
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/679463.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Harry_Styles/OFM, Nick_Grimshaw/Louis
      Tomlinson
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Nick_Grimshaw, Liam_Payne, Niall_Horan,
      omg_zayn_you're_not_in_it_again, i_sorry
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Growing_Up_AU, Friends_With_Benefits, Friends_to_Lovers, three_year
      age_gap, Fingering, Blow_Jobs, Kissing, yah_idk
  Series:
      Part 3 of Time_to_Pretend
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-11 Words: 7000
****** You’re the Only Song I Want to Hear ******
by thispieceofmind
Summary
     "Harry’s breath hitches, because he knows he’s so, so stupid for
     doing this to himself again."
     They're in boarding school, and Harry really shouldn't like Louis
     like that, but he does.
Notes
     This is the last part! They're mainly 14/17 here.
Harry considers himself lucky, really. He’s lucky because he doesn’t cry until
he’s at his room, and he doesn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on him
sobbing like the child he currently feels like. He sobs into his pillow until
all that’s left is a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He stares at the
wall and doesn’t think for once. He doesn’t reckon he can; he’s gone numb.
So he sits for god knows how long just watching. And he probably blinks less
than he should, and his green eyes still red from tears go glazed over. He sees
white and that’s it. Just the white wall and the ache in his chest that makes
him take heavy breaths and want to curl up in a ball with the taste of tea and
the scent of Louis and winter. But he’s not getting what he wants, so he sits
and stares and wants to turn on sad music but doesn’t because he can’t bring
himself to move. It’s sickening, really, but he guesses this is what heartbreak
feels like, so he finally understands the ending of that dumb romance novel.
The feeling of shattering around him like his vision is blurred and the only
thing he can see is Louis. He feels like a pathetic little boy, so he presses
his back against the window that he leaves open so he can let the cold numb
him, and he stares at the door.
He doesn’t know how long he looks at his door, but he nearly jumps out of his
skin when it opens. He places a hand over his quick beating heart and is almost
happy to feel the pulsing in his veins, because before it felt as though he was
so numb and so sad that it was going to stop. But the door swings open, and he
jumps, but Niall and Liam walk in so it must be a bit after midnight now, and
they’re laughing. Niall has an arm around Liam’s shoulders and this grin on,
and Harry already knows he’s going into be that state where he doesn’t realize
anything. He’s not gonna notice Harry’s red-rimmed eyes or when his smile
doesn’t quite reach. But Niall won’t notice that Harry’s not completely genuine
in his response, either. Liam might, Harry thinks, but if he’ll say something
is beyond him.
So Niall beams straight away as he unbuttons his shirt, “Harry! Harry! You’ll
never believe it. The lovely bird I took to the ball, yeah, and we were dancing
and talking and I dunno what I was thinking, but I pulled her outside and it
was cold but nice, and we were laughing at something I said, or maybe it was
her – but. She looked so lovely, and I kissed her! I’ve had my first kiss,
Haz!”
Niall’s so ecstatic about it that Harry can’t fight his smile, and it’s
definitely not as wide as it normally would be, but he stands up on shaky legs
to give his friend a light hug and a pat on the back. Niall grins at him, but
Harry turns to change so he doesn’t have to grin back. They get out of their
dress clothes and nice shoes and crawl into bed, but no one says anything.
Niall has still got a smile on the face by the time he’s huddled in the duvet,
and Liam sends him a final warm look before flicking the lights off.
So Harry tries to sleep, and he’s not sure if he does. He feels in the
ambiguous state of awake and asleep all twelve hours he lies in bed until it’s
noon, and he thinks he should probably get up. He eats lunch but does homework
alone and thinks it’s fitting because that’s all he feels.
Alone.
***
It carries on like that for a while, and he thinks that the happiest day he has
over the next three months is his birthday, because Christmas hols at home are
just as lonely, except he has a mum who’s pestering and a sister who has a
boyfriend and no time for her younger brother. The new year brings nothing new
for Harry, just more of the same.
But his first week back at school, his girlfriend texts him to meet in the
bleachers on Saturday, so he does, and he knows what’s coming. Of course he
does. It doesn’t surprise him at all, and he reckons he should be sadder than
he is. He’s back to no one again, he supposes, because Niall’s got a girlfriend
and Liam’s got Niall still. Harry feels a little empty as he walks down to the
field, but he tries not to drag his feet in the grass because he likes his
shoes. All the snow melted.
