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Louis is sitting on the kitchen counter whining about how much she hates cooking, wearing Harry’s shorts and no panties and looking positively edible (though it’s not as if it’s been a long time since Harry ate her) and Harry is bent over the counter across from her neatly arranging pizza bagels on the toaster oven tray. She can feel her sweatshirt riding up and is going to be really disappointed if Louis isn’t staring at her ass.
“Lace-back panties are nice,” Louis comments nonchalantly, in-between asking about how long cooking takes and how-do-you-know-what-temperature-to-set-the-oven.
“The box tells you what temperature,” Harry says, like it’s not the most obvious answer to the most obvious question in the world. “Also, thank you.” She teases the edge of the lace with her thumb and turns around to face Louis, grinning lasciviously.
“Why,” Louis says like it’s a burden to stare at Harry’s bum, grinning back.
“What, you like it?” Harry murmurs, tugging her sweatshirt back down, bouncing on her toes a little.
“I just said I liked it, idiot.” Louis bites her lip and swings her feet out like she’s trying to kick Harry. She can’t reach, obviously. Harry tries to catch her toes but she can’t reach either. Obviously. “Come closer,” Louis smirks. “I want to kick you.”
Harry laughs. “Why?”
“Because.” She keeps smirking and she keeps kicking her feet and Harry is watching her legs, up, down, toes pointed, toes flexed, short shorts not doing very much to cover, like, her upper thighs. And the crease between her thigh and her pelvis. Harry can see up her shorts. Harry’s not watching, but she totally is. It’s only on the left side, she sort-of rationalizes. She’s only looking at one side. For some reason that makes it seem okay. It’s not, though, that doesn’t even make sense. Louis isn’t wearing panties and she’s wearing Harry’s shorts and they’re really short and Harry knows what she looks like without those shorts on and Louis’s pussy is straight-up on the crotch of them. If she were to be wet, or get wet, or squirt or whatever it would be in the crotch of Harry’s shorts, and that thought alone is enough to spark Harry’s imagination.
She grins deviously at Louis and pushes her big sweatshirt sleeves up to her elbows and leans back against the counter.
“What,” Louis says.
“Nothing,” Harry says, glancing back at the toaster oven to make sure she’s set the timer and closed the door and whatnot. She actually is kind of hungry.
“That doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’” Louis says.
“It’s not, really,” Harry says.
“Well, then, what is it?”
“Something,” Harry says with this I-think-I’m-being-really-cute-right-now face on and she walks across the tile to Louis, stills her legs and puts both of her hands on Louis’s knees and grins at her, has to tilt up a little bit because Louis is taller in this position.
“Are you really still horny?” Louis asks incredulously, laughing softly.
Harry runs her hands up Louis’s soft thighs and back down and up and back down, still grinning. “You’re wearing my shorts without underwear.”
“This is true,” Louis says. “You like it?”
“Loads,” Harry murmurs. “Can’t really think about much else.”
Louis’s breath hitches audibly and her skin goes warm where Harry’s touching her and then they’re just grinning at each other, flustered and in awe. Harry bends down and kisses Louis’s kneecap gently, looking up at her with lively green eyes.
“Okay,” Louis whispers, nodding.
“I’m going to—I want to—” Harry starts breathlessly, and then slides Louis’s thighs apart some so that she can get to her.
“You going to eat me out again, Harry?” Louis asks, her voice low, tucking a bit of Harry’s fringe behind her ear. Harry grins up at her and shakes her head no. Louis waits, but Harry doesn’t say anything. “You gonna make me guess?” Harry nods. Louis thinks she knows what game they’re playing. “You going to kiss me?”
Harry pauses like she’s thinking and then stretches up to kiss Louis, grinning into it, open-mouthed, warm, wet, slick, bringing one hand around to grab at Louis’s bum on the counter. Louis lets out a little moan she didn’t know was coming and Harry moans somewhat desperately not a second after, situating herself between Louis’s legs and grabbing the other side of her arse with her other hand, pulling Louis towards the edge of the counter, towards herself. “You gonna fuck me on this counter?” Louis pants against her cheek. “Put your fingers in me?” Harry nods and kisses her again, hands kneading her bum.
