The club is loud, alive with the sound of the bass from the catchy song with vulgar lyrics and the people surrounding Harry who are grinding and drinking and yelling and laughing. It’s almost too much, and if Harry were a novice at this, he’d have a headache by now. But this is his scene lately, the past few months having been a blur of drinks and blackouts as he skated by with a forced nonchalance. He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t happy about much anymore so it didn’t matter. He throws back the remainder of his fourth cocktail and stands on uneasy legs, scouting the place for anyone who looks like they’d get him out of his own head for the night. Niall, his best mate and sometimes-babysitter watches warily, his own beer in his hand.
“Y’okay there, H?” He asks loudly, taking a sip of his beer.
Harry glances down at him, an easy smile on his lips. He hopes it comes across as easy anyway. “’M fine! Gonna go find someone to dance with!”
Before Niall can protest or list all of the reasons that that was probably not a good idea, Harry’s sauntering away from the table. He flits easily through the throngs of bodies that are pressed together, humming along to Beyonce as he goes. There are a few men in here who catch his eye, but none of them drawing his attention for much more than a few seconds. As the bass drops, a flash of pink and yellow lights fill the dance floor, and Harry’s eyes drift straight across the room. They meet with another pair and this guy looks like he could maybe help Harry out tonight. With a smirk, he makes his way towards him. He’s handsome enough, but not too terribly so. He’s got sandy blonde hair and a tight red shirt on, showcasing his defined torso. Harry licks his lips as he steps up to the man, who’s already ogling at him.
Harry leans forward, placing a hand on the man’s forearm as he says, “Hi, ’m Harry. Wanna dance?”
Simple, but effective. The man nods, grinning as he follows Harry to a spot on the dance floor. Harry keeps his back to him as he starts dancing, letting his bum subtly grind against the man’s crotch. A pair of hands find his waist and he smirks to himself, pushing back a little harder now. The guy is getting hard, that much he can tell. Harry isn’t there yet, isn’t anywhere near that yet, but he keeps dancing. If he can just forget who he’s dancing with and pretend for a little while, he’ll be fine.
But then again, he can’t.
Because the man’s hands are too big and his crotch hits the small of Harry’s back, so he’s too tall. His chest is too broad and muscled and his hair is styled wrong, the blonde slicked back instead of laying feathery across his forehead.
Harry turns around to face him then, trying to shake off those thoughts.
He stills when he sees the shade of blue that the man’s eyes are. It isn’t right, none of it. Even in the lighting of the club, Harry can tell that this guy’s eyes are too dark. They don’t remind him of the ocean or bright summer days when there’s never a cloud in the sky. There isn’t a golden halo around his pupils and the hint of gray he loves isn’t there either. It’s just not right.
Harry pulls back, giving the guy a shit excuse before he makes his way back across the club in search of Niall. He’s confused and he’s anxious and he’s ready to leave. And it hits him that when he gets home, it won’t be the same scene that it was just three months ago. He won’t come home to a cup of tea and cuddles on the couch, he won’t come home to that soft smile that’s reserved just for him as he spills all about his day. That’s all gone, ripped away from him too quickly.
He needs to get out of here.
He finds Niall in their same booth, nursing another beer. He stands when he sees Harry, already grabbing for his jacket.
“Everything okay?” He asks, concern written over his face like it has been for months now and Harry just wants it to stop.
He wants to get off of this ride, go back to the way things used to be. He isn’t happy and he’s shit at hiding it.
Harry nods, not meeting Niall’s eye as he says, “Just tired. You ready?”
Niall nods once, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders and leading them out. It’s the middle of February and it’s freezing out, light snow falling and dusting the pavement as they make their way to Niall’s car. It’s chilly and Harry wishes he could feel it more. He can’t feel much of anything anymore, though.
The ride back is silent. This exact situation is why Harry loves Niall so much; he knows when silence is needed and he knows when Harry actually needs to talk. He doesn’t feel like talking right now, though. His mind is whirling a mile a minute and he’s just ready to go home and fall into bed. They stop in front of Harry’s flat building, Niall turning in his seat to peer over at him.
