Chapter Text
Harry landed in Jakarta the night before, absolutely exhausted. They hailed a taxi and got in, giving the driver the name of their hotel. While the car made its way through the city, they unlocked their phone and went on Twitter to inform their followers that they had landed and were excited to see “the love of [their] life” tomorrow. They still couldn’t believe it, if they were being honest. They bought the concert ticket on impulse a month ago but didn’t think they would actually make it. They were ready to resell the ticket when it got closer to the concert date. But as luck would have it, their week was terrible and they craved the adrenaline. So, two days before their concert, they booked the plane ticket and hotel room, packed their bag, and waited impatiently for the time to come.
Now, as they get out of the taxi and head into the hotel lobby, they think their week was probably not that bad and they were just feeling antsy and reckless. Besides, what had made the week terrible was their job, and anything that helped them afford a concert ticket and a last-minute plane ticket was probably not that bad. So, they’re kind of thankful that they have a job in the first place, and that they get to do this. When they’re finally checked in and given their room key, they walk to the elevator, excited for a shower and a good night’s sleep. They let themself into the hotel room and inspect their surroundings before they settle their luggage on the bed and rummage through it for their sleep clothes. They take a blissfully hot shower, and then crawl into bed and fall straight asleep.
In the morning, they stretch and groan, their body still tired. They get out of bed and open the curtains. They bask in the bright sunshine, stretching their body this way and that. They practice a few yoga poses, even without their mat, and it brings them the kind of serenity they very much will need throughout the day. They perform their usual morning routine, brushing their teeth and washing their face. They get dressed in matching white linen shorts and top, pairing them with white converse. They figure they’ll come back to change into their concert outfit once they’re done with their adventure out for coffee. They grab their phone and tote bag and leave the hotel room, making sure they have their key on them.
Their excursion for coffee turns out to be short and sweet. As soon as they step out of the hotel room, they stumble into a quaint little coffee shop. They order their usual iced americano and a pastry and sit outside the coffee shop to savor them. While they’re eating, they check their phone for new messages and reply to them before going on Twitter again. They’re kind of obsessed, especially since they get to scream and rant about him on there. People aren’t even surprised by the things they tweet, all of them basically sharing the same views. Not that there aren’t any mean people on there, but they tend to just block those and move on. While they’re scrolling, they get a DM from someone they’ve been following for a long time. It turns out they’re going to the same concert too and wanted to ask them if they’re gonna go to the airport to see if they can catch a glimpse of the Louis Tomlinson getting off his plane. They consider it while finishing up their coffee and breakfast. They really have nothing to do until the doors open at 4, so they figure they might as well.
They throw their trash in the garbage and, checking their phone for directions, they start walking. They make it there in twenty minutes and find a nice bench to sit on and observe. For a long while, nothing happens. They just sit and watch the world around them while listening to music. They kind of feel like a creep, sitting there waiting for a glimpse of him. But they justify it to themself that they’re only enjoying the city. Then they admit to themself that they’re a big fat liar. They wait some more. The music gets boring once they start thinking of the live music they’re about to listen to, so they get their book out of their tote bag and start reading. They read for thirty-five minutes before they notice a lot of people gathering around. They look up to find a small crowd gathered around the door. It seems like all these people had the same thought as them. They gather their stuff and throw it in their bag before getting up and joining the crowd. They talk to a couple of people and bond over their mutual love for and obsession with Louis. About forty minutes go by with no sign of him, their hopes aren’t really that high to begin with. But just then, they bend over to tie up their shoes and hear the crowd absolutely lose their shit and begin screaming. They get back up, their shoes left untied, and look around to try to spot him.
When they see him, they almost pass out, like one of those Victorian women fainting with a hand raised to their forehead. He is beautiful , his skin glowing in the sun. He is surrounded by his team, walking confidently in the middle. He looks up to see the crowd and smiles at them, waving briefly, before going back to talking to his team member. Again, they feel the sudden overwhelming desire to melt and fall at his feet. He is just so, there is no other way to describe it, he is the sexiest man alive. And it’s not just his physical appearance either, it’s the way he carries himself too, like he owns every room he walks into. People are screaming around them, trying to get his attention, but Harry just stands there, in awe, their heart beating a mile a minute. Just as he gets closer to where they’re standing, he grabs a pack and lighter from his back pocket. He opens the pack, takes one cigarette in his mouth, and pulls it out, putting the pack back in his pocket. It’s when he brings the lighter to the cigarette, his other hand shielding it from the wind, that Harry loses their mind.
They open their mouth, putting both hands to each side of it, and scream, “Please daddy, let me light that cigarette for you.”
