Work Text:
“What about him?” Niall shouts over the thumping bass, pointing at a guy to their left with about as much subtly as a brick. Harry glances over and can’t help the way his jaw drops open. The guy in question must be at least six-four with a shock of blond hair styled into a scary looking Mohawk which adds an extra two-inches to his height. The tear drop tattoos under one eye match the ink on his neck and the blood red contacts really complete the look. Harry turns back to Niall and fixes him with a stare he hopes conveys exactly how far from the pack he has strayed. Niall just shrugs and bounces along to the beat, eyes sweeping the dance floor for his next ridiculous suggestion.
The sea of bodies moves as one, strobe lighting flashing and transforming the scene into something out of a futuristic science fiction movie. Harry feels so painfully out of place in his bell-bottom jeans and flowery silk shirt, dressed for a civilized dinner out and not the grind-fest he’s found himself in, hair product and overly-sweet alcohol overwhelming his senses as he’s jostled about. But Niall had insisted, and he’s never been able to deny his best friend anything, so here they are.
Harry leans in, the air humid and rank with the stench of sweat and too much liberally applied cologne. “I really don’t need your help, Ni,” Harry says over the techno beat.
“You need to get laid, mate!” Niall yells, perfectly timed between the crescendo and the drop for maximum impact, but he seems entirely unfazed that he’s just announced Harry’s situation—or at least the one Niall has decided exists and has taken it upon himself to rectify—to all those around them.
“I’ll do you,” a burly, shirtless man with oiled up, bulging muscles says as he rakes his eyes over Harry’s form. “Wanna go to the loos, sweetheart?”
Harry’s cheeks burn hot in response—but not in the good way—and he steps away, shaking his head as politely as he can, earning a nonplussed look from his would-be suitor who simply goes back to grinding on his current dance partner.
“See what you’ve done,” Harry hisses in Niall’s ear and takes him by the elbow, dragging him away from the crowd and back towards the door to the terrace, pushing it open and barreling them both outside into the crisp night air.
“What?” Niall squawks indignantly, stifling a giggle behind his fist. “Muscle dude seemed lovely.”
“I hate you,” Harry says, trying and failing to hide the fondness in his tone.
“Come on, let’s get another drink,” Niall says and strides off to the outdoor bar, Harry trailing behind him, keenly aware of the hungry eyes that are following him as he moves. He understands he’s in a bar and it’s a target rich environment, he just doesn’t much feel like being one of the targets tonight, or any night for that matter. It’s just not his scene, not the way he likes to meet people. He’s not a quick-fuck-in-the-toilets kind of guy, never has been. He’s more drawn to art galleries and museums, botanical gardens and butterfly houses, fireside chats and lazy brunches. But he’s too busy to cultivate a new relationship right now anyway, so he’s more than happy to deal with sorting himself out when the need arises.
They grab their drinks and find a table off to the side, seating built into the corner with troughs filled with fake plants at eye level when they’re sitting down. The table top is sticky with alcohol and Harry peels his forearms off the surface, resting on just his elbows as he sips his vodka and soda through the straw.
“You know you could have anyone in here, Haz. Are you sure you’re not interested?”
“I appreciate the effort, but no, I don’t like meeting people like this. I want a proper relationship and I just don’t have the energy right now with everything I’ve got going on. Maybe once these pieces are complete I’ll start putting myself out there again.”
The pieces in question are for an upcoming show at the Grayson Gallery, a series of three sculptures he’s calling Man, Deconstructed . He’s been working on them for weeks and has two of the three almost completed. When finished, they’ll separately depict the feet and calves, thighs and buttocks, and back and shoulders of a man in grey clay, a medium he loves working with because of the clean, matte finish he can achieve. The buttocks piece is the only one left and he’s been struggling with the exact shape he wants, although he’s confident he’ll find the right form soon.
Niall sits back and hums and Harry can practically see the wheels turning as he contemplates his next move. “I think I’ll just hire someone for you. Maybe as a little birthday present. Get you some professional dick.”
Harry nearly chokes on his drink. “W-what?”
“You know,” Niall says, waving his hand around casually. “A sex worker. Someone who can come around to your house and fulfil all those needs you have without the whole pick-up bar scene that you seem to hate so much. Less hassle.”
Harry gapes are his friend, waiting for the punchline of what he can only assume—hopes—is a joke, but nothing is forthcoming; Niall just takes a sip of his beer.
“You can not be serious. I don’t want that. I don’t need that,” Harry says, voice rising in pitch with every syllable that falls from his lips.
“Maybe for your birthday,” Niall muses, like this ridiculous train of thought is something he’s seriously considering putting into action.
“Ugh. You're incorrigible. And this, our night out, is my birthday present. I don’t need anything else,” Harry says and lays his hand over Niall’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Can we change the subject please?”
“Yeah, okay,” Niall says distractedly, eyes roaming the crowd until the terrace door opens and the loud music spilling out draws his attention to a fresh group of guys for him to assess. “Oh! What about him?”
His best friend honestly has the attention span of a toddler. Harry follows his gaze anyway and finds a small, curvy guy at the front with another man draped over his back, laughing at something. He’s more to Harry’s liking for sure, but he’s never been much of a fan of blondes in general, and the fact that he seems to be barely old enough to be in here is a hard no for Harry.
Harry just rolls his eyes. Time for a topic change. “So, how’s work?”
Niall turns back to him. “Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, it’s good. Fighting with the penny pinching bastards on the board over the grant application, but you know-“
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Harry finishes for him.
“Exactly!” Niall whoops, a broad smile on his face, and Harry just hopes that’s the last he’ll hear about any surprise birthday presents.
~*~
The early morning sunlight is streaming in through the big bay window which should be lovely, it’s just at the wrong angle, so Harry adjusts the blinds for what feels like the millionth time today. He doesn’t like working in new environments, but it’s only for a week so he knows he just has to suck it up. He misses the studio at his own house, everything setup exactly as he likes it, but when he glances over to see Matilda curled up on her little bed by the fire he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.
She’s old, is the thing, going on fourteen which is senior citizen status for a cat, and he would never want to disrupt her life by dragging her across the road to his own house for the sake of having the perfect lighting. Daphne and Jack have been so good to him over the years, and pet sitting for them while they’re away visiting their newest grandchild is definitely not a chore. Although lugging his gear over here on Sunday afternoon was a slight inconvenience, Niall’s assistance had been greatly appreciated, particularly with Harry’s hangover still making itself known; his upset stomach and a dull headache a reminder of their night out and one too many vodkas.
Being on the high side of the street does have its advantages though, the views over the valley are so different from this perspective that it makes him want to get out his oils and capture the landscape on canvas as the clouds roll down the mountains and cover the winding river in a blanket of fluffy white.
A whoosh from his phone catches Harry’s attention and he gets up from his stool, padding over to the island bench, a text message notification from Niall illuminating the screen.
[Niall] Happy Birthday HAZZA!!!! 🎉🎉
Another message coming through straight after.
[Niall] Hope you get some soon 🍆🍑🍒🍌👅💦
Harry chuckles to himself and swipes up the screen, waiting for the facial recognition to kick in. He taps out his reply, smirking at his friends continued obsession with his non-existent sex life.
[Harry] Thanks, Ni. Just enjoying a quiet day with my…
Harry snaps a picture of Matilda and sends it through, earning a predictably rude response.
[Niall] Less pussy, more dick mate! 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆
[Niall] Gotta run. Have a great day! Love you ❤️
Harry taps out his response.
[Harry] Bye 👋🏻 Show those stuffy suits what you’re made of 👊🏻
Harry sets his phone down, knowing he’ll likely not get a reply until later. Niall is a busy man these days, running point on the legal side of things for a huge development in the city. It’s a far cry from their heady days at uni when they’d met at a bar and their woeful attempts at hitting on each other had resulted in a ridiculous fumble in the loos. Harry's phone had slid out of his pocket and ended up in the toilet bowl and in his flailing attempts to save it he’d accidentally clocked Niall in the face with his elbow, nearly knocking him out. They’d decided to cut their losses and shared a few drinks instead, Niall pressing a napkin filled with ice to his bruised cheek and quickly realising they really weren’t that attracted to each other anyway. And thus began their beautiful friendship.
