Chapter Text
One of these days Louis is going to get an actual lie in rather than being rudely awakened by Niall bouncing into the room without as much as a knock on the door, making so much noise that Louis has no choice but to, reluctantly, regretfully, emerge from sleep.
"Fuck off, Niall," he says without opening his eyes. "Do you know what time is it?"
"Four o'clock," Niall says promptly, pulling back one of the curtains to let in some unwelcome sunlight. "And you need to get up."
"Four? Fuck off." Louis rolls over and pulls the duvet over his head. He doesn't do daylight if he can help it, unless he's specifically been told to go outside and get some colour on his skin.
"You need to get up," Niall says again, more insistently, and
Louis sits up, immediately fully awake and alert.
"Guests are coming?" he asks, half-hoping that this is just another of Niall's wind-ups and he can somehow kick Niall out of the room and get back into bed in under ten minutes. He can get at least another hour’s sleep if he’s lucky.
Niall nods.
"One?" Louis pushes. "Or more?"
Niall shrugs. His silence is answer enough and apprehension churns in Louis's stomach as he rolls out of bed and stumbles past Niall to the bathroom. It's been two weeks since anyone last visited, longer than they’ve been left for a while. Louis was starting to wonder whether they’d been forgotten about completely. Hoping and worrying at the same time; being forgotten isn’t entirely a good thing.
"You need a shave, mate," Niall says when Louis goes back into the bedroom. He’s opened the curtains all the way and pushed up the sash windows to let in light and fresh air Louis could do without.
"Later." Louis scrubs at his three day stubble, feeling stupidly guilty about it all the same. He’s let himself go this last week, let complacency sink in, and that’s not a good idea. He prides himself on knowing all the rules, all the loopholes, knowing how to play the game and - in some obscure way he hasn’t entirely rationalised in his head - beat them at it, and the key to it all is never growing complacent. That's how they catch you out, drag you down, and cast you aside.
"Don’t want to show your age," Niall says cheerily. "That’s all I’m saying." He’s sat on the window ledge of the biggest window, the one that looks over the front of the house, his face tilted into the sunlight. He hasn’t been allowed outside in a month and his pale skin is milky white.
"Don’t burn your nose," Louis snaps.
Niall grins unrepentantly, yawning and stretching, the sun catching the narrow collar around his neck as he moves. "Need a bit of colour." He hesitates before he adds, "Just so you know...Paul’s been clearing out the spare room."
It shouldn’t matter - it doesn’t matter - but Louis still feels his heart skip a beat. "Oh," he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Someone new?"
"Someone new," Niall confirms.
"What do we know?"
"Very new. Impulse buy."
Which isn’t usual at all, and the apprehension starts to churn at Louis again. But this new purchase is going in- in the spare room, so it’s not like any of them are being replaced. Yet.
"How come you get the best room, anyway?" Niall says, distracting Louis from his increasingly panicked thoughts.
"Because I’m the oldest."
"Liam’s been here longer than you though," Niall points out.
Louis isn’t going to touch that one - Liam’s been here four years and if Louis thinks about that too much he feels ill. "I’m still the oldest. And besides," he adds, pulling on his jeans, "Liam hasn’t got an arse like this."
"Oh, that’s talent," Niall says, but he’s grinning and Louis can’t help grinning back. "Why don’t I ever get to fuck you?"
"No one asks for that." Louis checks his reflection in the mirror. He really does need a shave, and some concealer for the shadows under his eyes, but he’ll leave that for Lou to sort out. "You’re the sweet, innocent one, remember."
And that’s a joke - it’s been a while since Niall was anything even approaching innocent. The guests like the look though, like to watch Niall get taken advantage of by Liam or Zayn, sweetly despoiled for their entertainment. Forever untouched and virginal, until the next time. Louis knows how that one works too: unique selling point is what it’s all about.
"Fuck you," Niall says amiably.
"You wish."
"It's my birthday tomorrow; how about an early present?"
