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There were a lot of things Harry prided himself on being good at.
In his twenty-one years of life, he’d perfected the art of getting what he wanted—usually through the kind of charm that came as naturally to him as breathing. He’d been working on it since childhood: fake tears to skip school, a well-timed pout to get his way, and later, a lip bite that made straight men drop to their knees. He could’ve taught a masterclass in seduction—because seduction, as he’d learned, came in many forms.
But his most exceptional skill, the one that truly deserved a gold medal, was his ability to take a cock down his throat.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so—rahăt—oh, fuck, I’m close.”
Harry hummed just right, swallowing to pull the dick deeper like the professional slut he was.
Not that this had been planned. It never was. He liked to think of himself as an opportunist, and the opportunity had quite literally pulled up to the curb when a silver Toyota Camry with the last three digits seven-three-eight arrived to take him to the events center downtown. He was just trying to save money, really. Sucking off his Uber driver was simply an act of financial responsibility, sucking a tip to get out of giving one. And with the way this guy—Adrian? Alex?—was moaning in another language, Harry figured his 4.9 rating might finally hit that perfect five.
“Doamne, ești atât de bun, oh Doamne—”
Harry didn’t understand a word of it, but the accent alone was enough to make him fucking crazy. The guy’s hand slipped into Harry’s hair, gripping his messy bun and forcing him down, rough enough to make his eyes water. He tightened his fingers around the man’s wrist, keeping him there as he worked. Harry’s free hand cupped the guy’s balls, tugging just right to get rewarded with another sexy curse.
He tasted salt on his tongue, felt the pulse of pre-cum, and then his phone vibrated in his pocket. Shit. He was probably so late.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, la naiba, la naiba—”
Harry held him there, choking on the thick length, sputtering as the guy came down his throat. He swallowed every drop, only pulling off when the hand in his hair dragged him up.
“Isuse Hristoase,” the man breathed, accent heavy and wrecked. “You’re so fucking good at that.”
Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning wide and shameless. “I know.”
He flipped the visor down, grimacing at blotchy cheeks and swollen mouth. Harry quickly redid his bun, taming all the flyaway curls to try to look somewhat put together and not like he just got his face fucked by his Uber driver.
He could feel the stare burning into him, and when he finally glanced over, the guy’s dark brow was arched.
“Um, so this was great, uh, I gotta–” Harry started, already reaching for the door handle.
“Can I have your number?”
Harry knew the guy was hot as fuck, obviously, considering he’d spent exactly twenty three minutes of the ride trying to figure out how he’d get his dick in his mouth. But now he was looking more intently. Eastern European, he guessed by the hot ass language. Dark hair, eyes full of sin, all sharp edges and intense heat. The bright red jersey made his skin look even more lickable. Which, no. Harry didn’t do repeats.
“Oh.” Harry chewed his lip, trying to find a polite lie. “I’m not actually gay or anything. I just like sucking cock.”
Not his finest improv moment.
“Okay,” the guy said with a shrug. “No problem. You can heterosexually suck my cock again.”
Thankfully, Harry was saved by another vibration in his pocket. He put on a little show fetching the phone, arching his back, hips lifting in tight black jeans. “Sorry,” he murmured, unlocking the screen and seeing the messages from his boss. “I really gotta go.”
He grabbed his backpack and bolted. “Thanks again—for the ride. Five out of five stars, man.” The door slammed before the guy could answer.
The night air hit him as he quickly hurried toward the back of the event center. Service Entry was painted in flaking white letters on a back door. He dropped his bag, fumbling to button his shirt, tucking it in, smoothing out the collar.
“Must’ve been one hell of an Uber ride.”
Harry’s face snapped up at the sound. The voice was low, drifting out from the shadows. He could see someone leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. Smoke curled around him like fog.
He quickly gained control of his face, launching into one of his well-practiced smirks, “What are you? Some kind of creep that watches people?”
The guy shuffled on his feet, dropping the cigarette and Harry watched as he dug the ember into the ground, snuffing it out. He didn’t move forward though, so his face was still hidden. Harry wondered if he was one of the servers or bartenders for the event.
“Well, the car didn’t have tinted windows, to be fair.”
“Maybe I dropped my phone.” Harry raised his chin as a little indignant challenge.
“Mm, right, yeah. Dropped it on his cock, did you?”
Jesus Christ, who talked this way straight out of the gate? It wasn’t even the words – it was the way he said them, like he already knew Harry would come when told. Harry hadn’t gotten hard in the car, but this faceless stranger had his dick twitching just from the sound of his voice – low, raspy and dripping with confidence.
Narrowing his eyes, Harry crossed his arms, asking, “Exactly how long did I have an audience?”
The chuckle that rumbled in this guy’s throat made Harry’s skin prickle.
“Enough for a second cigarette.”
Fuck, Harry’s pits were starting to sweat. Why was it so fucking hot in this alley?
“Hope it was a good show, then.” Harry said dumbly.
“It was.” He said it slowly, taunting.
“You always lurk in alleys for entertainment?”
“You always put on a show for strangers?”
That sent a pulse of heat up Harry’s neck. He hated how accurate it was. He huffed indignantly to cover up the flustered blush he was actually feeling. “Bit rude to watch someone when they don’t know it.”
The guy was fidgeting with his lighter, clicking it mindlessly before responding, “You look like someone who wants to be watched.”
That shouldn’t have made Harry shiver but he apparently was losing control over his body’s reaction to this guy's voice. What the fuck, he needed to get it together.
Harry’s smirk was automatic, armor snapping back into place. “You don’t know what I like.”
The man tilted his head. “Not yet.”
The guy leaned against the brick wall again and was clearly not at all concerned about both of them fucking off their jobs at the moment. Harry studied his silhouette for a lingering second, his eyes tracing the outline of his lithe frame and artfully quiffed hair. He still couldn’t get a good look at his face, but if Harry had to guess just based on his voice and stature, he was probably in his thirties.
Clearing his throat, Harry tried to sound unaffected as he asked, “Aren’t you worried about getting fired?”
His boss hated tardiness, though for whatever reason tolerated Harry. Probably because he had a pretty face and somehow made serving stupidly tiny portions of food a form of foreplay. After his first few gigs, Harry had started becoming a requested server and it absolutely went straight to his head. As much as being a requested cater waiter can go to one’s head. Whatever, the tips were good.