She’s sitting there with the long hair and bright eyes. He sits with a meek
greeting, and straight away she takes Harry’s hand, and he figures that she
wants to get right to it. Once again, he doesn’t blame her. She takes his hand
on her knee and says, “Harry, tell me please. It’s okay.”
He knows what she’s talking about. Everyone knows now. He wasn’t exactly
shameful about it, nor secretive. So it’s out there, and he guesses she just
picked up on it later than others. That’s all right. That’s how Harry’s been
thinking about everything recently. Oh, that’s all right. It’s fine. He doesn’t
really have an opinion. Everything just is. It’s not as peaceful as he thought
it would be because he can’t stop from his brain from churning things up.
Harry doesn’t know where to start, but he blurts, “I’m sorry,” first. He thinks
that it’s safe enough.
“It’s okay, Harry. Honestly. But tell me, please, so I just– closure, kind of?”
Harry takes a deep breath and mutters, “I’m gay.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and in that moment, as he stares into her glossy eyes, he
is so, so thankful, because there are so many other girls, nearly all of them,
he reckons, who at this age would have screamed and cried after finding out
something so appalling – that their boyfriend of several months is interested
in boys, too. But she is lovely and kind, and she understands because she’s
smart and she understands fear. Harry doesn’t know how he was so lucky, that he
found someone so lovely. And they’re thirteen, so he’s happy she knows that it
was never love. Harry thinks he sounds sad. Then again, he is.
“Everything’s all right, love. Stay in touch now, Harry. I don’t want to lose
you completely.”
Harry smiles wider than he has in months. “Yeah– yeah, okay, friends. I’d like
that. I need a friend.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to you soon, Harry.” She kisses his cheek and whispers in
his ear, “You can tell me about that boy you’re in love with.”
And Harry watches her go, and it’s not until she’s gone from sight does Harry
tuck his knees up to his chest and start to cry again. It’s not heartbreak, no,
but he feels like such a fuck up. Because he dated a girl just to make a boy
jealous and failed. Because he was the person that boy cheated with. Because
all he does is love so much – loves too much, and all he gets in return is
nothing, nothing that’s slowly turning him into a black hole because he’s
afraid of turning somewhere else. He’s thirteen and stupid and crying harder
than he ever has alone on the bleachers after he lets the last person he
remotely had walk away.
Harry likes his birthday for two reasons. Firstly, is because Niall and Liam
stay by his side all day. He doesn’t feel so lonely. And secondly as well as
lastly, he’s fourteen. He’s older. Maybe that makes him more desirable.
Probably not.
But probability is something completely different than reality.
***
He continues on in various stages of sad and happy, tiptoeing around Louis and
Nick until it turns to spring, and he thinks maybe spring will be good. Spring
brings the flowers and the flowers are his favorite thing. He hopes spring is
nice.
It’s barely into March when he gets a message on his little white board again
just saying, Come talk. There’s not even a sign off, but Harry knows it’s
Louis, and for once, he’s contemplating going. And it’s not that he doesn’t
want to see Louis, well – it sort of is, really. He would want to see him more
if he knew how he was going to act. Would he kiss him or touch him? Or would he
just ignore him in that weird way that he does, where it’s not so much
ignoring, but just – not like Louis when it’s louisandharry. Harry’s not so
sure how much of louisandharry there is left.
But eventually, he sucks it up after ten minutes spent contemplating, and he
goes to Louis’ dorm and is happy there was no time on the door because he would
have been assuredly late. By the time he gets there, it’s already open, so he
takes that as an invitation to come in, and Louis is staring down at a book,
but Harry knows he’s not reading. He has the Fray playing, but he’s not
listening, either. It’s quiet, and his eyes aren’t moving, and his brow is
furrowed. It is not the book that he is thinking about. Harry can tell
everything just by looking at him.
So he clears his throat to get Louis to look up, and when he does, Louis looks
at him for a while, and it makes Harry a little uncomfortable, the wandering
blue eyes looking at his pale skin, dark veins, and purple, sunken hollows
underneath his eyes. He shifts from one foot to another, but he takes a seat on
Louis’ bed, and for a moment he wants to fold in on himself, but he presses his
back against the headboard and waits.
It’s a few minutes of silence and the song has changed once when Harry says,
“We gonna talk?”
Louis snaps out of it. “Um– yeah. Sorry, about that, by the way, just doing all
that unannounced.”
Harry arches a brow and scoffs. “You don’t sound very sorry.” He folds his arms
over his chest because he always feels so exposed around Louis. He wants some
way to hold everything, to make it so he can’t see. Louis always sees. He’s
perceptive in the way that most wouldn’t think of him, being so wildly
rambunctious and flirtatiously inviting that most people would make obnoxious,
but he manages to pull it off as charming. Louis has always been an enigma to
Harry, he thinks, no matter how much Harry can tell by a glance.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t know how to get your attention.”