Harry goes back to his clay, eyeing the arse he’s in the process of creating. It’s all wrong. The crease under the cheeks at the tops of the thighs, the thighs themselves, the arse crack. Has it really been that long since he got laid that he can’t even remember the way an arse looks and feels? Maybe Niall’s right. Maybe he needs to-
The buzzing of the front door bell cuts off his thoughts and Harry stands, wiping his clay-covered hands on his apron and heading down the long hallway. He glances at his reflection in the mirror above the hall table and it’s not a pretty sight, a few smudges of clay on his cheekbone and chin, wayward curls falling out of the tiny bun he’d wound his hair up into earlier, and an old shirt with more holes than material. He doubts the person on the other side will care though, probably just someone trying to sell him something.
He unlocks the door and swings it open to find a large bouquet of flowers set into a small wooden crate-style box with a cute metallic Happy Birthday balloon on a stick rising out of the top. The floral display appears to be being held by a man who is hidden behind it, bare shins lightly dusted with hair and work boot covered feet, a toolbox on the ground beside him.
Harry’s brows knit together. “Hullo?”
The man lowers the bouquet. “Hi. Uhm, these are for you I’m guessing,” he says with a hint of a smirk and Harry just gapes. Bright blue eyes stare back at him, head tilted to the side, his fringe falling across his forehead. He’s stunning and Harry is momentarily lost for words. The man holds the flowers away from his body and Harry’s brain snaps back into a partially functional mode.
“Oh! Thank you,” Harry says and takes the bouquet. “Do I need to sign for them?”
“Apparently not.” He glances down the street before refocusing on Harry. “I’m Louis,” he says looking at Harry like he expects that piece of information to mean something.
“Hi, Louis. I’m Harry?” He states but it comes out more like a question, unsure of what else Louis needs from him. He’s dressed in a dark blue work shirt, a yellow high-vis stripe across his chest, and matching dark blue shorts.
“Oh wait! There’s uhm, hang on,” Louis says and reaches behind into his back pocket, bringing back a small white envelope and handing it to Harry.
Harry takes it and opens it up, balancing the flowers awkwardly against his chest as reads the message to himself.
Happy Birthday Harry, hope all your wishes come true and you like my little present ;) Love, Nialler. xx
Harry reads it again, glancing up to Louis and then reading the card one more time, the words finally sinking in. Oh god. No. No, no . Fuck. Niall has followed through on his birthday promise to hire Harry a professional dick. Jesus fucking Christ . Harry’s cheeks flush what he can only imagine is a flaming shade of hot pink. “Oh my god,” he whispers, bravely raising his head to find Louis looking at him with a confused and mildly amused expression on his face, toolbox now in hand, although what he’s got in the toolbox is now intriguing Harry more than it probably should. Is it filled with sex toys? Boxes of condoms in every colour of the rainbow? Various flavours of lube? And why is Louis dressed as a workman, delivery driver, plumber? Is that a role play thing? Ooooohhhhh, Harry’s brain catches up. Plumbers crack . Here to lay some pipes perhaps. Give Harry a good plunge . Fuck. Harry’s getting turned on just thinking about it. And no. He can’t. This is ridiculous that he’s even-
“Is everything alright? You seem kinda freaked out. Were you not expecting me? They said eleven,” Louis says, interrupting Harry’s internal spiraling, as he fishes in his other pocket for a piece of paper, shaking it out and reading it over before he glances at the brass number seventeen on the wall. “I uhm… sorry. They haven’t written the name on the top but this is the right address.”
“I- I don’t know what- I’m sorry…” Harry trails off. This poor guy is just here to do a job. It’s not his fault that Harry’s best mate—although that title might require some revision after this debacle—is a prize idiot who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. “I’m just not familiar with what happens next.”
“Well, I’m here to size-up the job, get you sorted out. Lay some pipe if I’ve got the right, you know, tools,” Louis says, glancing down at his toolbox.
Harry’s brain short circuits, mouth dropping open. Size. Pipe. Tools.
He should send this guy, Louis, away. He should tell him there’s been a mistake and he doesn’t require his professional services. He should do any number of things, but he doesn’t. Instead he just dumbly says, “Okay,” and steps aside, nodding and waving Louis in before he can even think about what he’s doing.
Maybe he’ll make him a nice cup of tea. Sit him down and explain that it’s his stupid interferring friend who has wasted him time and see if he’ll accept a large cash tip for his troubles. Yes, that’s what he’ll do.
“Thanks, Harry,” Louis says as he breezes past and down the hallway.
Harry kicks the door closed with his foot and follows after him, eyes fixing on Louis’ arse as he walks. His perfect arse. It hits him that it’s the exact arse he’s been looking for to complete his sculpture series. Perhaps Louis will agree to model for him in lieu of other activities. That would be a good trade off wouldn’t it? Modelling instead of sex?
Louis stops in the middle of the open plan kitchen and living area and spins around, catching Harry out gawking at him. God. He really needs to get his shit together. He sets the card and flowers down on the island bench and they stand tall on their wooden base. He immediately wants to pick them up again just to give him something to occupy his hands but he makes do with stroking the soft petals and leaning in to smell the sweet aroma. “Can I get you a glass of water? A cup of tea? Or coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good. But thanks for offering, that's really nice of you,” Lous says with a smile. “It’s actually my first day with this agency, so I didn’t really know what to expect.” There’s a hint of nervousness in his voice which Harry finds endearing. “You never know what sorts of jobs you’ll be sent out on.”
“I can only imagine. Uhm… I guess I don’t know what to expect either. It’s my first time. I mean, not my first time, obviously, but yeah. This is new to me too…”
The blush Harry was already sporting rampages down his neck and onto his chest as Louis regards him with raised eyebrows. “You didn’t arrange this then?”
“No! I mean…” Harry rubs at the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room. “Sorry. No, I didn’t arrange this. My friend, he uhm… for my birthday, which is today.”
“Figured as much what with the whole…” Louis waves his hand around, motioning toward the balloon sticking out of the bouquet. “Kind of a funny birthday present though isn’t it?”
Harry sighs, shoulders slumping. “My friend thinks he knows what’s best for me. I’ll strangle him later. I mean, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, I just specifically told him I didn’t need any help in that, uhm, department and said I could manage it on my own because I’m a thirty-one year old, grown ass man. Oh, actually, thirty-two today. Happy birthday to me,” Harry sing-songs.
Louis chuckles, his eyes filling with mirth. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous. “I gotta say,” Louis says as he walks forward, setting his toolbox down on the counter. “I think your friend might be onto something. It’s good to get a professional for these kinds of things if you want it done right. Wouldn’t want any mishaps.”
Now it’s Harry’s turn to look confused. “Mishaps?”
“Yeah. You wouldn’t want to bust a pipe or anything.”
Harry snorts out a laugh, coughing to try and cover it up but failing miserably. “I guess so. That would be unfortunate.”
A slightly awkward silence falls over the room before Louis breaks it. “Anyway. Should probably make a start, yeah?”
“Oh, right, of course.”
“Got a schedule to keep and all that.”
It’s a shame really. Louis is most definitely his type. Small and curvy in all the right places, strong forearms, gorgeous blue eyes, and a lovely smile, so ridiculously pretty and perfect that he kind of wants to weep. Plus, there’s his arse. Harry decides to throw caution to the wind and go for it. “You get paid by the hour, yes?”
Louis nods, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yeah. There’s a base callout charge and then a rate per hour, or part thereof.”
It’s a stretch and Harry isn’t sure how okay he is with the idea, but he figures he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and Louis does seem to have the exact attributes he needs, well one of them in particular. “How about, uhm… have you ever done any modeling?”
Louis’ eyes practically bug out of his head. “What?”
“So like, I have these sculptures I’m working on,” Harry says and motions towards the bay window where his three platforms are standing. “I have two of them done but the third one has been causing me trouble. It’s called Man, Deconstructed , and the one of the arse is the one I’m stuck on. If you’re up for it perhaps you’d like to be my model. From what I’ve seen you’ve got a very nice-“
“Arse?” Louis asks as his eyebrows rise up and disappear under his fringe.
