ok since we're on the topic of porn... tube8 ()com/gay/twink/brent-corrigan-2/3331471/ pornstar!AU with big dicked newbie harry working with seasoned vet louis for the first time and it's so good louis keeps coming early which he NEVER does because he's PROFESSIONAL damnit but harry keeps fucking him juuuust right that he can't help but come 3 times by the time they're done filming. cry with me
Full disclosure, I didn’t actually watch the video - not in the mood winkwink - so I’m going to take artistic liberties with this:
“Shh,” Harry’s murmuring, big hands gripping the underside of Louis’ knees, holding his thighs up in the air, parted, hips rocking easily, pace infuriating and relentless, hitting Louis’ prostate with every. Damn. Thrust.
Louis is vaguely aware of the desperate, half choked noises he’s making, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sheets, unsure of whether he wants to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure or just lie there and bask in it, let this kid work him over forever. It’s ridiculous, is what it is - Louis is a professional, goddammit, this is how he earns his living. He’s been on his back for more cocks than he cares to count, and he’s fucking good at what he does.
And this guy, this kid, he’s fucking twenty-one years old, first time doing porn at all, much less gay porn, never fucked on camera before. Louis should be the one overwhelming him, the one holding all the power, all the cards, making him beg for a chance to fuck Louis’ arse. Better men than Harry Styles have begged for that exact thing before.
“Yeah, baby, you’re alright,” Harry says, working his cock in and out of Louis’ hole as though he’s done this a thousand times before, like he fucks Louis into a whimpering mess every single day, ignoring the cameras altogether but somehow working the perfect angle for them to pick up a great shot.
Louis gasps for a solid breath, stomach muscles clenching as Harry bends him impossibly further, thrusting faster and harder but still managing to hit Louis’ prostate on every go. He can’t think, head swimming, vision a little bit hazy. Knows he should be doing his part, pulling his weight, but the only words he seems to be capable of forming are fuck and yes and please and Harry.
It’s embarrassing. Or it would be embarrassing if Louis could gather enough brain cells to be embarrassed by it, but as it stands his arse is getting pounded by a big cock and his own cock is leaking against his belly, balls full and tight. He’s going to come. He’s going to come and he’s going to come before the scene fucking calls for it, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to stop it.
He can hear his noises getting a little more distressed. Things like this don’t happen to him - he’s a fucking pro.
“C’mon, baby, gonna come for me, yeah?” Harry’s saying, voice deep and silky, winding its way through Louis’ spine, leaving electric shivers everywhere it touches. “Gonna be a gorgeous boy and let me make you come, aren’t you.”
It’s not a question, very clearly not a question. For some reason Louis gasps back, “Yes, yeah, gonna come,” anyway, and watches the triumphant little smirk tugging at the corner of Harry’s mouth come closer, closer, until he can’t see it anymore because that same mouth is suddenly busy sucking a lovebite into Louis’ throat.
Suddenly - or maybe not so suddenly - Louis can’t hold back his orgasm anymore. Can’t even hear what type of noises he’s making as he comes, only knows that he’s making them loud and high-pitched, eyes either closed or vision blackened by how fucking good he feels. Harry’s hand comes up to strip his cock as Louis jerks and shudders underneath him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through his entire body.
It’s impossible to tell how much time passes before he’s able to blink his sex-heavy eyes open again. His toes have gone numb, tingling, one leg still more or less wrapped around Harry’s back and the other lying uselessly against the mattress. Almost absently, he realizes that he’s got his fingers curled around Harry’s wrist, the hand Harry’s still got wrapped around his cock, stroking him gently, lightly, not even trying to stop him, just holding on. His head feels even fuzzier than before, so it takes him a minute to realize that Harry’s thrusts have slowed down but not stopped, pace still constant.
He hasn’t heard the director give any directions in a while.
“Mm, baby, that was nice,” Harry sighs appreciatively, dragging a come-coated thumb over Louis’ mouth, pulling at his bottom lip so it can slip inside. Instinctively, Louis sucks at it. “Did so good, sweetheart, but I’m not done with you yet.”
Before Louis has a chance to think about what that means, Harry’s pulling out. Louis hisses, suddenly empty and a little sore, limbs heavy and tired. That’s why he doesn’t stop Harry from rolling him over, arranging him onto his hands and knees and pushing back inside.
Louis’ arms are trembling. “I can’t - ” he starts, moving a little, knees slipping against the sheets. He’s full again, arse plugged with thick cock, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to be. Knows there’s a word he could say to put an end to it, call for a break, and even remembers what the word is - stop - but he doesn’t say it.
“You can,” Harry tells him. There’s the press of something warm against the nape of Louis’ neck, Harry’s mouth. A kiss, then, gentle and soft, and everything that’s seemed strange about this entire shoot comes rushing back, flooding Louis’ head. “Gonna take whatever I want to give you, baby, aren’t you? Gonna trust me to make you feel good, yeah?”
Louis’ exhale comes out more like a sigh. “Okay,” he agrees, and another kiss follows that first one, in the same spot and just as tender before Harry’s moving again. His thrusts are deeper from this angle, just as sure as before, and it’s like he knows exactly where Louis’ prostate is because he’s still fucking hitting it, unerringly accurate.
Then the talking starts up again, that same stream of soft, sensual filth, the kind that two pornstars don’t usually engage in. The kind that a couple would have between them, the kind two people who know each other and love each other have, intimate and familiar, and Louis is half-conscious of responding to it all.
He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, the deep, steady thrusts or the soft murmured words, floating on a cloud of pleasure, his only responsibility being to hold himself up and let Harry fuck him.
Warm fingers wrap themselves around Louis’ cock for the second time. They’re not his own. Everything feels bright and full and good, and before Louis knows it he’s coming again, wetting the sheets underneath him.