“Talk to me, maybe? Approach me?”  Harry’s being stubborn. And maybe this isn’t
what Louis wanted when he said talk, but Harry just doesn’t know. He doesn’t
know what to do or what to say or how to act. He’s completely and utterly lost,
and he doesn’t know whether to blame himself or Louis or life itself.
“It’s been months, Harry! Months.” Louis takes a deep breath, turns in his
swivel chair, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know if you wanted
to talk to me anymore. You just – you left, Harry, okay? I don’t know what
you’re thinking at every given second.”
And that’s all that it takes for Harry to break. Maybe it’s because he’s been
so unstable and precarious with his emotions recently; he thinks it might be
hormones because he’s fourteen and completely unbalanced, but he’s already
getting choked up and panicky. He feels Louis’ gaze on him, and he wonders what
he can see. Can he see the ball welling up in Harry’s throat? Can he see the
tears stinging the corners of his eyes and the thoughts flooding in his head?
Harry doesn’t want him to, but in seconds, it doesn’t matter anymore because
his elbows are on his knees and his head is in his hands and there’s an
uncontrollable sob spilling from his lips. His shoulders shake violently and
his cries are loud.
He doesn’t see Louis’ softened expression or the falter in his movements. All
he feels is an curling around his shoulder and soft things being cooed in his
ears about how he’s fine, how he’s okay even though he’s not. He’s not, and he
shouldn’t be like this; he shouldn’t be unsteady at any given moment, and he
shouldn’t be crying all the time. He shouldn’t be.
“Shhh,” Louis murmurs, rubbing circles on his back and breathing into his neck.
“You’re all right. It’s okay.”
And Harry lets a few more sobs out but sucks in a heavy breath. He calms
himself enough just to scream, “I’m not! I’m not okay – I am so fucked up, and
I shouldn’t be. I’m depressed, or–or something, I don’t know. There is
something wrong with me, and, and–” His voice breaks to something more like a
whisper, quiet and terrified. “I just want you to love me,” he says, because
it’s all he can say. He lets out another choked off sob. “I just want you to
love me like I love you.”
Louis doesn’t say anything, and Harry guess that’s all right, because just a
minute ago he was acting like an immature little boy who was stubborn and
angry, but now he’s crying and professing his love. But Harry thinks that’s how
he’s been lately, jumbled up and indecisive. He feels Louis’ comforting hand on
his arm and his back, so he takes shaky breaths and knows he’s not going to say
anything in return.
So he talks some more, voice rasping and breaking. “I know I shouldn’t be like,
like this. I shouldn’t be so upset just because – because you don’t want me.
But I’m so alone, Louis. I feel like I’m all by myself even when Niall is right
next to me or Liam’s across the way. I feel empty and sad, but not– never with
you. I don’t know what to do, Louis. I’m scared, and I’m a dumb little boy who
doesn’t know what he wants or who he is, and I know I sound stupid right now,
don’t I? It’s okay. I probably do.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more
tears. He stuffs his face into Louis’ neck. “I just love you so much, Lou. Love
you a lot.”
There’s a tightening in Harry’s chest, but a tightening of arms around his
waist, too. He’s in Louis’ lap now, who just holds him. Harry thinks that might
be the only thing he can do – hold him. So they breathe, and Harry cries and
tries to figure out a way to take everything back. Louis presses a kiss to
Harry’s forehead, and it doesn’t make him any less empty inside.
***
Nothing changes. Harry is still depressed – or sad, or, he doesn’t really know,
but Louis is seemingly apathetic because he makes no approach, and they stay as
distant as before, except Harry is probably even more desultory and woebegone.
He’s practically dragging on the marble floors of the hallways. It carries on
until spring truly arrives at the end of March, where it’s just a little bit
brighter, and the first flowers are coming up through the bitterness.
Change doesn’t evade Harry forever though, because the blue sky of spring
brings back the blue in Louis’ eyes, and one day, they’re not holding hands
anymore. They’re not kissing, or sitting by each other, or meeting each other’s
gaze, or talking or even interacting. Louis is on the other side of room as
Nick, and he looks a little sad and maybe that shouldn’t be making Harry happy,
but it is, just a little. So his eyes are a little brighter and maybe Niall and
Liam notice, but he eats his breakfast and thinks that things probably won’t
change, but maybe they will.