“No, not particularly.” The guy’s shoulder raised up nonchalantly. “Are you?”
“Not particularly,” Harry echoed, a bit obnoxiously. “Have you been inside? It’s, like—some overfed CEO prick being honored with something, I think. Which I’m sure means he let his assistant donate his pocket change to starving children while he took the tax break. Man’s probably got a savior complex the size of his yacht. Overcompensating for his tiny dick, no doubt.”
The guy choked back a startled laugh, which only encouraged Harry to keep running his mouth. He did love an audience.
“They’re all the same, aren’t they?” Harry asked, not actually looking for an answer. “Moral cosplay, it’s kind of exhausting, but it’s a feeding ground if you’re looking for a sugar daddy.”
Another cigarette flared to life during Harry’s little self-righteous rant. The guy exhaled, “Is that why you work these? To find your sugar daddy and exploit their money?”
Harry smirked, “Well, someone’s gotta redistribute the wealth.”
“Seems like you’ve done this a lot.”
Harry huffed sardonically, “Yeah, a few times. Is this your first gig? Are you working for Tom or Jerry?”
“Excuse me?” The guy laughed-coughed the words. “Tom and Jerry?”
“Tom runs the floor, Jerry runs bar.” Harry waved his hand around nonsensically. ”They hate each other because Tom slept with Jerry’s wife and then Jerry’s wife cheated on Tom when she slept with one of the bartenders, but they always do all these events together.” Harry could not. Shut. Up.
“Mm, sounds a bit incestous. And you’re usually this late? The event started thirty minutes ago, though I suppose you lost track of time looking for your phone and all that.”
Harry rolled his eyes, snorting, “Ten bucks an hour doesn’t exactly motivate me to bend over backwards.”
Each drag lit the planes of this guy’s face for half a second — a flicker of a sharp cheekbone, a hint of filthy mouth — gone before Harry could really look.
“And is that something you enjoy? Bending over backwards for someone?”
Harry’s lips parted just as the back door swung open, hiding the man from his view as light poured into the alley.
“Fucking hell, Styles, what took you so long?” Tom snapped, looking flushed and stressed. He waved him inside with a frantic gesture. “Come on, get in here – first round of hors d’oeuvres already went out, we’re fucking short out there, button your collar.”
Harry had no choice but to scramble for his bag and follow his boss inside. With a glance over his shoulder, he expected the other guy to follow before he got in trouble too, but the door just slammed shut instead.
__
“...and now for our guest of honor, Louis Tomlinson.”
The microphone screeched a little, making Harry wince as he moved through the crowd, his cheeks hurting from his pasted on smile.
“First off, I just want to say thank you all for coming here tonight, especially those of you who had to google who I am.”
Harry barely registered the voice at first. He usually tuned out the speeches, but this one made his head snap up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash and dumped the tray in his hands.
Oh, Harry was fucked. Royally, catastrophically, capital-F fucked.
Because there he was, suddenly locking eyes with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen and they were looking right back at him.
The fucking CEO was the guy from the alley.
And there wasn’t a single thing overfed about him.
“Are you fucking me?” Harry muttered under his breath. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. He immediately started rewinding the tape in his head, every word he’d said in that alley flashing like a highlight reel of bad decisions. This was bad. This was so, so bad.
The worst part, though – as if it could actually get worse – was that he was looking at possibly the most beautiful man he had ever seen. It had been a small mercy that he hadn’t realized it in the alley, because this felt like an actual personal assault.
And then those eyes – still locked on him because apparently they were having a staring contest in the middle of a goddamn gala – shifted, a mischievous glint flickering there, teasing him.
This motherfucker.
Harry forced himself to breathe. The smart thing would be to drift toward the wall, blend into the décor like the wallpaper. Instead, he was caught, gaze locked on the man he’d called a prick less than an hour ago.
“When we first started this foundation, the idea was simple,” Louis started. “Give kids who have been tossed around in the system a place to go when the world’s already decided they’ve run out of chances. A space to eat, to study, to learn a trade.”
Louis’ voice carried through the hall…steady, quiet, powerful. It was a CEO’s voice, sure, but fuck if Harry had ever heard a CEO sound like sex.
“Because I was one of those kids once. Mouthy and angry, thought I knew better than everyone else, picking fights above my weight…” he paused as a smirk spread across his stupidly handsome face. “And above my height.”
Harry bit his cheek to try to hide his own smile as the crowd broke into a polite laugh that broke the tension.
“We started with eleven kids,” he continued, lighter again. “Now there are three hundred. Five centers across the nation.”
The audience broke into polite applause. Harry took the opportunity to edge left, one slow step at a time. His tray wobbled slightly and he was pretty sure he was pitting out at this point.
“I’ve been accused of just being, ‘another CEO pretending to care,’” Louis continued, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Or that philanthropy’s just good PR. But empathy isn’t a stunt, and generosity isn’t something you hire an assistant to fake on your behalf while you’re on a yacht in Greece.”
A pleasant and oblivious laugh rippled through the crowd as Harry’s ears went hot. He reached up and tugged at his collar, because what the fuck, everything was just so damn hot.
“This isn’t charity for these kids. It’s community. It’s going back to the basics of decent humanity. We’re not saving anyone; we’re showing up. Sometimes that means getting your hands dirty, doing the unglamorous work, staying long after everyone else has moved on…” He paused a bit dramatically, that devious smirk returning to his face. “Sometimes you’ve gotta bend over backwards for the right reason.”
What the actual fuck.
Had he just—?
Harry’s brain scrambled through the alley, the cigarettes, that low voice in the dark. Louis hadn’t just been smug; he’d been flirting. Still was, apparently – on a microphone, in front of two hundred people and a string quartet.
“Anyone can look generous under a spotlight,” Louis said, eyes scanning the room before they landed squarely on Harry. “But the real work happens when no one’s watching.”
And then he winked.
__
“Mind if I steal one?”
Harry felt him before he saw him, a hot breath too close to his ear that elicited a very embarrassing full-body shiver. He really shouldn’t be trusted holding a tray full of champagne flutes.
