Ships: Harry/Louis, OT5
Word Count: ............... 19,547 (what_makes_you_haha.mp3)
Summary: Harry is an exhibitionist. He gets up to shenanigans. This is a fill for this prompt at the kink meme: Harry really, really likes to be watched. When they're all lounging around watching TV he'll start kissing Louis and he'll take it as far as he can until Louis makes him stop because the other boys are in the room or drags him away to finish in private. He'll do it wherever - at home, on the bus, in the car, backstage in the dressing room. The boys maybe kind of secretly wish Louis would stop stopping Harry, and maybe one night when they're drunk he does. Except. It got really, really out of control.
Warnings: Exhibitionism, of course, voyeurism (some of it initially unwilling), an, some might say, "excessive" amount of masturbation, rimming, an orgy, and I honestly don't remember what else.
Notes: I legitimately could not have finished this fic without 1842 (CATCAT PORNWRITERS, INC.) and amongseafarers, and so it is dedicated to them. OT3 5EVA, BLESS "NOTHINGS FINE IM TORN"
Harry’s not shy by any means. He’s knows he’s a little brash, a little too forward, a little too eager to strip off and show everyone the goods. It’s a bad habit.
And yes, he’s more comfortable naked, without tags scratching his neck and collars suffocating him and tight, pesky waistbands leaving lines on his soft skin— but it gives him a thrill as well. Waiting for new people to intrude on his nudity so he can smile and wave as they duck out, cheeks flaming and apologies leaving their tongues as quickly as they do the room. It never takes very long; Harry’s nude a lot. The boys all caught glimpses of him naked within a week of learning his name. A year later, all four of them would be able to pick his cock and balls out of a lineup without hesitation. Niall’s said so.
But once they got used to it, getting caught lost its spark. Nothing surprises them anymore: Liam watched him get naked on a plane and barely thought anything of it until one of the security guys pointed it out to him afterwards; Zayn doesn’t bat an eyelash when he looks up from his phone to get an eyeful of Harry’s dick; Niall scooped some dip off his naked thigh one time when they were sharing takeout and didn’t say a word about it; and Louis has, on multiple occasions, woken up to find Harry nude, checking the news on his phone and sipping his morning tea, at the kitchen table, and every time he’s poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down opposite Harry with this sleepy, crinkly-eyed smile, like it’s normal and okay to be nude in the kitchen.
Of course, Louis’ also fucked him on that table, so maybe he should be exempt. He supposes it’s okay for his boyfriend to be underwhelmed by his constant nudity, but his friends should still get a little flustered. Otherwise, where’s the fun?
When they’re touring in America, sharing space on the bus and hotel rooms for days on end, he decides to take things up a notch to see if he can get the reaction he wants.
Harry’s wanked with the other boys around before. They all have. They try to be courteous about it, though. Go to the bathroom if they can, use their private time in the shower wisely, wait until everyone’s asleep. Or if they’re too horny to do any of that, they’re at least quiet about it. Between the five of them exists a long tradition of gently creaking mattresses and softly shifting sheets and carefully stifled groans. One which Harry’s more than ready to break.
He waits for a night when they haven’t had too busy a schedule— just a few routine interviews, one fan signing, and then back on the bus for the night to the next city— so they’re not too exhausted, and won’t drop off right away. They all head to bed at about the same time; say their goodnights and share a few routine exchanges (“Can’t you toss your dirty shorts on your own bed in the morning, Niall?”
“I don’t have good aim at 6 am, all right? Toss ‘em over here.”
“6 am is a disgusting time. If anyone wakes me up before 7, they’re dead.”
“You have to get up before 7, Zayn. The taping starts at 7:30. Now has anyone seen my toothbrush?”
“Harry and I were using it in our sex play, sorry.”
“That’s not even funny.”) as they all climb into their designated bunks. Harry is vibrating with the knowledge of what he’s about to do; when he gets up into bed and Liam (toothbrush located, teeth properly cleaned) shuts the light off, he’s already hard.
He lies back, hands tucked under his thighs to keep himself from touching prematurely, until he’s sure everyone is settled in. He waits long enough that all their hearing must have adjusted to the quiet. He sleeps in the nude, so there’s no awkward shuffling about to get his hand inside his pants to help tip everyone off to what’s about to go down. In lieu of that, he tries to rustle around a bit in his blankets, shove them off as loudly as he can to get the other boys’ attention. He grunts as he takes his cock in his hand and then he goes still, breathing shallowly, so he can hear the fragile silence in the room. He’s pretty sure that no one’s asleep yet. If he stopped and settled back into bed, Zayn would probably drop off in the next five minutes, closely followed by Niall, then Liam after a half hour or so, and finally Louis. But he’s so hard right now that he’s going to have to get himself off, whether he’s going to make a production of it or not.