So he goes to the garden after class because he’s been going there a lot
recently. He weaves a crown because it helps him think, and when the teacher
leaves the greenhouse, she sends him a smile, and he returns it with a full
grin that hasn’t come out in months because maybe, maybe the spring has put the
life back in him.
He drops his crown in fright when he hears, “It’s good to see you smile again.”
Harry bends down and picks up his crown before saying, “I didn’t know you were
watching.”
Louis picks up one of the flowers that fell from the crown and twirls it in his
fingers. He stares at the pinkness of it for a moment, the happiness. He tucks
it behind Harry’s ear with a gentle hand and a thumb across his cheekbone.
Harry wants to flinch away, but he couldn’t if he tried. “I’m always watching,
Harry. Even if we’re not talking. You’re still my best mate.”
Harry’s eyes brighten. “Really?”
“Always, Haz. It’s just been, well, a complicated year, hasn’t it?”
“Complicated,” Harry repeats. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Louis holds out a hand for him, friendly, like they always have been. It’s not
awkward. Louis’ hand feels right in Harrys, and butterflies flutter in his
tummy when Louis asks, “Show me what blooms in March?”
***
So things change. It’s not completely normal, because sometimes Harry will be
sad, and Louis will be sad because of Nick, and the first time Harry asks about
their break up, Louis slams his books shut and storms out. That’s the first
time Louis leaves, and Harry doesn’t know if he’s going to come back, then, so
he cries on their couch in the library. He does come back though, twenty
minutes later, and sees Harry puffy-eyed and sniffling. He pets his hair and
says he’s sorry and kisses his cheeks. He tells him how sorry he is and gets
him new tea and says he’ll tell him eventually.
Harry knows he’ll always come back after that, so he starts crying less and
smiling more and is just more sunny. More like Harry. They’re just friends,
though, but they study and hang out on weekends and laugh and smile, and Harry
thinks it’s really, really nice. He’s missed this so immensely that it’s like
the hole inside him is filled with bright blue eyes and vivacious demeanors.
March bleeds into April, and that’s when they get an order of orchids for the
greenhouse, and Harry just likes to tend to them. They spend a lot there,
because Harry likes it and Louis likes Harry being happy. The orchids also
bring the day that Harry fucks up again, or, he thinks he fucks up at first,
because Louis is sitting on one of the counters in the greenhouse, and Harry
thinks he looks particularly lovely that day; his hair is all messy and
windswept, and he has a smile that hasn’t left his face all day. He’s wearing
tight jeans and a big hoodie that he swims in, and Harry wants to envelope him
and breathe him in.
So he fucks up because the blossom that he’s toying with in his hand brightens
his eyes, and Harry steps between his legs and plucks it out of his fingers.
“Oi!” Louis calls. “That’s my flower, you right twat.”
“I grow them,” Harry singsongs, and holds it too far back for him to reach.
“Hey,” Louis says, and it’s softer. Harry lowers his hand. “Give it here; I’ll
hand it back in a sec.” Harry folds the flower in his palm. Louis smiles softly
and tucks it right behind Harry’s ear in his unruly hair, like he always does.
“There,” Louis whispers, and Harry’s not sure when it got so quiet, but it
smells like blossoming and renewal, and Harry thinks they’re blossoming, too,
right? Because they’ve changed and grown and they’re still growing. So he takes
change as a good thing and cups Louis cheek. He kisses him right on the mouth
before he can even change his mind and tell himself it’s a bad idea. But he
thinks it’s a bad idea seconds after he does it, so he leans back and swears
under his breath.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry– I didn’t mean to do that. I’ve fucked it all up
again, and we just made it better. I – sorry.”
One of Harry’s curls falls in his eyes, and Louis brushes back with a gentle
hand. His hands come to sit on Harry’s waist, and he just looks for a moment.
Harry doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he lets him, and blinks a lot
because Louis is staring, and he’s not sure what he’s picking at.
“We’re still friends, Haz. It’s okay. I liked kissing you, y’know. When we just
did that? So, what if we’re just friends that kiss again? If you don’t – if
you’re not okay, we can stop, yeah? It’s okay.”
Harry’s breath hitches, because he knows he’s so, so stupid for doing this to
himself again. He knows he shouldn’t, but Louis doesn’t have a boyfriend and he
doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he smells like flowers and springtime, so he
thumbs across Louis’ face and murmurs, “Okay.”