“You’re terrible,” he said, turning toward the man who was quickly becoming the bane of his existence. And Jesus Christ, he was even prettier up close — sharp suit, sharp jaw, soft mouth. He needed to get a fucking grip. His brain unhelpfully supplied a grip on his cock and Harry almost dropped the tray for real.
Louis helped himself to one of the flutes, not giving Harry any space as he took a slow, calculated sip, his eyes searing. “You’re the only one in the room who thinks that, love,” he murmured, his voice curling around the word love like a drag of smoke. “In case you haven’t caught up, this little soirée happens to be in my honor.”
“You don’t seem very honorable,” Harry muttered, keeping his smile in place for the passing guests.
Louis’s gaze burned with quiet amusement. “Says the guy who sucked off his Uber driver an hour ago.”
Harry’s pulse tripped. He smiled through his teeth as a woman reached between them to take a glass, murmuring thanks, oblivious to the way Louis’s hand brushed the small of his back to make space for her.
“Do you ever shut up?” he hissed under his breath.
“Only when there’s something better to do with my mouth.”
Harry turned his head sharply, tray wobbling just enough to make the flutes tremble. “You should get back to your adoring fans before someone thinks you’ve stooped.”
Louis looked delighted. “Oh, I think I’ve already stooped. I just haven’t decided how low yet.”
Then he turned, vanishing back into the crowd with the kind of grace that made Harry want to throw something after him.
Harry exhaled hard through his nose, staring at the space Louis had occupied. “You’re fine,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a professional. You’re—” A champagne flute slid sideways on his tray and nearly toppled. “—so fucked,” he whispered.
__
Harry escaped to the narrow space behind the bar like a scandalized debutante looking for fainting salts. He set his tray down with a soft clatter and gripped the edge of the counter, trying to will the color out of his cheeks. His reflection in the mirrored back wall wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Why does your face look like that?”
He turned to glare at Maya, who was working the bar tonight and had just handed off a martini with her usual flourish. They’d done a hundred of these events together over the last two years; she was basically his work wife. If he were into women – which he very much wasn’t – that might’ve meant something. As it was, his sexuality had never been more painfully obvious, considering he’d spent the night acting like a dog in heat over one particular man.
“My face is fine,” Harry pouted, reaching up and wiping away a bead of sweat along his hairline. “Yours, however, is a bit unfortunate.”
She rolled her eyes, nodding to a guest as they slid a tip across the bar top. “You seem off tonight, what’s your deal? Too many hot men in the room?”
What an understatement.
Across the room, Louis stood in a cluster of donors, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing lazily as he spoke. He wasn’t looking at them, though. He was looking straight at Harry.
Maya followed his line of sight. “Oh. Ohhh.” She smirked, leaning her elbows on the bar. “Please tell me it’s not about the man of the hour.”
Harry groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not?”
“Oh my god, it is. You’ve been weird all night and now I know why.”
“Maya.”
She grinned, briefly turning to a guest to take their drink order. A minute later, while pouring a glass of wine, she stage-whispered, “You have a thing for the guest of honor. That’s so on-brand for you.”
Harry shot her a look. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you have a pathological attraction to men who could ruin your life.” She handed off the drink and teased Harry, “What’d he do, smile at you?”
Harry pressed his palms flat against the counter, trying not to look across the room again — and failing miserably. Louis was still there, now mid-conversation with some silver-haired investor, posture relaxed, smile easy. But when Harry’s eyes met his again, Louis’ mouth curved just slightly, like he knew they were talking about him.
“He’s not even attractive,” Harry lied, not bothering to drag his gaze away. He felt the petulant urge to stick out his tongue, but he didn’t want to give Louis the satisfaction of reducing him down to teenage antics.
Maya snorted. “You’re so fucked.”
Harry rolled his eyes and straightened up from the bar, shooting her a glare. “Fuck off.”
“Harry! What have I told you about language?”
Tom appeared out of nowhere like a jump scare from a low-budget horror film. Harry flinched so hard he nearly knocked over a row of clean glasses.
“She said it first!” he blurted, pointing at Maya. Okay, maybe he was already acting like a teenager. He blamed Louis.
His boss just sighed, the deep, weary kind of exhale of a man who’d given up on ever controlling his staff. “Desserts are going out. Try to keep your profanities to yourself.”
Maya winked at Harry over the bar. “Break a leg, princess.”
“Break your face,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he headed back out into the glittering chaos — and straight into Louis Tomlinson’s orbit again.
__
Harry tried to tell himself he was fine.
He’d cooled off. Regained composure. The blush was gone, his pulse had evened out, and he was totally, completely unaffected by one stupidly hot CEO.
At least, that’s what he was telling himself when he stepped back into the ballroom.
The lights had dimmed slightly, the music softened into something languid and expensive. Servers circulated with dessert plates and champagne; the crowd had loosened, laughter louder now, post-speech and comfortably drunk.
Harry moved through the maze of sequins and suits, offering polite smiles, collecting empty glasses, doing his best impression of someone who was absolutely, totally fine. It was working until someone brushed his shoulder, a warm hand touching his elbow that felt like it set him on fire.
“Hi, again.”
Turning, Harry scowled. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was just hoping you had something to offer me,” Louis nodded at Harry’s tray full of mini eclairs, winking. “I have a terrible sweet tooth.”
Louis looked so stupid with his tie loosened, collar open just enough to hint at golden skin. Harry wasn’t counting the dumb freckles on his cheek nor were his eyes drifting to the hint of a tattoo on Louis’ chest. And his heart rate was definitely normal.
“Tell me your name,” Louis said, annoyingly demanding.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Shouldn’t you be networking or whatever it is people like you do?”
“I am.” Louis’ gaze dragged over him. “I’m talking to the most interesting person in the room.”
Heat rose up Harry’s neck and he balanced his tray on one hand to adjust his collar, which only seemed to make Louis’ amusement grow, his eyes following the movement.
“Is that a line?” Harry asked, his voice embarrassingly rough.
Louis hummed, his lips twitching. “Do you want it to be a line?”
“What the fuck,” Harry muttered before pasting on a smile as another guest swiped one of the tiny desserts off his tray. The man paused to shake Louis’ hand and they shared a few words, which would have been a great moment for Harry to make an escape, but his feet felt cemented to the floor, unable to move away from the gravitational pull he’d been fighting all night.
“You seemed so sure earlier,” Louis said suddenly and Harry realized they were alone again.
