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"my heart’s aflame
my body’s strained
but god I like it"
- "Wolf Life Me"
It happens because Louis is stoned off his fucking head, and no one can find the fucking remote, and the Westminster Fucking Kennel Fucking Club Fucking Dog Fucking Show comes on after some golf tournament Niall and Harry wanted to watch goes off.
One minute Louis’ half-assedly throwing sofa cushions at Liam, trying to make him get up to find the remote, and the next he’s staring at the screen with his mouth hanging open, and he’s got the weirdest fucking boner he’s ever had in his life.
Considering he regularly gets his ass knotted by a werewolf, that’s probably saying something.
It is not, thank fucking Christ, actually about the fucking dogs, or about fucking the dogs, as it were. He’s not fallen that far down the weird rabbit hole of sexual perversion.
His brain is fuzzy and soft, slow to figure out what’s actually making his stomach tighten up, his hips shift against the sofa even though he’s sitting right between Zayn and Liam and Niall’s on the floor between his legs.
It’s about the judges, Louis thinks hazily, the way they get to poke and prod and inspect, demand things and set standards, look on like they’re uninterested while they judge whatever it is dog show judges judge.
Dogs, probably.
Even he can tell his brain is going to a weird place when he looks down at the top of Niall’s head resting against his knees, imagines Niall standing ramrod straight, eyes forward, body tense to show Louis how good he can be. That’s probably not normal.
Louis’ll worry about it later.
Louis doesn’t actually plan to bring it up. Asking Niall to knot him and playfully calling him a good boy feels a lot fucking different than asking Niall to actually pretend to be a show dog just to let Louis work through whatever weird fucking power play his brain is caught up on.
The problem is that it’s a month later, and the tour’s over, and Niall’s in Ireland and Louis is not in Ireland, and Louis is still thinking about it.
Louis is thinking about it so much that he’s watching dog show videos on Youtube. Louis is thinking about it so much that he’s got an Amazon tab open with “dog collars for people” in the search bar. Louis is thinking about it so much that, when his phone buzzes with a text from Niall, he panics and throws his laptop onto the floor, wincing at the crash and the way the screen flickers black.
Well, fuck. Another thing to worry about later.
Thudding footsteps sound through the hall and then Bruce is skidding into the room, fur a mess from the mud outside. He tracks pawprints on the carpet and then up onto the couch when he jumps to sit beside Louis while he checks his phone with shaky hands.
comin to london next week for charity stuff !
In spite of his possibly destroyed laptop and weird dog show fetish, and his actual dog looking at him accusingly from one couch cushion over, Louis’ heart skips a happy beat in his chest.
stay at mine ?
It’s absurd that he feels nervous about asking, but he does. Niall’s been over to his house before, but not since- well. The knotting thing. The sort-of boyfriend thing. The knotting sort-of boyfriend thing.
Niall sends back some blushing smiley faces and thumbs up emojis, plus some info about his schedule.
Louis’ laptop screen flickers back to life, “dog collars for people” still on display. Bruce looks at him reproachfully, and Louis drops his head against the back of the couch, staring morosely at the ceiling.
“Don’t give me that look, Brucie. Trust me, I already know.”
Bruce barks once before bounding off the couch and out of the room, clearly disgusted by Louis being a freakass weirdo.
Niall arrives three days later, and Louis has carefully, methodically, some might say obsessively cleared his browser history at least six times already this morning.
Niall’s just got one bag slung over his shoulder and Bruce is going mad, jumping to put his huge paws on Niall’s shoulders, all those expensive dog training sessions right out the fucking window, apparently. Louis’d be mad, but he sort of feels the same way, hands fisted in his joggers while he watches Niall laugh and shove Bruce away, closing Louis’ front door behind him.
“Tommo,” he says, grinning, eyes bright, cheeks so red, the way they only go when he's really, really pleased.
“Pup.” Niall’s face goes redder and Louis is just light-headed with how easy it is to fall back together.
Bruce barks, then gives Niall a Look, and Louis knows that Bruce is a dirty traitor who’d tell Niall all about “dog collars for people” if he could talk. Luckily, Niall’s already moving towards the kitchen, and Louis nudges Bruce to get his attention, whispers, “Don’t think I won’t sell you.”
But of fucking course Niall can hear him- Louis still forgets sometimes- and Niall snorts, glancing over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised. “You two having an argument?”
“Bruce is a betrayer,” Louis says darkly, glaring down at his backstabbing dog.