"How about no?" The banter rolls easily off his tongue. It's all for show anyway; Niall has about as much real interest in fooling around with Louis as Louis does with Niall. He feels a bit guilty about that sometimes, like he should want Niall, like he could have wanted him in another life, another existence. He tends to try and ignore those feelings though, because it doesn’t matter, in the end, what he wants or doesn’t want. He’s sucked Niall off before, when he's been told to, and he knows it means as little to Niall as it does to him.
Niall rolls his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."
"Get out. Go. Leave."
Louis has to kick him out of his room in the end: Niall will happily stay there for hours if Louis lets him but Louis likes what little privacy he has. That's the other advantage of his room - the other three rooms are right at the other end of the landing, down a short flight of steps. The house isn't soundproofed as such but it's an old house with solid walls that muffle sound reasonably well, especially with a bit of distance. It's an uncomfortable thought that he won't have that distance with the new purchase; the fifth room is right next to his, the only other room at this end of the house.
Louis pulls on a t shirt and the jeans he wears around the house and heads out. He hesitates on the landing: the door to the spare room is open for the first time in months. Paul had locked it after - after it became unoccupied, and Louis gets a wave of nausea when he sees it propped open again and a figure standing inside the room. It's only Paul, though; he spots Louis before Louis can scuttle downstairs and calls him in.
"Sleep ok?" Paul’s eyes miss nothing as he gives Louis a quick once-over but then that’s his job, to keep an eye on them. It’s in everyone’s interests to keep the boys as healthy as possible. "You look like shit."
"Thanks," Louis says dryly. He risks a quick look around the room.
"I mean it. Make sure Lou pretties you up, ok? VIPs tonight."
People who know all the right people, Louis mentally translates. The last time they'd had VIPs one of them had broken Louis's finger. He couldn't feel any less enthusiastic about the prospect of a re-run. He looks around the room again instead, half-dreading seeing some lingering trace of its former inhabitant’s existence, but there's nothing, not even the tiniest memento of him in the cold, bare room. The new double bed is incongruous and out of place given the lack of any other furniture.
"New boy coming," Paul says succinctly, noticing Louis's interest in the sudden changes.
"I heard. Really new. Bought yesterday."
"Yeah." Paul pulls a face. "A bit of notice would have been good. But we'll manage. Hopefully he'll be house-broken but he could be anything."
"If he's not he will be soon," Louis says, with more of an edge to his voice than he intends.
Paul gives him a sharp, warning look. "Exactly." Then, "You’re running late. Go and see Lou."
"What time are they getting here?" Louis asks, stalling.
"Seven at the earliest, but who knows if they'll eat first or just go straight to the main course." He looks meaningfully at Louis. "Best be ready."
Louis takes the hint and goes downstairs. Upstairs there's only the boys' bedrooms but downstairs the house is split neatly in two: the bit the guests see and the part they don't. The bit they see is the entrance hall and the sitting room that looks out over the garden and the dining room with its high, curving picture windows. It's all very tastefully rustic; warm, aged wooden furniture, comfortable armchairs. It's also a complete contrast to the bit they don't see, through a door that is locked when guests are in residence; sparse and modern and as cold and clinical as a hospital clinic. That's where Louis heads now, keying the code into the door that prevents guests from wandering in by mistake.
The first room looks like a waiting room - which, Louis supposes, it is. Andy, their other minder, looks up from a magazine as Louis enters and nods a silent greeting as Louis gives him a wave and heads for the shower room next door. He never bothers washing in his own bathroom when they have guests; the rules say he has to shower down here and he doesn’t see the point in washing twice. The downstairs shower is a communal affair and Zayn's already in there, all caramel skin and long limbs as he twists under the jets.
Of all of them, Zayn's probably the only one Louis has ever thought about fucking when they don't have to, the one he dares to think about when he rubs his hand against his inner thigh and thinks about touching his cock.
"Hey," Zayn says when Louis joins him.
"Niall says we're getting a fifth," Louis says without preamble.