“You want me to stay?” He asks gently.
Harry shakes his head, offering what he knows is a pathetic attempt at a smile. “I’m fine, Ni. Go home, get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Niall sighs, letting him go easily enough. He stays there in the car park, engine humming, as he watches Harry make his way to his flat. Only when Harry finally gets his door unlocked does he hear the tires pulling out.
He steps inside of his flat and flicks a lamp on, shrugging his green jacket off and tossing it over a chair. The flat looks barely lived in anymore, with him being gone so often now. He usually opts to stay at one of the lads houses instead but tonight he needed to be home. He needed to see all of the things that were missing now.
He peers around the room.
His boots are by the door, but there’s no pair of Vans sitting messily next to them. Some of his coats are hanging up, but there are no Adidas jumpers in the mix. He steps into the kitchen and sees that there are no dishes by the sink, his kettle isn’t on the oven. There isn’t that familiar blue and green speckled mug sitting out next to his own, waiting.
He makes his way to the bedroom, his body on autopilot as he notes even more of what’s missing. The sheets are made instead of their once permanent messy state. There are no clothes strewn about on the floor, a size too small to be Harry’s own. It doesn’t smell like anything but himself in here and it makes his heart feel heavy. In the bathroom, there is no apple scented shampoo next to his strawberry one, no green loofah sat snuggly against his own blue one.
There is no sign in this entire flat that there was ever anyone here that completely owned Harry’s heart and soul. There is literally no trace of Louis William Tomlinson anywhere to be found and it hits Harry so hard he can’t breathe. He slinks down, back against the hallway wall, and he finally feels.
He feels everything and it’s so fucking painful, he can’t take it. He feels the way Louis slowly slipped through his fingers, the way he packed his things that night and left Harry staring at the door after him. He feels the way he let him go too easily when he should have fought. He’s been numb since Louis left and he can finally feel it all now. He just wishes it didn’t hurt so goddamn bad.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and opening up his pictures. The very first one he sees is of himself and Louis, smiling wide at the camera. The next one is just Louis, flipping him off while he makes tea. There’s one where he’s smiling at the camera, but Louis is smiling at him. It’s too much. He exits out of it, opening up his contacts. He knows it isn’t a good idea, but he’s got nothing left to lose.
It’s two thirty in the morning on a Friday night and Harry calls Louis for the first time in three months.
With a shaky hand, he puts the phone to his ear and listens as it rings. And rings. And-
“’Lo?” Comes a raspy, beautiful voice on the other end. Harry’s heart bursts at the sound that he’s been missing for so fucking long.
He remembers to speak, but all he gets out is, “Lou.” It’s nothing but a small whisper, too caught up in the fact that Louis actually answered. There’s silence on the other line for a beat and he worries that he’s hung up.
Finally, Louis speaks.
“Harry?” There’s a bit of shuffling, like Louis is in bed and he probably is. Harry feels like a dick for waking him up but fuck, he can’t feel bad for long because he’s actually talking to Louis.
“Yeah,” Harry manages, breaths shallow like the only thing holding him together right now is the voice coming through the phone and if Louis hangs up, he’ll probably fall apart. “Hi.”
Another beat of silence before, “Hi.”
Harry latches onto the fact that they’re still on the phone, staring at the wall in front of him like it holds all of the answers.
“Did I wake you?” He asks quietly, dazed.
Louis sighs through the phone and says, “A bit.”
Instantly, Harry feels guilty. “’M sorry, I...I should’ve looked at the time before I called.” He sounds like a toddler getting scolded but he doesn’t much care right now.
“’S fine.” Louis replies. “Are you drunk, Harry?”
And honestly, he was a bit tipsy before but hearing Louis had a sobering effect for him. He shakes his head before realizing it.
“No, no. I’m not,” He clears his throat, clogged up with emotion.
“Is everything alright?” Louis asks, voice quiet like he’s genuinely concerned. Harry wonders if he really is, if he still cares about him or if he’s moved on.
He could be in another man’s bed right now for all Harry knows.