He strokes himself once, with a good amount of pressure, and has to bite his lip to hold in a sound. He still doesn’t quite muffle it, though. Zayn rolls over in the bunk beneath him, and yeah, he’s definitely awake and he can hear everything Harry’s doing. Zayn sighs and readjusts the stuffing in his pillow and Liam coughs, and Harry hasn’t been this desperately hard in so long. He strokes himself again, and this time he doesn’t hold in the sound— a breathy uh punches out of him, so loud in the nearly noiseless room. He hears Niall mumble something into his pillow and the distinctive sound of Zayn tapping the keys on his Blackberry and he tugs himself off faster, thumbing at the wet head and sucking in a sharp breath at how good it feels, how close he already is.
All of them must be able to hear him. They must. They’re all lying in the dark together, none of them saying a word; just trying to ignore the slick, intimately familiar sounds of a hand working a cock— Harry’s hand working his cock, to be specific. Liam clears his throat and Harry bucks up into his hand with a wavering moan, his bunk creaking beneath him. Even if he wanted to be quiet now, he couldn’t; this is way too good. He feels something vibrate next to his hip and he gasps as the soft light of his phone comes on, illuminating the crevice created in the covers bunched up by his thigh.
A text from Louis: “cum already Harry so we can all go to sleep,” it says and really, that’s all the encouragement Harry needs. He groans louder than he means to, breathing harsh and heavy through his nose as he fucks his fist and focuses on all of them hearing him. Maybe covering their faces with their pillows, maybe holding their hands over their ears, maybe with their hands down their pants, as hard from listening to him get off as he is from them listening to him getting off. He lets out another groan, which tapers off into a really quite pornographic exhale, he thinks, proud of himself for it even mid-orgasm, as his body tenses up and he shoots onto his stomach. He pumps himself through it until all that’s left is the come dribbling over his fist, dripping down over his shaking fingers.
Slowly his breathing calms, and his phone buzzes again. Louis again. “god Harry now I need a wank,” Harry reads, and then barks out a laugh that he’s sure must startle everyone. He wipes his fingers off on his stomach and texts back, “Go for it ;)”.
Then he looks at his fingers, and at his stomach, and wishes he’d thought this out thoroughly enough to include tissues in the plan.
Harry hears one of the boys moving, getting out of bed and walking, and his heart speeds up again. He can tell, though, by the outline in the dark, that it’s Louis. He relaxes and tries not to laugh out loud again. Louis goes into the bathroom and doesn’t come out for longer than it would take to take a piss. Harry’s tempted to send him a smug, “Enjoying yourself in there?”, but he doesn’t want to get any more filthy fingerprints on his screen. When Louis comes out, he walks closer to Harry’s bed than is necessary on the path back to his own bed. Harry hears him whisper, “Heads up, stud,” right before a wad of toilet paper lands on Harry’s shoulder and rolls down to the center of his chest. That time he does laugh out loud.
“Thanks,” he texts to Louis, with clean fingers and a smile still on his face.
“Youre welcome, you little pervert. now go to sleep,” Louis responds.
Harry texts him a cheeky “<3” back. Then he locks his phone, tucks it away, and drifts off feeling massively satisfied with himself.
Harry steps out of the shower the morning after his little experiment with a bit of a bounce of his step. Upon waking up he didn’t regret a thing, and he still doesn’t now that he’s clean and fully awake. He leaves his towel hanging over the shower rod after he’s dried himself off and exits the bathroom, shaking his damp hair out with his fingers. Louis stops buttoning up his shirt for a second to slap Harry’s bum when he walks by. It trips Harry up and he whips around to grin at Louis, wet hairs plastered to his forehead and cheeks.
“Made quite the spectacle of yourself last night, Styles,” Louis says, under his breath— but not as quietly as he would if he didn’t want anyone to overhear.
Louis’ verbal acknowledgement of what happened last night is enough to arouse Harry, but there’s no time for that now. They’ve got an interview to get to in twenty minutes. Harry walks backwards in the direction of where he knows his bed must be because he has to keep his eyes locked with Louis’ as they have some sort of seductive eyebrow waggling showdown. Unsurprisingly, he bumps into something. Something warm and solid and smelling like cologne. Harry spins around and comes face to face with Zayn, who is fully dressed but clearly not fully awake; his hair’s still soft and flat against his forehead and he’s unshaven and just all around groggy-looking. It must take a few seconds for Harry’s face to register with his half-asleep brain, because when it does Harry can see it happen; his eyes go wide and he takes a quick step back.