Bruce barks, the picture of innocence.
Louis sighs heavily while Niall just laughs, dropping his bag on the kitchen counter. “Et tu, Bruce?” Louis grumbles.
They fall into bed ridiculously early, the sun still filtering in through Louis’ bedroom curtains, but Niall’s tired from his flight, and they’ve been roughhousing all day, growling and pushing each other off the couch and into walls, stupid, silly things that make Louis feel impossibly light and happy.
“I still can’t believe I did that,” Niall mumbles, half-asleep. He’s touching the raised scar at the juncture of Louis’ neck and shoulder- the scar in exactly the shape of Niall’s teeth.
Louis tilts his neck back against the pillow, lets Niall clumsily feel out the edges of the bite. “You’re an untamed beast, aren’t you, Niall?” Louis asks softly, laughing to himself.
“Nah,” Niall says, pressing his face into Louis’ neck. “Reckon you tamed me good, Tommo.”
Niall’s probably too asleep to hear the way Louis’ breath cuts out.
Louis walks into the kitchen the next morning and promptly starts pinching his own thigh, trying frantically to wake up, because-
“Morning,” Niall says brightly, laughing as he self-consciously runs his fingers over the collar around his neck. Louis’ brain is absolute mush, and he can’t do anything but stand there like an idiot, eyes locked on the oddly familiar black leather while he waits to wake up back in his own bed, sweating.
“What’s- where did- what?” Louis stammers, because he’s a fucking idiot and his heart's going to give out.
Niall, bless him, only looks mildly confused by Louis losing his mind. “Sorry if it’s weird- Bruce kept putting it in my hand- I even took it away and put it on the counter but he jumped up and got it-”
Bruce does not look remotely repentant, sitting by Niall’s feet and wagging his tail victoriously.
When Niall ducks into the fridge to get breakfast started, Louis gestures angrily at Bruce, mouthing you did this! Traitor!, but Bruce’s only response is to look hideously smug before trotting out of the room.
Niall straightens up with a carton of eggs cradled in his arms and a pack of bacon hanging from his teeth, and Louis schools his face into something neutral.
“So are you just going to leave that on?” Louis asks, desperately aiming for casual and falling somewhere laughably short if Niall’s furrowed eyebrows are anything to go by.
Niall cracks a handful of eggs into a pan on the stove, and his voice is careful when he asks, “Does it bother you?”
“No,” Louis answers immediately, then grimaces. “I mean, I don’t- have any strong feelings. About it. It’s just a dog collar. Who cares. Right?” He sounds desperate by the end, trying to read something from Niall’s easy, impassive face and loose posture.
“Right,” Niall agrees, grinning over his shoulder at Louis. He sticks his tongue out and barks once, a sharp, ridiculous sound, and Louis rushes out of the kitchen so fast he nearly runs into the doorframe.
They’re watching tv on the sofa, and Niall’s still got the fucking collar on. Louis knows because he can’t stop looking, doesn’t even know what show they’re watching because he can’t stop staring at Niall’s neck.
Niall laughs, a big loud belly laugh that startles Louis out of his distraction. “Fuckin’ classic,” Niall says, turning to grin at Louis about whatever’s just happened on tv, but instead he catches Louis staring at his neck like a vampire.
"Alright?" he asks, eyebrows raised curiously.
"Ace," Louis agrees, turning his eyes back to the tv with a truly herculean effort.
They don't really do anything.
Actually, Louis supposes that's technically a lie. They watch a shitfuck ton of television and play video games and order food. They run around with Bruce in the backyard, and Louis makes Niall listen to about a thousand different songs he's been putting on a playlist that's just titled with the dog emoji. They go to dinner with Liam and Sophia, and work on writing music that isn't even necessarily for an album, just do it because it's fun.
But when night or early morning rolls around and they crawl into bed, it doesn't go much further than a bit of kissing, a few minutes of playful wrestling if Louis realizes Niall snagged the good pillow. Niall either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, and that's good, Louis tells himself, because Louis really, really needs to get the whole weirdo dog show thing out of his head before they ever have sex again if he doesn't want to fucking embarrass himself. He's not sure how to get it out of his head, but he'll figure it out.
Probably.
Eventually.