“Yeah. Just what I’ve been looking for. I’d pay you extra, of course, if you’re keen. Cash?”
Louis looks from Harry, to the clay form, and back to Harry again, a bewildered look on his face, mouth hanging slack. “Wait. So you’re saying that you want me to strip off and be your live model? You want to sculpt my arse?”
“Well, yeah. Just your pants. And you’d be facing away from me. Looking, no touching, “Harry assures him, although he likely doesn’t need to given Louis’ profession, but he feels better for it anyway. “Would that be okay?”
“Mate. I’m- shit. Look, I’m flattered but-“
“One hundred pounds?”
Louis freezes, and Harry can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Seriously? You wanna pay me a hundred bucks to drop my drawers and let you look at my arse? Just my arse?”
Harry doesn’t quite understand what the issue is. Louis is here to have sex with him so surely only having to show his arse is a better proposition. Maybe it’s the money. Sex workers get paid well, at least he thinks so from his limited knowledge. “Two hundred?”
Louis cackles, throwing his head back and elongating his throat, his scruff shaped perfectly and Harry wishes he could grow his own facial hair like that. “Harry. Look. I’m not gonna lie, this is definitely an odd one for me, but honestly, you had me at one hundred. You’re on,” Louis says and holds out his hand, Harry reaching over the top of the bouquet and shaking to seal the deal.
Harry drops Louis’ hand. “Wonderful!” He says, beaming his best smile and feeling like he’s navigated his way out of what was an incredibly awkward situation.
“Okay. Where do you want me?”
“Follow me,” Harry says and leads Louis over to where he has everything setup. Louis sits down and takes off his work boots, keeping his socks on, and then stands to peel off his shorts, his shirt hanging down to just below his briefs.
“This is the strangest call-out I’ve ever had,” Louis mutters as Harry directs him to stand facing the bay window before sitting down on his stool, the lump of clay on the platform between them.
“Really? I would’ve thought you’d get strange requests in your line of work all the time.”
“Not like this,” Louis says and then clears his throat. “Nice view you’ve got here.”
“I reckon the view I’ve got beats that hands down,” Harry says with a grin as he lets himself ogle Louis’ shapely legs, the light dusting of hair swirling in patterns towards his inner thighs.
Harry feels Louis’ gaze and looks up to find Louis smirking back at him. Louis tucks his fingers into the waistband of his briefs, his shirt lifting in the process. “So, you want me to just…”
“Sure. Whenever you’re ready,” Harry says, getting his hands on the clay in readiness.
“Alright. One perfect arse coming right up,” Louis says and gives a little waggle off his eyebrows, turning to face the window as he shucks his briefs down, pulling his shirt tight at the front so it sits across his lower back, the hem hanging down at the front and exposing his glorious arse at the back.
Harry’s mouth drops open. “Wow.”
Louis chuckles, light and airy as he flexes his cheeks one by one. “Like what you see?”
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect,” Harry says in awe.
And it is. It’s the most stunning specimen he’s ever laid eyes on. Round and lucious like a peach, the exact right amount of lift creating the ideal creasing under the cheeks at the top of the thighs. Biteable too, and so enticing that Harry’s hands itch to reach out and cup it in his palms. But he has to focus.
“So, is this something you do for a living?” Louis asks nonchalantly.
“Accosting strange men and getting them to drop their pants, you mean?”
“Ha, ha. No. The sculpting thing.”
“Yeah. Mostly. I paint too, oils mainly, but I also do charcoal sketches when the mood takes me. These three pieces are for an upcoming show, like I mentioned, but I also do commissions and I have a website for prints and other smaller items.”
“Interesting,” Louis hums.
As Harry works, Louis asks him about how he got into art and Harry happily shares stories of his studies at uni, different pieces he’s made and where they’ve ended up. Harry is curious about how Louis got into his line of work, but he doesn’t want to pry, so they just stick to small talk, Matilda slinking over at one point to see who this stranger is in her home. Louis just crouches down and scratches under her chin, earning a lovely purr from the old girl who promptly lays across his feet as he stands to full height once more.
Louis is just so lovely and easy to talk to and Harry finds himself disappointed once he realises his work is almost finished. There will still be some final touches to do but they can be done without Louis half-naked in the living room.
“Okay. I think we’re good,” Harry says, sitting back and turning the platform from side to side to check the angles.
Louis looks over his shoulder. “Yeah? That’s it?”
Harry nods and smiles. “Yeah. All done.”
Louis lets go of his shirt and it drapes down as he drags his briefs up. He lifts Matilda into his arms, giving her a cuddle and a kiss as she burrows into his neck. “This live modeling thing is a bit of alright,” he says as he sets her on the ground and puts his shorts and boots back on, Matilda winding herself between his ankles and seeking out more of his attention. Harry can relate.
Harry heads over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, soaping them up and scrubbing the clay off with a nail brush. “If you’re interested, I can definitely put you in touch with some studios that would be very keen to hear from you.”
Louis chuckles as he leans up against the other side of the island bench. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Harry dries his hands and grabs his wallet, setting the agreed upon hundred quid on the counter. “Thanks again. You’re a lifesaver.”
Louis slides the money over towards himself and pops it into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Easiest hundred I’ve ever made,” he says, patting at the cash in his pocket.
“Well I’m glad I was considered an easy job,” Harry says with a grin.
“That bit definitely was. I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve sized up the rest of the job.”
“What?” Harry asks, head tilted and brow raised. The swoosh of a text message startles him and he reaches for his phone, his arm knocking the bouquet of flowers and toppling it over, a small white box flying out across the granite benchtop towards Louis. He glances down at his phone and frowns when he finds a message from Niall illuminated on the screen.
[Niall] Hope you liked your little present 🍌
Louis picks up the box and hands it to Harry. Opening it up, Harry finds a silver necklace inside with- is that a banana? Wait. Harry brings it closer and- fucking hell. “It’s a banana dick.”
“A what?” Louis squawks.
There’s a small note tucked into the box.
Happy birthday Haz. Don’t panic, it’s not real Gucci, just a decent knock off. Love ya, Nialler xx
“I’d… fucking hell,” Harry shakes his head, a fond smile spreading across his face. “My best mate. He’s bought me a banana dick necklace, like the Gucci one I’ve been wanting to get for ages,” Harry says and holds out the box for Louis to see.
“Oh my god. That’s brilliant!” Louis cackles with glee, ryes shining brightly and really, he’s too beautiful for this Earth.
“He thinks he’s hilarious but he’s a good friend. Even if he doesn’t always listen.”
“Yeah?”
Harry sighs and sets the box down next to the bouquet and the card from earlier. “Yeah.” Harry looks up at Louis sheepishly. “He’s the one who booked you to come even though I told him I didn’t need any help in that… department .”
Louis rests his hands on the counter. “I mean, I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but as I said before, I think it’s better to leave these sorts of things to a professional. Speaking of which, while this has been fun and… everything,” Louis says with a smirk. “I should probably get started on the job I’m here to do.”
“What?” Harry asks again, confusion settling in his bones, thinking that he had managed to avoid the awkwardness of having to turn Louis down.
“The job,” Louis states. “To lay the pipes for the new drains. It’s uhm,” Louis pauses, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the sheet of paper from earlier, unfolding and straightening out the creases. He turns the paper around and slides it over far enough for Harry to see. “For the landscaping you’re having done. The drainage pipes that are supposed to run from a newly landscaped area to the storm water trap. From here to here,” he says and traces his finger across what looks like a photocopy of a plan of some sort, Daphne and Jack’s address and a time written on the top and highlighted in yellow.
Harry furrows his brows in abject confusion. “What- I don’t understand. What’s this?”
“The plans… for the landscaping,” Louis thumbs over his shoulder toward the bay window, confusion now appearing on his face to match Harry’s own.
“I don’t understand what you’re-“ Harry snatches up the paper, eyes darting over the page, to the bouquet of flowers, the card, the necklace, his phone, and back up to Louis.
His brain slowly starts to piece everything together and Harry gasps, dropping the paper, looking at Louis in horror. “Oh my god.”
“You okay?” Louis asks, worry etched on his face.
“Where did these flowers come from?