Zayn shrugs. "Yeah." He tilts his head back under the spray, closing his eyes.
"Who's the lucky boy?"
"Could be a girl," Zayn points out.
Louis snorts. "Yeah, no."
"Didn't think there was going to be someone else. Not after what happened."
He's not making it obvious but Louis knows that Andy is listening to them; the boys don't really have any privacy anywhere in the house and none of them have keys to any of the doors to lock themselves away so there's always the expectation that they're being supervised. But then Andy's heard more than a few things that - technically - should have landed one or more of them in a whole world of trouble and as far as Louis knows he hasn't said anything so he thinks they might have some leeway as far as Andy's concerned. "Me neither," he says.
"It's been six months."
Louis swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah."
They don't talk after that. Louis washes himself methodically, thoroughly, and by the time he gets out Zayn is already drying himself off next door. Louis grabs a clean towel and joins him, drying himself off and rubbing body lotion into every inch of skin from neck to toes while Zayn does the same. They both studiously avoid eye contact. Andy reads his magazine.
"What are they getting for dinner?" Louis asks Andy.
"Lemon sole. Passion fruit sorbet for dessert."
Zayn groans. "Sorbet again?"
"You don’t have to eat it," Andy says mildly.
"Got to keep our strength up." Louis gives Zayn a push in the direction of Lou’s workroom. "Come on, can’t keep Lou waiting."
Lou is just putting the finishing touches to Liam when they go through into her workroom. She gives Louis a quick smile and pats Liam on the shoulder.
"There you go. Perfect."
Liam squints doubtfully at the mirror. "Are you sure about the hair?"
"Looks lovely, Li," Louis says, winking at Lou. "You've never looked more beautiful."
"I look like a lumberjack," Liam says mournfully.
"You look very manly, love." Louis goes to rumple his hair and then remembers where he is and mimics Lou's shoulder pat instead. "If you're really lucky, you might get to fuck me later."
He tries not to sound too hopeful. Liam's fucked him more than a few times and it's always been good, as much as anything is good, and Liam is careful and doesn't manhandle him any more than he's directed. He doesn't try to make it hurt either, which is more than can be said for most of the guests who ask for Louis, and if Louis is always going to be the second - or third - choice for Liam ... well, that's just something Louis has to accept.
"VIPs tonight," Liam says.
"Yeah." Louis drops into the chair Liam vacates and scowls dramatically at his reflection in the mirror. "Do your worst, Lou."
It isn’t unusual for guests to send through their requirements in advance and that’s exactly what’s happened today; Lou has a printout taped to the mirror so she can refer to it when necessary. What clothes to wear, how their hair should be, a shopping list of dos and don’ts to create the perfect living dolls.
"Glasses for you," she tells Louis. He scowls. He hates wearing his glasses; it’s like an invitation for them to come on his face.
"What about me?" Zayn asks, wandering in with a towel slung casually around his hips.
"Eyeliner," Lou says matter-of-factly, pointing it out. Zayn groans.
"Again?"
"Not my fault, that’s what it says. Makes your eyes look lovely."
"I don’t want my eyes to look lovely," Zayn grumbles. Liam catches his arm and Zayn turns into him and Louis looks away – he doesn’t hate them for finding something good in all this but he doesn’t care to watch them kiss either.
"That stubble has to go, babes," Lou tells Louis, poking at his shoulder sympathetically.
"What, I can’t steal Liam’s manly look?" Louis is already leaning back though; the request makes it clear he’s expected to be pretty and by the time Lou’s finished with him that’s exactly what he looks like; a pretty, vapid doll. Lou doesn’t bother telling him to get himself ready to be fucked – it goes without saying for Louis – and he does it without thinking, opening himself up with one, two, three fingers while Lou does Zayn’s hair and Liam and Niall talk about the leftovers they might get from dinner later. When they don’t have guests they get to eat pretty much what they like – which means sandwiches, mostly, because none of them can cook – but when the house is busy they’re not allowed in the kitchen. It's always been the mantra that they have to earn everything, that it doesn't do to spoil them.