So they kiss and it’s even better than before, and maybe it’s because Harry’s
surrounded by his two favorite things in the world: flowers and Louis. Louis is
soft with Harry, soft mouth, soft movements, soft hands crawling under his t-
shirt and running along the indent of Harry’s spine. He licks gently into
Harry’s mouth and makes him mewl and whine. Harry’s breathless and dizzy, eyes
closed and fuzzy. Louis licks across his lips and kisses down his jaw and neck.
“Missed you, Haz. Missed being your friend, missed holding you. You never
stopped being lovely.”
Harry whines again at that and makes Louis kiss him again because he’s not sure
how many more words he can take. They stand there in the scent of efflorescence
and the sound of lips meeting over and over for a long time. Harry loses track
of how long and doesn’t care. He just doesn’t want to let go. He never wants to
let go.
***
So they’re friends who kiss sometimes, and it’s not as often as Harry would
like, but it’s nicer than it was before, because it’s always lazy and soft and
usually on one of their beds or in the greenhouse. It’s only when they have
time and want to be close, but Louis always tastes like tea and warmth and
home. It’s good enough for Harry, because he’s with Louis and he’s not crying.
Louis is softer with him, less rough around the edges, and never scary or
hurrying or wanting to get away from him. It’s all about louisandharry. And
that’s how April turns into May, and why Harry’s heart is being so fast because
he’s so close all the time.
In May, they’re doing homework, but they’re outside at a picnic table because
the weather’s so nice. The sun is glinting off of their sunglasses, and they’ve
long finished, so they watch the clouds roll by and the leaves on the trees
ruffle. The wind makes Harry’s hair go in his face, so Louis sits on top of the
table and cards his hands through it to make Harry giggle. He runs his hands
over his face to make him whine, and Harry licks Louis’ hand.
It’s quiet after that, just the wind, when Louis is just running his fingers
gently along Harry’s scalp and listening to him breathe. They sit, for a while,
until Harry thinks it’s peaceful enough to ask, “Can you tell me about Nick
– if you want?”
Harry hears Louis take a deep breath, and he still can’t see his eyes because
they way they’re sitting. He scratches at Harry scalp and says, “Sure, Haz. I’m
good now. I was just a bit roughed up still, before, when you asked. But it’s a
thing of the past, and well, I’m over it. I broke up with him, anyway.”
Harry gasps. “You did?”
“Yeah, why? Did you think it was the other way ‘round?” Louis asks.
“Obviously,” Harry snorts.
Louis slaps him upside the head. “Okay, that was a dumb question, but I
digress. Anyway, I broke up with him because we just weren’t right, y’know? It
was a lot of arguing, which at first, was like, banter, but then we got to
caught up in our own opinions and had trouble letting go and, it was just
– bad, yeah. I mean, the sex was fucking great, but it was a lot of sex and not
enough coursework, so my grades were dropping last semester and Mum was mad,
and I wanted to do good–”
“Not if you’re saying ‘do good,’” Harry interjects playfully.
Louis tugs on a piece of his hair. “Oh, shut up. Do well. But yeah, it wasn’t
working out, and I missed you, so, I broke up with him.”
Harry’s breath hitches, and he hopes the wind takes the sound with it. “Missed
me?” he squeaks, and his voice cracks a little.
Louis plays with his hair and runs his nails along his scalp. “Of course I did,
Harry. I missed you loads, and I hated seeing you sad. I knew Nick was part of
it, and things weren’t working out anyway.”
“You broke up with him because of me?” Harry needs to look at him. He can’t
have this conversation without looking at him. He winds his fingers into Louis’
and places his hands back on his knees so he can crawl up on the top of table
too. He sits next to Louis and presses into his side, Louis’ arm coming around
his waist and rubbing at the sliver of skin where his shirt has risen up.
“It was just a little bit because of you. Like I said, it wasn’t working out
anyway, and I wanted you back, Harry. I missed you a lot, yeah? It was hard for
me, too. So I broke up with him. I hated seeing you sad and knowing it was my
fault.”
“It wasn’t all your fault, Lou. I was just a bit depressed, yeah?”
“Well, it was triggered by me, and I wanted to see your pretty smile again.”
Harry blushes and grins. Louis pokes his cheek and then presses a lingering
kiss there. “Love you, Haz.”
Harry doesn’t say anything back.
***
Harry spends every waking moment of June in the greenhouse. Most of them time,
Louis is by his side, bustling about and helping in anyway he can. June is the
last month of school, and there’s two weeks until the Summer Ball, and Harry
was put in charge of the flower arrangements for the tables. He’s freaking out,
a little, because there’s thirty-five tables and he has to make that many
arrangements, and wow that’s a lot of flowers. But Louis is there, kissing his
neck when he needs to relax and licking into his mouth when he needs to slow
down. It’s a bit hazy for him, for most of it, but he’s mostly happy and
ebullient.