“Some delivery driver that was in a hurry. He saw me walking up the front path and shouted out from his van asking if I could take them for him, save him the hassle of parking and everything seeing as I was coming here too. Why?”
“You’re not here to… you’re a plumber . Like an actual plumber, aren’t you,” Harry states, a flush rampaging up his neck and settling on his cheeks as he stares at Louis with wide eyes.
“Uh… yeah?”
Harry can’t breathe. He plants his hands on the counter, head hanging down. “Oh fuck. I’m such an idiot ,” Harry whispers, completely mortified.
Harry hears the sound of a phone chime in the background. “Sorry,” Louis says. “I’ve just gotta check this. ‘Cause it’s my first day they hadn’t set me up in the system yet so this is probably the proper work order coming through now but- wait. There must be some mistake. You’re not Jack are you?”
“No,” Harry mumbles, dreading the moment when Louis catches up.
“Why did your friend book the job under a different name?”
Harry sighs and raises his head, braving a look at Louis who is staring right back at him. “I don’t live here. I’m just pet sitting.”
“So wait. Why did your friend book a plumber for your birthday to work on the backyard of a house that isn’t yours?”
“He didn’t.”
“Mate. You’ve lost me.”
“He didn’t book a plumber, he didn’t book anything as it turns out. There’s been a… terrible misunderstanding. I’m really sorry, Louis. Please believe me when I say that I’m a good person who-“
“What are you even talking about?” Louis just frowns at him waiting for him to continue.
“Okay.” Harry takes a deep breath. “Full disclosure. I thought my friend had booked me- wait, let me start from the beginning. We were out to celebrate my birthday on Saturday night and Niall, my friend, loves to try and pick guys for me to hook up with. He says I’m living like a hermit, which is really not true, I’m just busy with my work and- sorry, I’m going off tangent. Anyway, so we’re out at this club and he’s pointing out these guys and they’re all ridiculously unsuited and so Niall says he’s just going to hire a professional for me instead, like, as a little birthday present. I didn’t pay it much mind at the time but then… then you turn up, on my birthday, with the flowers and the card that said about my little surprise and you were all like I need to lay some pipes and I’ll sort you out and you’re dressed like a plumber-“
“Because I am a plumber.”
“Yes, well I didn’t know that at the time and I panicked and thought Niall had followed through on his little birthday surprise and I mean, you look like that , and your arse is, Jesus Christ , your arse, and then-“
“Holy shit . You seriously thought- oh, my god.” Louis gapes at him, eyebrows entirely disappearing under his fringe. “You thought I was here to have sex with you?” He practically shrieks and, well, fair enough really.
Harry curls in on himself, eyes cast downwards. “I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t think-“
“Look,” Louis says with a long sigh and Harry looks up hopefully. “It’s just a misunderstanding, like you said. I’m just gonna go and get the job done I was sent here to do. Don’t wanna get in any more trouble on my first day, yeah?”
Louis smiles at him and there’s a hint of pity in his eyes. It’s not ideal but Harry will count it as a small win anyway. “Of course. That leads to the back stairs,” Harry says and points in the direction of the back door. “And there’s side access too so you can bring your gear in that way if you’d like.”
“Sounds good.”
“Thank you for being so nice about this. I really am incredibly sorry and like, so fucking embarrassed,” Harry says with a shake of his head.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, mate. It could happen to anyone, or well, maybe not anyone , but you’ve clearly just ended up in some kind of bizarre spiral which I’ll be leaving you to deal with while I go and… lay those pipes,” Louis says and adds a wink that has Harry snorting out a laugh.
“Thanks again, Louis.”
“Don’t mention it.” Louis picks up his toolbox and heads to the back door before spinning on his heel. “Actually. Like, literally don’t mention it, any of this, ever, to anyone. Just a suggestion,” he says with a chuckle and then he’s out the door and Harry can finally breathe.
Harry spends the next few hours moping about the house, finishing off his sculpture, cooking everything he can find in Daphne and Jack’s kitchen to distract himself from trying to catch glimpses of Louis working in the yard. Frustratingly, because of the positioning of the house, most of the work is down low in the terraced yard and out of sight. Louis comes in to use the bathroom once and Harry offers him tea, but sadly, he declines. Louis obviously wants to just get the job done and get out of here and Harry can’t blame him for that.
It’s late afternoon by the time Harry hears Louis coming back up the stairs, kicking the dirt off his boots on the top step before opening the door to come inside. His clothes are looking far less pristine than they did when he arrived, hair messy and a faint pink tinge to his cheeks from the hard manual labour he’s been undertaking.
“Okay,” Louis says as he approaches the island bench, eyeing the state of chaos that Harry is currently surrounded by; stress baking is a thing for him apparently. “I’m all done. I’ll submit a summary report and an adjusted diagram for where the new connections are which the agency will email back to the owners.”
“Oh, alright,” Harry says, his heart ticking up a beat at Louis’ mere presence. “Uhm, I just wanted to say thank you for being so good about today and for stepping in to model for my sculpture.”
Louis smiles and Harry is already missing it, missing Louis, and he hasn’t even left yet. “I’ve gotten my arse out for less noble, and far less lucrative, reasons,” he says, glancing over to the finished piece. “It’s done?”
“Yeah, pretty much. A few touches here and there.”
“It’s lovely. Kind of weird seeing my arse like that, but yeah, you’re very talented.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry again.”
“Really, Harry, it’s fine.”
It’s the opposite of fine, actually. Harry really wants to see Louis again. He’s lovely and interesting and Harry wants to hear him laugh, to see his beautiful smile, but that ship has most definitely sailed. “You’ve been very gracious. Most people wouldn’t have been so understanding.”
“Ah well, I’m cut from a different cloth I suppose. No big deal. You gonna be alright with all of this?” Louis asks, nodding towards the piles of ingredients and utensils and bowls covering every flat surface, a light dusting of flour blanketing everything, including himself.
“Oh! Uhm, yeah. I like to bake. Figured I’d make myself something for my birthday dinner and then things kind of… well, they got out of hand,” Harry says, looking over the carnage he has in progress; a bacon and egg quiche, some flat bread, a roasted pumpkin and spinach salad, vanilla cupcakes, and a blueberry tart.
“So what are you doing for your birthday?”
“Nothing. Eating myself into a food coma, I guess?”
“You can’t eat all of this on your own,” Louis says, a look of concern spreading across his face.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll just store it away for later,” Harry says and Louis looks like he’s going to say something else, but nothing is forthcoming. “Let me show you out.”
They make their way down the hallway and Louis stops on the front step, spinning around. “It was really lovely meeting you, Harry. I hope everything goes well with the show.”
“Thanks, and you. Your arse will be the main attraction,” Harry says with a grin, trying to keep things light.
Louis chuckles. “As it should be. Bye, Harry.”
“Bye, Louis.”
And with a wave Louis is heading down the path, through the front gate, and out of Harry’s life forever.
The rest of the afternoon and into the evening is spent wrangling his baking extravaganza until Niall calls and Harry relays his disaster of a day. Niall laughs for a solid three minutes before he can even form words and then it’s only to chastise Harry for not having gotten Louis’ number. Harry tries to explain how utterly inappropriate that would’ve been, given what had transpired, but Niall says that any bloke who stuck around after all of that was not only a consummate professional but also a really nice guy. Harry can’t find it within himself to disagree and he could definitely do with a nice guy in his life. The whole conversation only serves to make him more miserable, so after Niall wishes him a happy birthday for the millionth time, and Harry thanks him again for the flowers and his banana dick necklace, he cracks open a bottle of wine and settles on the couch with Matilda to wallow and drink the rest of his birthday away.
~*~
Louis shuts off the engine, the quiet of the street settling over him with an eerie heaviness, the white pickets and weatherboards of the houses that are lined up side by side are bathed in a blueish glow courtesy of the almost full moon. His stomach does a barrel roll when his eyes land on the familiar front fence.
“ Fuck . Get it together, Tomlinson,” he mutters to himself.
He can do this. He can totally do this. It isn’t weird, not even a little bit.
He tips his head back, breathing in and out to calm his nerves, palms sweaty where they’re gripping onto the steering wheel like it’s the only thing grounding him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers next to the bottle of wine sitting safely on the passenger seat.