They’re not expecting him to hear it, which is why they’re being so bold. But just as they scream, everyone else quiets down. And he turns and looks straight at them. Their eyes open wide in shock and their cheeks blush bright red. He, however, looks delighted, he smirks at them and lights his cigarette. All the while looking at them. He takes a drag, his cheeks hollowing around the filter. They maybe perhaps die a little, looking at him, so effortlessly beautiful. He keeps walking, finally getting into his car where he can’t be seen anymore.
When he is gone, Harry feels deflated. Obviously shocked by their daring, they turn around and start walking in the direction of the hotel. All the way there, they think, how stupid of me to say that, obviously you can’t say stuff like that in real life, on Twitter it’s different . More than anything, they feel embarrassed to have screamed it at him when he was probably exhausted from his flight and not expecting to be cat-called as he walks to his car. Because that had been what they had done, right? They had cat-called him. And they despise when other people do it to them, so Louis must have despised it when they did it to him. Disbelieving, they go on Twitter to tweet: “Louis Tomlinson I’m so sorry for catcalling you, I promise I’m normally better behaved.”
Their face bursts into flame as they rethink the whole interaction. When they finally get to their hotel room, they throw themself on the bed and bury their face in the pillows. They kind of want to scream out their frustration and embarrassment. But that would be just as bad a decision as calling out “ please daddy, let me light that cigarette for you ,” to the person who saved their life with his music. How fucking tragic. Their phone lights up with notifications from Twitter.
“Oh. my. god. That was you??” someone asks.
“What did you do?” another asks.
“You really let your intrusive thoughts win today,” says another.
They spend an inordinate time on Twitter, voicing their woes and bemoaning their chance to have had a meaningful interaction with Louis Fucking Tomlinson. A lot of their mutuals seem to find the whole thing funny as opposed to mortifying, teasing them about it instead of comforting them.
When they’ve had enough time to dwell on their shame, they throw their phone to the side and get in the shower. They stand under the hot water for a while, just letting it warm them up. And then they get to work shampooing and conditioning their hair. Washing their body. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, their hair wrapped in a microfiber towel, they sit on the bed and scroll through Spotify. They end up choosing a playlist made up of all the songs on the setlist for the concert. They sing along and dance around the room as they get ready.
Every once in a while, they remember what they did and it sends a wave of heat through them. They feel the embarrassment physically as well as mentally. But there is nothing to do about it. So they settle on making themself up. They apply their makeup as their hair dries. They get dressed in a black mini skirt, an oversized Ramones t-shirt, and doc martens. Finally, they take their hair out of the towel and rearrange their curls to perfectly frame their face. They gather all their belongings in their tote bag, put their headphones on, and leave their hotel room again. On their way to the venue, they go into a convenience store to pick up snacks and water.
Thankfully, people have just started arriving as they get there. So, they get a pretty good spot in the queue. They’re only the fifth person. They celebrate internally, they’ll get to see him up close and personal. They don’t worry about being embarrassed again, or at least they tell themself not to, because he probably won’t remember their face. While they wait, they start talking to the people in the queue, someone even offers to draw the x smiley face on their hand. The wait drags on and on, but they’re also consumed by their nerves. It’s not their first concert, but they’ve never been able to get a good spot before. Always arriving too late because of the people they were going with and getting a spot at the back, where they could barely see him. This time, they decided to go alone and they’re thankful for it.
As soon as the doors are open, they sprint toward the stage. They, thankfully, get to be right in the front and center. Then it’s just more waiting. They share their snacks with a group of people next to them and talk to them all the while. The pre-show playlist plays on the speakers and they nod their heads to it. When the lights dim and the opening act starts, they close their eyes and sway to the music. They lose themself in it as the show goes on. They try to be respectful and actually listen to the opening act’s music, but their mind keeps anticipating the moment he enters the stage.
Soon enough, the opening act leaves, and crew members rush onto the stage to prepare for Louis’ set. They jump from side to side, too excited to settle. But then they remind themself to save that energy for the actual show and sit down on the floor. They have some water and practice a couple of breathing exercises. When they’ve calmed down sufficiently, they stand back up and look at the stage. The crew is gone now and the pre-show playlist is back on. They dance along to it until the lights dim again. The crowd erupts in cheers. His band comes on stage and they each settle at their stations. We made it begins playing. They absolutely lose their shit and begin screaming along with everyone else. And finally, he comes onstage. Again, he walks like he owns the place and everyone in it. He waves at everyone before taking his place at the mic stand and beginning to sing.
