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The other boys have this way of thinking about Harry – "You're whipped as a meringue, Harry," is the most tactful way any of them can say it – and as annoying as it is when they all make whip-cracking noises or when fans tweet him pictures of whipped cream, it's basically true. Sometimes he thinks Louis has turned him into a sex addict. He thinks about it every spare minute. There's always Louis Tomlinson-related porn going through his head and everyone knows he will do anything Louis wants – really anything, no exceptions. Not because Louis is this unstoppable force or anything, but because, well, Harry loves him, and Harry does things for people he loves. It's as simple as that. If it so happens that doing whatever Louis asks of him turns them both on so much they can hardly ever keep their hands off each other and sometimes that leads to sex up against the bonnet of Harry's car in the middle of the countryside, nobody but the band (and sometimes Paul, who's caught them doing things than he's probably never realised could physically be done before) needs to know. And there are some things even the band and Paul aren't privy to.
It usually happens like this: in the morning Louis says, "I want you to wear the grey jeans and the blue shirt, the one I bought you." Or it might be the black shirt, or the white, or this bracelet, or that. Louis likes to make him wear at least one thing that either belongs to Louis or that Louis has bought him, and whenever he looks at it during the day he gets a little flustered because it's a reminder that he belongs to Louis too.
At night (or in the morning, or the afternoon, or sometimes all three), Louis will tilt his head thoughtfully and say, "Stand in the middle of the room and touch yourself," and Harry's breath will get all stuttery and he'll get hard right away and rush over to obey, hand on his dick, hot and thick in his trousers. He knows better than to squeeze himself or do anything but Louis's exact instructions. Over time they'll create a feedback loop, Louis watching him grow more and more unbearably excited and red-faced and embarrassed because Louis's watching him. Eventually, Louis will tell him to undo his trousers. He might tell Harry to take his cock out then, or not. Once in a while he'll order Harry to run along and do something else. If he does finally allow Harry to wank, he might say, "You have thirty seconds. If you haven't got off by then, you won't get to until next time." Or he might instruct Harry on exactly what to do, murmuring, "Fast. Stop. Long strokes. Stop. Just pinch your nipples now. Harder." It's the surest way to turn Harry into an awful mess, and if he hasn't come by the third or fourth instruction it's a rare day indeed.
Then again, he might say nothing, pull Harry into his lap, kiss him hot and slow and finger him until he's sobbing and fucking down onto Louis's hand. Or he might push Harry to the floor, crawl on top of him, and get himself off on Harry's cock, not allowing Harry to move his hips. Harry never knows what Louis will do until it happens. One thing is almost always constant, however, and that is that Louis is in control of the situation. It's the way he likes it, the way Harry likes it.
_
Except sometimes, that's not how it goes at all.
When they were first together, right at the very beginning, there were nights Harry would wait to be told what to do, and when Louis didn't say anything he'd be a bit hurt and frustrated. One evening he got the courage up to ask Louis about it and Louis flushed and said, "N-nothing. Nothing," and he knew it was very much something and pestered Louis until finally, in the dark when they were curled up in bed and Harry was octopussed all around him, Louis said, "There's just some times when I want us to sort of...switch."
"Switch," he said dubiously.
Louis squirmed. "Yeah. Like, I always tell you what to do, don't I? But we could...if you wanted...switch places."
He thought about being the one who told Louis where to stand, what to do, how long to do it, when to get off. Louis, on his knees, looking up at him, docile and obedient.
"Could we do it right now?" he asked, and barely waited for Louis's nod before he started to kiss the nape of Louis's neck and behind his ear. Louis never let him do it as much as he wanted to, claiming it tickled, but Harry knew it wasn't that at all because Louis didn't arch away like he did when he was being tickled. Instead, the tension would go out of him and he'd melt back into it for a moment before pulling away, and Harry had always rather suspected he didn't allow it because it made him unwind too much. When Louis's breath went instantly harsher and he shifted forward and back, Harry knew he was right.
He kept pausing, waiting for Louis's instructions, tripping over himself when he remembered he was in charge. But after a few minutes he eased into it and wondered, completely apart from Louis, what he wanted to do to Louis most. He put a hand on the back of Louis's neck and nudged at him until he lay face-down on the bed, and when Louis immediately rocked his hips restlessly against the mattress Harry's first instinct was to tell him to stop. But he didn't have that desire Louis had, to make him hold off coming until he was so desperate for it he cried and begged. He liked it when he pushed Louis until he didn't mean to come, it just happened because it felt so good. Louis always seemed a bit embarrassed afterward, as if it were shameful to love it so much he hadn't maintained perfect control for even a small span of time.
He reached across Louis's body for the night stand, pressing kisses all over the warm, smooth expanse of Louis's shoulder blades, and snagged the bottle of lube from in between a pile of their car keys and various remote controls.