He flips down the visor and checks his hair for the millionth time, before rolling his eyes at himself and taking the keys out of the ignition. His vans hit the gravel with a crunch as he jumps out of his truck, slamming the door and straightening out his t-shirt where it’s rucked up at the back. He walks around to the other side of the truck to retrieve his armful of gifts.
This is absurd, a little voice says inside his head. What is he even doing?
He shakes his head. No. This is good. This is him taking a risk and laying it all on the line. His friends are always banging on at him about not putting himself out there enough but they can fuck off. He’s here, isn’t he?
Granted, today had been one of the strangest days of his life, but also surprisingly, one of the best. Harry is just… he’s unique. Kind and funny and talented and quirky; everything Louis didn’t know he wanted until it was right there in front of him. And yeah, the whole thinking Louis was there to have sex with him was a misunderstanding on a whole other level, but it wasn’t Harry’s fault. It had been a confluence of events of gargantuan proportions for sure, and Louis isn’t entirely certain that there were enough dots for Harry to join and reasonably reach the conclusion he did, but Harry’s a bit of an enigma. Who knows what was going on in that curly head of his, which is precisely why Louis is here now. He would very much like to peel back the layers and find out what makes him tick; how he likes his eggs, how he takes his coffee, what books he reads, what music he likes, whether he’s a morning person or a night owl, what side of the bed he sleeps on. But Louis can’t do any of that if he doesn’t grow a pair, walk across the goddamn street, and ring the fucking doorbell.
Right.
He grabs the gifts from the passenger seat and strolls over, his casual gait belying the internal turmoil that threatens to churn up his insides. Everything sounds so loud, from his feet on the pavement to the swish of his denim-clad thighs, the catch on the gate ringing out in the still night air.
After he’d left this afternoon, he had been unable to get Harry out of his head. Aside from the whole misunderstanding thing, the modeling session had been consuming him, filling his every thought. The way Harry had looked at him, the way Louis had felt exposed but not in a bad way, in a very good way actually. As Harry had skillfully shaped the clay with his long fingers, pressing into the flesh of it, manipulating the soft form, it had made Louis feel like Harry was touching him instead, the ghost of the sensation transposed onto his own skin, his muscles, into every crease and crevice. It was the single most arousing thing that he’s ever experienced and he craves more, although with a little less looking and a lot more touching.
And then there’d been Harry himself. From the moment Harry had opened the door Louis was gone for him. He’d been a bit of a stuttering stumbling mess, but it was overwhelmingly endearing.
Now here Louis is again, under completely different circumstances, but eerily familiar nonetheless, standing on Harry’s doorstep, bouquet of flowers clutched against his chest. Louis steels himself, taking a final deep breath, and then he reaches out and presses the bell, the harsh shrill of it echoing through the house. He lifts the bouquet to cover his face, readying himself for the reveal, hoping that he hasn’t completely misread this entire situation and that Harry won’t laugh and slam the door.
“Coming!” Louis hears Harry yell from inside, the thudthudthudding of his feet on the wooden floorboards matching Louis’ pounding heart. The door swings open, a rush of air sucked inside with the motion. Harry gasps. “Hullo?”
Louis lowers the flowers and gives Harry his best, most welcoming smile, desperately trying to hide the nervousness that’s doing a rapid fire quick-step in his gut. “Hi.”
Harry’s brows knit together, eyes going wide. “It’s you. You're- wait. Am I having some kind of weird deja vu moment here? Am I dreaming?” He makes a show of pinching his forearm and winces. “Nope. Definitely awake. What are you- why are you here?”
“Well. I was in the area and-“
“No you weren’t,” Harry says with a wry grin, not cutting Louis any slack.
“Okay. So maybe I wasn’t technically in the area but I was thinking about you, spending your birthday alone with all that food and-“
“You were thinking about me?” Harry asks, interrupting Louis yet again. This is becoming a thing.
“Yeah, I was. And I thought that maybe you might like some company?”
“Are those for me?”
Louis glances down at the flowers and back up to Harry’s smiling face. “Yeah. There’s some wine too.”
Harry chokes out a gurgling sound from the back of his throat, somewhere between a squeal and a drowning seagull before making an exaggerated display of leaning out and looking up and down the street. “Can’t see any delivery vans. Does that mean these ones are from you?”
Louis sighs, long and low. “Yeah. Yeah, they are. Happy Birthday, Harry,” Louis says and is about to hand over the gifts, but stops himself. “Listen, if I’ve overstepped and completely misinterpreted the situation then that’s fine, I’ll go, but I just thought-“
“Oh my god,” Harry chuckles and steps down, taking the flowers in cradling them in the crook of his elbow, leaning in and giving Louis a kiss on the cheek, taking him by surprise and causing a blush to bloom on his cheeks. “You’re really very sweet,” Harry says as he pulls back, then hurries around behind Louis and herds him inside with his free hand gripping Louis’ hips. “Get in there, you silly, wonderful man.”
Louis stumbles into the hallway and Harry closes the door behind them. “Are you sure it’s okay?” Louis asks even as Harry is shuffling him into the living room.
“Of course I’m sure. This is the best birthday surprise ever!” Harry shouts gleefully as he races past and into the kitchen, placing the flowers in the sink and proceeding to fling cupboard doors open and shut.
Louis looks for somewhere to set down the wine but there’s not a clean surface to be found. “I see the baking tornado continued after I left then.”
Harry spins around. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Stress baking is definitely my thing. But there’s enough food to keep me going for the rest of week, so it won’t go to waste,” he says as he crouches down once more. “Ah ha!” Standing back up triumphantly, vase in hand. “Plus, now we have a ready-made dinner.”
“So… I’m staying for dinner?”
“Yes. Yes? I mean only if you want to, like-“
“Of course, I’d love to,” Louis says with a wink.
“Thank goodness,” Harry says on an exhale, snipping the ties off the bouquet and placing flowers in the vase, fanning out the stems and filling it with water. “Wine?”
“Yes please,” Louis says with a nod, handing over his bottle which Harry sets aside, grabbing one that is already two-thirds empty and has a floured hand-print around the neck.
“Got a bit of a head start on you,” Harry says somewhat sheepishly as he takes another glass from the cupboard, pouring in the blood-red liquid and setting it on the tiny square of vacant space between an open egg carton and a discarded whisk caked in dried batter. “Do you mind if I… I’m kind of a mess. Hadn’t exactly been expecting company, so I might go and jump in the shower if that’s alright?”
“Of course. Take your time. Matilda will no doubt keep me entertained,” Louis says as he glances down at the ball of fluff threading herself between his legs.
Harry steps around the counter and smiles at her fondly, bringing himself into Louis’ space. “She doesn’t warm to new people easily,” he says and looks up, meeting Louis’ gaze. “Must be a good sign.”
“Ah yes. I’ve always had a way with creatures of the feline kind.”
“Mmmmm,” Harry says and then purrs. Honest god, purrs . He catches himself and the blush that spreads over his cheekbones is an image Louis will tuck away for lonely nights. “Right. Uhm… shower.”
Louis could make a thing of it, tease Harry a bit, see how far he can get that flush to spread, but he’s all together too endeared, plus he doesn’t want to spook Harry by being too forward, so he’ll let him off the hook. For now, anyway.
Harry disappears off down the hallway, doors banging, a curse ringing out when he must run into something, which only serves to make Louis smile.
Matilda loses interest in him quickly and goes back to her cat bed by the fire, curling up and settling herself down, paws tucked under her chin. Louis sighs at the domesticity of it all and returns his gaze to the kitchen. Well, at least he can make himself useful.
He starts by unloading the dishwasher, quickly finding that the cupboards and drawers are laid out in a sensible order and easy to locate spaces for everything. He rinses the dirty dishes and pots and pans, hoping that he isn’t scalding or freezing Harry by turning the taps on and off while he’s showering. There are no screams coming from the bathroom though so he continues, scraping off the hardened batter and loading the dishwasher before starting on wiping down the benches.
Harry’s made some delicious looking cupcakes so Louis fishes around in the drawers until he finds a box of matches and a packet of little candles, setting one in the centre and placing it on a plate off to the side.
