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Louis wakes up, somewhere in the world (he thinks it's Belgium, but it could be Amsterdam too; Europe is confusing, okay?), and he's pretty sure he's dying. He remembers feeling exhausted the day before, some sneezing too, but he'd brushed it off as touring and dust. But he's definitely dying today: his throat feels like it's burning and his nose is running and he's just. He's dying.
He fumbles his way out of bed – with some struggle, because why are there always more blankets on hotel beds when he wakes up than when he falls asleep? - and crosses the room to the small coffee maker the room supplies. Along with the crappy tea and coffee choices the room also supplies. Oh god, he's dying and he has to die without good, no, without actual tea.
Maybe he died from whatever this is, and this hotel room is actually Hell. Or purgatory.
He flops back onto the bed with a loud groan, and regrets it almost immediately. It hurts his throat even more and he finally settles for pulling one of the many pillows that are on his bed over his face. If he's in pain, he clearly can't be dead. Damn. He was making a pretty good go at the whole dying-slash-being dead thing.
After a while, which feels like half an hour later but is probably only like five minutes, he's somewhere in the middle of considering on calling the front desk to see if he can get some actual tea sent to his hotel room when his phone rings.
He reaches out blindly, grabbing his phone and hitting answer as he pulls it back under the pillow with him.
“I'm dying,” he announces to whoever is on the other end, because hey, why not. If he's not actually dying and it's someone important, he can just say it was a lovely prank at the time. Hell, if he's real lucky, it'll be like Paul or someone that would actually kill him.
“Aw, damn,” Harry says cheerfully, but that's Harry and he doesn't let much phase him anymore. Louis loves him and hates him for it in the same breath, and Harry will definitely not take kindly to this being a prank later on. “If you do die, we'll just have to find a replacement for you.” He can hear the grin crossing Harry's face, can just hear the dimples appearing. “Maybe they'll be a better dancer.”
There's a moment while he processes that before he groans again, ignoring the pain. He may not be the best dancer in the world, but he's not easily replaceable, what the actual fuck.
“I'm dying, Haz.” He repeats, as if Harry is not understanding this. “You should come up here and make sure I'm not going to die.”
He can hear background noise, and he's pretty sure that Harry's in the pool area. Of course he is; Harry is ridiculous that way. He also thinks he can hear Liam in the background, because of course he is. If he weren't dying and they had time, he and Liam would find something out of Liam's comfort zone to do in this... whatever country it is they're in.
He coughs, and feels the pillow shift as if to suffocate him. He knows that Harry's heard the cough because he makes a small comforting sound.
“You must be coming down with something. I'll be up in a bit, okay?” Harry's voice is soothing and Louis feels a bit less like he's dying.
“Bring me ice.” Louis's finger moves to the hang button, but he pauses. “Also, actual tea.”
There's another comforting sound, and Louis thinks he's willing to forgive the dig at his dancing skills if he keeps making that sound. “I'll send Paul out for the tea, and maybe cough drops for that cough. How's that sound?”
He considers it, turning his head away as he coughs again. “Cough medicine too. Just in case this is a cold and I'm not dying.”
He hears Harry smile again. “Deal.”
Louis's getting out of the shower when there's a knock at the door. He wraps a towel loosely around his waist as he goes to answer it, revealing it to be Harry. His bandmate holds up a Starbucks cup in one hand and a pharmacy bag in the other, a proud grin on his face.
“Presents!” Harry announces happily, and comes inside. Louis shuts the door behind him, raising an eyebrow. He feels less like he's dying after his shower and it seems to have opened his sinuses, for now, but his throat still hurts.
“Thanks.” Louis takes the offered Starbucks and takes a sip. It's closer to actual tea than the garbage sitting by the coffee maker, but it's not actual tea yet, even if it's made just the way he likes it. But he'll deal, he'll cope, so he curls his fingers around the cup with a pleased sound. His eyes flick around Harry's person, taking note of the bag he's still holding. “No ice?”
The smile on Harry's face doesn't even falter as he hands the bag over. “No, I definitely forgot that particular request, but I brought everything else.” The grin broadens, and Louis knows from personal experience that people don't like that expression on his face, so he knows it's bad when it's on Harry's. “Someone get you a pony there, Tommo?”