They stumble back in from the charity event a few nights later, pleasantly buzzed and wrapped around one another, Niall's hands shoved up under Louis' shirt, calloused fingertips sending a streak of goosebumps running up Louis' back. They've been kissing for ages, in the restroom at the ball, in the back of the car on the ride home, standing inside the front door while Bruce barks like mad in the background. Louis feels great. Really, really great. Barely even thinking about the weird shit in his head. Hardly thinking about it at all.
"You've been acting fuckin' weird," Niall mumbles against his neck, and Louis freezes.
The thing is, it doesn't sound like an accusation. It's just an observation, easy and a little curious, and it doesn't stop Niall from teething at the base of Louis' throat or anything. But Louis' stomach lurches unpleasantly and his heart hammers, and after a few seconds, Niall pulls back to check on him.
"I don't know what you mean," Louis says carefully, because he really, really hopes he hasn't somehow given away that stupid thing that's been running dizzy circles in the back of his head for weeks. He hid the fucking dog collar between his mattress and box spring the second Niall took it off to get in the shower, so he hasn't been leering at Niall's neck. He cleared his internet history again, just to be cautious. Even with his mind racing for ways he might've given himself away, Louis can't come up with anything, just has to give Niall his best blank face and hope Niall accepts it.
"It's just- the dog collar thing," Niall says.
Well, Louis thinks grimly, can't win them all.
"I hope I didn't freak you out when I put it on," Niall continues, one hand going up to squeeze the back of his neck nervously. "I was just playing around, you know? I thought you'd think it was funny." Niall grimaces, shrugging. "Like, 'pup', you know? Didn't mean to make things weird."
Louis' brain absolutely shits itself with relief, right before the frothing, agonizing guilt boils up at the way Niall looks so uncertain. "No, you didn't- it was fine, honestly. It was funny," he tries, but Niall just gives him a flat look, says, "You're still the worst fuckin' liar I've ever met, Tommo." At least they both laugh at that.
"It's not you, honestly," Louis tries, and that doesn't sound like a lie because it isn't. It's not you, it's me. Christ, Louis needs to go drown himself in the bathroom sink before he sinks through the floor from embarrassment.
"Alright," Niall says, "it's not me. So what is it?"
Louis' heart jackrabbits in his chest until his vision actually goes a bit blurry, and he grips Niall's elbow to steady himself against the near-panic in his gut. "Can we go sit down for this?" he asks, trying to sound light and teasing but missing the mark by a wide margin.
Niall follows him to the den, and they fold up on the couch, facing each other cross-legged so their knees touch. Louis can't look at the open curiosity on Niall's face, so he turns his head and presses his own face into the back of the couch, trying to ignore the way his cheeks have gone unbearably hot.
Niall pokes him in the thigh, not exactly impatient, but prompting.
"Okay," Louis starts, lips moving against the scratchy sofa fabric. His voice is muffled, but somehow that doesn't make talking any easier. "So I've got this like, thing."
He can feel Niall's unimpressed stare burning into the side of his skull. Jesus.
"Do you remember the last bit of tour, when we were watching that golf tournament?" Louis asks, peeking out the corner of his eye to watch Niall's expression change to confusion.
"We did that a lot," Niall points out.
And fuck, of course it wouldn't stand out to Niall the way it had to him, god. At this point, it'd be less painful just to come out and say it, right? Dragging this conversation out had to be about a thousand times worse. Possibly.
"The dog show," Louis says, voice edging up high and uncertain, turning it into a question.
Niall purses his lips, hums thoughtfully, then his face clears. "Yeah, what about it?"
Fuck. "No, it's- I mean, the dog show. That's what's wrong with me."
"No offense," Niall says carefully, "but I have no idea what you're fuckin' trying to tell me."
"I want to- I can't stop thinking about doing that. With you." Louis' presses his face further into the couch cushions, willing them to just swallow him up.
"Like, us putting Bruce in a dog show? Or-" Niall trails off, and it's dead silent for a beat before he just says, "Oh."
Yeah. Oh.
Louis wants to curl up and die. Or just die; he can skip the curling up step if it helps him die faster.
"How would that work?" Niall asks, sounding curious instead of disgusted. Louis means to stay in his couch cushion cave until Sweet Death arrives to take him away, but Niall's response shocks him into sitting upright and scowling.
"Oh, how would that work?" he demands, voice screechy and high the way it gets when he can't help himself. "I shit myself over this for weeks, and all you've got to say is oh, how would it work? What the fuck, Niall?"
