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There’s only pain in this world. Louis hurts all over, every inch of his body prickling with it. There’s a headache pounding at the base of his skull, limbs aching, stomach queasy. Soft pinpricks of light dance behind his closed eyelids, threatening to turn that queasy feeling into actually throwing up.
There’s a strong possibility that Louis may have drank too much yesterday. He feels like shit right now, skin practically glued onto the sheets beneath him, and it takes him much, much longer than it should to recognize the fact that there’s a heavy weight slung across his waist, pinning him down, and a feverishly warm body pressed up behind him.
Opening his eyes hurts. He sucks in a deep breath and waits for the nausea to pass before he can manage to crack a single eye open this time, half dreading what he’s going to find.
His eye closes much quicker than it had opened. It’s an arm slung over his waist, but it’s an arm that’s attached to tattoos he would recognize anywhere. Nothing to worry about, then. It’s just Harry.
He wants to go back to sleep. Sleep is the only reliable cure for a hangover, in Louis’ opinion, but before he can manage the nausea comes back with a vengeance, sending Louis bolting for the loo, skidding across the cold floor, barely making it in time.
It takes much longer than it really should to realize that they were both naked.
Before the vomiting has even stopped, the yelling has begun. Louis was too busy resting his forehead against the cool tile of the floor, breathing shallowly with his eyes closed, concentrating on not hurling again, to hear the knock on the door, but he definitely hears the raised voices and the arguing.
It takes a while before he’s feeling up to standing again, dragging a towel down off the rack and tying it haphazardly around his waist. Silence falls over the room as Louis steps into it.
It’s a brief silence, only lasting a few seconds. Harry’s standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his bare chest, wearing a pair of ratty old pajama pants that ride low on his hips. His jaw is clenched, hair tangled and lying flat on one side of his head, standing off against Lisa and Peter and Jeff.
The heads of their PR team.
“Tell me that this is a fake,” Peter says, slapping a handful of papers against Louis’ chest. He says something else, something loud and demanding, barely even pausing for a breath, but Louis doesn’t hear it. All he hears is the sound of his own breathing, the sound of his own heartbeat.
Because this - this looks like a marriage certificate.
For a minute, everything stills, quiets. Louis drags his eyes up, meets Harry’s gaze, fixed on him.
Then the noise is back, shouting voices clamoring to be heard over each other, and Harry is still staring at him.
The ring that Louis hadn’t been able to stop noticing in the loo weighs heavily on his hand. His left hand.
Later, once everything has calmed more or less calmed down, Lisa says, “We’ll do an annulment, then. It’s not like you’ve consummated the marriage, right?”
“No, of course not,” Harry answers immediately. All eyes turn to Louis.
“Um,” Louis says.
The shouting lasts for so long this time that Harry has to kick everyone out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them decisively. The second it’s secured, he’s turning to Louis.
“Are you sure?”
Louis sits on his hands on the bed so he’ll be able to resist the urge to fidget, and doesn’t quite manage to meet Harry’s gaze. “Well, I definitely had sex last night.”
A flicker of understanding passes over Harry’s face. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a second before responding. “That could have been with anyone, though, right? We can’t be sure that it was me.”
Louis rolls his eyes, unable to stop himself, and stops sitting on his hands long enough to drag a pillow into his lap. “Let me put it this way,” he starts, “I’m dripping right now and there’s only one person in the world I trust enough to let do that to me.”
To his credit, Harry doesn’t even flinch. He does rub a hand over his face, but that’s only to be expected. He also doesn’t ask if Louis is sure, and that makes Louis feel marginally better about the whole thing. “Okay. So. What do we want to do, then? An annulment is out of the question unless we’re gonna lie about it.”
Harry doesn’t wait for an answer, crossing the room and sitting down beside Louis on the bed, knocking their shoulders together gently. They’re too well tuned to each other to need to go over the options out loud again.
“We’re gonna be crucified if we don’t do something about it,” Harry says, putting his hand on Louis’ knee, just above the hem of the towel.
“Would it really be so bad?” Louis asks abruptly. He can’t stop thinking about it, now. “Being married to me?”