He gambols about the greenhouse and orders around Louis like he has his own
personal slave, because he already has everything planned out. He stayed up for
hours sketching out the flowers, and it’s an elegant balance of orange and red,
and it’s perfect. They take it a couple at a time, but then Harry’s so stressed
that they have to take a break, and Louis is perfectly okay with that. Harry
weaves crowns and makes Louis wear them, and he thinks that he likes this a
lot. He takes him to the couch they demanded be implemented in the greenhouse
and lay down, Harry sprawled on top of Louis and feeling small because Louis
still has a few inches on him. Just a few.
Harry is warm and sleepy, and lets himself doze off, just for a minute though,
because this is just a break, but when he wakes up, Louis is hovering over him
with a cheeky little smirk on his face – the bastard – and Harry wonders what
he’s done.
“What’s up now, you minx?”
“Your cock’s pressing up into me thigh.” 
Harry goes bright red. “Fuck, fuck.”
Louis laughs. “S’all right. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He smirks
again. His hand crawls up Harry’s thigh. Harry squirms.
“Lou, don’t– just lemme, cool off, yeah?”
“Why don’t I get you off, instead?” 
“What?” Harry squeaks.
“Like I said, nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Not a big deal, I’ll just
suck you off, and we’ll be good, yeah? No mess, no stress.”
“No stress,” Harry repeats, incredulous. He wipes a hand across his face.
“Fuck.”
“You want me to?” Louis asks, lowering himself back down next to Harry and
kissing up his neck. “Think of it,” he says, pausing to suck at Harry’s neck
lightly in thought, “as a favor.”
Harry grins. “But then I’d owe you one, wouldn’t I?” 
Louis winks at him. “Maybe.” He kisses Harry deep. “But relax now, babe. Have
you ever gotten a blow job before?” 
Harry goes red again. “I’ve not– I never– you were the only one, like, sexual
stuff.”
“Aw, you’re innocent as always.” 
“Shut up.” 
“I will, once I’ve got my mouth on your cock.”
Harry shuts up, too.
Louis rucks up Harry’s shirt to his bellybutton, but Harry’s hasty to pull it
off all the way. His stomach is soft and smooth, and he still has a little
layer of baby fat. Louis presses kisses from his collarbones to right where his
belt is buckled, undoing it and leaving them just at the knees. Harry looks at
him funny, and he says, “Gonna be quick anyway, darling, you’re fourteen.”
(Harry ignores that Louis called him darling.)
Louis takes Harry’s cock in his hand, and he smirks at his gasp. He pulls down
the foreskin and thumbs across the slit, getting it nice and wet. He takes his
finger in his mouth and licks it off. Harry shivers. He locks his blue eyes
onto Harry’s as he takes the head in his mouth, flitting his tongue across the
head because he’s set on making this really quick. He wraps a hand around the
base to give it a few twists and slowly bobs his head up and down, suckling and
licking at the slit. Harry’s hips are bucking up into his mouth, and Louis
pulls off to press a steady hand onto his hipbone.
“Shh, Haz, stay still for me, will you?”
“Yeah– yeah. Feels good, Lou. Really good. I wanna– I gotta do it to you. I
wanna suck your cock, Louis. Wanna make you feel good too.”
Louis takes Harry’s cock back in his mouth again, thumbing against Harry’s hip
and absorbing his words and little mewls and moans. His lips are swollen and
pink as he rolls his tongue over the head again, and Harry tries to warn him,
but he just presses Harry’s hips down further and lets him come in his mouth,
sucking until Harry’s squirming and has to gently pull on his hair. Louis licks
his lips when he leans up, looking at Harry with shiny blue eyes and shinier
lips.
“Good?”
“Yeah– yeah, good.”
***
They’re in Louis’ big bed, and Harry’s head on top of Louis’ heart, listening
to the steady thump that he usually hears in his ears when he’s kissing him, or
touching him, or standing near him, really. He thinks, that no matter how good
of friends they are, the love isn’t leaving for Harry. It’s always been there.
It’ll always be there. They’re lying there, and Harry is staying over because
it’s a Saturday, and Louis said why not. Harry thought he might be able to
return the favor, but then they’re lying there, and Harry’s got goosebumps on
his arms and hearts in his eyes, so he thinks that he’s comfortable and warm
and in love. He rolls over a little, presses into Louis’ neck, and embraces it
while he can, because while Harry’s in love, Louis isn’t.