They're all restless, waiting, but there's a limit to how much they can burn off the excess energy. They can't muss up their clothes or their hair and Paul and Andy are too busy making sure everything is ready for their guests to spare the time to entertain them, so the four of them play cards in the sitting room instead, even though none of them really know the rules to any kind of card game.
"If you were free," Liam asks in that way he does sometimes, serious but trying to pretend he's not, "Would you come to a place like this?"
Niall' face scrunches. "As a volunteer, or-"
"No! As a guest." Liam shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Zayn. "I mean, would you think about us, if you were one of them? Like them, I mean."
"We're not free," Louis cuts in sharply before Niall can respond, leaning over to flick his finger against Liam's collar. "And we never will be. What's the point of talking about it?"
"We're not going to be here forever," Liam points outs. "And you heard what was on the radio the other da-"
"Shut up, Li!"
"I’m just saying, some have escaped and they-"
Louis slaps him this time, on the arm, hard. Liam yelps and flinches away, and Zayn scowls at Louis.
"What?" Louis says, forcing himself to scowl back. "There’s no point in talking about it. Unless you want to get in shit, that is. Is that what you want, Li? Because this is a quick way to get all of us shipped off to the fucking medical research labs, or worse. How long do you reckon you’d last?"
"He was just asking a question," Zayn says quietly.
"Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it," Liam adds, pale but defiant. "You think you’ll still be here when you’re twenty-five?"
"No." And Louis doesn't want to think about that, about what happens the day he gets too old for this, when they get bored of him or just get a better offer. If he's lucky, maybe one of the guests will buy him. If he's unlucky ... Louis tries not think about things like that. He's heard stories. "But running away? Didn't know you were so desperate to leave us, Li. It'd be quiet without you screaming every time Zayn sucks your cock.
Liam blushes. It's so easy to wind him up; too easy, really. "I don't scream."
"Yeah, you do," Zayn and Niall say in unison, grinning at each other. The tension is broken, but Louis knows it’s only a temporary ceasefire between him and Liam and the knot of anxiety in his belly tightens just a little more. Liam’s thinking too much, and it’s dangerous for all of them, and Louis needs to find a way to fix it.
They're onto their fourth game of cards when they hear the unmistakable crunch of car tyres on gravel that signals their guests’ arrival. Within seconds the cards are gone - underneath an armchair is good enough for now - and the four of them are kneeling in a neat, expectant line in front of the fireplace. Louis concentrates on breathing evenly, in and out, Zayn’s shoulder against his a warm and reassuring touch as Paul comes clattering downstairs to open the front door to the visitors.
"Three," Liam whispers. They’ve all been holding their breath, listening intently to the footsteps and distant voices in the entrance hall. Louis lets himself relax a little. Three isn’t so bad: Simon and two guests. One of them might even get a night off, if they’re lucky. It’s the waiting, the not knowing, that Louis hates most.
When the door does finally open, an interminable time later, it’s Paul, grim-faced and intent.
"You’re to be at dinner," he says simply, and leaves them to make their own way to the dining room.
***
Dinner is all oddly stilted conversation Louis doesn't bother following too closely, interspersed with some awkward silences when the woman sat next to him giggles just a little too loud, a little too late. He’s seen her before but he can’t quite remember when and in what context. Louis tries very hard not to look down at the way her dress is rucked up round her hips or how she tugs at Niall's hair, encouraging and guiding him as he laps between her legs.
The rest of the boys have been sat at table tonight, something that only happens when the party is small. Louis always feels awkward eating knowing that Simon's eyes are on him, and the others don't look comfortable with the situation either - Zayn fidgets constantly and Liam drops his fork three times before they've even had the starter. It's a relief when Simon finally pushes his chair back to signal that the meal is at an end but at the same time Louis is nervous. He's tried not to make eye contact with the man sitting opposite him all the way through the meal but he's been aware of him, and been aware of him looking, assessing. Louis’ been here long enough to just have a feeling about some of the guests and all the red flags are being run up with this one. Louis doesn’t remember seeing him before and Simon hasn’t bothered introducing him. The first isn’t necessarily a bad sign - Simon often brings guests Louis hasn’t seen before; the second certainly is.