The long white wood dining table is a mess of Harry’s art supplies, so he tidies them to one end, not wanting to upset things too much, just enough to make room for them to sit and eat. He sets places for them both, bringing over the vase of flowers before retrieving their glasses and Louis’ bottle of wine. He spies a couple of thick bottomed candles on the mantle, partially burnt down, their vanilla scent clear but not in a way that will overpower their meal, and pops them on the table too.
He stands back and takes in the romantic scene, quite pleased with his efforts when he hears a gasp from behind him. “Oh, this is- you didn’t have to do all this,” Harry whispers.
Louis spins around and, as he takes in the sight before him, he very nearly swallows his tongue. Harry’s hair is damp and curled around his ears, little droplets of water having fallen onto the shoulders of his baby blue shirt, buttons seeming like they’re an optional extra as the lapels hang open to his sternum allowing his tattoos to peek out enticingly. Louis lets his gaze travel down over his tapered waist to his long legs clad in sinfully tight black skinny jeans, feet bare and slightly turned inwards on the dark wooden floorboards. “I just thought- it was no trouble. You look…” he says and retraces his path back up to Harry’s face where he finds a shy smile. “You look lovely.” It comes out on a heavy exhale, completely giving away how taken he is by this gorgeous man.
“Thank you. Now, sit your arse down and let me sort out dinner,” Harry says with a cheeky grin, effectively snapping Louis out of his daze.
Louis cocks his hip, hands resting on his waist. “I’m more than just my arse, you know.”
“Oh, I know. Don’t you worry about that. But it is a mighty fine arse,” Harry says, leering at Louis like a loon, waggling his eyebrows.
Louis rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re incorrigible.”
Harry just giggles and heads into the kitchen, pottering about and humming along to some tune as Louis does as he’s told and waits patiently at the dining table. He lights the candles and pours himself some more wine, refilling Harry’s glass too.
“I hope you like bacon and egg quiche. It’s a tried and true family recipe,” Harry says as he plates up their meal.
“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful. Are you positive I can’t help?”
“Nope. All good,” Harry says as he comes over and sets the plates down, returning to fetch a bowl of pumpkin and spinach salad, and the flat bread as well as the cupcakes including the one with the candle Louis had prepared earlier.
Harry finally settles himself opposite Louis, eyes scanning the table before smiling, seemingly satisfied that they have everything they need.
Louis lifts his glass. “A birthday toast.” Harry mirrors Louis’ action, eyes shining brightly in the flickering light. “Harry, may all your birthday wishes be granted, may all your dreams become realities, and may all your hopes find a home in your future.”
“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you,” Harry says and they clink their glasses together, both taking long sips. “This isn’t exactly how I thought my evening would play out. I uhm… I never thought I’d see you again.”
As Louis had driven away from Harry’s house earlier he’d been weighed down with a heavy sense of regret. Like he’s been presented with this wonderful, goofy, sweet, gorgeous man and instead of grabbing on with both hands and demanding to know every intricacy that made him who he was, he was driving away from the most interesting person he’d met in years. He doesn’t feel they’ve progressed far enough into the evening to say all of that, so instead he goes with, “I wasn’t so sure you’d be happy to see me.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again after, well... after everything.”
Louis takes a deep breath. “So. Here’s the thing. I’ve had some time to reflect, and some of that internal processing certainly helped in speeding up digging the trench outside, but I think, when it came down to it, I was more disappointed than anything else. I thought we had a connection, you know, but then I kind of got thrown off and then I got all in my head about it even though it quickly became clear it was a genuine misunderstanding.”
“It really was,” Harry says earnestly. “Honestly, thinking back on it I don’t know how I made such a hash of it.”
“It was just a snowball effect I think. Once I got over the initial shock and looked at it from your perspective, it made sense. And then I thought about it some more and I decided I actually just thought the whole thing was funny and that you were kinda adorable,” Louis says and Harry gives him this shy smile that does things to Louis’ insides. “But I felt like I was supposed to feel something else. Like, I was supposed to be angry, offended, or upset. And then I realized, as I dug my ditch, that I wasn’t actually any of those things. I was just endeared and all I wanted was to get to know you better, how you take your coffee and have your eggs and what films make you cry and what books make you laugh and what songs you sing in the shower and just… everything. I haven’t felt a pull like that to someone in a long time, maybe ever. But I was nervous too…”
“Yeah? Why?”
Louis lets out a soft chuckle, looking up at Harry from under his eyelashes. “You’re quite intimidating.”
The laugh that escapes Harry’s mouth is about the best thing Louis has ever heard, a bark more than a laugh, really, full-bodied and free of restraint. “Oh my god. I’m the least intimidating person ever,” Harry says as he calms down.
“Not in a bad way,” Louis hurries to clarify. “Just. I mean, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, but when you look at your reflection you see it, right? You’re fucking stunning. And you’re funny and so genuinely lovely. Talented too, just to add the cherry on top. And you stress bake and you get all bubbly when you’ve had a few and you didn’t want to upset Matilda’s routine so you moved in here to pet sit instead of just taking her to your house like most people would’ve done. And I’ve known you less than a day! Imagine how much more I have to learn.”
Harry does this little scrunchy thing with his nose that looks so fond and endearing Louis’ heart clenches in his chest. “I’d like you to learn. I’d like to learn more about you too.”
So they eat and they learn; Harry delving into what drew him to sculpture and art more broadly, Louis about life as a tradesman and the sometimes gross side of his work. Over the second bottle of wine they talk about their childhoods and more deeply about what makes them them . Louis could listen to the slow drawl of Harry’s voice for eternity as he carefully forms his words, letting them roll languidly off his tongue and drip from his plush lips like molasses. He watches as Harry gestures wildly when he gets to a good bit in a story, and then laughs at his own misfortunes in an adorably self-deprecating manner. Letting his eyes roam the exposed skin of Harry’s chest, Louis wonders what other treasures hide beneath, itching to get his hands and lips on him, to explore, to feel the heat of him under his fingertips. He’s helpless to prevent his thoughts from drifting into far more dangerous territory; how Harry might whimper and moan when Louis takes him in his mouth, how he’ll taste on Louis’ tongue, what he might sound like as he comes on Louis’ cock.
There’s a pause in the conversation and Louis snaps back to the present, realising that he’s completely missed what Harry was saying. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Wow. Am I boring you already?”
“Not in the slightest. I just got… distracted.”
Harry narrows his eyes as he grins, and Louis knows he’s been caught out. “Oh yeah? And what were you thinking about, Lou?”
The nickname settles in Louis’ bones like sinking into a warm bed after a long day out in the cold, like that first sip of perfectly brewed tea to start the new day, like the feeling of coming home; familiar and comforting.
“You,” Louis answers simply.
Harry gives him a shy smile like he wasn’t expecting that level of honesty. “Well, that’s definitely an acceptable response.”
The mood has grown heavy and Louis can sense he’s getting ahead of himself with thoughts of what this night might give forth. He needs to deflect before he does something stupid like lean over the table and kiss him. “Time for your birthday cupcake,” he says and moves their empty dishes out of the way, sliding the plate with the single cupcake between them. Louis strikes a match, the sharp scent of sulphur dissipating in the air as the candle wick sparks and hisses. “Make a wish, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes are wide, the flames dancing in his pupils as he takes a deep breath and holds it, gaze flicking up to Louis, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Harry purses his lips and blows, the air extinguishing the fire between them, but not the one that has ignited inside of Louis. He burns with so much desire for Harry that it’s consuming him with desperation; to touch, to feel, to taste.
Harry hasn’t taken his eyes off Louis, a hunger in them that has Louis’ cock twitching in his jeans. “Are you gonna eat your cake?” Louis asks and Harry just shakes his head moving the plate to the side. “More wine?” Again, he shakes his head as he takes both of their glasses and sets them aside as well. He clears everything else between them, eyes fixed on Louis’ like laser beams.
Harry leans forward on his elbows, reducing the distance between them. “I want to see if my wish will come true,” he murmurs and tilts his head to the side.
And fuck, Louis has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life. He smiles and lifts his arse up, mirroring Harry’s position and closing out most of the gap across the table, angling his head. There’s only a sliver of space separating their mouths now, Harry’s breath hot on Louis lips. “I think it might,” Louis says and they erase the gap completely.