He spent a long time with his fingers spreading Louis, slow and thorough. Louis gasped into the sheets, mouth around the corner of one of the pillows. He was never very loud, but Harry loved the small, surprised noises he made, the occasional breathless moan, and he had learnt to pay attention to Louis's body rather than his mouth. Louis rocked between Harry's fingers and the bed, but haltingly – he would do it for a moment or two, breathing hard and shaky, then force himself still. Harry began to suck hot little bites all along the back of his neck and his shoulders, and Louis groaned and relaxed, little by little. By the time Harry had slicked his cock up and slid inside him, into that perfect arse he could never resist touching, Louis was steadily thrusting against the bed. But it wasn't quite enough; Harry needed to know more.
"When you get like this," he murmured raggedly into Louis's ear, "what do you think about? What gets you off?"
Louis shuddered and pressed back onto Harry's cock, hard and tight. He panted, "I think...I think about –"
Harry bit at his neck to feel the tremble run through his body. "What," he asked, "tell me, come on, I'll give it to you. You know I'll do anything you want."
"You're bigger than I am now," Louis said, muffled.
Harry waited, but that seemed to be as much as Louis could give him. He sorted through the implications – you're bigger, what did that even mean, really – and finally said, "You want me to manhandle you a bit then?"
"Yeah," Louis said instantly, sounding relieved. "Yes, like that."
It was funny, because he never thought of himself as being bigger than Louis. There was something about him that took up more space than he actually did, because if you objectively looked at him he was the shortest and slightest in the band, but he always seemed bigger. And Harry was used to being sort of little himself and hadn't quite got used to being tall; he was clumsy with it, and kept wearing Louis's trousers until he realised they didn't fit anymore. It hadn't occurred to him that being bigger could be an asset.
"I could hold you down," he said, testing out the idea. He pressed his cock in deep, pushing Louis down by the hips, gripped Louis at the tender junction of his neck and shoulder and held him still when Louis struggled to move. "Do you like that?"
Louis nodded frantically.
"Oh god, yeah," he groaned, feeling around for Louis's wrists, circling them and pushing them down against the bed with all the strength in his upper body, firm so he couldn't escape, and rocked into him fast. Louis writhed under him, bucked against Harry and wasn't able to move him. "Can't move, Lou. What are you going to do?"
Louis's breath turned into short, rapid little moans and he went tight and hot around Harry's cock. The realisation of how hard he was struggling not to come and failing hit Harry in a long, brilliant wash of pleasure and he couldn't stop himself from fucking Louis harder, right into the bed, hips slapping against Louis's arse. He came just as he began to kiss Louis's neck, and he rested his forehead on the back of Louis's head and nuzzled into his hair. The longer he held Louis pinned against the bed the louder he moaned, until he cried out desperately, shivering apart under Harry with his body still twisting to get free.
Harry let him go, slid out of him and freed his wrists and moved off him, and Louis, breath still hitching, rolled to his side. The sheets were soaked – he was a bit of a mess actually, and Harry motioned for him to come closer because there was something horribly vulnerable and uncertain in his face.
"Come here, babe, I've got you," he said, and Louis sort of burrowed into his arms and stayed there. He relaxed and slept for ages, so hard that when Harry woke in the morning he could barely see the rise and fall of Louis's chest.
That was the first but far from the last time Louis wanted it like that; he needs it, Harry realised eventually, when he's exhausted, when he's gone so far beyond the edge of tired that he can't sleep or calm himself. They've worked out a way for Louis to ask for it without having to say explicitly, "Harry, will you please take over tonight," and although they almost always like it the other way around, there's something quite beautiful about Louis setting down his control deliberately for Harry to pick it up. And Harry loves it, because he loves it any way Louis wants it.
_
Like tonight, for example. Louis's been on edge all day. Traveling takes it out of him. He has a hard time sleeping anywhere but a bed, unlike Harry who has no problem sleeping anywhere, a car or a plane or an available shoulder. Harry tries not to rub it in because he can see Louis's so tired he's staggering, but sometimes he knows just the fact that he's stood there looking well-rested is an affront. When they get to their hotel room and Louis doesn't immediately get naked and crawl into the bed, Harry wonders what's on the menu for the evening, and he's not entirely surprised when Louis takes his room key and presses it into Harry's palm, folding his fingers around it carefully. That's always their signal, and the moment he gets it Harry shrugs off his coat and says, "Take off your clothes and kneel on the floor."
And still Louis hesitates, although he's the one who initiated it. It's so hard for him to let go even after all this time, Harry thinks somewhat fondly, and rolls his sleeves up because when Louis is like this he's got to be physical.
"Come on, let's go," he says, leading Louis by the back of his neck. He goes willingly where Harry leads him, and looks almost grateful when Harry helps him peel off his shirt, undo his trousers, kick off his shoes. Harry gently nudges the back of his knee and holds onto him tight, forcing him down. His cock is already stiff and he's breathing hard, and Harry wants to play with him, but instead he just lets Louis kneel there for a few minutes by himself as he puts his toiletry bag away.
When he comes out again Louis looks sulky until he sees Harry's got a sleep mask from the plane in one hand and a tie in the other. The tie is to secure the mask so there's no way Louis can see anything at all, and the mask – well, the easiest way to get Louis where he needs to be is to tie him up, but there are no headboards on these beds. The next best thing is to make sure he doesn't know what's going to happen next.
