a false promise

so i look at you now, bruised and broken down by what you thought was love. you tell me you wanna stay, and you wanna watch me change, but i'm scared so i tell you to fuck off.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 sweet creature.

HARRY: i see you releasing music on the same day as my movie. how cute and matchy matchy!

HARRY: oh my god, lou. your insta post???

HARRY: and fuck you're so hot

HARRY: are those more descriptive for you? :)

LOUIS: mmmm, a little bit better, yeah. could do with some more adjectives though

LOUIS: fair try (:

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 sweet creature.

HARRY: i was aiming more for ambiguously cute but my first three attempts at texts weren't cutting it for me

LOUIS: ooooh what were they then ! don't leave us hanging

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 sweet creature.

HARRY [unsent]: i see you releasing music on the same day as my movie. how cute and matchy matchy!

HARRY [unsent]: oh my god, lou. your insta post???

HARRY [unsent]: fuck you're so hot

HARRY: thinking of you 😊

LOUIS: well that isn't very descriptive now is it harold

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 petal bf.

CAMS: i can confirm that with those things, one can be truly happy in life. i have all three cat children cuddled up with me because they know i'm sad

CAMS: i miss you too. i wish you were here.

IZZY: it's weird not sleeping with you. i'm too used to it now. i'm not gonna sleep at all tonight and you know how much of a nightmare i am without my 9+ hours

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 petal bf.

CAMS: they're expecting the answer to change, unfortunately. believe me, i know what it's like to have family who wish you were different. i'm really sorry iz :(

IZZY: who needs family anyway when you have cat children and a very pretty and very sweet boyfriend, hm?

IZZY: i miss you.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 petal bf.

CAMS: say it's not so

CAMS: i'll kiss the plaid germs off of you

IZZY: honestly? i didn't actually respond at all. i changed the subject. which i think they'd prefer. i don't know why they keep asking me this stupid shit.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 petal bf.

CAMS: you're always my best thought. oh my goodness what did you say :/// did you tell them that your name was chad and you ate ten footballs for breakfast and how about them sports playoffs!

IZZY: worse....... i told them i like plaid 😱😱😱😱😱😱

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 petal bf.

CAMS: i was just about to text you omg i was hoping you were having a good time! but i miss you terribly! the kitties miss you terribly! please don't tell me about fucking though i have never felt more alone

IZZY: great minds? first thought best thought? i dunno, something like that. anyway, i'm in heterosexual hell and i want DEATH. they asked me about girls....

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

💬 petal bf.

IZZY: i am going to DIE here. i can't make it a whole night. rip to me see you on the other side i'll probably wanna fuck whenever you get there because i'd of spent however many years waiting just fyi

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

Indie learns very quickly that he’s inclined to be vocal about everything. It’d almost be embarrassing if it wasn’t so involuntary. Besides, Zac doesn’t seem to be complaining – for every noise Indie makes, he’s met with a rewarding touch, a drift of a musician’s calloused hands skating over his petal soft skin. The drag of Zac’s fingertips is enough to make him shudder, closed eyelids fluttering in pleasure as he hums against the press of lips to his own. Reading about kisses didn’t hold a candle to the real thing - Indie’s never had a particularly addictive personality but he’s convinced he won’t be able to go without this now that he’s had it. With the unspoken permission of Zac’s hands sliding down towards his bum, Indie sits the entirety of his weight down onto the body resting below his; he doesn’t know how much longer he’d have been able to prop himself up with how quickly he’s feeling boneless. Zac’s grip tightens and Indie’s all but mewling in delight, lips parting with ease at the prodding of Zac’s tongue and his hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. They don’t stay there long. It’s a mutual exploration, the first of it’s kind of Indie which certainly adds to the thrill. He can’t waste this opportunity with idle hands, especially not with a full expanse of skin resting beneath his more than capable touch. Indie’s palms shift downward, caressing the indentations of his muscles and teasing across his nipples with the slightest hesitation. He giggles into the open mouthed kiss, skirting curious fingers to rest instead over his abs. With the leverage that provides, Indie takes a risk and rolls his hips to brush up against Zac’s, encouraged by the other’s wandering hands.