“Sorry Harry, I didn’t, uh— see you there,” he mutters, eyes averted and face going pink.
It’s the biggest reaction Harry’s gotten to waving about his unclothed penis in a year, and it sends the same thrill up his spine as it always used to.
“Sorry,” Louis apologizes, and Harry’s head snaps up when Louis nudges him to indicate that it’s on behalf of him. Harry tries to smile in a way that is both charming and apologetic; this is the second time he’s zoned out and missed a question during this interview. “Harry here’s just a bit overtired,” Louis says, ruffling Harry’s hair. What the camera doesn’t catch is Louis’s nails digging into his scalp, catching in his curls and tugging in a way that makes Harry’s throat constrict tight around a groan. “We all are. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
Four pairs of eyes land on Harry simultaneously, and then three of them dart away; Louis’ eyes linger, sparking and crinkling up at the corners with the wicked force of his grin. There had been a bit of tension between the five of them already (especially with Zayn, who’s sitting next to Harry but is leaning so far away from him that he’s pressed lengthwise against Niall, pushing him half off the arm of the couch), but now it’s ratcheted up to a level the interviewer might be able to spot, never mind the terrifyingly observant fans. Zayn’s not touching Harry, and Niall’s face is red, but Niall’s face is often red, and Liam is fiddling with his mic and refolding his leg under himself and not looking at anyone but the interviewer. Louis is still looking right at Harry. Harry nods and, trying to keep his voice even even though he’s shaking all over, says, “Yeah, bit of a disturbance on the tour bus.”
“Really? Can you tell us more about what happened?” The interviewer suddenly looks a lot more invested in them and less in her notepad of questions.
Niall laughs hysterically, a strangled sort of laugh that registers as desperation in Harry’s mind, and Zayn snorts and Liam pretends to tighten his shoelace and Louis laughs too, the only one who seems to genuinely find any of this funny, and slings an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Oh y’know, Harry was just being a bit rowdy. A bit noisy. He sure can be a handful, can’t he lads?”
Harry is afraid Liam might choke to death on his embarrassment, judging by the noise he makes. He would clap him on the back to be sure he’s breathing okay, but he’s afraid that would put him in an even more fragile state. Niall laughs again, weakly. Zayn glares at Louis, who is brushing all the follow-up questions off like a true bullshitter. Harry, for his part, tries to nonchalantly place his hand on the couch at an angle where his arm will block his boner from the camera’s view. But it’s probably too late. His Twitter feed tonight will probably be full of grainy screencaps of this interview with his crotch circled in red in Paint, and this time the fans will be right about the reason for the outline in his trousers.
Two days later, everything is normal again. The boys touch him without hesitating or lingering too long, and none of them give him that look like, Oh god, I know what you sound like when you come. (Well, except Louis, but Harry likes that look from Louis.)
Now that everyone’s moved on and let their guard down, he can act on the vibes he got from Zayn the first morning after. He’s got a whole elaborate plan. He nicked Zayn’s iPod and put it on the desk in his hotel room, as if Zayn had forgotten it there the night before when Harry was showing him how to stream the shows he was missing at home on his laptop, and Zayn’s going to work out with Liam in a half hour, so he’ll come looking for it.
Harry closes his door and checks twice to make sure it’s unlocked. Then he sits on his bed, lifts his hips and wriggles out of his boxers. His cock slaps up against his stomach, already hard. He bites his lip and touches his open hand to the head, pressing his cock in against his belly and smearing precome over the lines and folds in the soft skin of his palm. Then he circles his fingers around the shaft and lies back on the bed. He tries to keep his strokes light and fleeting, but it’s hard. He keeps remembering how flustered Zayn was, how he couldn’t even look at Harry without blushing, and that was just from hearing him.
His phone vibrates loudly against the surface of his nightstand. Harry almost knocks his lamp over reaching for it. He stops moving his hand and unlocks his phone.
It’s a text from Zayn: “did i leave my ipod in yr room?”