Harry is in awe, their hands shaking and their heart beating fast. They put their phone in their bag and raise their arms up. They sway and sing along, looking straight at him. Halfway through the song, he is looking at the crowd, his eyes slowly moving, when his gaze catches on them. He looks surprised, but the surprise quickly turns to delight, he smiles wide and mouths it’s you . Harry doesn’t know what to do, so they settle for covering their face in their palms in embarrassment. They were really counting on him not remembering their face, but he does, and now they must stand in front of him the entire concert and endure the fact that he remembers them and what they did.
The thing is, he comes back to them. Throughout the concert, he acknowledges them again and again, teasing them. He even flips them off at one point. Then, they’re in on the joke. They laugh knowing he was not upset by their behavior but rather, found it amusing. The veil of shame lifts and they’re finally able to enjoy the concert fully. They sing along to the songs at the top of their lungs, their arms lifted above their head and swaying side to side. They lose themself so completely in it that soon enough it’s halfway through the show. They’re parched and sweaty from jumping around. They bend down to take their water bottle out of their bag and chug half of it. The time flies by as they lose themself in the music.
When the concert ends, something hollow manifests in their chest. Louis leaves the stage and they stare after him, waiting for him to come back and say it’s a joke and that he’s going to stay on the stage for five more hours. People start to filter out but they stand frozen to their spot. They can’t believe they just got to witness that and now they have to go on with their life. They sit down on the filthy ground and think it over. They wish they had been able to tell him that he had saved their life or that their favorite song is copy of a copy of a copy . And then, just like everyone around them, they stand and make their way to the exit.
The walk back to the hotel is quiet, they don’t put their headphones on to play music. They just walk and walk. They tear up a couple of times but they think that’s normal after a concert. They arrive at the hotel absolutely exhausted and throw themself in bed. They give themself half an hour to calm down before getting up and starting their night routine. They get in the shower and decide to wash their hair again since they got so sweaty at the concert. Out of the shower, they remove their makeup and apply their skin products slowly, taking the time to breathe and be mindful of their thoughts. They moisturize and put their pajamas on, pink shorts, and a white tank top.
They get into bed with only the bedside lamp on and try to read their book. They can’t completely focus as their mind goes back to the concert again and again. But in a little while, they lose themself in the story. They read until their eyelids grow heavy. They put the book down and snuggle into their pillow. But sleep doesn’t come so easily to them. They toss and turn for hours until they lose hope and decide to take a walk.
They put their slippers back on and walk out. They end up going down to the lobby. By now, the place is empty. Only one person behind the desk. They walk to the front door and exit the hotel. Right across the street is a supermarket, they make their way to it. The supermarket too, is empty, only a couple of teenagers walking through the aisles. They buy a Redbull and walk back to the hotel. The streets are lovely in the dark, quiet and peaceful. As they enter the hotel, the peace is shattered. A group of men are gathered around one of the lounge areas.
“It’s alright, lads,” they hear from within the huddle of men, “I’ll just sit here for a while. You go to bed.” And then, as if trying to convince them, “I’m not even that drunk, anymore. Look,” and he stumbles out from within the group and starts walking in a straight line, “see? Not drunk.”
The men seem to believe him and begin walking towards the elevators. Louis sits back down on the lounge chair, his legs spread and head thrown back. His head lolls to the side and his eyes catch on Harry.
“Hey,” he says, furrowed eyebrows, “it’s you again.”
“Promise I’m not stalking you,” they hurry to say, “I’m staying here.”
He laughs, “no I see that,” he says, pointing at their slippers which have the hotel logo on them.
“Oh,” they breathe, “thank fuck.”
“Come on, then,” he says, “sit down with me. It doesn’t look like you’re going to sleep anytime soon,” he points to the Redbull.
They sit down opposite him.
“How was the concert?” he asks, “did you have fun?”
“Yeah, it was really good. I had fun, loads. Loved the pride flags.”
“I love those too,” he says, a fond look on his face. “Do you wanna have a drink with me?”
They raise their Redbull.
“An alcoholic one, I mean.”
“I don't drink,” they say, “and haven’t you had enough?”
“Not nearly,” he looks at them, suspicious, “how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Huh, so age isn’t the reason you don't drink.”
“You can ask if you want.”
“Ok, why don't you drink?”
“I used to do it a lot when I was younger,”
He scoffs, “you’re still plenty young.”
They roll their eyes, “I mean when I first turned 18. But my friend once took drugs while we were drinking and she overdosed. I don’t drink because I don’t want to be put in that kind of situation again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, darling.”
They shrug their shoulders.
“So,” he says, brightening, “how do you identify?”
“Huh?”
“I know a lot of my fans are queer. Just wanted to know your pronouns so I get them right.”
They laugh, “I’m nonbinary, I prefer they/them. Sometimes she/her.”