“No,” Harry says immediately. “Of course not.”
It really is as easy as that.
Turns out that deciding to stay married to the guy you drunkenly wed is a pretty easy decision, all things considered. It’s everything that comes after that decision that gets a little more complicated.
The living arrangements aren’t a difficult decision. Technically speaking they both have houses, but Louis is the one with a home. A home he’s not leaving, at that, so Harry moves in and that’s that. Harry doesn’t even put up a fight about it, just arranges for his stuff to be delivered, and it’s a lot less complicated than it should be.
Probably that’s because they’ve been more or less living together for the past five years. But. Y’know. Semantics.
The first two weeks of being officially married pass before Louis even realizes it. There’s a lot of work that goes along with being newlywed, as it turns out - getting the house organized and fighting about whether Harry should be allowed to hang that hideous painting of a wilting plant in the living room; posing for what feels like a thousand photo shoots; avoiding the media and the world at large; signing document after document; setting up joint bank accounts; and, most importantly, writing endless thank you cards.
Seriously. Who knew that a drunken shotgun marriage would have resulted in this many wedding gifts. Louis is the tiniest bit sorry that they didn’t get married for real, if only because of the sheer amount of cool shit they’ve received over the past two weeks. Granted, a lot of it ends up getting given away or signed to be auctioned off - there’s only so many toasters two people need, after all - but it’s pretty awesome.
In those two weeks, they’ve done a lot of things, some necessary, some not. They haven’t done the most important, though.
“So are we ever going to talk about it?” Louis asks eventually, breaking their unspoken agreement to not ever talk about it.
Look. They have to talk about it at some point, alright. Might as well be now, while they don’t have to look each other in the face if they don’t want to. Louis wiggles his feet in Harry’s lap, lying on his side on the couch, staring at the telly. There’s some old black and white film playing that Louis doesn’t recognize, hasn’t been paying attention to. It was Harry’s choice.
Harry’s hand comes to a slow halt on Louis’ ankle. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Louis shrugs a shoulder, tucking his fingers into the waist of his sweats. It’s cold in here and Harry keeps refusing to let him turn up the thermostat, insisting you can just get a blanket, Lou! as if it’s not Louis’ own house. “It’s probably a good idea.”
“Okay,” Harry says easily, slipping his fingers underneath the ankle of Louis’ trackies, curling around his bare ankle. “I was smashed and I don’t really remember any of the sex, but I remember waking up with your hair in my face and thinking that it felt absolutely normal.”
It’s a fair point. Louis hadn’t freaked out when he had realized what happened, and to be perfectly honest he still hasn’t freaked out about it. Harry is his best friend and it doesn’t feel weird that they shared something so intimate.
“Why do you think you didn’t use a condom?” Louis wonders, turning onto his back and poking Harry’s thigh with his toes.
And then again, and again, and one more time. It annoys Harry to no end, Louis knows, when Louis pokes him repeatedly. It’s why he does it, after all.
Five years of making it his mission to annoy Harry into a coronary really should mean that Louis sees it coming. But he doesn’t.
So he ends up sprawled across Harry’s lap properly, bum being squeezed by Harry’s entirely too large hands. Louis squawks indignantly, thrashing a little, and doesn’t even manage to get a single word out before Harry’s talking.
Which is a surprise, considering both of their speech patterns.
“Probably because I saw your arse and wanted to be inside you as soon as possible,” Harry says, squeezing said arse again. Louis squeaks, high pitched and over dramatic in the way that never fails to make Harry laugh, but his brain is stuck on one particular thought.
“We’re not going to be able to have sex with other people.”
Harry keeps squeezing his arse. Louis doesn’t know whether to smack his hands away or just be fondly annoyed. “How much did you have sex with other people before?” Harry asks, kneeing Louis in the back as he shifts around.
“I have plenty of sex with other people,” Louis tells him, shoving his elbow into Harry’s crotch and smirking at the pained noise he makes. “And now I can’t do that anymore because your drunk arse decided it was a good idea to put a ring on it.”