Harry’s dick jumps and he groans as he starts moving his hand again. He drops his phone without replying to the text. Zayn’s going to get impatient, and he’s going to come looking for it; Harry doesn’t have to do a thing except try not to come before Zayn shows up. He brings his other hand down to cup his balls, press them into the warmth of his palm as he jerks himself off faster. He licks his lips and slides his thumb over the slit in the head, moves it in a little circular motion to feel how wet he’s getting and moans because he can hear footsteps coming closer to his door and oh my god, he’s really getting off on this.
“Harry?” Zayn calls, and knocks once, a cursory gesture, before he opens the door, “Hey Harry, did I leave my— oh shit.” His eyes land on Harry the moment he steps into the room, and then they go wide and his mouth drops open. Harry’s does as well, on an exaggerated breathy moan, and his eyes slide closed, and he can hear Zayn not leaving and it only takes him two more tugs before he’s coming so hard that a bit of it lands on his shoulder, the rest in lines across his stomach and chest.
The door slams shut. When Harry looks up, the room’s empty.
“Zayn!” Harry calls, quietly pleased with how gravelly his voice sounds, “Zayn, come back! Your iPod is in here, man. I’d get it, but I’m a little... messy. At the moment.”
“I knocked!” Zayn snaps when he comes back into the room, a hand clamped over his eyes. “If you got my text, why didn’t you, I don’t know, stop wanking and answer it?”
“I dunno,” Harry says, with a smile Zayn can probably hear. Zayn grumbles something under his breath that doesn’t sound very charitable. Actually, it sounds like such a fucking twat. “Desk, Zayn, on the desk,” Harry instructs when Zayn just sort of stands there. Zayn reaches over, groping blindly, and Harry adds, “To the right, past my laptop. No, past my laptop. Yeah. There you go.”
Zayn shoves his iPod in his pocket, flips Harry off, and slams out of the room again.
He gets Liam a week later. Same setup, but this time he takes Liam’s shoes, which is not really very subtle. But Liam isn’t paranoid, not ever suspicious of people’s motives, so when he comes into Harry’s room after he’s looked everywhere else, tore my room apart and didn’t find a thing! You wouldn’t happen to have seen them, would you? and finds him, in much the same position Zayn found him, but this time with two fingers in his ass, it can’t have even crossed his mind that Harry wanted it that way.
“Oh! Oh, wow, Harry, I’m so sorry,” he stutters, probably louder than he means to, and then stumbles out of the room babbling something about just borrowing Zayn’s sneakers, they pinch my toes a bit but I can live for one night, sorry again Harry, and then an emphatic “oh my god” when he thinks he’s out of earshot.
Harry rubs his fingers over his prostate until he comes with a sharp cry, the shocked look on Liam’s face playing over and over on the back of his eyelids like a DVD that’s skipping. (Or one that he’s purposely rewinding and playing, rewinding and playing and pausing and rewinding and playing and rewinding and playing again.)
Niall isn’t so easy. Zayn and Liam’s encounters got around the tour bus in no time, and now none of them will come into Harry’s room if the door’s closed, no matter what he hides from them in there. Wanking in random places where Niall might come across him works just as well as he thought it would— not at all. After two unsuccessful weeks, he sort of gives up. Niall must really be on his toes for Harry to have failed after so many attempts.
He’s not even at the hotel right now. It’s just Harry and Zayn, and Zayn’s holed up in his room skyping with two of his friends from home. Harry pushes himself up off his bed, where he’d been lying face-down trying to get a bit of rest, to check the time. It’ll be at least two hours until Louis and Liam get back from sightseeing and Louis and Zayn drag him out for food and alcohol, and he’s exhausted. Not just tired, but sore. All his muscles ache when he stretches, and they ache even more when he walks to the door. Zayn gives a pretty good back massage, but Harry doesn’t want to bother him when he’s catching up with friends. Plus, his entire body hurts. What he could really use right now is a hot tub. He hasn’t got one, but there is a big bath tub in the full bathroom of their suite; he strips off his boxers and heads for the bathroom the second the thought enters his head.
Harry used to run baths for his mum on nights when she worked late. Gemma did it when she still lived at home and Harry took over when she moved out. His mum would come out of the bathroom in her robe with her hair up in a towel and kiss Harry on the cheek and tell him he was the loveliest son anyone could ask for. His mum was right about how nice baths can be at the end of a hard day, as she is about most things. Every time he’s had access to a tub and free time on the tour, he’s spent an hour or more soaking, melting out every twinge in his joints. (On one memorable occasion, Harry got out of the tub all pruny and content and smelling like soap, and Louis dragged him into his room and put his mouth on every inch, every inch, of Harry’s skin until he was boneless and trembling and not so clean anymore.)