He nods his head, “I feel like I’m too old. What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know, sometimes I just prefer one over the other. No logic behind it.”
“So how do the people around you know?”
“I let them know.”
“Okay, nice. That sounds complicated but it’s actually really easy.”
Harry coughs to hide the awkwardness of the moment. Louis lifts his hips up and takes a cigarette pack from his back pocket. When he has one between his lips, he pauses and looks at Harry.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, “do you wanna light my cigarette for me?”
“You tease me,” they answer, “but what would you do if you saw a hot guy trying to light his cigarette.”
“I would- not scream at him, first of all. And secondly, I would ask, hello sir, may I have your phone number please?”
“Ha, as if. You wouldn’t just give your phone number to a random fan outside the airport.”
“I would,” he says, smirking while lighting his cigarette, “if they looked like you.”
“Are you flirting with me?” they ask.
“Were you flirting with me?” he asks, and then clarifies, “when you called me daddy?”
“No, actually, I was just being an idiot. If I was flirting, I would be sitting on your lap.”
He spreads his legs wider and pats his thigh, “go on, then.”
Harry gets up from their chair and plops themself in his lap, “can I have a drag?” they ask, pointing to the cigarette between his lips.
He takes the cigarette between two fingers and puts it up to their mouth. His fingers touching their lips. They inhale, staring right at him. They hold the smoke in as they put their arms around his neck.
When they exhale, they ask, “do you wanna fuck?”
It startles a laugh out of him.
“That’s how I flirt. I’m straightforward about it.”
“That’s quite effective, actually.”
They hum, bringing their face closer to him. They take his tattooed hand and put it on their inner thigh, right below the hem of their shorts. He pauses, looking at them in awe.
“Stop me if you don’t want this,” they rasp against his ear.
“Don’t think I want to,” he says, still smoking.
They grin at him, moving his hand higher so it slips beneath their shorts. “Feel that?” they ask, his fingers between their legs. They bring their face closer to his ear and whisper, “that’s how wet I’ve been the entire time I’ve been talking to you.”
“Hmm, really?” he asks as his fingers start moving, exploring.
“Yeah,” they breathe against his neck.
A sudden sound of someone clearing their throat makes them turn and immediately take their hands off each other. They find the poor woman behind the reception desk politely averting her gaze.
“My room?” Louis asks, stubbing his cigarette out.
Harry nods their head and stands to follow him to the elevators. They stumble out of the elevator onto his floor, his hand on the small of their back. If anyone were to see them right now, they would look like a very polite couple politely making their way to their room, instead of two people who were practically dry-humping in the lobby. He unlocks the door and drags them inside by the hand. He throws them against the door, his hand digging into their waist. He kisses them, then, desperate and hungry. He bites their bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. They moan into it.
They draw back to ask, “how drunk are you?”
“Just a little.”
“Sure you want to do this?”
“Please,” he says, kissing them again.
They tangle their hands in his hair, tugging at it. They make a home for themself in the space between his neck and shoulder, kissing and nibbling at the skin until it turns red and bruised. They push him, blindly, in the general direction of the bed. When the back of his legs hits the bedpost, they stop kissing him, only long enough to say, “sit.”
He laughs, following their command, “you’re bossy.”
Situated on his lap, they ignore his remark to go back to kissing him. He groans when they bite, bucking his hips up so they can feel him, hard and aching.
“I know, I know,” they say, “you’re all hard and flustered.”
“‘M not flustered,” he says, his hands on their thighs, “I don’t get flustered.”
They laugh, “Okay, Mr. cool, calm and collected.”
“You’ve got quite a tongue on you, haven’t you?” he asks as he takes them by the hips and flips them both over. They lay on the bed now, with him hovering above them.
They laugh again, putting their arms around his neck, “it got you here, didn’t it?”
“Actually, what got me here was how pretty your eyes looked when you were asking if I wanted to fuck.”
They roll their eyes, “so get to it then.”
“Every time you sass me, I’m gonna bite you. We’ll see how far that gets you.”
“I like being bitten, actually, so-”
The sentence gets stuck in their throat because just then, he bites down on their neck. Hard. They whimper and go pliant.
“Fuck me,” they beg as he looks at them again.
He laughs, “so just a bite to shut you up.”
“I won’t speak ever again,” they say, taking his tattooed hand and moving it back to between their legs, “just please.”
“Please what? What do you want?”
“Your fingers- inside me, please.”
“Hmm,” he says, rubbing his fingers against them, “I have to think about it.”
“God. Damn. It. I knew you would be a tease.”
“You thought about me, then? Like this?”
They cover their face with their hands. When he pries their fingers away from their face, he finds it flaming red. He laughs.