"I assume you're taking Niall." Simon keeps it deadpan but he can't quite hide his amusement. The woman, for her part, gives him a smirk and raises her glass in a mock toast. Louis remembers her then, the gesture triggering a rush of sickening sense memory. She’d fucked him just to see his reactions, to laugh at him biting his lip in an ultimately futile effort to hold back his quiet moans and sobs as she took him with minimal preparation and even less care. The abrasions on the backs of his thighs from her harness rubbing the skin raw had taken days to heal. He hopes she won’t treat Niall the same way; he doesn’t think she will. It’s him they want to hurt, to humiliate, to break.
"I am," she confirms. She turns her head and winks at Louis. Louis pretends he hasn’t noticed and risks a quick glance at Zayn instead. He looks less carefully composed as usual; a combination, Louis thinks, of his burning hatred of being prettied up for guests and the fact that the unknown male guest has his hand on his thigh. The eyeliner suits him though.
"I'll take Louis and Liam," Simon continues, and Louis exhales. He sees Liam and Zayn exchanging glances and then they’re all getting up, following Simon’s lead, the meal at an end.
The guest suites aren't in the house itself; they're in the annexe, linked to the house by a short, covered walkway. The woman and the third guest head straight for their rooms, Zayn and Niall trailing in their wakes. Simon takes his time to move things out there, preferring to talk to Paul in the entrance hall while Louis and Liam wait in silence. Louis tries and fails to listen in on the conversation but they're both talking so quietly he can't make out a word.
"What do you think he'll want?" Liam asks quietly. "The usual?"
"Probably." Louis isn't really interested in discussion at this point: he just wants to get it over with as quickly and easily as possible so he can go back to bed. He feels unaccountably nervous tonight, an itching underneath the skin, something he can't quite get a handle on. Whatever it is, it annoys him; Louis has made being in control of himself an art form and he doesn't want to start slipping now.
Whatever Simon and Paul are talking about, it seems to have been settled to everyone’s satisfaction and Paul heads off in the direction of the guest annexe. Simon pulls out his phone and starts tapping away at it. Anyone who didn't know him would think he was oblivious to Louis and Liam's presence but they both know him too well to relax so easily. Louis stares fixedly at the pattern of the wallpaper in front of him; Liam is similarly fascinated by the carpet. Louis wonders if he’s thinking about Zayn. Wondering. Worrying. That’s the danger of getting too close, of caring too much.
"Zayn can look after himself," he says, very quietly, watching Simon closely and making sure not to even glance in Liam’s direction. "He’ll be ok."
"I know he will," Liam says unconvincingly.
Simon is done with whatever he’s doing, finally, and he gives them a quick nod to follow him. There are five guest suites arranged around a courtyard and Simon’s is the largest and most luxurious, and also the furthest from the main house, set apart a little from the others. Louis usually tries not to think about the reasons for that, or look at the deep, shadowed alcoves that line the walkway. Logically he knows he’s too old to be afraid of the dark, but logic runs right into the rigid wall of experience.
The suite is already unlocked when they get there, and Louis slips past Simon to go straight to the minibar in the sitting area to pour the man a drink. He hears Liam behind him offering to take Simon’s jacket. Little things that can make the difference between an easy night and a difficult one, and Simon has the power of life and death over them and Louis never forgets that for a second.
"Just put it over the chair," Simon tells Liam easily. "Don’t worry about it. Thank you." The last is to Louis, who stands awkwardly rubbing his hands together after he’s handed over the drink, before he remembers himself and adopts a more suitable posture. Only just in time; Simon takes a sip of the drink and then walks a careful circle around Louis, scrutinising him from every angle. Louis stands perfectly still, trying not to breathe. He’s aware of Liam hovering, just out of his eyeline.