The shower may have made him feel like less like death, but if it's got Harry cracking jokes at his expense... He narrows his eyes warningly, manages to wrangle out a cough drop from the bag and pops it in his mouth before he responds. “Why?”
“Because you're a little hoarse.” Harry giggles, and any love that Louis might have for this man is out the window. So far gone out the window, he thinks it may have hit the back of the group of fans that are probably hanging out around the hotel.
“That was horrible, Haz.” Louis rolls his eyes as he takes another sip of his tea, a second, a third sip before he finally adds more because that's not just something that can be brushed off with four words. “You should be dragged outside and shot for that horrible crack at my expense.”
Harry shrugs, still smiling. Louis eyes him, sucking on the cough drop in his mouth and taking careful sips of his tea, because there's something in that smile that he's not sure he really trusts.
His gaze drops briefly as he investigates the cough syrup that Paul's gotten him and suddenly, he's got Harry in his space and the towel he'd had around his waist is gone. His eyes flick up to Harry's, widening a bit because he's sick, for crying out loud. Because he's definitely not dying; the shower had revived him a bit.
“What are you -” Louis backs up, the bag dropping to the floor by the towel, but Harry moves with him. “Haz, c'mon, knock it off.”
His retreat is blocked by the bed and he falls back onto it, unable to keep himself from the spread his body does at the action. He's on display for Harry's eyes, and judging by the heated expression on his bandmate's face, it's not an unwelcome display.
He takes a careful sip of his tea – how the bloody fuck did the tea not spill, it's a bloody fucking miracle - and sets it down carefully on the nightstand before propping himself up on his elbows to return the heated look. He knows he ruins it a bit when the cough drop in his mouth clicks against the back of his teeth, but he's just going to run with it, goddammit.
It seems to be working anyway because Harry crawls up on the bed, pressing both hands onto the bed on either side of Louis's body and settling himself between Louis' legs. Louis clicks the cough drop against the back of his teeth again, raising a challenging eyebrow, because although Harry's leaning over him, he's not doing anything. And maybe with a cough drop in his mouth, he shouldn't look challenging in the least, but whatever, that seems to be working too, because Harry ducks his head to trail kisses down his neck.
“So, here's the thing,” Harry says against his neck (and Louis wants to bloody murder him because who talks while clearly trying to seduce him?) and his mouth moves down to Louis's collarbone, tongue flicking against the top curve of the 's' in the 'is' of his tattoo. “You're coming down with something, yeah?”
Harry's tongue is starting to trace the 's', and why does Harry want Louis to think? But he makes some noise that he thinks is supposed to be somewhere in the neighborhood of agreement, but sounds more like a needy moan, because now Harry's starting to trace the 'i' with his tongue, and how the hell is he supposed to think when he's sensitive there?
“So you're supposed to get plenty of sleep.” Harry focuses on the 'it' part of the tattoo and Louis tries to concentrate on the cough drop in his mouth and to not choke on the bloody thing. It's a lot harder than it should be. “And knowing you, you'd only do that if you were knocked out on cold medicine.”
He glances up at Louis from underneath his lashes and he has to fight to not swallow the bloody cough drop and nods, because it doesn't really look like Harry wants an answer. Sure enough, Harry hums pleased and moves over to carefully trace each and every letter of 'it is what it is', and that's it, Louis is pretty sure that he did die in the shower, this is the afterlife and it's trying to not choke on a honey flavored cough drop while trying to not writhe under Harry Styles' bloody fucking tongue.
“S-sleep?” Louis finally manages to get out, curling his fingers uselessly in the sheets. He wants to touch himself because of that fucking tongue, but he's also aware that Harry's hands are close enough to his that if he moves them and Harry doesn't want them moved, that he'll be pinned down. He nearly chokes on the cough drop at that thought.
“Uh huh.” Harry breathes hotly against the wet skin along Louis' collarbones, and Louis' head falls back against the pillows as his fingers twitch in the sheets again. Then Harry's mouth is ghosting its way down his chest and abs as he continues speaking. “So I'm gonna help you relax.”
Louis can feel Harry's jaw brushing against his cock, but he just stares up dazedly at the ceiling because he knows he won't be able to speak anymore. And sure enough, the silence was exactly what Harry was expecting because the next thing he feels is the swipe of a warm tongue along the underside of his cock. His fingers twitch and his hands start to move inward. Harry growls in the back of his throat at the movement and Louis's wrists are suddenly enveloped in Harry's large hands, pressing firmly down.