“Tell me everything you ever fantasized about and I’ll fuck you.”
“No. I won’t. You’re a cruel, cruel man.”
“Oh, come on, just looking for a little fun.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you. In my fantasies, you listened to me and did what I asked.”
“Yeah? Like this?” he says as he plunges two fingers inside them.
“Fuck,” they say, holding onto his bicep, “please.”
He moves his fingers in and out of them at a leisurely speed. They still clutch at his bicep, their nails digging into his skin.
“How does it feel, darling?”
They turn their head to the side, eyes closed and lips bitten. He puts his thumb on their chin and turns their face towards him. His thumb presses on their bottom lip. He pries their mouth open.
“I said, how does it feel?”
“Say- say darling again,” they say, taking his thumb in their mouth and sucking.
“Fine,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes, “how does it feel, darling?”
“Good,” they gasp, “so good. Please.”
“Want more?” he asks, bending down to kiss them.
They nod their head, it makes them dizzy.
“Beg,” he says, crooking his fingers inside them.
“Please, please, please,” they take a deep gasping breath, “Daddy, please.”
“Oh,” he smiles, “there you go, baby.”
His fingers speed up, setting a brutal pace. He racks their shirt up to their neck and immediately puts his mouth on their chest. They arch into him, pulling him closer. He tugs a nipple between his teeth, letting go to swirl his tongue around it and then suck. They tug at his hair and whine, their eyes stuck on the ceiling.
They hum, deep in their throat, “you’re good with your mouth.”
He looks up, grinning, and lets go to say, “you haven’t seen the half of it, love.”
“Show me,” they beg.
He kisses down their stomach, staring up at them. He stops moving his fingers inside them and takes them out. They pout as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and licks them. He hums with his fingers in his mouth.
“Those are supposed to be in my mouth,” they say, pouting at him.
He laughs, “maybe if you’re good enough for me.”
“I’m good, I’m good,” they say, coming up to their elbows to look at him.
He smirks, “get undressed, then.”
They take off their shirt as soon as he says it. They lift up their hips to take off their shorts. All the while, he stands on the edge of the bed and stares at them. They lay back down and he traces his index finger all over their body.
“Pretty,” he says, getting down to his knees. He grabs them by the hips and drags them down, leading their legs to wrap around his head. He kisses their inner thigh, biting down to make them flinch. “Stay still for me,” he says.
If they were standing, they would stomp their foot. As it is, they lay back and hold still. He continues his assault on their thighs, sucking bruises into them. They bloom in reds and pinks, a scattering of flowers he offers up before bringing his mouth between their legs. He ventures his tongue out to lick at them, just a little taste. They cover their face with their arm and arch their back as if inviting him in. The invitation must be accepted because just then, he grabs their thighs in his arms and drags them closer to his mouth.
Harry’s heartbeat stutters in pleasure at the feeling of the mouth attached to them. And it’s not just a warm mouth either, Louis knows exactly what he is doing, down to every flick of his tongue. There is something about him, his position on the floor, kneeling, that inspires images of religious ecstasy. He worships, on his knees, with his clever mouth. And Harry crumbles underneath him.
His hands wander as his mouth works them over, trailing to their chest and up to their neck. He playfully wraps his hand around their throat. They take his hand in theirs and press it tighter. His eyes widen but he presses his thumb and index on either side of their neck. Harry moans in bliss, closing their eyes. When he lets go of their neck, he trails his hand back down, settling between their legs. He moves his thumb in tiny circles against their clit, making their back shoot off the bed and a strangled, “please,” echo from deep within their throat.
He moves his hand down and around his mouth to tuck two fingers inside them, moving in and out. He buries his fingers inside and curls them forward, inspiring a jumble of “please, please, please,” from Harry. He sets a brutal, unrelenting pace with his mouth and fingers, delighting in their curses and reactions. He is like a child, toying with his dinner before he eats it. He takes pleasure in riling them up, seeing how far he could take it before they start begging again.
“Please stop teasing me,” they say.
“Not teasing, darling. Only doing what you asked.”
“Okay, then fuck me already.”
He laughs, “say please.”
They roll their eyes, “I’ve already said please.”
He leaves his position between their legs and stands to hover right above them. He kisses them deeply, they can taste themself on his lips. He grabs their face in one hand, digging his fingers on either side of it.
“Say. Please.”
“No,” they say, setting their jaw.
“You’re being a brat.”
“I am,” they confirm.
“I don’t enjoy it, love. You’ll do well to do as I say.”
“No,” they annunciate, going as far as sticking their tongue at him.
“Say no one more time, and you’re being punished.”
They shrug their shoulders and confidently say, “no.”