"If you grab for me," Harry murmurs as he loops the tie over Louis's eyes, "I win."
He doesn't have to say what he's won; they both know it's a battle over Louis's willpower. Once Louis's effectively blindfolded, Harry helps him to his feet and lets him stand there, unsure of himself, off-balance, not knowing where Harry is or what he'll do. Harry undresses quietly, walks round the room, lets Louis try to feel him out. He can see Louis is already having a difficult time with it; his dick is so hard it's flat up against his stomach, small clear droplets slipping down the length of it every so often, and he's got his fists clenched at his side.
Harry thinks Louis probably thinks he'll go for the dick first. He would, of course, but he hates to be predictable. So he goes for the thigh instead, tracing one finger up the inside of it. Louis jumps and lets out a soft cry, rocking on his heels. Harry nods to himself. Promising, promising. He gnaws on a knuckle, contemplating, and decides to go for the top of Louis's foot next, the sensitive bit from the outside all the way to his ankle. Louis jerks a bit, like he half wants to pull away, and Harry goes for his balls immediately to throw him off. Louis's hands twitch at that, and Harry moves behind him, biting down onto the fullest part of Louis's arse and sucking a lovebite there. He'll enjoy the purplish splotch there later, although it's a bit disappointing nobody else will get to admire his handiwork.
"Harry!" Louis gasps, and Harry's glad Louis can't see him because he's grinning in triumph. He stands upright, teases his fingers along the cleft of Louis's arse, and has to bite his lip when Louis pushes back against him as the tip of his middle finger rubs against his arsehole. He stays like that, not touching Louis anywhere else, letting Louis really start arching back to get more, and pulls away just when Louis's getting somewhere.
It's his arm next – a nibble – collarbone, one finger on his left hand, and a kiss on the lips that makes Louis sigh happily into his mouth before Harry pulls away, drops to his knees and begins to suck, unable and unwilling to keep his hands off his own dick.
Louis's fingers go straight into his hair and stay there, twisting and winding in the curls, and Harry doesn't even have to say he's won because it was a foregone conclusion. He sucks hard, the way he would if Louis were in charge and said, "Fast, please," and when he feels just the barest pressure of Louis's fingers on his head to indicate that he's getting close, he pulls away and watches Louis jerk forward, thrusting into thin air, gasping at the gust of Harry's breath over his wet dick. In the silence of the room it's easy to hear Harry's hand on his cock, now, the sticky smack of it. He knows Louis hears it because his mouth opens a little and he tilts his head forward, listening. He fucking loves to watch Harry touch himself, and only being able to listen to it – Harry imagines it might be a bit like having to look at something delicious and not be able to eat it. He swipes his fingers over the head of his cock to gather some of the come there and stands, smears it on Louis's lower lip. Louis really moans then, heartfelt, pleading, and sucks on his finger until Harry draws it back, tapping his nose. Sometimes he's amazed at the massive cruel streak he's developed since he met Louis Tomlinson. He was a nice boy before.
"I've won," he says, teasing, "so I get to do something fun."
Louis opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Harry leads him to the bed and spreads him out onto it, crawls up so his knees are on either side of Louis's shoulders, and starts to wank himself right next to Louis's face. Louis gets it right away and turns blindly toward the noise, mouth open, and when Harry lets the tip rub over Louis's lips he laps at the head eagerly. Harry lets him do it for a few moments, pulls away, strokes himself right up to the edge, lets Louis lick, and repeats again and again. Louis's hips pump up into the air urgently and finally he whispers, like a confession, "Harry, please let me see, I have to."
Harry immediately tugs the tie loose, pulls off the eye mask, and Louis blinks hard, probably unable to see properly but not willing to ask Harry to move so he can rub his eyes. Harry's hand is already on his cock and he's coming – there, spilling right into Louis's mouth, and Louis tilts his head up, desperate to suck. Harry doesn't mean to but he's sort of pushing between Louis's open lips, and Louis's eyes slam shut and Harry feels him arch, tight, and when he looks over his shoulder he sees Louis is coming without even touching himself, spurting into the air and on his stomach.
Harry has so many plans for quality cuddling afterward, because Louis shrugs it off but in private the man loves a cuddle, can't get enough of it, and after sex he's like a limpet. But when Harry comes back in from the bathroom with a damp cloth and a glass of water, Louis is already dead asleep, curled into a little ball, and Harry can't bear to wake him. He looks young and sweet and utterly exhausted. It's three in the morning by Harry's own internal clock, but he's not tired, so he pulls the blanket up over Louis, settles down in the other bed and messes about on twitter.
"The things that can be done with airplane masks," he writes, and watches it get retweeted eight thousand times in a few minutes. Then, looking at Louis's face and the way he frowns a little in his sleep, he smiles and tweets, "Keys are yours again."
He gets about eleven thousand tweets asking him what he means by that, and doesn't add, although he wants to, that all Harry's keys have always belonged to Louis anyway.