Harry blinked in confusion. “About what?”
That stupid smirk was back on Louis’ face, his blue eyes twinkling brighter than the chandelier in the room. He lowered his voice, “That I was overcompensating.”
“Oh my god, can we not—”
“No, I think we should,” Louis said, grinning smugly. “It’s not every day someone calls me a tiny-dicked philanthropist to my face.”
Harry’s eyes darted around, hoping Tom wasn’t anywhere near and hearing this muted conversation. “Keep your voice down,” he warned, looking back at Louis with a glare.
“Relax,” Louis murmured, taking a bite of the eclair with Harry’s eyes fixating on his annoying mouth. “I’m not offended, but I wouldn’t mind a little groveling…preferably on your knees.”
The tray nearly toppled out of Harry’s trembling hands, sending a few desserts to the floor. He quickly bent down to pick them up, only realizing too late the position he’d just put himself in. Glancing up, he blushed when he met Louis’ eyes, who was looking down at him with his grin splitting face.
“Well,” Louis drawled, “I didn’t mean right here. I know you like to put on a show, darling, but maybe have a bit of dignity.”
Harry’s cheeks darkened as he quickly scrambled up, hissing, “I’m not a fucking slut.” He actually was.
Louis tilted his head, insufferably cool and collected. “Don’t make me remind you of how we met.”
“Listen,” Harry whispered harshly. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not interested.” He really, really was.
“I find that hard to believe,” Louis clicked his tongue, smiling at some passerbys and keeping his voice low, not even looking at Harry as he murmured, “I think I could probably walk out of this room right now and you’d follow me like a dog.”
He would, with his tongue hanging out.
“I’m not that easy,” Harry flushed furiously, sweat prickling his neck. Even he could hear how unconvincing his voice sounded.
“Maybe,” Louis hummed, leaning close enough for Harry to feel the warmth of his breath, “but just so you know, I’m not overcompensating.”
And then he walked away, taking all of the oxygen in the room with him.
__
The crowd had dwindled as everyone began to leave, all champagne fuzzy and stuffed full of finger food and goodwill. The quartet had packed up, leaving only the low buzz of conversation and the clinks of glasses being washed. Waiters quietly ghosted between tables collecting the remains of the evening scattered on tables, discarded plates and flutes.
Harry wiped down a tray that didn’t need wiping, restless energy buzzing under his skin. The smell of burnt-out candles and spilled prosecco hung in the air. He was pretending like he wasn’t following every single movement of a certain someone and by the looks he kept getting from Maya, he was doing a terrible job at it.
“You’re drooling,” Maya teased as she passed by with a trash bag.
“I’m not,” Harry quipped back too quickly, voice a bit whiney.
At the bar, Louis lingered — jacket gone, sleeves rolled, the top buttons of his shirt undone and tie discarded somewhere hours ago. A glass of whiskey dangled loosely from his hand, the amber catching what was left of the light. When he lifted it, the tendons in his forearm flexed, veins tracing down to elegant, dangerous fingers.
Harry couldn’t stop looking.
Louis must’ve felt it — that constant, magnetic attention — because every time Harry’s eyes found him, he was already looking back. The curve of his mouth kept deepening, something between curiosity and challenge, until he gave a wink that made Harry stumble over his own feet.
Harry coughed loudly, pretending it hadn’t happened, pretending he had any control left at all.
To save face, he moved through the tables, fussing with candles, snuffing out flames that were already dead just to give his hands purpose. But he could feel the heat of Louis’ eyes on him like a weight pressed between his shoulder blades as he moved around the room.
When Harry finally made it back to the bar to drop off a stack of empty glasses, Louis was still there, nursing what looked like the same drink from half an hour ago. The smell of whiskey mixed with smoke and cologne was dizzying up close.
“Hard worker,” Louis muttered without looking away from his glass.
“Some of us don’t have assistants to do the cleaning up.”
Louis smiled into his drink. “Touché.” He finally turned, leaning an elbow on the counter. “What time are you done?”
Harry’s head snapped toward him. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, trying to sound unimpressed.
Louis looked at him, eyes flicking up and down. “Figured I’d save you the trouble of pretending you’re not coming home with me.”
The confidence of that statement lit Harry on fire. He folded his arms, straightening to his full height and appreciating the fact that he was taller. “Maybe I don’t plan on entertaining whatever you think this is.”
Louis chuckled to himself, draining his whiskey and setting the glass down a little harshly, his eyes penetrating Harry and seeing right through him. “You already are.”
It was a lost cause.
“Midnight.”
“Good,” Louis said simply, shrugging on his jacket. “Don’t make me wait.”
__
Harry made him wait.
Not only did he make him wait, he and Maya polished off three assorted bottles of opened wine while the rest of the wait staff trickled out. It was over thirty minutes after midnight by the time Harry untucked his shirt and slung his bag over his shoulder. He felt entirely way too smug about it all, but also a little nervous that Louis hadn’t waited…and he hated himself a little for caring.
He didn’t think Louis was probably the type of man who waited for anyone.
The night air was cool and misty, the streetlights bleeding into fog. And there he was — Louis, leaning against a blacked-out SUV looking like a fucking model. It was ridiculous.
“You’re late.” Louis flicked ash from his cigarette, the ember flaring red against the damp evening.
“I never said I’d come,” Harry shot back, pulling the tie from his hair and shaking it loose, curls sticking to his neck in the mist.
Louis’ mouth curved. “You will. Multiple times.”
Oh. He really walked into that one.
Harry folded his arms. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cocky as shit?”
“Yes. Usually right before I fuck them until they forget how to talk.”
Louis flicked the cigarette away, turning to open the back door, giving Harry a pointed look. “Get in.”
Narrowing his eyes, Harry reluctantly – not actually, not even a tiny bit – moved towards the door, muttering, “You shouldn’t litter.”
“Are you always this bratty?” Louis asked, climbing in beside Harry.
“Are you always this bossy?”
Harry’s eyes moved around the back seat and his heart might’ve skipped a beat when he noticed there was a partition between them and the driver. Offhandedly, he wondered if he was being kidnapped, considering he didn’t actually know this guy at all and was so willing to just jump in a car with him.
Then again, there were probably worse ways to go than being abducted by a hot millionaire. And he was a millionaire. He’d googled Louis’ net worth during a bathroom break a few hours ago.