"Well done," Simon says and Louis exhales as the older man steps back. There’s an awkward silence and then Liam moves forward, slipping his arms around Louis’ waist in a parody of intimacy, his hands sliding under Louis’ shirt. Louis gasps in mock arousal, closing his eyes, tilting his head back against Liam’s shoulder. It’s all for show but it’s an easy game, one Louis knows how to play. Liam can think of Zayn and he can think about nothing and in the morning they’ll still be friends.
"Oh no." Simon taps Louis on the nose, the way he knows annoys Louis. "Not tonight."
Louis disengages from Liam and they exchange glances, neither quite sure what to do. Usually it’s fairly straightforward with Simon; he knows what he likes and they know what he likes. Even when he deliberately tries to shake them up a little there are certain things that stay the same and he always, always likes to see Louis and Liam together. Until now.
"You’re the oldest, aren’t you, Louis?"
The words are like a physical blow and Louis feels his chest constrict at the force of them. He manages to nod, somehow. Manages to hold himself still.
"Aren’t you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"How long have you been here? A good while now." Simon leans back against the wall, eyeing Louis speculatively. "I’ve had good use out of you."
Too old, too used. He’s going to vomit. Or pass out: Louis isn’t quite sure how he’s still standing. He feels Liam shifting uncomfortably behind him and he sees the flicker of Simon’s eyes and knows that Liam will probably pay for that at some point - and if it wasn’t for the panic that’s threatening to take him over entirely he’d care more about that.
Simon abruptly straightens up and heads towards the bedroom. Not knowing what else to do, Louis follows, Liam at his heels. Simon doesn’t usually take them into the bedroom and certainly doesn’t let any of them anywhere near the bed, but this time the bed is already occupied. The shock of that - and the fact that the lights are turned down low - means it takes a while for Louis to work out what exactly he’s looking at and when he does all the pieces fall into place, because the boy spreadeagled naked on the bed, hands tied tightly to the headboard, is almost certainly the new boy the room upstairs is prepared for.
"This is Harry," Simon says conversationally as he walks across to the bed. "You can say hello to him, if you like. He can’t really answer at the moment though. He made a nuisance of himself on the way up here."
Close to, Louis can see the sheen of sweat on Harry’s pale skin, the glazed eyes and shallow breaths. He looks young - a couple of years younger than Louis, at least - and so, so vulnerable. Louis swallows thickly. "He doesn’t need to be tied," he says. "Sir."
"No." Simon arranges himself in a chair, facing the bed. "He doesn’t. But he is."
Louis presses two fingers against Harry’s neck, feeling for the pulse. They’re all used to looking after each other and he does it without thinking. Harry’s pulse is more rapid than Louis would like but it’s strong and regular. Harry mumbles something incoherent and turns his head and Louis realises that he’s been touching Harry for far longer than is strictly necessary. He snatches his hand away, flushing, and looks up to find Simon watching him with a smile on his face.
"Like him? Good. He’s a treat for you, Louis."
"What kind of treat?" But even as he says it Louis understands exactly what Simon means, and a fresh wave of nausea washes over him.
"Don’t you want to fuck him, Louis?" The deliberate profanity drops into the awkward silence. "I know you never get to fuck, only be fucked. And that’s not really fair, is it? So here’s your chance. You can fuck him. He hasn’t done it before. All new for you. Unspoiled."
Liam starts to say something - Louis knows exactly what he’s going to say - but Louis’ hand clamps down on his arm and he falls silent. "I don’t know," Louis says, trying to force a confidence he doesn’t feel into his voice. "Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?"
"Oh, Louis." Simon sounds amused as he walks over to the armchair in the corner and settles himself down. From there, Louis realises, he has a perfect view of the bed. "I’m giving you this opportunity and I suggest you use it."
It’s not a suggestion: Louis is in no doubt now what Simon is looking for. His hands go to his shirt buttons; undressing buys him time, gives him space to think. Liam hovers nervously, obviously not really knowing what to do. Louis gives him a smile but Liam doesn’t smile back.