The thought gets him winded and he struggles to answer the question he’s been asked because no, he’s definitely not alright and he hasn’t been in months.
“I-I’m. I just-” He stutters, thoughts jumbled. ”God. No, I’m not. I haven’t been since you left, Louis, and you’re the only person I’d ever admit that out loud to. Everyone else can tell, just in the way I look anymore. It’s like this darkness, this cloud that follows me around wherever I go. I get sympathetic looks and pats on the back and it’s so fucking infuriating because how can anyone know what it’s like to lose the one thing that ever meant anything to them? How can anyone truly know what it feels like to have their home taken from them and the only one at fault is themselves?”
It’s all out before he can stop it, before he can shut his mouth and actually think about what he’s saying, who he’s saying it to. He’s breathing hard and there’s more he wants to say but he just needs to think. Louis is silent on the other end, his own breaths coming through the line and Harry can remember what they felt like hitting his chest when Louis was sleeping.
“Harry, I-” Louis starts, but Harry isn’t done. He has to finish. He can’t live another day unless he knows that he’s told Louis every single thing he’s felt since he’s been gone. He has to let him know.
“Listen,” Harry interrupts, voice wavering but he still goes on. Louis stops, lets him continue. “I miss you. God, I fucking miss you so much. Everything, every mundane thing, reminds me of you. I saw a poster the other day that said something about some live band at the pub we used to go to and I thought, Louis would love this. I saw a dog at the park, one of those ones you always said you wanted, and I had to leave. Fuck, Louis, the way the wind blows on certain days makes me think of the way your hair would blow in the breeze as we walked on our weekly trips to the corner bakery. I can’t do a single thing without thinking of you and it fucking drives me mad, Lou. I’m losing it. And maybe I deserve to feel this pain, this heartache and longing for something I know I’ll never have again. This urge to just touch you. Just feel you against me again. I deserve it, I do.
I was so shitty to you, Louis. And God if it doesn’t kill me everyday thinking about it. I should’ve been here more, should’ve made you my priority. I should’ve surprised you with those flowers you love more often and taken you out on more dates. I should’ve danced with you, because I know you love slow dancing. And I would have, even with my two left feet. God, Lou, I would’ve done anything for you. I should’ve gotten my head out of my arse and fucking been here. You needed me and I wasn’t here and I’m so, so sorry for that Louis. You should’ve never felt alone. And I should have never been the one to make you feel like that.”
He stops. He takes a breath and he listens.
There are small gasps on the other end, little harsh breaths and quiet sobs and now he feels even worse. He’s such a dick. He already ruined Louis once, why did he have to do it again?
“Lou,” He starts, his own voice getting caught in his throat. “I can’t let you go. And I’m sorry about it. You deserve more. You deserve the fucking stars, Louis. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner, or that I forgot somewhere along the way. You matter to me. You always have, even when you couldn’t see it, even when I wasn’t showing it, you did. So much.”
Louis cries even harder on the other end and Harry lets himself cry too. They’re mourning, he knows. They’re grieving their relationship in a way they could only do together. All of the things lost through the three years they were together, all of the loneliness and all of the love. Every fight and every night spent making love and talking about their future together. Everything.
On the other end of the line, Louis sucks in a breath and says, “I wish you had tried harder. I wish you had fought for me.”
Harry feels his heart shatter, a sob wracking his body. He wishes he had too.
“I should’ve fought, Lou. I’m such a goddamn fool for not chasing you out that door and fucking doing something to save this, save us.”
“Would you now? If you had the chance, would you fight?” Louis asks, voice raspy and still the best thing Harry’s ever had the pleasure of hearing.
“Yes,” He answers without hesitation. “Yes, of course. Fuck, how could I not? You still have my entire heart, Louis. I love you too fucking much to watch you leave again.”
It’s honest, and he’s still crying, but he manages to speak reverently to get his point across. He’d do anything for Louis, even let him go if that’s what Louis said to do. He’d break his own heart just to watch Louis’ heal.
"Harry,” Louis’ voice breaks, tinged with emotion. “I miss you too. So fucking much it hurts.”