He lets go of their chin to slap their face, lightly, teasing. They laugh.
“You can do better than that,” they tease, “hit me harder, daddy,” they add, giving him explicit consent.
He slaps them again, this time with more confidence. The slap stings, bringing tears to their eyes. They smile coyly at him.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks.
“Cause that was better. Give me more.”
“Again, you’re not being very polite. Where is the ‘please, daddy’?”
“Not saying it,” they say, defiant.
His palm lands harshly on their face again. The sting stays longer this time. A lone tear slips from their eye and down their face.
“Are you gonna say it now?”
They shake their head no. He retaliates by hitting them across the other cheek with the back of his hand. Grabbing them by the throat, he pulls them up towards him, spitting in their face. They whimper. He sneaks his hand in their hair, gripping tight, and forces them off the bed and onto the floor.
“Kneel,” he says, and they do. They turn their head up to stare at him, butterflies erupting in their stomach at his rough treatment of them. They wish he would hit them again, perhaps kick them in the stomach. All he does, for now, is pull their hair again, bending down to spit on their face again. “Open your mouth,” he says and they obey, opening wide. He spits in their mouth and says, “swallow.” They visibly do, making sure he can see their throat moving.
“See, there you are, you can follow orders after all.”
“Tell me I’m a good girl,” they implore.
“You forgot a crucial step there, love.”
“Please,” they say, looking up at him, “please, daddy, tell me I’m a good girl.”
“Not yet, you’re not,” he says, walking around where they’re kneeling on the floor. He takes a cigarette out and lights up, barely glancing at them.
“Daddy, please,” they say, “I’ll be good. I won’t talk back. Promise. Please.”
He walks back in front of them, “come here,” he says, patting his thigh.
They scoot closer to him, laying their chin on his thigh and looking up. He smiles, looking as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He bites his bottom lip. With the hand that is holding the cigarette, he cradles their cheek, his fingers in their hair. The smoke from the cigarette swirls around their curls, perfuming their hair. He pries their mouth open with his thumb, letting them have a taste. Not for long. Just a little taste.
“Unzip my trousers, darling.”
They eagerly follow his command. He puts the cigarette in his mouth and watches. In their haste to take his cock out, they forget to wait for the instruction. He slaps their hand away, landing another slap on their face. They cry out, their hand flying to their red cheek.
Before he gets to reprimand them, they choke out, “I’m sorry, daddy.”
“Just this once,” he says, “I’m going to accept your apology. But you’re going to wait next time, aren’t you?”
They nod their head, “yes, daddy.”
“Good,” he says, “you can touch now.”
They hesitantly reach their hands towards him, cautious now that they’ve been punished for it. They take him in their hand, staring up at him. He is hard, angry red, but he’s been ignoring it all night, focusing on them. They let go only long enough to lick their palm and then their hand is back on him, stroking, feeling. He lets out a sigh, throwing his head back.
“Am I being a good girl now?” they tease.
He laughs, playful, leaning his head forward, “thought you promised you won’t talk back?”
“It’s not talking back,” they pout, “I’m just asking.”
“You’re being good,” he agrees. “Can I have your mouth? Are you comfortable with that?”
“Oh, please,” they beg, nodding their head, “please, daddy.”
“Alright, love, you can go ahead.”
They stick their tongue out to taste him, licking at the head before slowly working their way down his length. They can’t quite believe that they’re doing this, that they’re on their knees for him . They have always been prone to daydreaming, making up silly little scenarios in their head. But nothing quite as detailed as this. In all their fantasies, they never imagined this. They never imagined he would want all the same things they want, or have all the same desires.
Their head swims as he takes over, burying his hands in their hair and moving his hips. He goes slow at first, cautious, almost hesitant. But with their encouragement, he grows more confident and assured. They close their eyes and hum around him, enjoying the weight on their tongue and the ache in their jaw. His breaths become more labored as he goes on.
“Open your eyes,” he rasps, “look at me.”
They flutter their eyes open, their gaze locking on his and never letting go.
“There you are,” he says, “such beautiful eyes. You look so good like this. All mine to ruin.”
Their eyes roll back into their skull at his words, pleasure coursing through them. He keeps murmuring about how good they look as he thrusts into the heat of their mouth. Quiet little observations made almost for himself. He doesn’t call them a good girl, but it’s close enough. That , they think, he is holding over their head, dangling just out of reach. They strive towards it, making sure they’re still and quiet for him, taking him in as best as they can. He pulls his hips back to allow them time to breathe, they splutter and cough.
“Am I being too rough?”
They shake their head adamantly, “no, I like it.”
He hums, “stand up.”