"Relax," Louis hisses warningly. Simon is perfectly capable of asking for and taking it out on Zayn if Liam displeases him, and Liam knows that; it frustrates Louis sometimes that the others always seem to forget, and that he’s always the one who has to remind them.
Liam shakes his head and looks pointedly at Louis’ crotch. "How’s this going to work then?"
Louis, long past the point of being remotely ashamed about that particular issue, ignores him, turning his back as he heads for the bed. He’s aware of Simon watching intently and he tries to tune that out, tries to focus on the here and now. The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and Harry blinks and turns his head from side to side, trying to see what’s happening. It’s clear to Louis that Harry is only dimly aware of what’s happening; he’s not even sure Harry can see him as he straddles Harry’s hips, balancing himself carefully. Harry’s cock lies soft against his thigh but Louis knows he could easily have him hard in minutes and it would be so easy like that, so familiar.
Which is, presumably, why Simon has told him to do something different tonight.
Somewhere behind him, Liam coughs. "You need to…" he says, trailing off.
"I know what I need to do," Louis snaps. He hears Simon chuckle, very softly, and he hates that sound and thrills to it at the same time. And there’s a moment when he nearly does go through with it, when conscience and any lingering sense of morality come close to being set aside in pursuit of something he’s never had. A moment when baser urges, long suppressed, threaten to overwhelm him. A moment when temptation beckons him on, to take as he’s been taken, to use as he’s been used, to hurt as he’s been hurt.
And then Harry’s lips part; his tongue flickers out, moistening chapped lips. Louis’ sure he’s the only one hears the soft, breathless plea Harry whispers as Louis rests a hand against his cheek.
"Is he a virgin?" Liam asks, in that tone of voice he uses when he wants to be helpful. "Because then-"
"I think I’ve already told Louis he is." Simon’s voice cuts across Liam like the crack of a whip. "Haven’t I?"
"Yes," Louis says quietly. "Yes, you have." Harry gazes up at him, eyes unfocused, but Louis knows better now, knows he isn’t entirely unaware. Perhaps it would have been easier if he’d been sure that Harry was unknowing, perhaps not. He’s not involved. He doesn’t get involved, doesn’t let himself get involved. It’s just not as simple as it should be with Harry.
"If you don’t think you can get it up," Simon continues, cruelly, "You can at least fuck him with your fingers. He’s yours, Louis. It’s him or you. Make your choice."
Louis hears Liam’s breath hitching, sees him fidgeting in his peripheral vision. He looks down again at Harry, struggling weakly against the ropes tying him to the bed, and knows he doesn’t have many options. He’s here for Simon’s amusement and it’s his discomfort Simon wants to see.
So he makes his choice.
Simon makes him kneel over Harry for it, knees either side of Harry’s hips so they’re skin to skin, Louis’ limp cock rubbing against Harry’s thighs.
"Look at him," Simon instructs Louis. "I want you to watch him."
And Louis does, keeping his eyes open and his gaze locked on Harry’s face as Liam fucks into him hard and fast, quickly setting the punishing rhythm Simon demands. Harry’s eyes are green - so green - and Louis sees the first stirrings of real awareness in their depths as their bodies are driven together by Liam’s relentless thrusts. He’s not entirely surprised when he feels Harry’s cock start to harden against his belly; it’s friction, nothing more. He clumsily pets at Harry’s hair, whispers soothing nothings in his ear as Harry frowns and bites his lip, barely breathing. Louis knows he doesn’t really understand what’s happening; he manages to shift his position slightly to give Harry a better angle and is rewarded with a gasp and a tiny moan from Harry.
"It’s all right," he tells Harry softly. "It’s all right." He gets a hand between them, wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock, giving him the friction he needs. Harry comes with a groan of almost-pain, shuddering against Louis and making small, hurt sounds like he’s the one getting fucked and not Louis, and Louis wants to tell him it’s ok, wants to comfort him, but Simon is on his feet, chuckling as he tells Liam:
"Make it hurt."