Harry sinks down into the water when he’s got it almost the right temperature, and it only takes him a bit of fiddling with the taps to get it perfect— just a few degrees below scalding. Harry sighs and tips his head back to get comfortable against the edge of the tub, but it feels weird having his hair dry while the rest of him is wet, so he dunks his head under the water and scrapes it back off his face, then settles back down again. The tub’s big enough that he can stretch his legs out all the way, so the soles of his feet press into the opposite side. He works his shoulders with his hands, groaning as he eases the tension out of his muscles as best he can. It’s not as good as it would be if Zayn were doing it, but it still feels amazing combined with the water enveloping him, the heat seeping into his skin. Harry slides his hand down to his chest, presses his palm over his nipple and it hardens under his touch. He licks his lips, arousal stirring in his gut, and figures, why not; he’s alone and intends to remain that way, which means he can try not to rush it for the first time in weeks.
He gradually submerges his hands as he drags them down his stomach and along his thighs, then spreads his legs and bends them at the knee so he touch the insides of his thighs, palms flat and fingers spread wide over the hot skin. He thinks about getting a finger or two inside himself, but once he touches his cock he knows he won’t need it. Just this is enough, his hand and the steam rising up all around him and the slippery friction of the water sloughing off him as he sits up higher and gets a better grip. He strokes his cock lazily, breathing deep and slowly, slowly winding himself up with the memories of the last three wanks he’s had with someone, or four someones, present. It’s the most leisurely one he’s had in a while.
Or at least, it is until the door opens and Harry’s eyes flutter open to see Niall in the doorway.
“Thought you were out,” Harry muses when the moment of surprise passes, his body heating up even more as he takes in Niall’s gradually flushing face. The heat and pleasure’s made him so delirious that it takes him a while to remember that this is exactly what he’s been trying to make happen for weeks. He clears his throat and tries to remain casual, because maybe it’ll get Niall to say a little longer. “What’re you doing here?”
“Got back early and Zayn was taking a shower in the other bathroom.” He doesn’t seem flustered at all, except for the initial flush. But Niall looks like that every time he stumbles upon Harry showing a lot of skin. Harry wonders if... maybe the sides of the tub are too high for Niall to see anything. He’s still jerking off, even faster now that Niall’s here, and Niall isn’t reacting at all. “Why wasn’t the door locked?” Niall asks. Curious, not accusatory like he’s angry at Harry for thrusting this image upon him.
Harry didn’t leave the door unlocked on purpose. He really didn’t. When they have a suite like this, with adjoining rooms and one or two shared bathrooms, they have rules about it. Always lock the bathroom door when you are occupying the bathroom; if the door’s not locked, you can go right in. (Liam made it mandatory the second time he walked in on Zayn trimming his pubes.) They trust this, and rely on it. It would’ve been perfect for Harry to exploit in his favor, but he didn’t even think of it.
“Forgot, sorry,” Harry grunts. He’s not sure if this is hotter if Niall doesn’t know or if he does. Something about this is doing it for Harry, though. Having a normal conversation with Niall while he touches himself, Niall none the wiser. Maybe he could even come like this, right in front of Niall without Niall knowing. He jerks himself fast enough to get the water sloshing around and asks, voice admirably even, “Did you need something?”
Niall waves his hand. “Nah, I’ll wait for Zayn to get out of the other bathroom. He’s gotta be almost done by now. You look pretty comfortable there.”
Harry nods. “I am,” he says, and his voice is rough enough that he’s sure Niall will think something’s off, but Niall just laughs indulgently and leans against the doorframe, like he intends to stay awhile. He has to say something else or Niall will leave, so he asks, “Where were you today?” and crosses his free fingers that Niall doesn’t think anything of the breathlessness of it.
“Oh, my brother was in town, so we went to a pub and watched the game. Good time.”
“That’s nice.” Niall has no idea. He has no idea. He’s staring right into Harry’s eyes, and he has no idea. Niall starts talking again, going into details about the game that Harry’s not hearing because his heart is pounding and he’s concentrating too hard on not arching his spine and moaning aloud when he comes. He, for the first time while in front of someone else, tries to keep it subtle; he clenches his jaw and presses his lips tight together and his eyes slide shut, for one eon of a second, as his toes curl against the side of the tub and he spills into his hand.
“And you’re not even listening to me,” Niall sighs, shaking his head good-naturedly at Harry, “so I’m gonna go see if the other bathroom’s free. Don’t fall asleep in there or you’ll shrivel up like a prune. Or drown.”