It's almost disappointing how unfazed Niall looks, sitting there cross-legged with his loose shoulders and a quizzical tilt to his lips. He just rolls his eyes at Louis' dramatics, which is frustrating in itself. "I'm not saying it's not weird or anything," he clarifies, "just that I want to hear what you've got to say for yourself. I mean, I think our standard for weird's got to be a bit different anyway." Niall grins a little at the last bit, and Louis takes a deep, ragged breath.
Unpacking everything swirling around in his brain turns out to be literally fucking impossible, but Niall's patient and amused by the way Louis stumbles over halting explanations that sound more like questions. He rests his chin on Louis' shoulder while Louis struggles to pull up Youtube with his trembling fingers going clumsy on the keyboard- dohsso - do gsho - docsshoww - until Niall finally takes the laptop out of Louis' lap and types it in himself. Things get blessedly less awkward the more videos they watch, end up turning it into a drinking game until they're giggling and plastered and spread out on the living room floor, trying to read strange dog breed names with their double-vision.
"Wym....wymmerehammer...." Niall attempts, squinting at the screen, and they crack up, useless.
It's a bit more serious when they wake up the next morning, pounding headaches and all.
Louis' got a mouthful of carpet when his eyes open to Niall nudging him with a mug of coffee, looking nearly as hungover as Louis feels. They're quiet while they drink, and when the mugs are empty, Niall carries them back to the kitchen.
"I don't mind," is the first thing Niall says that morning, once he comes back and settles on the sofa with a second cup of coffee steaming in his loose grip. "And don't bother acting like you don't remember what I'm talking about either," he adds when Louis opens his mouth.
Louis pops his mouth shut again and frowns. "It makes me uncomfortable that you know what I'm thinking all the time."
Niall snorts. "I never know what the fuck you're thinking. I just know you."
"Well," Louis says, trying not to think too much about that, "anyway."
It still takes a few days for Louis to slink into the bedroom while Niall's otherwise occupied and grab the collar from its hiding place. He turns to find Bruce in the doorway, smug and judgmental as ever, but Louis just waves him off with a middle finger before steeling himself to walk back to the kitchen with the collar gripped tight in his hands.
Niall turns around when he hears Louis coming, and he looks like he's going to say something until his eyes zero in on what Louis' holding, then he just grins. "Today the day, then?" he asks casually, turning back to the range.
"Could be," Louis says, pleased when his voice doesn't crack. He carefully sets the collar on the counter, fighting off the urge to fiddle with it and instead shoving his hands in the pockets of his joggers. "If that's alright with you."
Niall hums, sounds like one of the songs Louis made him listen to earlier in the week. "Already told you I'm up for it whenever. All you've got to do is ask." He says the last part with a sly glance over his shoulder, and Louis is suddenly horrified at how much of his own personality rubbed off on the rest of them in the early days. Damn his charisma.
Louis resists the urge to stick his tongue out, but just by a hair. "Maybe later, then," he says, leaning against the counter to watch Niall saute veggies.
Later lasts until approximately the end of lunch, since Louis spends most of the meal flicking glances over at the collar sitting on the counter while Niall pretends he doesn't notice.
"Just to try it out," Louis insists, holding the collar in a death grip. He hopes everything he's feeling isn't showing on his face, but judging by the tight, amused line of Niall's lips, he probably looks even worse than he feels.
"Alright," Niall agrees softly, bending his head forward so Louis can get at his neck. It takes several minutes to undo the latch of the collar since Louis' hands shake violently the entire time, but once it's done he steps behind Niall and brings the leather up to his neck, gently looping it around the front of his throat and taking a deep breath to steady himself before he starts to work on carefully tightening it to just the right fit. When the collar is secure, Louis takes a step back, fisting his hands in his pockets while he takes in the view.
Niall looks up at him, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. Is it what you wanted?
"Fuck," Louis says succinctly, stamping one heel nervously against the ground. "Fucking fuck."
Niall laughs, deep belly laugh, head thrown back so the line of his neck and the clasp of the collar are in sharp relief. "That bad, huh?"
"Shut up," Louis snaps, face flaming and stomach knotted up, embarrassed.
Niall's mouth snaps shut instantly and they both freeze, blinking at each other across the few feet of space between them.
They talked about this. It still makes Louis fucking nervous, but they talked about it- how Niall likes it when Louis tells him what to do in that voice, when it triggers some gut instinct to just obey. It makes the hair prickle on the back of Louis' neck, having that amount of power, but Niall's standing a little straighter, looking at Louis with wide eyes. If he were a dog, his ears would be pricked.