He bites back a moan, because Harry's holding him hard enough to bruise, and then Harry's got his mouth wrapped around his cock. At the warm heat on his cock, Louis accidentally swallows the cough drop. He can't help it because fucking hell, but at least it's a small miracle that the cough drop is small enough that he won't choke.
“Haz.” He groans out, the sound even hoarser than it would be between the need and the sore throat. There's an approving hum from around him and he digs his heels into the bed, wondering if he can roll his hips up more into the heat of Harry's mouth. But before he can, Harry's pulling off him and rolling off the bed.
Louis Tomlinson just cannot be blamed if a frustrated moan comes out of his throat.
But Harry's not gone for long, coming back with a pleased expression. One hand reaches out to pat Louis's hip. “Roll over, you. Hands and knees.”
Louis narrows his eyes, but he does as told because he can't be blamed if he likes it when Harry takes charge in the bedroom either. Once he's in position, Harry reaches over to put one of Louis's hands on top of the other before looping a scarf around his wrists and tying it. The action sends a jolt down into Louis' belly, followed by another when he realizes that Harry's made sure the scarf is tight enough that it'll leave a bruise on both wrists later.
“Shame to cover that rope tattoo of yours, though.” Harry comments, as if discussing the weather. He's draped over Louis' back, the buckle of his belt pressing against Louis's bare ass and he ducks his head to swipe his tongue along the closest antler of Louis's stag tattoo. He pulls back a bit, giving Louis's ass a playful smack. Louis's head whirls around at that, eyes wide. They widen when confronted with the playful smirk on Harry's face and one of Harry's hands soothes the red skin. “Can't be helped.”
Louis bites down on his lower lip, eyes closing for a moment at the contact. “What are you. What are you planning on doing, Haz?”
There's a sharp smack against his ass, in nearly the same spot, pushing him forward at the action.
“No talking, except to moan and tell me how you like it, Tommo.” The same hand that marred his skin once more soothes the red skin, and the smirk on Harry's face turns impish. It looks normal on, say, Zayn or Louis' face, but not on Harry's. But goddamn if it doesn't turn Louis on more than he is already.
Louis bites down on anything else he might say, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. There's another sharp smack to his ass, on the other side this time, and just like before, it's quickly soothed by careful rubs.
“There's a good Tommo.” Harry leans forward, pressing a kiss against the small of Louis's back and he arches against it. It must be against whatever Harry has planned, because sure enough, there's another sharp smack to the spot on his ass that was just hit. This time, though, Louis can't help the moan that falls out, or the fact he pushes his ass back for more. Harry growls, clearly pleased at the reaction, before delivering a few more hard smacks to each cheek, following each smack with slow, soothing circles.
With each smack, Louis curls his fingers more, slotting them together and curling them into the pillow below him. He wants to touch himself, wants Harry to touch him, but Harry's hands seem to be more preoccupied with massaging circles into his ass and hips.
There's a press of lips just above the curve of his ass, and Louis glances backwards to see what Harry's doing. Harry rests his chin on the spot he'd kissed, smirking a bit at Louis.
“You can't do anything, can you, Boo? What do you want?”
“Can you.” Louis swallows hard, ignoring the pain that the action causes. “Hazza, can you touch me?”
Harry dips his head to press another kiss against the small of Louis' back, humming idly. “Not yet.” He trails kisses down along one cheek, soothing the reddened skin more. “Hey, I know you'd come without me touching you if I fucked you in just the right way.” Louis glances over his shoulder at Harry, trying to convey with his face that he's totally down for that. But Harry's not looking at him, but at the reddened skin he's kissing. “Wonder if you'd come from my mouth down here.”
A stronger man wouldn't have nearly collapsed forward at that sentence. However, while he's not exactly a coward, Louis is not a stronger man when it comes to Harry Styles. So whatever, he can't be blamed that he falls forward, his ass rising more into Harry's face. From the snicker that comes from behind him, Harry's clearly not complaining about the position change either.