“Noted,” Harry breathes, managing a close-mouthed smile before Niall shuts the door.
Harry lies back and sinks down into the water until his face is the only part of him exposed to the air.
Harry’s on the couch in the common area of their suite, feet propped up on the seat and knees apart as he scrolls through the list he’s made of his friends on Twitter. He’d thought about turning the TV on, but the controller was all the way on the other side of the coffee table and he was quite comfortable where he was, scrunched up in the corner of the couch with his back to the arm. He’s got a few hours before he has to be anywhere, and he’s never sure how to use time like that. He has this nagging feeling that he should be catching up on something more important than Twitter, doing something more important than tweeting some replies to friends and fans, but his hectic life has him missing so much that he never knows where to start with the little free time he has. This seems as good as anything.
Harry feels lips brushing his ear and his foot kicks out in surprise, knocking the coffee table askew.
“Calm down before you break something. It’s just me,” Louis says softly.
“Oh. Hi.” Harry smiles and relaxes back into the couch, into Louis’ touch. He draws the coffee table back where it belongs with his ankle hooked around a leg and then props his feet up on it, stretching his legs out. Louis puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder, then slips it under Harry’s thin t-shirt to thumb at his collarbone; Harry tilts his head up to find Louis’ lips, but Louis draws back out of his reach. Harry purses his lips in an inviting little pout and says, “Hey. Kiss me.”
Louis speaks in Harry’s ear again; “Not just yet,” he says, and slides both his hands down Harry’s chest, dragging his t-shirt down so the wrinkled hem is almost past his nipples. (The first two, anyway.) “What’s this I hear about everyone catching you wanking?” Louis asks, and Harry can’t stop his startled intake of breath. “Am I not satisfying you sexually, hmmm?” Louis murmurs, punctuating his question with a teasing nip to Harry’s earlobe.
Harry’s already getting turned on. The others told Louis about seeing Harry. Louis knows. “What if you’re not, huh?” Harry teases back, even though he actually wants to ask Louis who told him and when and what they said and how they said it and what their face looked like when they said it. “You gonna do something about it?”
Louis bites his ear a little harder and Harry whines, reaching up a hand to twist into Louis’ hair. He pulls Louis close, so his next words are breathed into the curve of Harry’s neck, “Not fair, Harry. How come I’m the only person in this band who hasn’t seen you having a wank? I’m hurt.”
Harry’s next exhale is shaky and unsteady because he’s trying so hard not to moan outright; it’s even harder when Louis rubs rough fingers against Harry’s nipple through his shirt. “You have, though.”
“Yeah, when I was fucking you or you were sucking my dick. Not what I’m talking about. I want to see you get yourself off without me touching you. Not once.”
“You’re touching me right now,” Harry points out cheekily.
Louis takes his hands off him immediately, which wasn’t quite what Harry was expecting, but okay; Louis’ taking this seriously. Harry’s shirt stays stretched out when Louis lets go of it, collar misshapen by Louis’ hands. Louis leans in, close as he can get without contact, and whispers, “Get in my bedroom.”
Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already done stripping off when Louis shuts the door behind him. Louis tells him to get up on the bed, all the way up the pillows, and then he climbs up too and sits perched on the foot of it.
“Go on,” Louis nods when Harry doesn’t make a move, “Touch yourself. Touch your cock for me.”
Harry smiles a dirty smile and does as Louis says, until he’s fully hard. Harry lets his legs fall open and grips the base of his cock tight, the way Louis does before he starts sucking Harry off, and Louis licks his lips and leans forward unconsciously. “What else, huh Lou? What else should I do?”
Louis must realize he’s salivating a little over Harry’s cock because he abruptly sits back, trapping his hands under his thigh. “Touch your nipples. Know you like that.”
Harry pinches his right, uppermost nipple and twists it in his fingers, sucking in a breath at the hint of pain he wrings out. “Good?”
Louis raises his eyebrows when Harry starts to take his hand away. “Don’t forget your third one.”
Harry laughs as he circles his fingertip over the higher of his two smaller nipples, feeling a bit silly. “What about the fourth one then?”
“I like the third one best.”
Harry laughs again, but it’s shorter than before— his breathing’s starting to speed up.
“Is this doing it for you?” Louis asks. He sounds more breathless than Harry.
