebrow arching.
“And will you come and see me dance next week, too?”
“Mhmmm.”
“Be here in the morning, then. I’ve actually already hidden your shoes.”