Shit, Louis thinks, squeezing his fists tighter until his fingernails cut into his palms. Fucking shit.
"Come on," Louis says imperiously, fighting to keep his voice steady when he turns and leaves the kitchen, heading back to his bedroom without waiting to see if Niall will follow.
His heart's hammering by the time he's standing in the middle of the floor, back to the bed while he watches Niall come to a stop a few feet in front of him.
"Close the door."
Niall does, and Louis feels a thrill run all the way down his spine. When Niall's back in front of him, Louis has to take a minute to pull himself together, closing his eyes and breathing evenly, willing his racing pulse to slow to something manageable. Niall's standing right in the same spot when Louis finally opens his eyes again, and that's as comforting as it is exciting.
Niall looks relaxed, though he's watching Louis intently. His shoulders are slumped, hip cocked, arms loose by his sides. Louis' already moving towards him before he has a chance to think about it, reaching out to tug Niall's shirt up his chest, tapping him arms once so Niall raises them and Louis can toss his shirt across the room. He does the same with Niall's shorts and underwear, dragging them down his legs and then tapping his ankles one at a time, leaving him standing naked in the center of the room with nothing but the collar around his neck.
That's certainly a start, Louis thinks hazily.
"Horrible stacking," Louis tuts softly, and he doesn't miss the way Niall's muscles jump once, a quick tensing. Stacking. God, they'd watched Youtube videos about stacking- Louis pinches his own thigh before he can start to panic and second guess himself about how fucking weird the things he wants are. "Have to train you better," he says, and Niall's fingers flex where they're hanging by his thighs.
It's a strange, heady sort of power trip, circling Niall's bare body, Louis' own t-shirt and sweatpants feeling about a thousand times heavier than normal, like a weight of responsibility on his shoulders. It feels just as good as it does weird.
When he's made a full, slow circle around Niall, he finally steps back into Niall's space, reaching up with one hand to grip Niall's chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently but firmly pull his head up to a pointing position, creating tension in his neck.
"That's a start," Louis murmurs, mostly to himself, because if he doesn't talk through the swirling panicked arousal in his head he'll probably just keel over. He thinks back to the videos, the way the dog showers had nudged and lifted and moved their animals into perfect position.
He steps behind Niall again, placing a hand on each of Niall's shoulders and lifting them, rolling them back to attention, and he's pleased when he feels Niall tense his muscles to keep them there. Louis touches a finger to Niall's left wrist, then his right, watching as Niall's hands turn rigid by his sides. Next, he barely touches his fingers to the top of Niall's spine, drags them down lightly until Niall gets the picture and straightens his back.
Niall's breathing deep and even, and Louis wants to see his face, but he also wants to finish what he's started. His dick is already heavy between his legs, and he'd be appropriately horrified about it if he could spare a thought past the way his eyes keep roaming critically over Niall's body.
He kicks gently at Niall's left ankle, then his right, spreading his legs a bit further apart. That straightens Niall's knees and hips as well, so there's nothing left to do but examine his work.
Louis circles back to Niall's front, eyes raking over the clean lines of his posture, the tense coil of his muscles, lean but strong. Niall's gaze is locked on the wall directly in front of him, and he's absolutely, unbelievably still while Louis looks him over.
Louis' throat feels thick when he says, "That's perfect, pup," and he watches with interest as a blush blooms over Niall's cheeks and chest, but Niall's face remains otherwise impassive, and Louis feels a ridiculous surge of pride.
"Let's see your gait next," he says, and Niall seems to stand a bit straighter without moving at all. Louis moves to Niall's right side, just in the range of his peripheral vision, and hooks a finger under the collar. When he takes a step forward, it catches Niall off guard and he stumbles slightly, gasping at the way Louis' grip tightens the leather around his neck, but he quickly rights himself before Louis has a chance to panic and stop.
They cross the room at a brisk pace, Niall awkwardly unbalanced by Louis' finger pulling him forward, and then they turn, ending up right back where they started.
It's so fucking stupid. Louis is so fucking hard.
"You caught on towards the end," Louis says, grinning softly even though Niall's still got his eyes trained on the wall, just the way he's meant to. It's honestly, truly ridiculous how pleased he feels by the way Niall's following his lead. He wants more and more and more of it, isn't even thinking about getting off because his brain's working a mile a minute on what to do next, how Niall's doing better than Louis ever could have asked.