Harry nods, because it is, but not, he’s quickly realizing, because it’s hitting this newly-discovered... thing of his. It’s because it’s Louis and Louis’ voice and Louis’ bright, dilated green eyes rapt on him, and that’s all Harry ever needs to turn him on. It’s great, but it’s not the same as when Liam and Zayn walked in on him, when Niall watched him. This doesn’t feel dirty; it just feels like sex with Louis, except one-sided. What’s dirty about making himself come in front of Louis? Even when Louis fetches lube from his travel bag and chucks it to Harry and Harry squirts it into his hand, circles two slick fingers over his hole and pushes them in and opens himself up so he can work in a third and Louis watches him, watches all of it, barely blinking as he rubs his cock through his jeans, Harry still doesn’t get the same thrill as he did just wanking that first night, when all four of the boys could hear him.
Louis gets up on his knees to shove his jeans down and then, once he’s got them down his thighs, rocks back into a sitting position so he can tug them off by the skinny ankles. He pulls his t-shirt off too. “Fuck, Harry, this is really hot,” he groans as he grabs a hold of his cock through his underwear. “Go faster.”
Harry doesn’t disagree, it just... could be hotter. But the second thing Louis said— Harry’s happy to go along with that. He props one foot up so it’s flat on the bed and raises his hips up a bit so he can thrust his fingers in and out without as much resistance, hit his prostate more often and make himself moan for Louis.
“I wanna see it, Harry, fuck,” Louis groans. The dark head of Louis’ cock sticks out from under the tight waistband of his boxer briefs as he jerks himself off through the fabric, looking wet at the tip, and Harry thinks about mouthing at him with the fabric still separating his lips from Louis’ salty skin, until it’s damp all the way through. “Come on, Harry. I wanna see you come like you do when I’m not there. Like you did when Zayn saw you.”
Harry moans, sharp and surprised and says, “Yes, Louis. Tell me what he told you.” He almost comes too soon when he starts actively jerking himself off again in anticipation for what Louis is going to say; he has to wrap his hand tight around the base of his cock and leave it there, breathe for a moment before he can push his fingers back in deep because Louis talking about this, talking about this while he watches Harry get off from the thought of it, is almost too much.
Louis pushes his fringe back off his forehead and re-arranges himself so he’s sitting half cross-legged, his legs loosely folded. “He said he walked in, and he looked at you and you looked back at him and— well, ‘moaned like a fucking porn star and jizzed all over himself’, were his exact words. Bit crude, but he paints a nice, obscene picture. I heard him rubbing one out after you fell asleep the night you had a wank for everyone to hear, by the way. Forgot to tell you that. ”
Harry can barely breathe. He’s fucking himself fast now, his arm beginning to cramp from the angle it’s at, but he keeps it up through the discomfort. If he started jerking himself off again, this’d be all over in seconds. But he doesn’t want that. He wants to hear everything Louis has to say before this ends.
“Is that what Liam saw too? He wouldn’t tell me, but I could tell from his face that it was something awfully filthy you were doing, Harry. You know what he said? He came up to me last night and he said, ‘Louis, are you and Harry, like...’” Louis puts on a spot-on impersonation of Liam’s fading Wolverhampton accent, lowering his voice to match the deepness of it as well— as if Harry couldn’t already hear Liam’s voice perfectly in his mind, “‘on a break, or something? Because he’s seemed a bit. Um. Horny, lately.’ Totally sincere, too. Can you believe that, Harry?” Louis asks, affecting surprise, “I tried to get it out of him, but he just went all red and stuttery and said he was glad our relationship wasn’t in trouble.”
“He would,” Harry grunts, huffing out a laugh.
“Yes, now answer my question, Harry,” Louis demands, eyes narrowing. “What were you doing?”
“Liam saw me like this,” Harry pants, thrusting exaggeratedly into himself so Louis gets what he means. “Except, minus one finger.”
Louis’ got his hand inside his underwear now, moving quick. “Christ, Harry. His innocence is ruined. Oh, I get it. Getting him back for all that singing he does about making messes upon innocences, am I right?” He waits for Harry to laugh at his cheesy joke, but Harry’s too distracted going out of his mind with how badly he wants to come. (Not that he would have laughed at that anyway.) So Louis continues, “What about Niall, then? Was he just too embarrassed to say?”
“Niall didn’t— didn’t know,” Harry pants. He’s trying to fuck himself and jerk himself off with the same force at the same time, but it’s near impossible to maintain, so he settles for switching back and forth and wishing Louis’d help him out here. “I was in the tub, in the big bathroom in here, yesterday, and I was just having a wank by myself and he walked in, ‘cause the door was unlocked...” Harry trails off because Louis is getting up, crawling up the bed and motioning for Harry to scooch over so he can sit beside him. He doesn’t touch him once, not even the barest accidental brush; he’s certainly got more willpower than Harry.