Again, Harry’s thrusts slow but don’t stop. Louis thinks it’s over, that this must be the part where Harry pulls out and comes all over his back, his arse, that in a few minutes he’ll be back in his dressing room and able to think about this with a clear head.
Harry pulls out. Louis holds his position, barely even aware of the strain in his arms, waits for Harry to finish.
Except Harry’s not finishing. He’s moving Louis again, guiding him up off his knees and into Harry’s lap instead, filling him back up before Louis has the chance to catch his breath, much less think about whether he can take any more.
“There you go, sweetheart,” Harry murmurs, pressing one hand flat against Louis’ back and holding him there, not encouraging him to move just yet. Cups Louis’ chin with his hand and makes sure Louis is paying attention before he continues, “This one is gonna be for me, baby, you understand? The first two were for the camera but this one is all mine.”
“What?” Louis manages, full to bursting and aching with it, face to face with Harry and reading the intent he’s got written all over his face. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, what’s happening.
The director still hasn’t said anything.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, flashing him a quick, easy grin. “You’ll get there eventually.”
For a split second, Louis thinks that must mean he’ll get to his orgasm eventually. It’s not his usual thing, delayed gratification, but then neither is multiple orgasms so. At this point he doesn’t even have the ability to care.
Then Harry rocks his hips pointedly, juggling Louis’ weight in his lap, and the tiny bit of professionalism Louis has left has him rising with the movement, sliding up, almost all the way off Harry’s cock before letting himself drop back down, repeating the movements quicker, faster, hurtling them towards the finish line.
Harry’s shaking his head, hands on Louis’ hips big and strong. “Slow,” he says, guiding Louis into the rhythm he apparently wants. “Go slow for me, baby, make me feel good.”
Louis obeys, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to figure out what Harry wants, what this entire thing is all about. It would be a lot better if his head wasn’t still so fuzzy, if the ache in his entire body wasn’t distracting him, if the pleasure wasn’t so good.
“You’ll get there eventually,” Harry repeats, thumb brushing Louis’ cheekbone, mouth trailing along his jaw. It sounds like a promise, one he intends to keep, but Louis can’t figure out what it means, bouncing on Harry’s lap slow and gentle, every muscle in his body focused on figuring out whether he can come again.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been filming for. It’s not the longest shoot he’s ever done, not at all, but it’s been one continuous take and that’s unheard of. There’s so much about this that doesn’t make sense, and Louis is going to figure it out, he is, except it’s like Harry knows that he’s distracted because all of sudden he’s shoving his hips up to meet Louis’ descent, knocking the breath out of him again.
“Pay attention, sweetheart,” Harry says. There’s a hint of that firmness in his voice, the kind that demands to be respected, obeyed, and before Louis realizes he’s doing it he’s watching Harry watch him.
He’s still meeting Louis’ movements, thrusting hard and good, and that floaty pleasure is starting to take over Louis’ brain again, making all the parts of him that ache feel good instead. “Good,” Harry murmurs, thumb digging into the tip of Louis’ cock, a shock of pleasure-pain zinging through his spine.
Suddenly, abruptly, they’re kissing, kissing for the first time, wet and slick, tongues moving together, hot and electric, and Louis thinks oh.
He knows this kiss. He remembers this kiss, the heat and intensity of it. Remembers being blindfolded and kissed like this for what felt like forever and not long enough, hands tied behind his back and kissed until his tongue went numb and his brain had melted, until the lights came back on and suddenly he wasn’t being kissed anymore. Remembers being young and stupid and accepting a dare, twenty years old and too drunk to think it was a bad idea, letting some dumb frat boys blindfold him, tie him up and hang a sign around his neck declaring FREE KISSES. Remembers drunkenly trash talking every time he heard someone come into the room until someone finally did it, claimed those free kisses, and then it was -
It was exactly like this.
It was exactly like this, deep and all consuming, the best kiss Louis has ever had, and he’s having it again, stuffed with a cock he might be envious of if it wasn’t buried inside of him, big hands touching him like they’re never going to let him go, and Louis is coming.
He’s even more shocked by it this time, making almost hiccupy noises into Harry’s mouth, not even moving anymore, just letting Harry bounce him along. Can’t manage to string a coherent thought together, that pleasure-pain spark going through his entire body, full and almost hurting with it.
Harry’s talking again, mumbling words in between kisses, and they might even make sense but Louis can’t concentrate on them, wrists draped over Harry’s shoulders and letting him move him however he wants. And then Harry’s coming, finally coming, not outside but in, breaking one of the most important porn rules, and for the first time Louis really starts understanding that this isn’t about the porn at all.
Everything that didn’t make sense before is starting to now; the intimacy, the insistence on barebacking, the determination he’s felt radiating off of Harry the entire time.
Louis drifts off for a while. It feels like the next time he blinks he’s back in his dressing room, all cleaned up and wrapped in his robe, lying on the sofa. He isn’t certain how he got here but he’s got a pretty good guess from the way Harry’s sitting in the chair across from him, clad in a robe of his own and watching Louis sleep.
For a minute, all they do is stare at each other.
“I want to date you,” Harry says.
All of it, that very first kiss, the drunk one, every single orgasm, every position of the sex comes rushing back to Louis. There’s still so much of it that doesn’t make sense - how Harry found him after all of this time, why he decided to arrange to be in one of Louis’ films instead of just asking him, how he arranged that, what kind of strings he pulled to get here, how five minutes of kissing made him determined to track Louis down, how he’d even lost track of him in the first place. None of it makes sense and all of it needs answers, but it can all probably wait. This is the guy who kisses like fireworks and heat, after all, the only person who’s ever kissed Louis like that in his entire life.
“No kidding,” Louis says.
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