Louis takes his hand away from Niall's collar and Niall settles back into his stacked pose, very nearly perfect, though Louis kicks at his ankles again to spread his legs more.
"Show me your teeth," Louis commands softly, and Niall clenches his jaw, lips pulling back in a silent snarl. Louis steps forward, gripping Niall's jaw with one hand while he leans in close to examine the straight lines of Niall's teeth, the wicked curve of his canines. He uses his other hand to pry Niall's jaw open, stick two fingers down on his tongue and press hard enough that it makes Niall gag, back of his throat visibly working.
"Beautiful teeth," Louis comments absently, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Niall's tongue until his eyes start to water. "Healthy."
Niall finally breaks his eye contact with the wall, gaze jumping quickly to Louis before turning away again. He makes the softest noise in his throat, might be a suppressed cough, but Louis thinks it's probably just that Niall remembers the next bit from the videos. They'd both thought it was a bit weird, even for a huge event where people just look at dogs for hours.
He steps in close to Niall's side, reaching around behind his back and then down until he's got Niall's balls in the palm of his hand. It feels clinical and strange, just measuring the weight of them, but he's close enough to feel the way Niall's whole body tenses, lurching a bit at the shock of the contact.
"Very healthy," Louis says brightly, squeezing a bit so that Niall huffs a surprised breath. Louis grins, chewing his bottom lip and taking his hand away. "A perfect specimen, really. First place."
Niall's chin lifts slightly, like he's preening, and the corners of his lips tilt up. When he speaks, his voice is rough from disuse. "Where's my prize then?" he asks, eyes glinting like he's a moment from laughing. Louis tilts his head, thoughtful, eyes scanning the pale expanse of Niall's body, milky aside from his red chest and cheeks, the pink line of his dick jutting awkwardly half-hard between his legs.
"Sit," Louis commands, voice going sharp, and Niall drops instantly, the word falling like a weight on his back. He ends up on his knees, resting back on his heels, blinking up at Louis with a faintly surprised expression, like he's unsure how he ended up on the floor so quickly. Louis feels himself grin wider, crooked and fond, stepping forward so he can scrub a hand through the mess of Niall's hair. "Very good," he murmurs, more for himself than Niall, though Niall seems to appreciate it as well, shoulders rolling back proud and taut.
Louis drops to a crouch so he ends up on eye-level with Niall, stroking a hand over the faint stubble on Niall's jaw. "Knees alright?" he asks softly, darting his gaze down to where he can just see the jagged red of Niall's scar peeking over the knob of his bent knee. "We can do something else if it's hurting."
Niall shakes his head slightly, lifting his chin with a dismissive eye roll.
It makes Louis want to roll his eyes a bit as well, tell him not to be stubborn. But telling Niall not to be stubborn has about as much point as Louis telling himself the same thing, so he lets it go, trailing his fingers down Niall's neck, tapping at the place the collar rests over his Adam's apple, watching, fascinated, when his throat bobs beneath the leather. "Strong pup, aren't you?"
That pulls Niall's lips into a pleased smirk, and Louis rocks back to his feet, satisfied. He stretches his arms over his head, regarding Niall carefully while his brain scrambles to form a plan.
"Roll over," Louis finally decides, spinning one finger in a circle in example. Niall complies, falling onto his back and then wriggling over onto his belly, turning around again. It's not particularly graceful, but something in Louis likes the struggle of it. "Sit again." Niall clambers back to his knees, bracing his hands on his thighs, face pink from effort and embarrassment. "Speak," Louis says, grinning.
Niall snorts. "Fuck you."
He didn't technically disobey, so Louis beams at him, pleased and proud, digging his fingers into Niall's hair again. "Lovely, pup. Really polite."
"Learned from the best, didn't I?"
Louis hums at that. "Come here," he says, nodding his head towards the patch of carpet between his feet. Niall knee-walks the few inches into place, wobbling a little, wincing when his knee twists wrong on the floor.
"Told you we could do something else," Louis mutters under his breath, but Niall just shoots him a Look, so he lets it go.
"Just give me my fuckin' prize, how about that?"
Louis rolls his eyes, gesturing expansively at the bulged front of his sweatpants. "Grand prize goes to Niall Horan, number one werewolf in show," he announces loudly like he's speaking to a crowd, spreading his arms over his head and cheering a little to ham it up, because he's still feeling a little something about all this. Embarrassed, mainly. More into it than he'd ever wanted to be, and desperately hoping Niall hasn't noticed.