Louis buries his face against Harry’s neck and holds on, holds on as if Harry is his anchor in a stormy sea. His glasses have slipped off; the frame presses uncomfortably into the side of his face but there’s nothing he can do about it. Even if he could reach to push them back on - and he doesn’t think he could let go of Harry if he tried - he doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s just better not to see.
Liam doesn’t drag it out any longer than he has to in order to satisfy Simon but to Louis it still feels like an age before Liam finally grunts and shivers above him as he spills into Louis’ body, and then he’s pulling out, and Louis tries and fails to hold back a whimper of distress. He’s not hurt badly though; Liam knows how to make it look worse than it is. Louis’ had far worse from the guests who fuck him.
"You can go," Simon tells Liam. Louis stays where he is as the bed dips, shivering with more than cold. He senses Simon moving around the room, hears the sound of a zip going down once the door has closed behind Liam. He presses his face against Harry’s shoulder and takes a deep breath as he feels the rustle of fabric against his arm.
"Leave him alone."
It takes Louis a moment to realise that the words came from Harry. He’s slurring a little, still dazed, but there’s determination in that rumbling drawl. No, he wants to scream. Don’t. Let him do what he wants. But he doesn’t. He knows Simon is standing over them and he waits for the lash of retribution: the first - the most important - rule is that you never, ever answer back. He starts thinking that if they’re lucky only Harry will get punished but as soon as he thinks that he realises that he doesn’t want Harry to be punished, that he’s the one who deserved it for having let weakness dictate his actions. Then again, there’s no guarantee Simon wouldn’t have made Liam fuck him anyway, even if he’d hurt Harry the way he’d been told to. Maybe Simon had wanted Liam to fuck Harry too. Louis is too tired and too sore to think through all the possible permutations; tomorrow he’ll wallow in self-recrimination but not now.
"What did you say?" Simon sounds almost amused.
"I said, leave him alone," Harry says, his voice stronger this time. "He did what you said. Leave him alone."
"Ah," Simon says, and Louis’ heart sinks. There’s a whole world of undertones in that one little word and he knows Harry doesn’t understand any of them, not yet. "I’ll leave you two to it then."
Louis hasn’t got the strength to move when Simon’s gone. He knows he should, knows he should untie Harry’s wrists, let him up, explain to him how things work, but it’s almost…comforting to lie pressed against the heat of Harry’s body, breathing in the scent of him.
"Thank you," Harry says after a while.
"For what?" Louis muffles a yawn against Harry’s shoulder. "You do realise he’s going to get payback for that, right? You can’t tell him no."
Harry is silent for a second and then, "He was going to hurt you."
Louis shrugs, as much as he can. "Nothing I haven’t had before."
"You- That’s not ok." Harry sounds so confused, so bewildered, that Louis nearly bursts out laughing.
"No, it’s not ok. But that’s how it is. You’ll get the idea." Please get the idea, he adds mentally.
"What do you mean?"
"You can’t show weakness like that," Louis says patiently. "He knows he can use me against you now, that you don’t want me to be hurt. So next time he’ll hurt me, to hurt you. Don’t you know this stuff?"
Another moment of silence. "This- This is the first time," Harry says eventually.
"Oh." Louis’ voice sounds very small even to himself. "Shit." He makes a mental note to ask, later, how Harry ended up here. "Sorry."
"It’s not your fault," Harry says. He nuzzles against Louis’ hair, turning his head as much as he can. "It’s not."
They don’t talk again until Paul comes to lift Louis out of bed so he can untie Harry. "Go and shower," he tells Louis. "I’ll take care of this one."
And that should be it - Louis should walk away. Harry isn’t his responsibility, that’s not how it works, and Louis has survived this far with his sanity mostly intact by following the rules and playing the game and, above all, not feeling much of anything.
"Don’t leave him on his own," he says instead. "Put him in with Niall."
Paul nods, eyeing him speculatively. "Sleep well, Louis," is all he says though.