And Harry feels something inside of him, glowing and alive for the first time in three months.
“Yeah?” He asks, unable to hide the hope in his voice. He stands up from his spot against the wall, running a hand through his curls.
“Yes, Haz,” Louis whispers. “Everyday, all day. More than anything.”
Walking into his room, Harry grabs his wallet and his keys, his mind already moving a mile a minute. His only focus right now, and always, is Louis. Getting to Louis, touching Louis, kissing Louis. He needs him.
“I need to see you.” Harry says, wiping at his face. He knows he’s all puffy eyes and red blotches but he doesn’t care, can’t be bothered to.
“Harry,” Louis says softly, and Harry can hear the hesitation. His heart starts to sink. “Come over.”
A wave of different emotions wash over him, filling him to the brim, but the one thing he feels more than anything is hope. Giddy, a smile dances across his face as he makes his way to the door, grabbing a jacket.
“Okay, I’m on my way.” He laughs, because he can’t help it. He locks the door and starts down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“I’ll be waiting, Haz.” Louis says, a smile in his voice. It’s the most alive Harry’s felt in so long and of course the only one who can make him feel like this is Louis.
“Five minutes, ten tops. I’ll see you in a few, love.” He starts the car, the engine whining as he does so. It’s freezing outside, and he can finally feel it. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, smiling.
They hang up and anticipation crawls through Harry’s veins, making him practically vibrate. There’s nothing that can bring him down from this Louis-induced high. He’s literally buzzing as he pulls up to the front of Zayn and Louis’ shared flat. Leaping from the car, he jogs up to the building, his eyes focusing on the last door to the left. Number 125, though the two is missing and has been for ages.
He stills in front of the tan door, breathing in and out slowly and trying to calm himself. He raises a hand to knock just as the door is pulled open, revealing the most beautiful sight he’s ever, ever seen in his life. His hands ache with how badly he wants to touch the actual art in front of him right now.
Louis is dressed in a pair of sweats, his hair is mussed and Harry’s pretty sure that shirt is his own. He looks sleepy, but so happy, and Harry wants to take a picture of him like this. He wants to remember the night that he finally, finally got it right with Louis Tomlinson.
“That only took six minutes,” Louis says, bright smile on his lips. “I’m impressed, Styles.”
Harry grins like he’s just received an Olympic gold and says, “I had to get here before you changed your mind.”
Louis shakes his head, stepping back to let Harry in. Harry goes and takes in the flat. He hasn’t been here since they broke up, Zayn choosing to take Louis’ side, reasonably so. It’s dark, the only light coming from outside. It all looks relatively the same, and it makes Harry feel warm. By the door, there are three pairs of Vans and two Adidas jackets hanging up.
Louis comes up beside him, hands on his hips. “Tea?”
Harry thinks of the speckled mug and shakes his head. “No, thanks.”
Louis hums, watching him for a beat before he takes Harry’s hand, unaware of how Harry’s heart stills, and pulls him along into his room.
There’s a small lamp on in the corner of Louis’ desk. His bed is unmade, the dark blue sheets bunching. There are clothes scattered around the floor and pictures hanging on the walls. Harry’s chest hurts, because this isn’t Louis’ home. Home is when they’re together. These things should be back in Harry’s flat, where they belong.
“It’s a mess,” Louis comments, watching him. “But, you know me.” He shrugs, smiling at Harry again with that same soft smile he’s missed.
“Lou, can I kiss you?” Harry blurts, the filter he had once, now long gone.
Louis’ eyes stay on him, wider than they were before and he almost looks frozen in place from the abrupt question.
“Harry, I-” Before he can finish, Harry’s lips are on his. He tastes minty, like his toothpaste, but so much like Louis. It’s so achingly familiar that if Harry just closes his eyes, he’d almost believe that nothing has changed. And maybe it’s a mistake, kissing Louis. And maybe he should’ve thought before he called him. But Harry’s never been one to play by the rules and he’s certainly never had much self control when it came to the other boy.