“Yes,” Louis replied just as the car began to roll forward, city lights sliding over his face in slow intervals. “What’s your name?”
Harry turned toward him, one knee bent on the seat, exhaling a dramatic sigh. “Does it matter?”
Louis’ mouth twitched. “If you want me to fuck you, it does.”
“Jesus Christ.” Harry barked out an incredulous laugh, too loud for the enclosed space. He raked a hand through his hair, cheeks hot. “Were you born without a fucking filter?”
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it, love.” Louis’ eyes flashed in the dim light. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Harry shifted against the leather seat, fingers picking at a loose thread of his trousers. “What if I don’t want you to fuck me,” he shot back, his tone challenging, “because I do the fucking?”
Louis’ grin widened. “Like I said…terrible liar.”
“Is this the part where you whip out a contract and NDA for me to sign?”
Louis chuckled softly, leaning back as the car took a turn. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said. “We’ll do a test drive before my lawyers get involved.”
Harry scooted further away, turning his body towards Louis to stare at him more intently than he’d allowed himself to do all night. And Louis was staring back just as inquisitively, his blue eyes boring into Harry’s. In his google search earlier, he’d learned that Louis was thirty-four, and the years were being very generous to him. If Harry wasn’t so stubborn, he’d confess out loud that Louis was quite possibly one of the most beautiful people he’d ever met, but after that smug grin had been tossed at him all night, he knew the man already knew that. He wasn’t about to stroke his ego even more. He wouldn’t mind stroking something else, though.
“What exactly does a test drive entail?” Harry asked after several quiet moments, wiping his sweaty palms down his thighs. The car was moving slowly, stuck in some late night traffic. He should probably ask where they’re going, but the mystery of it was kind of thrilling.
“Why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you.” Louis patted his lap, making Harry scoff. The actual audacity of this man.
And like the slut that he was, his body was erasing the distance between them and swinging a leg over Louis’ thighs, straddling him. His breath caught at the contact, Louis’ warm hands instantly finding Harry’s waist. Louis’ long lashes fluttered, his eyes skimming over Harry’s face and causing heat rise hopelessly to Harry’s cheeks.
“You’re very pretty,” Louis said, his thumbs making little circular motions against the younger man’s hips. Harry shivered.
“So are you.” So much for not stroking the massive ego taking up half the space in the car.
Harry caught the smile that tugged at Louis’ lips. But it wasn’t as cocky as he expected. In fact, he almost could swear he saw a blush rise to Louis’ cheeks. And fuck, if that wasn’t unexpected.
Harry was about to make fun of him for it, but before he could, Louis leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s neck, just under his ear and suddenly, nothing mattered anymore. His lips were so soft, pulling an embarrassing noise from Harry’s throat as they moved along the underside of his jaw, taking their time like he was memorizing every curve.
“Fuck, okay,” Harry breathed out, tilting his head to give the man more room to do whatever he wanted. “I guess we’re doing this.”
And then his lips found Harry’s ear, sharp teeth tugging on Harry’s earlobe before breathing hotly against him, “Tell me your name.”
Goosebumps broke out on every inch of Harry’s exposed skin, trembling slightly as the hands at his waist slipped under his shirt, palms flattening against his abs. “No, you haven’t earned it yet,” he managed to whisper.
Louis pulled back, which made Harry whine, obviously losing all self-preservation.
“Then let me start earning.”
And then those lips were on his, swallowing the noises falling from Harry’s mouth. They wasted no time, their mouths opening and tongues tangling. Louis was fucking devouring him, turning Harry into putty as the kiss turned ravenous. His fingers dug into the flesh of Harry’s lovehandles, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a single part of them not touching.
Louis’ mouth moved, kissing the corner of Harry’s gaping mouth before finding his cheekbone, his ear, his jaw, his throat, claiming every inch and murmuring into his skin, “Fuck, you’ve been driving me crazy all night.”
“Why?” Harry asked stupidly, sounding breathless and horny as fuck.
Their mouths met again, Louis ignoring his shameless plea for compliments. As their tongues slid against one another, Harry started rocking in his lap, both of them moaning when their clothed erections made contact.
“Oh, fuck,” Harry whimpered, grinding down even harder. Louis’ hands were guiding him, pressing him down while he thrust up and Harry threw his head back with a groan. “You’re going to make me come too fast if you keep doing that.”
With his teeth digging into Harry’s pulse point, Louis replied, “That’s the idea.”
“Oh god,” Harry moaned. “Are–aren’t you worried, oh shit, that your driver will hear?”
Louis was setting an intoxicating pace, controlling the movements and molding Harry’s pliant body how he wanted him. He panted into Harry’s ear, “The partition is sound proof.”
“How much longer til we’re at your place?”
“Why?” Louis licked into his mouth. “Are you in a hurry?”
“Fuck you.”
“Not yet.”
Harry was so caught up with Louis’ tongue in his mouth that he didn’t even realize that a hand had left his waist until he felt the button of his pants pop open. Louis pulled him out, stroking him like this was just a normal thing for them to do.
“Oh my god, fuck, oh god, yes.”
“Were you this hard when you were sucking your Uber driver off?” Louis bit his jaw.
Harry gasped, finding it difficult to search for words when he was being tortured by the slow pull of Louis’ hand on him. “I…I didn’t get…hard.”
“No?” Louis licked a long stripe along Harry's neck, ending at his ear. “So you’re just a cockslut? You love cock so much you don’t even care to get off? You just need it so bad, filling your holes?”
“Yes,” Harry cried as Louis’ thumb pressed against his slit. “Yes, yes, yes. I need it. Please.”
The please was a bit humiliating, but it seemed to be the right word because it made an obscene groan come from Louis, his hand working faster to get Harry off as their lips messily crashed together again.
“Tell me your name,” Louis grunted against his mouth, their hips rolling.
“I–I’m going–oh my god–I’m going to come,” Harry’s spit slick mouth panted against Louis’, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“You can’t come until you tell me your name.” And just to prove his point, suddenly Louis’ hand was gone, leaving Harry shaking uncontrollably in his lap.
“No, no, no, please, I need to–ahh–” Harry rutted against Louis, using him shamelessly when his orgasm hit him, spurting all over Louis’ expensive shirt and calling out, “Harry, Harry, oh my god, my name is Harry.”