“I want you to get my shorts soaking wet,” she murmurs right up against Louis’s ear.
“Mm,” Louis says. “I can do that.” She shimmies back a little and Harry moves her hands to Louis’s thighs, kissing her again on the mouth and feeling the soft skin under her hungry fingertips, going just underneath the hem of the shorts. She really likes touching Louis. She really likes kissing Louis. She moves one hand to Louis’s crotch and rubs a thumbnail lightly over her clit over the tight fabric of the shorts. Louis shuts her eyes and tips her head back and Harry kisses her jaw, switches to rubbing the tips of two fingers down, harder, teasing Louis and feeling for herself.
“Feel pretty wet,” Louis murmurs. “Give me something.”
“This is something,” Harry says, dragging blunt nails over the same spot, making Louis whine and twitch her hips up minutely, wanting for more.
“Not enough something,” Louis gasps when Harry presses the tip of one finger onto her. “God. That.”
Harry grins and slips two fingers beneath the edge of her shorts, finally touching Louis’s skin. Louis sucks in a breath and rocks forward and Harry puts pressure on Louis’s clit with her thumb and slides her middle finger down to Louis’s opening, where she’s wet and soft and wanting and wet, slickwet on Harry’s fingertip. She spreads it around and leans up to suck on Louis’s neck and gets a finger inside her, reveling in the soft huff of breath she makes as she feels it.
“Jesus,” Louis breathes. She’s rocking on it gently and arrhythmically, up so that there’s pressure on her clit and then back down to feel Harry’s finger inside of her. “One’s good,” she murmurs as Harry kisses her neck.
Harry slides it a little against Louis’s rocking and Louis whines at the slick sound and easy wet slide. “Good,” she moans. She braces herself on the counter so she can build up a sort of rhythm rocking against Harry’s finger and Harry tries to match it, pushing her finger in and out, and then slows down as Louis goes faster, fucking herself on Harry’s finger, holding herself up on the counter with her hands.
“Fuck, Lou,” Harry sighs into Louis’s ear. She’s against the counter outside of the V of Louis’s thighs, leaned up by Louis who is grinding down down down on her hand, quiet choked sobs escaping every time she catches on her clit just right and goes back up with an obscene, wet sound. She pulls almost completely off of Harry’s finger and slides back down with a moan and then goes back to riding it, down down down and then Harry feels her tightening around her finger as she rides down on it two more times, savoring the feeling, and then she’s coming and her hips are erratic and she’s dripping down Harry’s hand and fuck it’s so good, but Louis’s pushing her hand out so Harry takes it out and sucks on her finger and god. God. Her shorts are fucking soaked. The underwear Harry’s in are soaked just from listening to Louis and god. Louis’s leaning back to lay down on the counter, panting, grinning, and Harry can just see how soaked through the shorts are and god.
“So,” Louis says, once she’s caught her breath, grinning still, high on it. “That was amazing.”
Harry laughs. “I agree.” She’s really horny now, but the toaster oven is ticking down the last seconds and she’s about to have to make an extremely tough decision. It dings (much too soon) and Louis sits up.
“Take those out,” she says. Harry would rather get off, she’s just decided.
“I need,” she says, her hand going to her panties, giving her the pressure she needs, “I really want—”
“Oh, Christ,” Louis says, understanding. “I’ll take care of you in a second, baby, just don’t let the bagels burn.”
Harry laughs and kisses her before turning to turn off the oven and put the bagels on a plate. She turns back to face Louis expectantly and sees her pulling off her t-shirt so that she’s just in Harry’s shorts and her lacy bra. “Come here,” she says. “I want you to feel how great that was.”
Harry’s quite possibly going to faint. “Lacy bras are nice,” she says, and the rest, they say, is sex.
(Even if that's not what they say, Harry thinks, at least it's accurate.)