For someone so new to all of this, Indie sure does seem eager to push forward. Zac isn’t complaining, the trickling stream and morning birds alike having faded somewhere into the background. It’s dark enough still so that with his eyes shut, everything is black, but he doesn’t need to be able to see in order to do what he is now. In fact, he’d probably argue that not seeing is the best way to learn about someone else’s body. Learning Indie, so far, has turned out to be one of the most simultaneously intoxicating and thrilling things he’s ever experienced. It’s easy to not over-think it when all of his thoughts are scattered to the farthest reaches of his mind, and the feeling of skin beneath his hand is so exciting. A sharp inhale gives away when he feels fingertips over his nipples, and although he’s never been particular sensitive in that regard, it’s still good. It’s still stimulating. Not as much as the next unexpected thing to happen, which is the giggle into his open mouth that he sucks up like audible warmth, followed soon by a roll of his friend’s hips that has arousal stirring inside of him even more than had been before. It’s fucking impressive how quickly this is all going, and what’s even more impressive is how much he wants it. Turning Zac on isn’t exactly a difficult thing to do --- he’s a teenage boy and his libido is off the charts, sex drive second to none --- but there’s an artistry to this that doesn’t give away inexperience, but rather compatibility. He likes it because it’s what Indie has to offer to him, and he likes it because it’s natural. Releasing the nape of his neck, Zack moves both of his hands down without warning to take a hold of his bottom, gripping him tight and then urging his hips to roll a second time. He doesn’t remove their lips from each other, but when he lets out a shaky exhale, they’re more just brushing together rather than actually kissing.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

It would be a misstatement to say that Indie didn’t notice the little bumps that rose in the wake of his touch, rippling outwards on bare skin in a way that he’d like to examine in further detail if he weren’t too wrapped up in this moment. He briefly considers informing Zac that this would be his first kiss (he’s already admitted to his lack of bedroom experience, might as well go the whole way and give Zac all the details) but to speak might shatter the increasingly intimate glamour settled over them, between them. He doesn’t much want to hear the sound of his own voice. Instead, he speaks only through the connection of their lips and his willingness to move with Zac’s touch. The guiding hand at the back of his neck draws chills up his spine and Indie can’t help the keening sound that slips into the kiss – his first kiss. With the backtrack of running water and the slowly waking wildlife, Indie can honestly say that his imagine couldn’t have conjured a more perfect place, nor a more perfect person with whom to be sharing this moment. Zac is everything that Indie is not – he’s sharp edges, a short temper, and a blazing inferno of a human that Indie feels lucky to watch as he consumes the night’s energies time and time again. Even his lips feel warm to the touch and Indie chases after deepening the kiss, lifting a hand to cup Zac’s jawline. Mindful of the bruising on his partner’s face, Indie keeps his own venturing fingertips feather light. He is soft to Zac’s hard. Just because Indie’s never been kissed before doesn’t mean that he’s entirely innocent – he’s fantasized enough to know what it is he wants to do next so without missing a beat, and to make the locking of their lips easier, he alters their position, perching himself upon Zac’s lap. His weight stays on his knees, locked on either side of narrow hips; he doesn’t know the extent of the injuries and would hate to be the reason for discomfort. With another soft noise of pleasure that drowns the frantic heartbeat filling his head, Indie slides his hands down to rest on either side of Zac’s neck, just holding them together as he turns over control once more.

Zac hasn’t kissed or been kissed by anyone in long enough that this feels sort of thrillingly new in a way to him. He supposes it would be new even if he’d been kissing people every day for the last year, because none of those people would’ve been this person. Indie is exciting in himself, someone that he can’t quite figure out, someone that he wants to spend time figuring out despite his general disinterest in the rest of the world. It’s strange, and it’s exciting, and it’s terrifying all at once, but he knows that he wants more, and he’s never been particularly good at exerting self-control. He’s indulgent to his core, spontaneous and reckless and erratic, and the pleasures in life come as hard as the anger. He’s swept up in it from the moment he elicits a response from the other, and he lets out a small grunt of a noise once he feels him shifting, keeping his hand clasped over his nape and partially guiding him into place when he realizes what it is he’s trying to do. The weight in his lap is heady, and it’s nice, and he settles with it, running his free hand down over Indie’s back until he can slip it beneath his shirt. If he gets hands on skin, then Zac should be able to have the same, all fair game and exploratory touching. He begins to caress the map of his skin, smooth planes and dips in his spine, up to his shoulder-blades and then back around again. Mostly he pays attention to the small of his back, the curve there, the swell that leads to his bum. Of course, that’s covered, but it doesn’t stop Zac from driving this along. Enough so that he’s parting his lips and licking over the seam of Indie’s mouth, clutching to him in a manner that borders on desperate and a little too rough, but good nonetheless. All of this is very good for him.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