He saw stars, like he’d been rocketed into outer space itself. It took several minutes to come down, and when he did, Harry found Louis’ eyes on him. But that fucking smirk was back on his face.
“Well…” Harry cleared his throat, trying to pull back. But Louis’ hands gripped him harder, keeping him in place. He could feel his own jizz being smeared over his skin.
“Do you like screaming out your own name when you come?”
“I wasn’t screaming,” Harry huffed, but his blush was setting his face on fire.
“Mm,” Louis hummed, so smug. “You definitely screamed. And that partition isn’t actually soundproof.”
Harry’s mouth fell open, punching Louis in the shoulder, “What the fuck? Why–what–oh my god?”
Louis was laughing now and the sound was so beautiful that Harry couldn’t help himself when he reluctantly joined in. “You’re a disgusting person,” he said. “I feel sorry for everyone who works for you.”
“Don’t worry, Kevin will get used to it.”
“Get used to it? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Leaning forward, Louis captured Harry’s lips in a soft kiss, much softer than any of the previous ones and it effectively turned him into mush. He tugged gently on Harry’s bottom lip before saying, “Well, considering you’re mine now, this won’t be the last time we’ll be fooling around back here.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, I don’t even like you.”
“Terrible,” Louis kissed his lips. “Terrible.” His chin. “Liar.” His nose.
Harry shuddered in his lap, his eyes fluttering shut and in that moment he could feel the last of his stubbornness dissolve, because Louis had magical lips and magical hands and Harry was too tired to argue. I mean, his life could be worse?
“Where do you live?” Harry asked, trying to grasp at some coherency.
“Brooklyn.” Louis squeezed his waist.
“You don’t seem the Brooklyn type.”
“Well, you’ve been making a lot of assumptions about me since the moment we met, so I’m not actually surprised, darling.”
Harry blushed at that, feeling a bit guilty. He shrugged, for lack of coming up with a response.
“Where do I seem like I’m from, then?”
Pulling back, Harry put on a show of accessing the man, letting his eyes study the sharp curves of his face, his messy styled hair, the tattoos peeking out from his shirt. His fingers reached up to trace along the one under his collarbone, wondering what it said. He got lost in it for a moment before meeting Louis’ eyes again. “Somewhere warm. Because your skin is so golden.”
Louis’ smile was amused. “That’s just because I spent the last few weeks sunbathing on my yacht.”
“Shut up,” Harry muttered. “I was wrong, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“The only thing I want to hear is you moaning your own name again.”
Harry’s forehead fell to Louis’ shoulder, groaning, “Oh my god, do you get off on embarrassing me?”
“No,” Louis said softly, pulling Harry’s chin up. “I thought it was hot, to be honest.”
“For someone who wanted to know my name so badly, you haven’t even said it yet.” Harry pouted.
“I’m saving it.” Louis kissed him gently. Harry chased his lips when he pulled back, fully embracing the fact that he was quickly becoming obsessed with those sweet kisses.
“For what?”
Louis’ eyes pinned him there, the kind of gaze that felt like a touch all on its own. He swallowed thickly, waiting for a response. Harry’s breath stuttered, his skin prickled as he tried to hold it.
The car began to slow, and the spell broke with the soft click of brakes and the low whir of the partition sliding down.
“We’re here, sir,” came the voice from the front.
Louis didn’t look away. “Thanks, Kevin.”
His attention stayed on Harry as he reached out, movements unhurried as he straightened Harry’s clothes, buttoning what he’d undone, brushing a hand through the wild mess of curls he’d helped create. His thumb lingered for a moment at the corner of Harry’s mouth, tracing the curve of his lower lip.
Then, with that same infuriating calm, he smiled. “Come on, darling,” he murmured. “Time to go inside.”
__
Harry chewed his lip as the old freight elevator lurched to life, groaning like it hadn’t been serviced since the Nixon administration. It rattled and clanked its way upward, and somewhere between the flickering light bulb and the smell of machine oil, Harry had the distinct thought that he should probably text Maya his location, just in case his organs ended up on the dark web.
But then Louis looked at him. One calm glance and that irrational panic melted right out of him, replaced by a slow, traitorous calm that slid down his spine.
It was absolutely the setup for a D-list horror movie, the wavering light throwing uneven shadows across Louis’s infuriatingly handsome dumb face. And still, Harry’s body betrayed him, warmth pooling low in his stomach. Maybe, he thought, he did have a kidnapping kink — because every time Louis looked at him like that, his dick seemed to get the memo first.
“You alright?” Louis asked, breaking the silence of the scary elevator ride.
“Of course,” Harry scowled. “This isn’t my first time being kidnapped.”
Louis’ brows rose to his hairline, huffing out a surprised laugh. “You think I’m kidnapping you?”
Harry waved his hand around the dingy elevator, as if that was proving his point. “By the looks of it, I’m about to be chained to a radiator.”
“Well, that wouldn’t do me any good,” Louis teased, his eyes flickering down Harry’s body, pausing briefly at his crotch. Harry discreetly moved his hands to cover himself as his ears burned.
The elevator stopped then and when Louis turned his back to pull back the gate, Harry quickly readjusted himself, cursing his dick for being so disloyal.
Harry braced himself for…well, anything… as the door slid open. Possibly a taxidermy collection, jars of human organs on shelves, maybe a sex dungeon that would make Christian Grey blush.
What he didn’t expect was this.
The space was wide open, no room confined by any walls and flooded with soft amber light. Exposed brick walls glowed under the city haze pouring through a wall of glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far side of the loft, framing Brooklyn in all its midnight glitter. The air smelled faintly of cedar and smoke.
Every piece of furniture looked curated and lived in. Worn leather, heavy imperfect wood, a deep emerald sofa that matched nothing and somehow anchored everything. Records lined one wall, books another, and a single piece of abstract art dominated the space above the massive king sized bed.
Harry stepped out of the elevator, blinking. “You live here?” he blurted, like an idiot.
Louis chuckled, pulling the gate shut behind him. “I own the building,” he said, shrugging out of his suit jacket and carelessly tossing it onto the back of a chair. “Most of it’s still under construction, but this floor’s mine.”