Harry kisses just like he talks, slow and considered as though he’s mapping out every molecule in Louis’ body, committing it to memory. The angle is awkward and the edge of the table is digging into Louis’ hips, but his discomfort is worth it. He’d gladly lay on a bed of nails if it meant he could kiss Harry like this again and again, feel his lips moving against his own, tongues exploring, seeking out the heat of each other’s mouths.
Harry pulls away first, Louis barely resisting the urge to chase after him for another taste. “Tables are rubbish. Who even invented them?” Harry asks with a small chuckle but Louis doesn’t answer, just reaches over and strokes a thumb across Harry’s cheek, tracing it along the edge of his jaw.
“Did your wish come true?”
Harry shakes his head, pushing his cheek into Louis’ palm. “Not all of it. Not yet. But I have high hopes for the rest of the night,” Harry says and brings his hand up to cover Louis’, nosing into the gaps between his fingers, tongue peeking out to guide two of Louis’ fingers into his mouth. He sucks on them, cheeks hollowing and the visual sends a spark of arousal to Louis' already hardening cock.
“ Fuck . You should come with a warning label,” Louis says on a heavy exhale. “You're gonna be the death of me.”
Harry eases off, letting Louis’ fingers slide from his mouth, planting his hands on the table. “Not before you lay those pipes, sort me right out. If you’ve got the right tools , that is,” Harry says, repeating Louis’ words from earlier in the day and pointedly glancing down as if to look at Louis’ crotch even though it’s out of sight below the table.
“You're a cheeky shit, you know that?”
“I do, in fact, know that,” Harry says, looking far too pleased with himself and Louis has had about enough of this teasing caper. It’s time to take back control of the situation.
Louis licks his fingertips and extinguishes the candles he’d lit earlier, the light around them dimming. He stands up to full height, leaning into the edge of the table and accentuating his bulging cock, immediately drawing Harry’s gaze.
“I don’t think you ever gave me the full tour,” Louis says, brow quirked in challenge. He’s quite well endowed, even if he does say so himself, both a grower and a shower, thick from base to tip to hit all the right spots and able to maintain a hardness that is particularly good for riding. He’d very much like to have Harry bouncing on his dick right about now.
He watches as Harry’s swallows, the gulp clearly audible in the quiet room. “N-no, I don’t think I did,” Harry stammers, eyes still locked on Louis’ cock as he licks his lips.
Louis clicks his fingers in front of Harry’s face, startling him, his eyes snapping back up to Louis’. “Come on then.”
“What? Oh! Right.” Harry freezes for a beat before gathering himself quickly, rounding the table and stumbling in his haste, knocking his hip against the corner. “Fuck.”
Louis chuckles. “You alright?”
“Fine, fine,” Harry says and grabs Louis hand, dragging him along behind him and towards the hallway. “Kitchen, living room, cat,” he says, waving the hand not gripped onto Louis’ around wildly. “Bathroom, laundry, bedroom, study.”
He stops outside a closed door at the end of the hallway, turning around and leaning against it, acting all suave and nonchalant like he’s completely unaffected. It’s a thinly veiled attempt and Louis isn’t fooled even for a second.
He steps into Harry’s space, reaching past him to grip onto the doorknob. Harry’s got a couple of inches on Louis, which he knew, but up this close it’s even more pronounced. Louis doesn’t allow that to deter him, he’s the one who’s running this show. “And what’s in here then?”
“That’s where the magic happens,” Harry says all coy, eyelashes fluttering prettily.
“This isn’t even your house. Exactly how much sex have you had in there in the last twenty-four hours?”
Harry snorts out a laugh. “Fair point. Well, it’s where the magic will happen.”
“Yeah? Feeling magical tonight?”
“I did make a wish,” Harry says and Louis crowds up against him, aligning their bodies together and feeling Harry’s cock press into his stomach.
“Yes, you did. I think we should see about fulfilling the rest of it.”
The energy between them is palpable, charged with want and need and the anticipation of what’s to come as they stare into each other’s eyes with heated gazes.
“Yeah, want you to fuck me,” Harry breathes out and it’s like someone fired a starter's pistol, all joking and innuendos suddenly forgotten.
“Your wish is my command,” Louis says as he turns the handle and they stumble back into the room, light from the hallway spilling inside. The door hits against the stopper as Louis slams Harry back into it, surging up and connecting their mouths in a bruising kiss. They drop hands in favour of seeking out the skin under their shirts in a frantic blur, pulling at material, tugging at zippers, shoes kicked off, clothes hitting the floor. Harry pushes off the door and walks Louis backwards, his legs hitting the bed, both of them tumbling down onto the mattress with an oof in a mess of limbs.
Louis flips them onto their sides, fishing out the packets of lube and the condoms he’d stashed in the back pocket of his jeans on the off chance that this is where the night would end up. He shoves his jeans down his thighs and kicks them off the rest of the way as Harry is doing the same before Louis rolls over to set the supplies on the bedside table. He’s always been a bit of a planner and has never been more grateful for that particular personality trait than he is right now, the assumption Harry wouldn’t have anything at his friends house while he was pet sitting being a safe one.
By the time Louis turns back Harry is gloriously naked and smirking at him in the dim light. “You came prepared?”
Louis can’t even be arsed to make any kind of excuse. “I did,” he states as strips off his briefs and socks, kneeing over and situating himself between Harry’s legs, planting his hands on either side of his head.
Harry’s hands slide up and around to Louis’ back, scratching lightly down his spine as he glances over to the bedside table. “Presumptuous.”
“Current circumstances suggest it was the right call.”
“It was,” Harry says and reaches up, pulling Louis down on top of him and sealing their lips together. It’s hot and frantic, hands roaming everywhere, mouths biting, nipping, sucking. Harry tastes like wine and everything good in the world and the sounds he’s making are rumbling through Louis’ brain, urging him on, wrapping around him and dragging him into Harry’s orbit. It’s a heady blur of passion and desire, exploring each other, fingers digging into muscle until Louis has to rein himself in before the night ends far too soon.
Louis slows his movement, easing back to trail his mouth along Harry’s jaw. “Eager much?”
Harry grinds up in response. “So. Fucking. Eager,” he says, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. “You have no idea.”
Louis chuckles and meets Harry’s movements. “I think I might have some idea. Subtly isn’t exactly your strong point.”
“Says the man with the enormous cock trying to burrow in through my stomach,” Harry says and their laughter reverberates through each other’s chests.
“How do you want it?” Louis asks when he finally breaks away, sitting back on his heels, stroking Harry’s cock slowly, watching the man beneath him strain to keep himself together. He does want Harry to ride him, but maybe they can save that for round two, right now he just wants Harry on his hands and knees, his cute little pert arse presented for Louis’ taking.
Harry flings an arm out and grabs a packet of lube, handing it to Louis, looking at him with pure desire in his eyes. “Want you to open me up. Then take me on all fours.”
Louis chuckles at Harry’s certainty and forwardness. “You read my mind.”
Louis tears the packet open, slicking up his fingers as Harry draws his legs up, feet planted on the bed and knees spread wide. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. I’m sure you’re well aware, but Jesus Christ ,” Louis says as he rubs his slicked-up fingers over Harry’s rim.
Harry has the decency to look a little bashful although the attempt is completely derailed when he pushes his hands up into the headboard and bears down to try and get Louis’ fingers inside him. “Don't need you to be gentle. Want it fast and just this side of rough.”
Louis grins, his cock blurting out a bead of precome. “Where have you been all my life?”
Louis makes quick work of opening Harry up, dismissing him when Harry whines and says he’s ready at two fingers. At four fingers Harry has clearly had enough of waiting. He grabs a condom and another packet of lube and throws them at Louis’ chest. “Fucking get in me or I swear to god-“
“Fine, fine. So bloody impatient,” Louis chides with an eye roll and shuffles back so Harry can flip over onto his stomach. Louis gives his arse a slap for good measure and Harry pushes up onto all fours, wiggling his bum as he looks over his shoulder. Louis slaps him again because it’s too enticing not to and Harry groans, back arching down. Louis quirks a brow. “Oh really?”