Indie likes the silences that fall between them. It gives him space to breathe, time to think, and the ability to watch as Zac does the same. He sees, then, as the planes of his back knot up with momentary tension – not enough to raise concerns but enough to catch his eye. As though Indie needed another reason to lock his inquisitive gaze on his shirtless torso. The question makes Indigo’s brows raise up into his dusty fringe. He feels like he’s made his attraction as explicitly obvious as it could be without stating so – it’s in every electric touch, no matter how small. It’s in each look that lights Indie up from the inside. Maybe he’s the only one feeling the crackle of energy and the draw of something magnetic just below the surface of every conversation. He doesn’t like to think he’s alone in that; Indie’s too much of a romantic to be alone. He may not want Indie to answer him, as he follows up with shortly after asking, but Indie nods his head all the same. If Zac’s looking at him, he’ll get his answer. There’s not much distance between them in the first place so it hardly takes all that much wriggling to acquiesce to Zac’s request. Where his legs lie flat on the ground, Zac’s folded position is able to rest in his lap. Shamelessly, he allows his slightly dirty little fingers to skim the muscles of Zac’s back that he’s been admiring so visibly before settling into the patch of grass just behind him. He’s clearly giving enough signals in response to the prompting but Indie is nothing if not thorough now that he knows he might be too subtle. “I want to,” he whispers with another little nod. “With you.” And there’s an excited, breathless smile returning to his lips.

Fingertips over his back cause goosebumps to raise on his skin, and he’s almost perfectly still, just experiencing the sensation for what it is rather than shifting into it or away. He doesn’t mind being touched, but he wants to do more touching than this, more touching than tentative and gentle. Rough isn’t something he intends to be with Indie, but he’s never been the type to take things slow either, and he’s not much for soft. All of his soft was ripped away a long time ago, and he feels like the only thing he’s got left is jagged edges. It’s not as if Indie wouldn’t be aware of that. It’s not as if he’s been in any way mislead up until this point. He knows what he’s getting himself into, and as Zac turns his head to look at him again, he wonders briefly why he wants it. Only briefly, though, because he has more pressing things on his mind than questioning when he’s being whispered consent, and he feels his pulse spike, his breathing go irregular already. Of course he’s felt the electricity between them, the attraction and the chemistry, but as brave as he can be, he needed to build up enough to actually approach this the way that he has tonight. Now he essentially has a free pass, so when he reaches over to grip the other person by the nape of his neck, it’s with clear intent. Zac leans in before he has the chance to change his mind --- before either of them do --- and he ignores the protects of his forming bruises as he presses their mouths together in a kiss. A long-awaited kiss at that, if the desperate tinge to it is anything to go by, his dry lips insistent and overwhelming even as he’s overwhelmed by the feeling of it. The sound of the birds waking up around them is the loudest thing aside from the stream.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

In order to distract himself from reaching for Zac’s hand once again, Indie starts to doodle in the wet ground next to his thigh. It also serves to give him something to look at instead of Zac’s still very shirtless figures or, at least, it would if Indie had any measure of self control. He steals glances up from his makeshift art nearly as frequently as he looks down at it but, thankfully, Zac doesn’t seem to mind. Indie’s head shakes. He wouldn’t be out here with Zac if he’d been the type to poke fun at Indie’s eccentricities; bullies are violent and aggressive but it’s not beautiful and driven like he experiences with Zac. They aren’t doing it because they are fiery and alive but because they want Indie to shine less. Dulling another’s brightness shows a weakness of character and Indie pities them for it. He has yet to let a single instance affect him in any manner besides the temporary pain. It’s why he feels confident offering Zac his help; he might make an excellent nurse someday. “I don’t think you are a dick or a total asshole,” Indie asserts, swirling his feet to make ripples of his own. It’s another halfhearted attempt at a visual distraction but doesn’t even hold Indie’s attention a full fifteen seconds. He craves the way his heart does flips as he drinks in Zac’s figure. “Not to me, anyways. You’re my favorite.” He doesn’t bother explaining that line of reasoning, doesn’t feel like he has to. Indie’s ankles click together beneath the surface of the water. “I don’t think you’d have to push me at all.” Ceasing his doodles (little fingerprint bumblebees with flight lines that go in swirly loops) Indie leans back to rest his palms in the dirt, propping himself upward. “Just because no one’s ever wanted to do so with me doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to do it with them.”