"I'm waiting," Niall says flatly, though he looks amused, or maybe endeared.
"I don't think show dogs give sass, Niall. Hush." Niall's mouth snaps shut, lips twisting into a smirk. "Now open up," Louis mutters, hooking his own thumbs under the band of his joggers to drag them down his thighs. Niall's mouth pops open even as his eyes jump down to Louis' cock, before Louis snaps his fingers once, skin flashing hot with how good it feels when Niall looks back up at him, abashed. "Eyes on me, pup. Be good."
Niall huffs through his open mouth, the warmth of it curling over Louis' skin and making him shiver. He steels himself, cupping one hand to Niall's cheek and using the other to hold himself steady when he presses into Niall's mouth, sliding over the wet of his tongue and gritting his teeth against the heat of Niall's panting breaths.
"Still," Louis warns shakily when Niall sways forward, like he's trying to take more. "Stay."
Niall's muscles tense beneath Louis' palm, quivering with the effort to remain absolutely motionless. Louis swears under his breath, rocking his hips forward, grunting at the drag of it, the ragged feel of Niall's throat constricting when Louis loses his balance and pushes in too far. His whole body shakes when Niall gags, shoulders rising to fend off the feeling until Louis grips one tight with the hand that isn't wrapped around Niall's jaw. "Stay," he hisses again, desperate and forceful this time, more of a whine than a command. He can feel the slick-rough of the leather collar brushing against his fingers when his thrusts go rough, stretching Niall's neck and jaw.
It'd be truly embarrassing how quickly he ends up coming on Niall's cheeks, if he weren't already too busy being embarrassed about literally everything else that'd just happened.
Niall takes a gasping breath when Louis slips out of his mouth, squinting against the splash of wet on his face and scowling up at Louis when a bit of it lands in his eyelashes.
"Fucker," he spits, but he's laughing already.
"Good boy," Louis says weakly, collapsing onto his knees in front of Niall and dropping his head forward to rest on Niall's collar bone, breathing deeply for the first time in what feels like ages. He pats at Niall's chest and stomach, lets his hand drop to where Niall's leaky and hard, squeezes at the slight flare of the base. "Next time I want you to fuck me, I think."
"Oh, next time," Niall breathes on another chuckle. "Now there's a next time." His hips jump up against Louis' hand and Louis allows it, watching while he catches his breath and lets his heartbeat return to a normal human pace.
"If that's alright," Louis murmurs, trailing the fingers of his free hand up the pulsing vein on the underside of Niall's cock, grinning when Niall swears and comes, jerky, hands convulsing where they rest on his thighs while his knot swells up huge and sensitive in the open air.
"My fucking knees," Niall grumbles when he's gotten back to himself, biting at the fabric of Louis t-shirt. "And my fucking eye, thanks, by the way."
"It's your prize," Louis reminds him haughtily, leaning back to knuckle the gross congealed come away from Niall's eyelid. "And I said about your knees-"
"Yeah, yeah, you said, you said," Niall grouses, waving his hand dismissively. "Help me up off the fuckin' floor, how about that?"
Louis heaves himself to his feet then hauls Niall up after him, and they collapse back onto Louis' big bed. Niall's still slightly knotted, grimacing at every brush of the blankets, and Louis collapses face-down against the pillows, leaving the knuckles of one hand resting against Niall's throat.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Niall presses after a while, rolling onto his side and reaching out to brush the bitescar on Louis' shoulder. Louis hums, soft and sleepy, peeking over the pillow.
"It's just going to get weirder from here," he warn wearily, because his mind's already chugging away at what he wants more of- hands and knees, next time, and a leash, maybe, and he wants to get knotted at the end, and he wants to- well. "Weirder," he says emphatically, scrunching up his face against the flood of visions in his head.
"I can do weirder," Niall says amiably. "As long as no actual dogs are involved, I think I'm in."
Louis groans, making gagging noises into the pillow. "Don't be fucking gross, Niall."
"Rich, coming from you."
When they finally drag themselves out of the bedroom to make dinner, Bruce looks up at them both reproachfully, and Niall just cackles while Louis scowls.
"If you don't like it, don't listen!" Louis snaps, glaring at Bruce. Bruce huffs a disgusted sigh before trotting away, something in his posture very clearly conveying his belief that Louis and Niall are freakass weirdos, because Louis' dog is a judgmental bastard.