“Mmmm… another time though. Right now, I just want you to fuck me.”
Another time . The words dance around in Louis’ head at the confirmation that Harry doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing. “Another time,” Louis agrees and rolls the condom on, hissing at the sensation and coating his cock in the lube.
Louis wipes his hand off on the sheets and lines himself up, pushing in evenly, but not too slowly, Harry’s elbows giving way and face planting on the bed. “Yes, fucking hell,” he mumbles into the covers.
“Fuck, feels so good,” Louis says as he tries to go slow, as much to stave off his orgasm as to go easy on Harry. He’s tight, even with the prep, hot and smooth and sucking Louis in, inch by inch until he bottoms out, thighs flush against the backs of Harry’s.
Louis barely has time to calm his breathing before Harry is back up on his hands and making little circular motions with his pelvis. “God. You’re so thick. Feel like I’m splitting open.”
Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hips, the flesh indenting with the pressure, his handprint now fully bloomed on Harry’s arse and he finds he really likes the way it looks. Claimed. Imprinted. His . He shakes his head at the mere idea of feeling that way about Harry after less than a day but he knows it’ll be something that will continue to occupy his thoughts.
Louis refocuses, zoning in on where his cock has disappeared into Harry’s hole. “Hard and fast, yeah?”
Harry cranes his neck around. “Show me what you’ve got, big guy,” he says with a wink, planting one hand on the headboard to brace himself.
Louis needs no further encouragement, pulling out and shoving back in, forcing guttural moans from them both. On the next thrust, Harry meets him halfway and after that they build a punishingly good rhythm, so easy and in tune with each other that it has Louis’ head spinning.
Harry’s mouth spews nothing but pure filth, curses and noises that would make Louis blush under any other circumstance, but not now. Right now it’s the perfect soundtrack to what is rapidly shaping up to be the best sex of Louis’ life. Louis doesn’t consider himself inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination, quite the opposite, but this, fucking Harry, is on a whole new level.
“Fuck, baby. So good,” Louis pants out as he pistons his hips, slamming into Harry as hard and fast as he can, just as Harry had requested. He lifts his knee and plants his foot on the bed for better leverage and the change in position has Harry groaning in ecstasy.
“Yes! Right there, fuck,” Harry cries out and Louis guesses he’s found his prostate.
He maintains the angle and reaches around, grabbing onto Harry’s cock, hard and wet and hot. He strips it furiously in time with his thrusts, urging Harry on. “That’s it. Come on.”
“So close. Harder, Lou. Harder ,” Harry begs, a stream of profanities following as he throws his head back.
Louis gives it everything he’s got. He’s almost tipping over the edge himself, heat curling in his gut, toes tingling, breaths coming in short, sharp inhales and exhales. “Yeah, baby. So fucking tight, so good.”
Harry freezes and clenches around him, come spurting out over Louis' hand and that's all he needs to hurtle over the edge along with Harry. Louis fucks them through their orgasms as best he can but his thighs are trembling and his brain has gone to mush.
Harry collapses on the bed and Louis follows him down. It’s sweaty and all kinds of disgusting and Harry is laying in his own come but that’s just the way it is. “That. Was. Fucking awesome,” Harry says and lets out a breathy laugh. “We’re totally doing that again.”
Louis chuckles into Harry’s back. “Give a man a chance to catch his breath, yeah?”
Harry jostles them about and Louis reaches between them to hold the condom as he pulls out and rolls off. Harry slaps around on the bedside table blindly until he finds the box of tissues and hands it to Louis to deal with the condom.
Harry turns over to face him, moving out of the wet spot and wiping himself down. “I’ll give you thirty minutes and then we’re going again. Wanna ride you,” he says with a devilish grin.
“Fuck, yeah,” Louis says and leans in to seal their lips together.
They don’t make it the full thirty minutes before Harry rides Louis into oblivion.
~*~
One month later…
Harry smiles proudly and holds his arms out wide, his three sculptures before him as the photographer brings the camera up and snaps another picture. “Thanks, Harry,” she says and replaces the lens cap.
“No problem. Hope you enjoy the exhibition,” Harry says and she gives him a nod before wandering off into the crowd.
Harry turns and admires the imposing white wall with Man, Deconstructed in big, raised black lettering splashed across it boldly. He loves this bit of the process, getting to show his work and have others appreciate it, viewing what he has created and finding their own interpretations in the art.
This piece is destined for a gallery space as a fixed feature, already sold well before tonight, which is gratifying, but he has a few other pieces on show that are for sale tonight. There's a variety of mediums; a couple of charcoal sketches, another sculpture, and an oil on canvas that he’s particularly proud of. They all have one thing in common though, they all depict his new muse.
He’s been overflowing with inspiration for the last month, every sunrise bringing with it the possibilities of the new day. Being in love will do that to a person.
As if summoned by Harry’s thoughts, he hears the raspy laugh of the muse in question from across the room, the gorgeous sound filtering into Harry’s ears as a reflexive smile blooms on his face. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point and Harry’s completely unable to quell the joy he feels every time he’s in Louis’ presence which, thankfully, is almost all the time.
He turns to find Louis surrounded by a group of guests, champagne flutes in hand, all laughing as Louis slaps his arse cheek, shirt rucked up at the back so they can get a good look at the arse that became the centerpiece of Harry’s latest artwork. Louis has them all in the palm of his hand and Harry can definitely appreciate their situation; Louis has had him under his spell from the moment they met.
He thinks back to that first day, the misunderstanding to end all misunderstandings, how mortified he’d been, initially for his embarrassment and then because of the fear that he’d never see him again. But then Louis had turned up on his doorstep that evening, all smiles and laughter and cheekiness and looking like all of Harry’s dreams come to life. Harry really didn’t stand a chance, his heart had recognized what it wanted and he was helpless to resist the pull.
After their first night together they’d quickly become inseparable. Evenings and weekends spent holed up in Harry’s house for the most part, so he was close to his studio and able to create whenever inspiration took hold. With Louis laid out in bed beside him or lazing on the couch his fingers itched to draw, to paint, to sculpt, anything to capture his essence in art form.
“Having fun?” A familiar voice asks from beside him.
Niall hands him a glass of champagne, his own half empty. “Thanks,” Harry says and takes it from him. “Yeah, great night. You?”
“Mmmm… you know how I love rubbing shoulders with the upper crust. Reckon I was born in the wrong body. These are clearly my people.”
“ Your people,” Harry chuckles, eyes still fixed on his boyfriend as he waves his hand around animatedly, the group still hanging off his every word. Harry takes a sip of his drink, the bubbles fizzing up and popping against his upper lip and nose.
“He’s got quite a way about him, doesn’t he?”
Harry doesn’t even have to see where Niall is looking to know who he’s talking about. Louis shines like the brightest star in the sky, pulling all other celestial objects into his orbit, and they go willingly, happy to bask in his radiating warmth and light. “He does,” Harry says wistfully.
“I like to think I had at least a bit of a hand in that, you two getting together.”
“Yeah, you did, even if it wasn’t on purpose,” Harry says and nudges his hip against Niall’s. “If you hadn’t put the crazy idea of getting me laid by a professional I would never have made the assumption about Louis.”
“And we wouldn’t have the sculpture of, what do you call it? Oh, the perfect arse either,” Niall adds, clearly chuffed with his part in all of this.
“Exactly how many brownie points are you angling for tonight? Are you saving up for something?”
Niall laughs, slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Nah, man. I’m just happy for you. Glad I could be a part of making this whirlwind romance happen. You deserve it. You always did.”
“Awwww thanks Nialler,” Harry says and plants a kiss on Niall’s cheek and then takes another sip of his drink.
Louis’ gaze finds Harry’s, his smile beaming back and Harry returns it easily, always so easy for his man. He and Niall wander over and hang back on the outer edge of the group. Harry watches as Louis holds them all in rapture, telling the story of how the piece came to be. Each time Harry hears it there are new revelations, little tid-bits of information, a thought or a flash of a memory that Louis provides, some embellished for effect, some not.
But it’s also their story, of how two souls came together under the most unlikely of circumstances. After all, it’s not every day you meet a cute guy whose arse you want to immortalize and put in a gallery and who also turns out to be the love of your life.