There’s a strange swelling feeling at the compliment, or at least what seems to be a compliment. He doesn’t think he’s ever been called anyone’s ‘favorite’ before, at least as a noun rather than an adjective. It’s strange, but not entirely unwelcome, and he’s watching the water trickle by in the creeping, pale morning light. The sky is indigo, and it’s bathing everything in shades of blue, and he thinks that’s pretty fitting considering who he’s sitting beside. It takes an awful lot of self-control for Zac to not gag on his own gross thoughts. Ugh. Been a long time since his inner voice has been so poetic, and he doesn’t welcome that part of him back. No thank you. There’s no romance here, and no desire for it either. Shit like that only ends badly, but fucking around? Fucking around he can do, and it sounds like he isn’t the only one interested in trying it. Tensing a little bit --- something that can probably be visibly witnessed with the muscles in his back --- he rolls the other’s words over in his head repeatedly, trying to pick them apart, to work out with precision what they’re meant for. Of course, he only turns up one meaning to them, and though he’s surprised said meaning happens to be the exact one he’s looking for, he’s certainly not unhappy for it. “With me?” The question flows from his lips with the same reckless abandon as he uses when he sneaks into bars, when he gets into fights, and he lifts his chin again, just fractionally flitting his gaze in that direction to catch him in his peripheral. He’s not shy. He’s just biding his time is all. “Just... Don’t answer that, actually. If you want to, then come over here.”

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

He toes creep closer to the water, though he knows it will be cold at this time of night… day, perhaps being the better word. The ripples made by Zac’s fingers continuously dipping beneath its surface draw his attention, reflecting the colors just barely beginning to show in the early morning sky. “It is lucky he did not have a few friends?” counters Indie with a blithe smile blooming on his lips, barely stifling a giggle. He’s wrapping both his arms around his drawn up legs as soon as he loses the grip on Zac’s hand. Cheek comes to rest atop his kneecaps and he tips his gaze back over to his nighttime companion and oh. He’s shirtless, now. It’s a little hard to focus on anything when there’s planes of skin cascaded in the fading moonlight, catching the reflection of the water just perfectly enough to dazzle and amaze his audience of one. Indie’s lips part in contemplation and the kind of appreciation one might give to an art piece in the museum. If rugged, blood-covered Zac was beautiful, this is altogether too much. “My… deal,” Indie feels a lot like a parrot, needing repetition to feel stable in the uncertain world into which Zac has dragged him. “It’s hard to know if it’s my thing if I’ve never done it before.” Society dictates that he should be shy, proclaiming his virginity. Indie doesn’t see that as necessary though. He tends to repel any potentially interested parties with his abstract line of thought and his airy manner of existence. “Zac,” he hums, finally falling down into a more comfortable sitting position and plunging his feet up to the ankles in the chilled stream waters, “I have worn large pastel sweaters to school with nothing on underneath them and woven flowers into my hair on the regular. The only way people mess around with me is the jostling and heckling I receive when they’re offended by what makes us different, what makes me different.”

Shrugging again, Zac chooses to not comment on his luck again for the moment, figuring anything else he has to say would be redundant. He can concede Indie’s point to him and not feel any differently for it. It’s not that big of a deal, after all. He can also feel his eyes on him, though he could’ve said that for the rest of the time they’ve been together as well. The scrutiny doesn’t feel any different, and he’s not reading too much into it, what with how he’s currently having his words echoed like he’s said something incredibly confusing. It’s odd, but it’s not so odd that it has him raising eyebrows to it; he keeps company with people who could be considered ‘weird’, and this boy only seems different from that in the sense that he’s unique, but not in the sense that it puts Zac off. He sort of likes it. When he begins to speak again, starting off with a meaningful assertion of his name followed by, for whatever reason, what he wears to school, he’s back to staring once more, shirt dripping water onto the ground by his feet. Zac waits until he’s finished, and then he cracks a smile, his amusement somewhat roguish in nature and not unkind. “Do you see me jostling and heckling?” Clearly not. He’s never even so much as looked at him funny, which... Well, perhaps that doesn’t mean as much as it sounds like it should mean, but if Indie has never been lusted after, never been wanted, always been fucked with, then the way Zac looks at him must be really different indeed. “Whatever. I’m not going to push you into anything. I’m a dick, but I’m not like, a total asshole.” Whipping his head back to face forward, he finally sits down himself, though he keeps his legs crossed rather than taking liberties with the water like his companion has. He figures his face is as good as it’s gonna get without a mirror, and he sets his soiled shirt down next to him, thinking. Always thinking too much.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