When he met Louis, all wide blue eyes and sunshiny smiles, not once did Harry ever stand a chance. His heart was always destined to be taken so easily, so willingly by Louis Tomlinson. Louis was always meant to carve his way into Harry’s entire being, melting into him until they were practically one. And maybe they were meant to be ripped apart for awhile, too. To regroup, to stand alone and see the world without each other. For Harry, it was bland, lifeless and black and white. Stepping into Louis’ flat, kissing him and hearing him say his name, all the color Harry has been missing in his life suddenly seeps through. Like watercolor on a blank canvas, Louis’ brought him back to life. And maybe that’s the way it was always meant to be.
Louis saving Harry, and Harry clinging to him like a lifeline.
They break apart, lips raw and red, glistening in the dim lighting. Louis opens his eyes, his hands resting on Harry’s biceps and his heart beating a mile a minute. Harry watches him, never loosens his grip on his hips, never breaks eye contact. The only sound to be heard is their intermingling breaths and the bustling city outside.
“I’m lost without you, Lou.” Harry admits, with blue eyes still boring into his own. “It sounds so fucking cliche, but damn if it isn’t the truth. You’re my other half. My soulmate. Losing you was like losing myself, and I did in a way. I lost myself that night. And I can’t ever begin to express how much remorse I feel over letting you go. I’ll never be able to make it up to you, to tell you how much you mean to me. But if you’ll let me, Louis, I’ll try. Everyday, for the rest of my life, I’ll try.”
Louis’ eyes are glistening now, unshed tears pricking the corners. He inhales a shaky breath and brings one hand up to Harry’s face, thumb stroking his cheekbone gently. “I love you, Harry Styles. And you’re a fool to think that after three years together, three months apart would change that. We’ve both done shitty things over the past few years, we’ve fought and made up so many times, too many. How could I ever, ever stop loving you, hm?” He smiles softly, eyes roaming Harry’s tear streaked face. “There are things we need to talk about, Harry. You know that as well as I do. But right now, I want you to show me how much you love me.”
Surprised, Harry’s eyes widen, mouth parted. “Lou?”
“Show me, Haz. I need you to show me.” Louis repeats quietly.
In an instant, Harry’s lips find his again. He feels like a starved man, finally getting the nourishment he’s needed. His hands trail down Louis’ sides, finding his hips again and he draws him closer until their chests touch. There are so many things he wants to say, to do to Louis, but the only thing looping through his mind right now is Louis loves him. Louis, his Louis, still loves him. Even after everything. And he repeats it like a silent prayer, over and over in his brain as he lays Louis down on the bed.
With the outside world forgotten, only Louis and Harry exist right now. In this moment, with Louis underneath him, nothing else matters. Everything makes sense now, the puzzle pieces of his scattered life fitting back together. Louis is all he needs, all he’ll ever need.
“Haz,” Louis whines underneath him, hands grasping the back of his shirt as his hips buck up. ”Please.”
Without Louis having to say so, Harry knows what he wants. Three months apart and they’re still so in sync, so in tune. He strips Louis’ shirt off, pausing to do the same to his own, and as soon as he feels Louis bare against him, it’s like a fire lights between them. Their kisses get more urgent as Harry grinds down, Louis’ nails already digging into his back, small whimpers falling from his lips.
Harry trails his mouth down Louis’ jawline, over his neck, where he stops to give him a lovebite, and down his chest. He presses an open mouthed kiss to each of his nipples, getting his hair tugged in return. He continues his way down, reveling in the soft sounds that fall from Louis’ mouth, until he stops at Louis sweats. He dips his thumbs into the waistband and pulls them down Louis’ creamy thighs, tugging them off all together. To his pleasure, Louis’ completely bare underneath them. Biting his lip, he takes in the sight before him. Naked Louis has always been the one thing that can bring Harry to his knees in seconds. No amount of time could ever change that. Sometimes, Louis didn’t even have to say anything; he’d just walk into their shared room, naked, and Harry was immediately hard and ready to do whatever Louis asked of him.
Sucking in a breath, Harry positions himself between Louis’ legs. He can feel Louis watching him from above, waiting with baited breath for whatever Harry does next.