Harry turned in a slow circle, taking it in — the height of the ceilings, the quiet hum of the city beyond the glass, the warmth of the place that somehow made Louis make sense. Harry’s jaw clicked shut with an audible snap.
“Right,” he said faintly, pretending not to gawk at the massive wall of glass framing the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. “Real struggling artist vibes.”
“You expected something else?” Louis’ back was turned, standing in front of a bar that was on the far side of the sleek kitchen, the only area that looked decidedly untouched. When he turned back around, he handed Harry a drink.
“Yeah,” Harry said, taking the offered glass. “An eyeball collection. Maybe a room full of tarps.”
Cocking his head, Louis narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Should I be concerned about what kind of kinks you have?”
Harry pretended to examine the glass he was holding like he was checking for poison. “Do you always bring cater waiters home to your murder loft?”
Louis’ mouth twitched. “Only the pretty ones with curly hair.”
That earned Louis an eye roll, but it was half-hearted at best. The whiskey burned pleasantly down Harry’s throat, and he tried not to let it show how steadying that warmth felt. He turned back toward the windows, the city stretching out beneath them like a living organism. With his back turned to Louis, he took a few deep breaths to calm his raging pulse. There was clearly something in the air that was making it hard to breathe. Probably asbestos.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re always five seconds from running?” Louis asked, his tone curious and much closer to Harry now.
“Because you keep cornering me,” Harry said, turning to face him fully.
Louis’ gaze dropped briefly — throat, collarbone, lips — then returned to his eyes. “Maybe I like watching what people do when they’re cornered.”
“You basically just admitted that you are a serial killer.”
“I think you watch too many documentaries.”
Harry’s laugh was quiet, annoyingly breathy. He cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “And what do I do?”
“You perform,” Louis said simply. “But I think you’re tired of that.”
That landed deeper than it should have. Harry swallowed, his mouth dry. “Do you ever stop analyzing people?” he asked, but his voice cracked a little. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable.
“Only when I’m trying to memorize them.”
And honestly, who could blame Harry for what he did after that line? He sat his glass down on the nearest surface and pushed Louis against the glass, their mouths crashing together and fists tugging hungrily at clothing. It escalated very quickly.
It was combative, the way Louis pushed Harry against an exposed beam, Harry gripping Louis’ shirt until buttons went scattering across the wood floors, their teeth biting any inch of exposed skin. Harry hitched his leg over Louis’ hip as their kiss deepened, Louis’ hand coming up to grip his thigh and hold him there.
“Is this what you were planning all night?” Harry asked, his head tipping back as Louis mouthed down his throat. “When—ungh—you were staring at me all the time?”
“You were the one staring,” Louis said into his skin, working on a hickey. “Couldn’t take your eyes off of me, could you? Already had one cock in your mouth tonight and you still wanted more.”
“Please.” It was meant to sound petulant, but came out of Harry’s mouth like a whimper.
They moved through the loft recklessly, leaving a trail of discarded clothes along the way until the back of Harry’s knees hit the bed. With surprising strength, Louis shoved Harry down and quickly worked at unbuttoning his pants, pulling them off with a frustrated grunt, “Help me.”
Harry kicked off his shoes, hearing them fall to the floor with a clunk and gasping when Louis bit the inside of knee as he pulled Harry’s socks off.
After that, it became a blur of rolling around the bed, pinning each other down and removing the last bits of clothing between them until they were both naked. They rubbed their heated skin against one another and kissed messily until they were basically just trading spit.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Harry panted against Louis’ pec, biting his nipple until he heard the older man hiss and groan.
He licked the letters tattooed across his chest, not interested to find out what they say anymore, instead tracing their swirls with his tongue. Louis’ chest was heaving as much as Harry’s and it only took a few minutes before he took over, rolling them and grasping at Harry’s wrists, pinning them above his head.
“What are you fucking doing to me?” He rasped, and Harry’s back arched just from the sound of his voice, finally sounding like his calm demeanor was cracking at the edges. Harry shifted his hips, thrusting upwards until their cocks slid against each other. Their moans echoed through the loft.
“You’re so fucking–ahh, goddamnit,” Harry breathed out as Louis made a feast of his torso, licking and biting at his sensitive skin.
“I’m so fucking what?” Louis asked, teeth tugging harshly on a nipple.
Hot, perfect, lethal, irresistible, intoxicating…Harry went through the list in his head before landing on, “Annoying.”
He felt the vibration of Louis’ chuckle against his nipple. “You’re very annoying, too.” And then he looked up at Harry, his chin resting on his sternum, releasing his wrists with an order, “Don’t move your arms.”
Harry nodded, biting his lip. “Okay.”
And then Louis moved lower. And lower. Kissing a path down to Harry’s shaft, licking the soft crease where his thighs met his groin. And he didn’t stop, sucking one of Harry’s heavy balls into his mouth and making the boy cry out. Fuck, he was good at that.
Harry wrapped his fingers around the headboard, trying so hard not to shove his hands into Louis’ hair and force him to take him down to his root. He had to be good.
But Louis didn’t deepthroat him like he wanted. Instead he blindly reached for a pillow and tapped Harry’s hips, silently demanding him to raise himself up while he slid it underneath him. Harry felt so exposed like this and it was an unusual thing for him. His hook up’s generally didn’t involve taking off clothes, or hell, even being in a bed. He was a world class slut who didn’t ever let anyone see him like this, but here he was, naked and oh–
The first swipe of Louis’ tongue against his hole made him practically shoot off the bed, writhing shamelessly with incoherent English falling out of his mouth.
“Yeah?” Louis asked and Harry had no idea why he was talking. “You like that, huh?” As emphasis, he leaned back in, his thumbs tugging at Harry’s rim before teasing him with more licks and nips. Harry just moaned as Louis kept talking. “You’re so gorgeous like this.”
Somehow, it was being called gorgeous that caused Harry’s cheeks to flush, and not because his hole was getting some very personal attention. He could only whine his gratitude when Louis started pushing his tongue inside, lighting up every nerve ending in Harry’s body.
“Suck,” Louis commanded, fingers suddenly tapping at Harry’s mouth.
Obediently, Harry sucked three beautiful long fingers onto his tongue, feeling so perfectly sated as he languidly slid around each knuckle. He had a tongue in his ass and fingers in his mouth and it still wasn’t enough.