The smoke in the air leaves a tangy sensation in Indie’s lungs but it’s not altogether unfamiliar. He’s been around many who smoke, enough to attach a familiarity to the smell and feel of it hovering around him. He thinks it mixes nicely with Zac’s current aroma: the iron bite of blood and the musk of a teenage boy. Not that he’ll tell him that. Indie perches next to Zac as he begins to wash off, entranced by the way the color swirls in the water. It’s probably unhealthy, to be this fascinated by blood, injury, the bruising on Zac’s skin – no one’s ever accused Indie’s thought processes of being healthy, though. He finds beauty in everything and right now, Zac’s ethereal. He thinks he must be like that always, post-fight or not, though. He’s been enchanted since they met. “I’m hot?” he repeats in an accusatory tone of disbelief. Surely, this would have been a fact he’d been made aware of before now and yet, he cannot recall anyone ever having said as much. Zac must be teasing. Indie smiles. His fingers drum along the back of Zac’s hand, still all wrapped up around his own. “I think you’ve already gotten lucky – you won the fight.” With the way pale blues glitter in delight, it’s clear that he’s not just being clever. He hunches down closer, toes squishing down into the muddy bank of the stream. His shoes might be ruined if he continues this way so with a few deft kicks backwards, he sheds the unwanted fabric and squishes his barefeet into the wet soil. “Would you like any help?” he queries with a cant of his head.

Zac lets loose a scoff at the question Indie presents, not believing for a second that no one on planet fucking earth has ever been attracted to him before. That sounds about as far-fetched as the same being said for Zac himself, which in his opinion is pretty goddamn ridiculous a concept. Scraping a bit of dried blood from his face with his fingertips, he hangs his head for another moment or two before lifting it again to look over at him. The sky is just beginning to lighten with the morning approaching, but he doesn’t feel tired yet. He probably won’t feel tired at all. “That wasn’t luck.” It was violence and it was practice and it wasn’t luck, that’s for sure. “And I could get a whole lot fuckin’ luckier..” Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, he shakes his head and goes back to what he was doing, nearly finished now aside from the tender bits on his nose that he isn’t going to touch. Letting go of Indie’s hand out of necessity rather than want, he reaches back and grips the collar of his t-shirt, pulling it off over his head. He uses the dry bits of it to wipe at his lower jaw and neck before dipping a corner into the water to more effectively clean his skin. “What’s your deal, anyway? Do you like to mess around or is that not your thing?” His curiosity is purely academic, of course. He isn’t asking for any particular reason, no matter what the lead-in would have one believe. He considers coughing into the crook of his elbow just to draw the point home, all subtle like.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

indie.

He’s a little worried. Not because he’s being dragged off god knows where by someone he just watched start, and win, a physical fight. Not because Zac has no respect for authority nor the law and could very well get Indie involved in something far less than legal. No, he’s worried because Zac’s lifting a lit cigarette up near his hair – what if he catches fire! It probably doesn’t work that way and he manages to make it out without going up in flames but for that brief moment, Indie had been panicked and his hand had made the transition to slide into Zac’s. He’d needed a tighter grip, too. The question makes him sniffle, owlish gaze turned over onto his companion with a raise of his brow. Why? It’s a very Indie question. He likes pondering the whys of things. “Why wouldn’t I, silly!” he answers in a hushed tone. He knows he can’t very well explain that Zac is more alive than he. Telling someone they are fire doesn’t sound like a compliment. His brow furrows, piecing together his abstract thoughts in ways that might actually translate properly and better explain his quip of an answer. “You are the most exciting person I have ever met,” that sounds reasonable; it also rings true. “Like something out of a book.” He catches sight of what he presumes is their destination, finding it simply charming. The babble of the stream below soothes him, even from so far away. “Why do you like hanging out with me?” It seems reasonable to ask in return; after all, Zac is one of his only friends outside of fiction.