Licking his lips, he grips the base of Louis’ cock and wraps his lips around the tip, swirling his tongue. Louis lets out a gasp above him, hands already finding Harry’s curls and latching on. Harry works his mouth like his life depends on it, pulling the most sinful sounds from Louis’ lips and rutting his hips against the bedsheet below. He moves his tongue in ways he knows drive Louis mad, working him over with his hand, too. Louis bucks his hips at one point, an apology ready on his lips before Harry pops off and gives a simple nod before getting him back in his mouth.
Louis only stills for a moment before he pulls Harry’s hair and bucks his hips again, using him to get off, just like Harry’s asked. His movements get jerky after a few minutes, his breathing labored and moans louder than before.
“Harry, Harry,” He whines, eyes clenched shut and muscles tight. “I-I’m gonna-”
Harry sucks harder, moving his mouth as fast as he can in time with Louis’ shallow thrusts and moments later, Louis’ release hits the back of his throat. He swallows it down, continues sucking until Louis’ a whimpering mess above him, thighs shaking and hands trembling.
When he pulls off, he licks his lips and inches his way back up Louis’ body. Louis opens his eyes slowly, a small smile on his lips. He leans up, arms circling Harry’s neck, and kisses him. It slow, like honey, and Harry’s missed this. He’s missed him, so much.
They break apart and there’s a glint in Louis’ eye as he says, “You gonna make love to me, Styles?”
A slow smile forms on Harry’s lips and he nods. “Definitely.”
He makes quick work of his pants and briefs, shucking them off and throwing them onto the floor. Louis watches, lip bitten in anticipation. Harry crawls back up Louis’ body and grabs the lube from the nightstand, a condom along with it. They’d stopped using condoms before they broke up, but Harry isn’t sure if that’s a thing anymore. Louis furrows his brows when he sees the foil packet, eyes raking back over Harry, who’s fumbling with the lube.
“Why’d you grab a condom?” He asks, grabbing it and holding it up.
Harry meets his eye, having finally gotten the lube open. “I wasn’t sure if like, you’d be more comfortable with it.” He tacs on a shrug as though he isn’t thinking about the possibility of Louis having been with someone else.
Louis watches him for a beat before he says, “Only you, Haz.”
And Harry knows exactly what he means, and his heart soars with it. Three years ago, when they were fumbling their way through their new relationship, they’d both admitted to each other that they’d never been with anyone else before. So, they’ve only ever had each other. And Harry is pleased to know that this hasn’t changed since they’ve been apart.
“Yeah?” He asks, voice rougher than before.
Louis nods, falling back onto the bed from where he’d propped himself on his elbows. “Yeah.”
Harry hums, slicking his fingers up as he says, “Me too, Lou. Only you.”
Louis seems pleased with this as he throws the condom somewhere onto the floor. “Swear?”
Harry rubs a slick finger over Louis’ hole, eliciting a loud gasp from the boy. “Always.”
He pushes the first finger in before Louis has time to say anything else, gently working it in and out. He watches as Louis’ face scrunches up in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and mouth falling open just slightly. He works his finger a little more before adding a second beside it, slowly. Louis bites his lip, eyes clenched shut as Harry pushes them in and out, unable to take his eyes off of Louis. When he finally crooks his fingers, Louis yells out, clenching around him. Harry does it again and again, watching as Louis starts pushing back on his digits, attempting to chase the pleasure Harry’s so freely giving.
He pushes in a third and tilts all three, rubbing over Louis’ prostate relentlessly as the boy above him practically sobs from all of the stimulation.
"Haz,” He gasps out, panting. “Please, please, Harry.”
Harry quickens his pace, pushing his fingers even faster now but never giving up that spot. “Please what, baby?”
"Fuck me!” Louis cries out, his body shaking, hands clenched in the sheets and a sheen of sweat covering his chest.
“As you wish,” Harry smirks, pulling his fingers out abruptly, leaving Louis’ hole clenching around nothing. Louis whimpers at the loss, watching with a bitten, red lip as Harry coats himself in lube, eyes hungrily roaming Louis’ body. “Missed you,” He says, lining himself up and hovering over Louis, taking in his beauty. He’s wrecked, truly, and he’s so fucking gorgeous with his blown out blue eyes staring up at Harry so wide that Harry can almost see his soul.