They hurry to stand up, their legs numb from kneeling for so long. He grabs the ashtray from the coffee table and stubs his cigarette out, putting it back down. When he turns back to them, he holds out his arms for them to step into. They wind their arms around his neck and look into his eyes.
“Give me a kiss,” he says, his arms wrapped around their waist.
They attach their lips to him in a millisecond, crashing together and melting. He trails his hand down to their hips, squeezing their ass at the same time he bites down on their bottom lip. They moan against his mouth. He picks them up and they wrap their legs around him. He walks them to the bed and lowers them gently, all the while kissing them.
“Are you finally gonna fuck me?” they ask, drawing away from him. “You made me wait long enough for it.”
“You sound desperate, love.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” they roll their eyes.
“Need to find a condom,” he says, rummaging in his bedside table.
They turn their head to look at him, “hurry, please.”
“Demanding,” he says, “ha! Found one.”
“You sound surprised,” they say.
“Didn’t think I’d find any. I don’t usually sleep with people when I’m touring.”
“No way,” they say, “am I the first?”
He runs his hand through his hair, walking back to them on the bed, “maybe.”
“I’m honored to be taking your touring sex virginity,” they say, reaching their hands to sneak under his shirt.
He slaps their hands away, restraining them above their head. “Stay there,” he says.
“Okay, but take off your shirt please.”
“Because you asked nicely,” he says as he takes off his shirt. He tears the condom wrapper open and rolls it over his cock.
When he pushes in, his hands back on their hips, they breathe in harshly.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, it’s just a little uncomfortable at first. Just go slow.”
He nods, leaning down to press a kiss on their forehead, “I’m sorry, love.”
They laugh, surprised at his sweetness, “don’t be.”
He still presses gentle kisses on their temple as he pushes in. He allows them both room to breathe before he starts moving. Slow and languid thrusts of his hips. They cling to him as he moves, bringing their hands from above their head to wrap around his neck. He allows it, he even turns his head sideways to kiss their wrist. They blush at the kiss and bite their bottom lip. He uses his thumb to pry their mouth open. They take it in their mouth and suck, eyes locked on his.
“Good girl,” he finally says, speeding up his thrusts.
They preen at the praise, wrapping their legs around his hips. They take his thumb out of their mouth and move it to their neck. Positioning his thumb and index on either side of their throat, they look up at him, pleading.
“What do you want, darling?”
They use their hand to tighten his own around their neck.
“Be a good girl and use your words,” he says, stern.
“Choke me, please.”
“There you go,” he says, tightening his hand around their throat, “you’re being such a good girl.”
“Thank- thank you,” they manage to croak out.
He uses his other hand to bend their leg against their stomach, fucking in deeper that way. He picks up speed, punching in and out of them. They close their eyes, their head fuzzy with clouds, enjoying the sensations and his weight on top of them. He presses his fingers into their neck, wants them to fight against it. He quite enjoys their attitude before he slaps it out of them. He stops his thrusts, looking at them for a reaction.
They flutter their eyes open and pout at him, “why’d you stop?”
“Want you to beg for it.”
They roll their eyes, “come on, please move.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he says.
“Do something about it then,” they say, challenging.
“Like this?” he asks, removing his hand from around their throat to slap them.
They nod their head, tears in their eyes, “harder, punch me in the stomach,” they urge.
He hesitates, slapping is one thing, but punching? It feels too much and not nearly enough at the same time. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes, please. I know what I’m asking.”
He balls his fist up and aims a punch at their stomach. They cry out, recoiling away from him and shrinking into themself so that he slips out of them.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, worried.
From within their cocoon, he hears laughter. “That’s the point,” they say, unraveling. There are tears streaming down their face. “Fuck that felt good. Do it again.”
He laughs too, he can’t help it. “You’re twisted,” he says.
“Thank you,” they answer, laughter etched into their face. “Hold me down this time, and keep fucking me even when I’m in pain.”
He grabs them by the hips and drags them back to him. He pushes into them, holding them down by the shoulders. He punches them again, this time harder. They actually scream this time, trying to recoil away from him. But he holds them down, both hands on their waist. He fucks them as if his life depends on it, and they are thankful for it. The urge to get away from him is only an animal instinct, they know better.
A gasp escapes them as they look down at their stomach. “I can see you inside me,” they whisper.
He looks down at their stomach too, surprised. He puts his hand on top of the bulge and moves in and out, deeper, mesmerized.
“You wanna feel it?” he asks.
Harry nods their head and Louis takes their hand in his and puts it on top of it. He leans down to settle by their ear and whisper, “can you feel it, darling? Can you feel me inside you?”
They nod their head again, tears in their eyes at the pleasure of having him so deep. They take his hand and move it between their legs. “Touch me here,” they say.