Changing course at the last moment, instead of leading them towards the bridge, Zac leads them towards the bank of the stream. Their hands are intertwined together, a fact he doesn’t fail to notice but he does fail to linger upon, and he’s bringing his cigarette back to his lips to take another drag as he carefully makes his way down towards the water. His mother would kill him if she knew he was still smoking. He told her he’d quite last week, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. The answer to his question strikes him in an odd way, resonating with a peculiar feeling that borders on satisfaction, but also fuels the fire of his curiosity all the more. He stops them at a couple of large boulders, ignoring them, and instead sinking down onto his knees next to the cool water. He puts his cigarette out in the dirt beside him, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug towards Indie’s follow-up question. He doesn’t answer right away, instead leaning down to splash water on his face. He can’t see it running pink in the dark, but he know it will be, and he scrubs at the dried-on blood with his wet fingertips. He hasn’t let go of his hand. “Because you’re hot.” He replies, and that’s a piece of it, but if Zac didn’t go with the most vulgar and shallow of answers, he wouldn’t be Zac --- even if it doesn’t entirely encompass his reasoning. “And I’m trying to get lucky.” There’s a smirk in his voice then, his head turning so that he can peer up at him for a moment before he goes back to washing his face.

[sweatcrpaws-blog]

harry.

The smile that graces Harry’s lips can only be described as filthy and he pulls back from his teasing just long enough to flash it at Louis. Arousal has shot hotly through his system at the slur, interpreting it the very way Louis means it. It drives him mad in the best possible way and his cock gives an actual strain of approval, aching against the zip of his designer trousers. “For you,” he corrects lightly, leaning in to suck a noisy kiss to Louis’ thigh. “Only for you.” His heart’s already beating harder and his eyes don’t leave Louis, not even for the slightest moment. He licks his lips hungrily but just as he’s about to take what he’s been wanting since Louis’ voice went low back on their phonecall – it already seems like ages ago – there’s a tug to his curls. Harry moans – Louis has always known just how to encourage him. “Yes, daddy,” he mutters on the tail end of his keening sound, not hesitating for another moment before ducking his head down to wrap his lips around Louis’ cock. He doesn’t even bother with any pre-gaming – no kitten licks around his head or teasing kisses up and down the sides of his length. If Louis is needy, Harry’s fucking gagging for it. His hands move to Louis’ thighs, hoping his permission to touch still stands in place. Because he needs to brace himself properly while he starts bobbing his head. Louis’ taste is every bit as good as Harry remembers and the weight of him on his tongue nearly makes him dizzy. Harry thinks he could suck Louis off for hours, days maybe, and never tire of the delirious pleasure it brings to him. The fact that he can pleasure Louis too is the perfect mix of power and submission. He makes a needy little hum around where Louis’ stretching out his lips, knowing that the vibrations will feel exceptionally nice. Green eyes fall closed and Harry leans in further. He wants more.

It’s too much all-at-once. Too much for him to be able to handle without crying out like he does, his voice all husky and raw, wrecked when they’ve only just begun. Louis might be in control, but when Harry is taking him practically down his throat within a few seconds, he’s bound to be extraordinarily responsive, and Jesus, if he couldn’t tell how eager he was before, he certainly fucking can now. Then he hums, and Louis’ back is arching a bit, thighs spreading further with the heaviness of Harry’s grip on them, the knowledge he needs to steady himself so he can take what he wants needy and hard and completely intoxicating. His boy has always loved giving blow-jobs, even when he was new at it, just learning how to use his mouth to make Louis fall apart. He’s got an incredible mouth, amazing lips that he could stare at for hours, that he could feel around his cock for hours if he were capable of lasting that long when he’s being so...this way. As it is, he doubts he’ll be able to go more than five minutes before he comes, and all of that is entirely Harry’s doing. He could drag it out if he wanted, but it seems as if neither of them are looking for slow and steady tonight. So, Louis’ going to encourage him. “Filthy fucking boy,” he manages to get out, breathing a heavy sigh of pleasure, and tightening his grip in his curls, “that slutty mouth of yours got you into trouble tonight, didn’t it? Shouldn’t even be rewarding you with my cock, but I suppose if you can make me come hard enough, I can overlook it. That what you wanna do, baby? You wanna make me come?” Of course he does. Louis is tugging his curls again, forcing his head back and suspending for a few seconds before he lets him pick up his rhythm again. It’s a message, a clear you have this because I am allowing it, just so Harry doesn’t get the wrong idea. Not that he ever would.