“Fuck me,” Harry pleaded, releasing Louis’ fingers. “Want you—oh—inside of me.”
He felt the wet lapping of Louis’ tongue increase, and then finally, finally a spit slick finger slid in and Harry probably could have died happily right here.
By the time a second and third finger joined the party, Harry was shivering, his entire body trembling uncontrollably from the way Louis’ skilled fingers pressed against his prostate. He’d pulled his tongue out but Harry could still feel his hot breath on his skin.
“Oh god, oh god,” Harry murmured. “You’re so perfect, so good, so fucking—ungh—good. Holy shit, want you in me, I—oh fuck, don’t stop…”
He couldn’t shut up.
But his babbling must’ve helped, because suddenly he was being hoisted up, turned around and dragged to the end of bed. Harry’s sweaty curls draped like curtains around his face, thankfully hiding his dopey smile as Louis got them into position.
Harry wiggled his ass in anticipation and Louis laughed breathlessly behind him, rewarding him with a slap to one of his cheeks.
“I’ve got you, baby, hold on.”
Oh god, Louis called him baby. He’d never emotionally recover from this. Harry was struck with the thought that he wanted to be Louis’ baby forever, which was a bit humiliating and equally exciting.
He heard the sound of a condom wrapper ripping open and then Louis spit on his hole, his fingers digging into Harry’s hips. And with one final kiss at the base of his spine, Louis drove into him.
“Oh fuck,” Harry hissed, his eyes rolling back in his head. Louis showed no mercy, immediately setting a cruel pace, dragging his rigid cock almost all the way before slamming back in.
“Be loud,” Louis grunted. “I want to hear you.”
As if Harry was going to be quiet while his ass was getting fucking destroyed. Right now his only concern was how long he would last, his cock was throbbing, every thrust causing pre-cum to bead out of his slit. His hands were gripping the bedding, knuckles white against the dark sheets as he hung on to dear life.
Louis lifted one of his knees up to the bed, causing the angle to change and making Harry cry out when his cock began to drag against his prostrate.
“Oh fucking–oh, oh–right there, fuck–” Harry’s head hung heavy between his shoulders, falling to his elbows as Louis railed mercilessly into him. From this angle, he could see his dick hanging like a fucking iron rod from his body, begging to be touched. Louis must’ve read his mind, because he reached around to grab it, but oh…no, no, no, he bypassed it completely and Harry wanted to cry.
Suddenly he was being dragged up until his back was flush against Louis’ sweaty chest. Harry felt like a rag doll, like every bone in his body had liquified from Louis’ touch.
“Look at me,” Louis panted in his ear. Harry turned his face, chasing Louis’ mouth in a sloppy kiss. It was then when he tasted salt on his tongue and realized he was actually crying. Louis must have realized it at the same moment, because he pulled back, his body stilling.
“You okay?”
Harry couldn’t help but smile, rolling his head back to Louis’ shoulder and nuzzling into his neck, muttering against his warm skin, “M’perfect. So, so good.”
Louis kissed his cheek gently, whispering, “You are perfect.”
And then, thankfully, continued to fuck Harry with more force than before. He thrust up into him like a jackhammer and Harry had to reach behind them and grasp onto Louis’ ass just to keep himself upright.
Louis’ ass was amazing, like, the eighth wonder of the world and Harry’s long fingers dug into it in a way that he hoped was almost painful. Or at least would leave a mark. He wanted to mark Louis up, scratch his perfect golden skin until it bled.
“Oh fuck,” Louis yelped when Harry’s index finger found his rim. Harry held his breath, waiting for him to slap his hand away. But he didn’t. Instead he plowed into Harry even harder, his wet mouth panting against Harry’s ear.
“Do you like that?” Harry managed to ask, his finger becoming bolder and pressing down against Louis’ hole with more pressure. “You want me to fuck you? Make you come on my cock?”
“Jesus Christ, oh god, I’m close, I’m going to fucking come.”
Harry beamed, loving the way he had stolen back some of the power between them. And he especially loved the way Louis was fucking back onto his finger with every movement. “You gunna come with my finger in your ass?”
“Oh fuck, fuck–Harry–”
Harry.
“Say it again.”
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Louis chanted it like a prayer, just as Harry got one knuckle deep. Louis stilled completely, pulsing into Harry.
And maybe he was a bit of a narcissist after all, because hearing Louis say his name so reverently made him clench around him, milking Louis for every bit and Harry came so hard, spurting on Louis’ eight hundred thread count and wishing Louis wasn’t wearing a condom. He shuddered at the thought of them barebacking, hoping they’d do that next time. Fuck. Next time.
But Harry didn't do repeats.
A startling thought hit Harry then, realizing he wanted Louis. Like, all of him. Permanently. Forever. He never wanted to be fucked by anyone else ever again.
“Well…” he finally said, when Louis was lying next to him catching his own breath. “That was…nice.”
Louis laughed, that gorgeous raspy sound that sent Harry’s heart into cardiac arrest.
And then Louis made it substantially worse, because he rolled on top of Harry and began to kiss every inch of his face obnoxiously, smacking on his cheeks and forehead—forehead kisses—while murmuring, “I’m going to keep you here forever.”
Which was of course exactly what Harry wanted to hear. He’d fucking chain himself to the radiator if he had to.
“Say my name again,” Harry whispered.
“I’m a bit worried over how much you get off by your own name,” Louis kissed the words into Harry’s throat.
“Say my name again, please.”
“Harry.”
And yeah, he was done for.
—
There were a lot of things Harry prided himself on being good at.
But in his now twenty-three years of life, he’d never wanted anything—anyone—the way he wanted Louis. So completely, so helplessly that it almost frightened him. From the start, Harry had been studying him like a language he couldn’t stop trying to master, while Louis had been dismantling Harry one brick at a time.
Harry had been wrong about the sharp tongue that turned out to be quiet confidence. Wrong about the smug grin that, somewhere along the way, had softened into nothing short of fond. Louis had this impossible way of easing the edges off himself, especially when he looked at him.
Harry could’ve written a masterclass in adoring him—because adoration, as he’d learned, came in many forms.
But his most exceptional skill, the one that truly deserved a gold medal, was his ability to fall deeper in love with Louis Tomlinson every day.
Fin.