But Harry breathes in and listens to that steady heartbeat, and suddenly his
voice that isn’t so steady. “Harry?” Louis asks.
“Yeah, Lou?” Harry response, voice low and smooth, a little tired with summer
and work and drugged off of Louis’ smell.
“Do you –” He pauses.
Harry rolls over a bit more, and Louis does too, so they’re facing each other
with bright eyes. Harry giggles a little, because they’re so close, and he
bumps his nose against Louis’ because he can. Louis smiles at him and presses a
gentle kiss to his lips. It doesn’t lead anywhere, it’s just soft and simple.
It makes Harry shiver.
“What were you gonna say, Lou?” Harry asks, watching Louis blink and seeing his
eyelashes brush against his cheeks. Louis grabs Harry’s hand and plays with his
fingers.
“I, um– do you wanna, maybe go to the Summer Ball with me?”
Harry takes a deep breath. “As friends?” he asks.
“No,” Louis says.
“As friends with benefits?”
“No,” Louis says, slower this time.
“Then what?” Harry drawls carefully.
“You still love me, yeah?”
“Never stopped,” Harry mumbles. He looks away.
Louis smirks. “Then you’ll figure it out.” And he kisses him.
He pushes Harry onto his back and crawls onto his lap, faces still hovering
close to one another. Harry leans up to kiss him again, but Louis smiles gently
and pushes him back down again, cupping his jaw and threading his fingers into
Harry’s hair. They kiss slowly because they aren’t in a rush, and it’s warm and
Harry walks his hands all over Louis’ back and shoulders and bum. Louis pulls
back a few times and stares, eyelashes fluttering and face happy.
They don’t say anything. They just kiss and explore, and Harry tugs on the
bottom of Louis’ shirt, and then they’re both touching everywhere, smooth skin
on smooth skin. Louis licks into Harry’s mouth and holds him close, and Harry
thinks he might be making up for lost time. He wants to recreate everything.
“Am I allowed to call you gorgeous now, gorgeous?” Harry says.
“Call me whatever you want, darling,” Louis murmurs gently, whispering in
Harry’s ear and kissing down his neck. He sucks a little mark just under his
collarbone, and Harry thinks he might catch him say, “Mine.”
They’re kissing again when Harry says, “Can I ask you something?” 
“Just did, babe,” Louis points out, trying to get his tongue back in his mouth
again.
“Lou,” Harry whines. “Please?”
“Go at it, then,” Louis mutters, resting his head in the crook of Harry’s neck.
“Can you say it?”
“Say what?”
“You’ll figure it out.” Harry thinks if Louis was looking at him, he would’ve
seen his eyes light up.
Louis presses his lips to Harry’s temple and drags them down right to the
corner of his mouth. “I love you, Harry.”
Harry shivers, and Louis kisses him.
“Again,” Harry murmurs.
“I love you.”
“Is it for real?”
“For real,” Louis says. “S’not time to pretend. Gotta take someone to the
dance, haven’t I?”
“Don’t be a twat.”
“You haven’t even said it back, mind you.”  “I love you,” Harry says
sarcastically. “I guess.”
“Bastard!” Louis exclaims, and he grabs Harry’s wrists, pins them above his
head, and kisses him hard. He drops them, eventually, to fan his fingers across
Harry’s face and keep him close. He rocks his hips above Harry’s, who squeaks
into his mouth. Louis smirks, but chooses to keep teasing him, seeing what
noises he can draw out of him and how long he can keep him squirming until he
can do something about it.
“Please, Lou,” Harry breathes after a while of bucking up into his hips. “Do
something, please.” 
“And what would you like me to do, Haz?”
“Fuck me,” he says.
Louis’ breath hitches. “Not yet, babe. Dance is soon. I don’t wanna make you so
sore.”
“But, Lou–”
“Hey, hey,” Louis whispers in his ear. “I didn’t say I hadn’t a compromise.”
“And what’s that?”
Louis sucks at his jaw. “Have you ever fingered yourself, Harry?”
Harry nearly chokes. Louis is still on his jaw, leaving a mark assuredly. “I
– once or twice. It’s hard at school, usually, like over the summer, I did? A
couple times?”
“Did you like it, Harry?”
“Yeah, I liked it a lot. It was good. Really good.”
“Mhmm...” Louis murmurs.
***
“Does it hurt?” Louis asks.
“No, no,” Harry breathes, choked off and thick. “It’s good, another please.”