“Remember your manners?” he asks.
“Touch my cunt, please daddy,” they say, smiling winningly at him.
He laughs, “well done.”
“Do you take pleasure in making me beg?”
“Thought that was obvious, love,” he says as he touches them where they’re begging for it.
They arch their back as he fucks them, losing their mind to the rhythm of his hips and the movement of his fingers. He makes a game out of it, driving them to make obscene sounds for his own pleasure. They move in tandem with each other, pleasure increasing at the other’s. In a while, Harry chokes out, “I’m close.”
“Not yet, baby,” he says.
They’re so caught off-guard by him calling them baby that they just forget about their impending orgasm. They stutter and pause so that they end up being jostled by him as he keeps moving.
“What is it?” he asks, “why’d you stop?”
“You- you called me baby.”
“Yeah? So?”
“First time you’ve done it. Just like it is all.”
“Yeah?” he says, bending down to kiss them, “well,” he whispers against their ear, “I’m going to come inside you,” he takes a quick pause and then adds, “baby.”
“Fuck,” they breathe, turning their head towards him, “kiss me again.”
He obliges, kissing them until they’re breathless. All the while, fucking in and out of them at a punishing speed, his fingers moving deftly against them. He moves his attention to their neck, kissing and biting to make them squirm.
“You gonna come for me, darling?” he whispers against their ear. “You gonna come on my cock?”
They nod their head, fevered and wild, “wanna come for you, daddy. Slap me one more time,” they beg.
“How about this,” he says, his hand back on their neck, squeezing, “I’ll slap you twice and you’ll only come when I say so.”
They nod their head again. He slaps them, hard. He waits for the impact and the tears, he delights in them when they come. “Look so pretty crying,” he says, “stick out your tongue, darling.”
They open their mouth and stick out their tongue, teary eyes glued on him. He spits, it lands in their mouth. “Close your mouth and swallow,” he says on a particularly hard thrust inside them. When they swallow, looking at him coquettishly, he spits again, this time it lands on their face. They close their eyes, nose scrunching. He slaps them again, muttering a choked, “keep your eyes open, princess.”
Harry wrenches their eyes open to look at him, delighted by his behavior. Louis’ hand finds its way back to their neck, fingers digging on either side of their throat. He leans back down to settle by their ear. He roughly thrusts in and out, his hips moving at a speed they can’t comprehend in their state.
“Come,” he says, his finger rubbing tiny circles on their clit. “Come for me, darling.”
They have no choice but to obey, letting go and allowing themself room to float in the pleasure. They go still and quiet as it washes over them, mouth left hanging open in a silent moan. Louis stops moving to take it in, reveling in the knowledge that he made it happen. When they return to themself, they whisper, “keep going.”
For once, he is the one obeying them. He starts moving again, chasing his own orgasm this time. It only takes a few thrusts for him to have the breath knocked out of him by it. Groaning in their ear and then going silent as he feels it taking over him. When he recovers, he whispers a quiet, “fuck,” under his breath before pulling out and disposing of the condom.
He slumps back on the bed and pulls them toward him, burying his face in their neck and wrapping his arms around their torso. They wrap their arms around his neck and draw him in so he’s laying on their chest. They wind their hand in his hair, twirling the strands around their fingers. They stay silent as they both come down. They stay silent even though they’re already planning their exit. Better not to linger too long. They give it ten minutes before they become restless, squirming and moving to get out of bed.
“Where are you going?” he asks as they stand up.
They figure going for a version of the truth is easier, “I have to do my skincare again,” they say. And then, “you spat on me.”
“Please,” he laughs, placing his arms behind his head and reclining back on the bed, “as if you didn’t enjoy it. You can go but take my key and come back after you’re done.”
“How much are you paying me to come back?” they tease, grabbing their clothes and getting dressed again.
“I’ll sign something for you.”
“Oh, how nice of you, Mr. big rock star.”
“Please,” he scoffs again, “what would I find if I were to look at your Twitter account?”
“A lot of softcore porn,” they answer, “also maybe a couple of tweets worshipping you, it's true.”
“Knew it,” he smirks, looking ridiculously proud of himself. He turns away from them, “hurry back please, you owe me cuddles.”
Harry turns around, takes Louis’ key from the table by the door, and exits the room. They walk back to their room with a wide grin on their face. The grin stays on their face the entire time they’re redoing their skincare. It stays until they’re back outside his door. They school their expression and go inside. The room is dark except for the lamp by the bed. Louis’ frame is unmoving beneath the covers. They pull back the covers and crawl inside.
“Finally,” he says, turning around to wrap his arms around them and lay his head on their chest.