“Missed you, too,” Louis gasps out just as Harry starts to push in, his fingers already digging into Harry’s shoulders in a vice-like grip.
He starts slow, moving languidly inside of Louis like they’ve got all the time in the world and maybe they do. Louis’ making the prettiest sounds underneath him, little whimpers and quiet moans falling from his pink lips, and Harry wants to taste him. So he does. He leans down, hips still working, and captures Louis’ lips in a gentle kiss. Louis whines into it, arms circling Harry’s neck as he pulls him closer, kisses him harder. He slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth, causing him to groan as he explores the mouth he’s been missing for too long. It’s getting harder for Harry to continue his slow, sweet pace as Louis laces his fingers through his hair and tugs, earning a moan.
Louis does it again, biting on Harry’s plush lower lip. He can’t help it, he snaps his hips roughly, a growl leaving his throat. Louis’ head drops back, breaking the kiss as he lets out an obscene moan, nails raking Harry’s back.
"More, Harry,” He whines, eyes locking with the green orbs staring back. “Like that, just like that.”
Harry, of course, has no power when it comes to Louis, so he does as he’s told, snapping his hips again and starting a brutal pace. Louis moans loud and unabashed now, ankles locking behind Harry’s back and hands finding purchase on his shoulders like he’s holding on for life. Harry watches as he falls apart below him, sweat beading at his temples and across his chest, brows furrowed and eyes clenched shut, mouth open in a silent cry. He’s ethereal and he’s all Harry’s, only Harry’s.
He leans in, lips and teeth locking on a soft spot of Louis’ neck, marking him up as he works his hips in double time now, determined to make Louis fall even further apart.
“Harry, Harry, fuck!” He cries, arching his back as best as he can with Harry’s unrelenting thrusts. “Oh God, Harry, please!”
Harry groans, letting go of Louis’ neck and kissing him instead, biting his lip as he slows his thrusts but snaps his hips hard each time, moving Louis up the bed with each thrust.
Louis cries out, panting against Harry’s mouth.
“Love you, Lou,” Harry grits, hands grasping the bedsheets on each side of Louis’ head in an attempt to keep them from moving any further up the bed.
Tears are springing in Louis’ eyes now and they’re bluer than blue as he pants out, “I love you, Harry.”
Harry gives him another peck before going back to his relentless pace, fucking Louis into the mattress with renewed vigor. He knows he looks completely wild, maybe a bit manic, with his curls a mess, sweat dripping down his chest and a flush over his body, but God, is he in love.
And he’s loved back.
“Oh, Hazza, oh fuck,” Louis whines out, clamping down around Harry so tight, he almost can’t move. “Yes, yes!” Strings of white coat their bellies as Louis continues to cry out and clench down on Harry’s cock, tugging at his curls as he encourages Harry to let go.
"Louis,” He gasps out, his pace slowing only slightly as his hips stutter and he comes hot, inside of Louis. The boy below him shudders at the feeling, his cock giving a weak jerk as Harry marks him from the inside.
They’re filthy, but neither of them care as Harry pulls out finally, letting his eyes linger on Louis’ now pink and slightly gaping hole, watching as his come slowly trickles out. He has the urge to taste, but he figures they’ve got time for that later. They’ve got all the time in the world.
He lays down beside Louis after cleaning the both of them up, draping an arm around him. Louis gives a sated, sleepy smile and turns towards him so that they’re facing each other in their embrace. Legs tangled together, he kisses Harry’s nose and wraps himself up in his arms. Harry kisses his forehead and smiles, a true smile. The realest smile he’s had in a while.
And Harry thinks, maybe they were meant to be ripped apart for awhile. To regroup, to stand alone and see the world without each other. For him, it was bland, lifeless and black and white. But, like watercolor on a blank canvas, Louis’ brought him back to life.
And maybe that’s the way it was always meant to be, he thinks, as they cling to each other like a lifeline.