“Is that a yes?” Louis can feel Harry's hands massaging circles against his ass, even as Harry asks the question, and he just pushes back against Harry's hands with a needy moan. Again, whatever, he's turned on and he already knows what that tongue is capable of. Besides, it's pretty obvious that Harry's not looking for a vocal response, not with the way his hands are still massaging circles into his ass and the fact that Harry said no talking.
Still. He's not exactly known for being quiet, especially not after being told to be quiet. “Hazza, jesus fucking christ.” He grits out, fingers curling more into the pillow below him.
The reward for his insolence is a sharp smack to the ass, this one harder than the previous ones he's received. The smack pushes his whole body forward and his upper body collapses, pushing his ass even more into the air. There's a chuckle behind him before he feels teeth sink into the skin of one cheek.
His head whips around so fast, he's pretty sure that he's got whiplash to go with the sore throat, eyes widening. “What are you-”
There's another bite on the other cheek and a faint huff from Harry. “I will gag you if you say one more word.”
Louis's eyes widen even more, his mouth falling open, and he must look like he's about to say something because Harry rolls off the bed once more. He bites down hard on his lower lip, watching Harry cross the room to where his suitcase is and continues to watch as Harry comes back with another scarf.
He pushes himself up as best as he can, eyes focused on the scarf. “What.”
“You talk too damn much.” There's a smirk that shouldn't be on Harry's face, a smirk that would be more at home on Louis's face, and then Harry's pressing the scarf against Louis's teeth and securing it behind his head. Louis groans around the gag, eyes closing briefly. The scarf makes his jaw hurt just enough, straddles the line between painful and pleasurable in a way that feels a lot like when he gives head, that it sends yet another wave to the pit of his stomach. He wonders if it shows in his face, because Harry pats his ass. “Much better.”
Louis makes a sound around the gag in his mouth, wiggling his ass and giving what he hopes is an inviting expression. He doesn't know, exactly, how Harry's planning on exhausting him, but he's kinda hoping it's more than just spanking him.
As if aware of his thoughts, Harry moves back behind him. He's allowed a moment to wonder, again, what the plans are, but suddenly there's the press of a warm tongue against his entrance and oh fuck.
He moans against the gag, shoving back against Harry's tongue. Harry chuckles a little, hands coming up to hold his hips in place as his tongue starts to slowly open him up. Things go fuzzy for a few heartbeats for Louis, wanting to push back against the wet intrusion and being unable to because of the warm hands keeping his hips still.
Suddenly, the intruder is gone, replaced by a slick finger, and Louis wonders when Harry'd uncapped lube. Probably in the short time period that things went fuzzy for him, but he doesn't get to think about it long because there's a second finger pressing inside and helping the first to open him up more. He pushes back without thinking about it, and because his hips are free enough to do so, and the action just makes Harry press a third finger in. All three fingers curl to find that spot that makes Louis's knees go weak and makes him wish that Harry would bloody touch him already.
There must be something in the wanton movements he's making, the needy line of his body, because as soon as he wishes Harry would touch him, the fingers are gone, along with the comfortable weight Harry was providing behind him. He wants to whine at the loss, and probably does. But then Harry's weight is back, and his cock is pushing inside without preamble. Louis knows for a fact he whines around the gag at that, using his bound hands as much as he can to push back against Harry.
Harry slams into him a few times before reaching around to stroke him in time with his thrusts, and Louis pretty much falls apart as soon as he's touched. His head falls backwards against Harry's shoulder, crying out around the gag as he comes hard. There's a quiet chuckle against his neck, and Harry follows him after one, two, three more thrusts, the curse that falls from Harry's lips muffled into the line of Louis's neck.
Louis manages to not quite collapse beneath Harry's weight and the bonelessness he feels in the aftermath of his orgasm, but it's a close thing. His eyes droop close, and he can feel Harry moving around to get comfortable. He's beginning to hover around the edges of sleep when he feels both scarves get untied, and he works his jaw sleepily before yawning.
“Exhausted?” Louis doesn't open his eyes, but he can hear the amused sound in Harry's voice.
“Thought sleep was necessary to get better if I'm sick.”
Harry chuckles softly, and Louis feels the bed shift slightly as Harry covers them both up.
Well. Louis might not be dying, and this may be only a cold. But really, now he's just sleepy. So, he does the right thing: he falls asleep, snuggling into Harry as he does so.