“Keep talking,” Louis says, breathless, right next to his ear. Harry can hear Louis jerking off now and he glances over to see Louis’ underwear bunched where it’s been hastily pushed down, his ass half hanging out and his balls resting on top of the waistband. Louis sees Harry looking and he shuts his eyes and whines, hand moving even faster on his cock. For a moment Harry’s sure Louis’ going to come, but he backs himself down off the edge and opens his eyes again. “Stop watching me,” he scolds. “Gonna make me come, looking at me like that. I’m watching you, remember? Now go on, finish your story.”
“Niall was...” Harry starts, and the memory is so fresh that he can still feel the heat on his skin, “He was standing in the doorway, talking to me, and Louis, Louis god, I came and he was looking in my eyes and he had no idea, he—” Harry gasps, pressing his fingers unrelentingly against his prostate as he works his cock with all the strength he has left in his hand.
“Oh my, Harry. You naughty little exhibitionist,” Louis breathes directly into Harry’s ear, awe in his voice, and Harry says, “Oh, oh,” and bites his lip as he comes, so hard and for so long his lip swells between his teeth. His fingers are still twitching inside himself as he works every last drop of come out of his cock, drawing it out until it’s too sensitive to touch. Then he drops his hand onto his stomach and dips his fingers into the come cooling on his stomach. He blows out an exhausted breath and swipes his tongue over his swollen lip and glances over at Louis through half-closed eyes; Louis smiles at him like a shark.
Harry’s heart rate barely has a chance to start to slow before Louis’ gathering Harry’s limp body up in his arms. Harry moans weakly, head lolling to the side a bit. Louis puts his hand on the back of Harry’s head to hold it where he wants it and kisses him; Harry’s too dazed to do much more than open his mouth to let Louis’ tongue in. Louis tugs Harry’s fingers out of his ass by his wrist and slides his hand from Harry’s head down his neck, and finally to brace along his spine, holding Harry steady as he fits his cock up there instead. Harry wraps his arms loosely around Louis’ shoulders and sprawls across his lap, thighs spread wide, and Louis kisses down his neck and across his shoulder and bites down on his flushed skin as he grabs Harry’s hips and fucks up into him at a pace that leaves Harry gasping. It doesn’t take him long to get hard again, with Louis roughing him up and using him like this. He’s panting against Louis’ neck, taking every thrust and working his hips back now that he’s got the inclination.
Louis pauses in his thrusting and whispers, “D’you see that?” Harry picks his heavy head up off Louis’ shoulder and looks in the direction Louis’ head is turned.
“What? I don’t see anything. Come on, keep going,” he begs, squeezing Louis’ shoulder to urge him on. Louis shushes him. Harry looks closer, squints and thinks he sees... yeah there is definitely a shadow under the door. Someone’s feet. Someone’s outside.
Louis gives Harry a meaningful look and then shouts an exaggerated, “Oh, Harry.” Normally Harry would giggle, especially after Louis winked at him like he just did, but as the feet hastily retreat all Harry can think about is how much he wishes whoever it was had come in. Had seen him spread over Louis’ hips, Louis’ cock fucking him open and loose, their bodies sweaty and flushed and tangled together and marks all up Harry’s neck from Louis’ mouth. He wonders who it was as Louis picks up speed again, knocking the breath out of Harry with the way he follows through on each thrust; if the door had opened, would it have been Liam, shutting his eyes tight and stuttering apologies, or Niall, flushing and hurrying out with a, “Woah, lads, my bad,”, or Zayn, looking lingeringly between them, from Harry to Louis and back to Harry again, eyebrow quirked with interest, before remembering himself and muttering an unconvincing apology? Harry digs his short nails into Louis’ back and comes imagining all three of them in turn.
After Louis has come too, and he’s lying on top of Harry (because he knocked Harry onto his back after Harry came to reach his own orgasm quicker) with their chests pressed heaving together, Louis runs his hand through Harry’s sweaty, tangled curls and says, “I have the best ideas. Admit it.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, just smiles, and Louis swoops in to kiss his left dimple. Harry fondly shoves his face away.
Harry thinks he’s got a good idea too, but he’s not so sure Louis will agree that him fucking Harry in front of the lads is a good idea.
« PART TWO »