“All right, love. Tell me if it hurts.”
Harry shakes his head, and Louis kisses down his neck and sucks at his nipples,
rolling them under his fingers and watching Harry squirm. He’s flushed down to
his chest, cheek bright red and eyes wide and full of lust. They’re blown
black, and the green of the iris is so piercing that it makes Louis feel like
he can be seen straight through. His free hand rubs up and down Harry’s chest,
sometimes dragging his nails to see the red marks or the shudder that runs
through Harry’s body. He pushes a second finger into Harry’s hole, tight and
hot. He rubs at his walls and feels Harry writhe.
“Okay?”
“More than okay, Lou. Move, move, please.”
Louis kisses him deeply before crooking his fingers, finding his prostate and
rubbing against it with his fingertips, Harry crying out into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he says. Harry rocks his hips back onto Louis’ hand, whimpering when he
hits his spot and crying out with little noises and deep breaths. Louis pulls
them out and pushes back in again, kissing Harry’s cheek and still petting at
his chest.
When Louis scissors his fingers, Harry lets out, “Oh.”
“Hurts?” Louis asks.
“No, no, good. More. Keep going.”
And Louis keeps fucking him with his fingers, scissoring him open and feeling
the way he clenches around his fingers and pants. Louis kisses him while he
stretches him open, slipping in another finger with his tongue is licking
against Harry’s swallowing his little mewls and whines. He’s bringing his hips
down to meet Louis’ fingers, moaning a little louder, eyes clenched.
“Lou, Lou – it’s so good. Gonna come soon, touch me, please.” Louis keeps
kissing him, but takes the free hand that was running down his pale, smooth
skin and grabs his cock. He keeps his fingers inside Harry, his knees falling
open further to take them deeper. “So close,” he gasps. Louis rolls his thumb
over the head and crooks his fingers one last time, and Harry is coming over
his fist, gasping his name and clawing at the sheets where his hands were
fisted.
His chest is rising and falling quickly when he comes down from his high,
opening his eyes to a pair of blue ones that still remind him of the sky on the
brightest day of the year. Louis wipes his fingers on tissues from his bedside
table and leans down to kiss Harry. “Good?”
“Yeah, good.”
“Good.”
It isn’t a lesson, that time.
***
“Can’t I put it in your hair?”
Harry laughs and leans into Louis’ shoulder where he’s putting the boutonnière
on Harry’s simple, black jacket. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t follow tradition,
so no.”
“Since when do we follow tradition?” Louis asks, fiddling with the last of the
clasp.
Harry laughs again and presses his palms against Louis’ chest when he’s done
touching up Harry’s blazer. “Never, but my mum’s seeing these photos. Then
again, she wouldn’t be so surprised to see me with a flower in my hair.”
“See?” Louis exclaims. “And you don’t trust me.”
Harry chuckles but leans up for a kiss, winding his fingers in Louis’ hair.
They stay connected for a while, breathing in each other and the scent of
flowers that’s drifting in from Louis’ open window. Harry pulls away first,
because he basically decorated the entire ball room, and he wants to get there
on time, but Louis keeps pressing kisses to his closed lips until he caves and
lets Louis open his mouth again, licking inside until he’s a panting mess and
worrying about a potential boner.
“Okay, okay, now we really have to go, Lou,” Harry says, taking a step back
just for good measure.
“You’ll hold my hand though, right?”
Harry looks at the floor in an attempt to hide his blush. “Yeah, yeah of
course.”
“Good, now, off we go.”
Harry rolls his eyes, but takes Louis’ outstretched hand and winds their
fingers together. They walk down the hall and toward the ballroom, and they get
a few curious glances, but they’re not rude, just surprised, maybe. Or, Harry
thinks, not surprised, because he knows some people knew about his crush, just
not expecting it to be now, or in front of them. But Niall hugs him once
they’re in the ballroom, well, just to hug him, because he already knew. Harry
told him and Liam about everything, a while back.
But now, he’s holding hands with Louis, and the windows that run up the walls
are open, letting the scents of summer wander in. The dresses are bright and
the sky is almost as bright as Louis’ eyes in the late afternoon. They
arrangements look stunning, and Harry thinks, so does Louis. They dance and
goof off and kiss once or twice because they’re here and together, and there’s
no more lying or pretending. It’s just Harry and Louis and a flower that Louis
plucks from an arrangement and tucks behind Harry’s ear.
At the end of the night, Louis is twirling another blossom in his fingers and
whispering in Harry’s ear, “I love you.”  Harry smirks.
“Fuck me.”
fin.
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