“Hey, how do you know it was my idea?” Harry objects, making an unsuccessful grab for Louis’ elbow. Louis elbows him again, just to punish him for even trying.
“Everyone knows that out of the two of us you’re the one always coming up with bad ideas,” Louis retorts, holding Harry’s hand away from his body while he wiggles around onto his knees, settling down with his bum on Harry’s lap. It’s much more comfortable this way, especially because like this Louis is the taller one.
Louis likes being the taller one. He’ll never admit it out loud, but it’s a privilege he doesn’t get to enjoy very often.
“You’re ridiculous,” Harry sighs, fondness seeping out of every word. “Everyone knows that you’re the king of bad ideas and that I’m way too easy for you.”
It’s a joke. Louis knows it’s a joke, is aware that it’s a joke, but that doesn’t stop his brain from working overtime. His heart is practically up in his throat as he asks, “Are you?”
Harry’s expression goes a little confused. “Easy for me,” Louis clarifies. His palms are sweaty, damp. He curls his fingers into them, tries not to notice how nervous he feels. He knows exactly what he’s asking for, here, and he knows that Harry is likely to give it to him.
There must be a reason that they landed up in this mess in the first place, after all.
“Entirely too much so,” Harry says honestly, sliding one hand around to the small of Louis’ back, underneath his shirt. “What are you asking for here, Louis?”
Louis’ pulse feels like it’s fluttering in his throat, drawing attention to it. He wants Harry to bite down on it, suck on it, make a mark. Make Louis gasp out name and plead with him, beg for what he wants Harry to give him.
Louis isn’t normally a begger. With girls he’s fun and easy, enjoys getting them off and getting to fuck into them, warm and wet and tight around him. With guys he’s flirty and alluring, teasing, enticing them into screwing around with him. He doesn’t beg, perfectly capable of getting sex without it.
There’s probably no one in the entire world who would be surprised that he’d beg for Harry. Including Harry.
“I’m just saying,” Louis says, shrugging slowly, “I like sex. I know you like sex. We can’t have sex with other people for a while so we might as well have sex together.”
“Perfectly logical,” Harry says, flattening out his palm against Louis’ skin. It’s warm, a familiar touch because Harry might actually be the handsiest person Louis has ever met, and he’s touched Louis like this countless times before. Had his hands all over Louis’ body as if he doesn’t have even the slightest understanding of what personal space is.
That single drunken night together has been coming back to Louis in flashes - a second or two here and there of limbs sliding together, of heat and sweat and laughter, of kissing and fucking. It’s not much, Louis’ recollection of it, but it’s enough to know that it was good.
Really good.
“So whaddya say?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows and dragging a hand down Harry’s chest slowly, until his fingers are resting on the waist of Harry’s sweats. “Wanna have regular sex with your husband?”
Harry kisses him in response. It’s a long time before he gets around to giving Louis a proper answer.
Turns out Harry does want to have regular sex with his husband.
“Lou,” Harry murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Louis’ shoulder. Louis hums, not entirely awake yet, and manages a twitch of his fingers.
“Sleepin’,” Louis mumbles. It’s warm in their little cocoon, cozy. Soft, dim light is shining through the curtains from the sun, and Louis can’t be sure but he thinks it might be after one. Sometime in the afternoon, definitely.
Another kiss dots Louis’ skin. “You wanna call the boys and go for brunch?”
“Bacon,” Louis slurs, indistinct. “Want bacon.”
Specifically, he wants Harry to make him bacon and then possibly hand feed it to him in bed. They haven’t been outside of the house for nearly a week now, though, and while Louis definitely appreciates the amount of sex they’ve been having there’s no denying that they’ve been kind of neglecting their friends. Just a little.
“If we go to that place you like you can get the hash and a mimosa,” Harry coaxes, sliding a hand over Louis’ belly and rubbing a little. “Aren’t you hungry, baby?”
Louis elbows him half halfheartedly. “I’m not a dog, arsewipe,” he complains, but he doesn’t make Harry stop rubbing. It feels nice.
Harry’s hand slows to a stop. “So you want to go for brunch?” he persists, not letting Louis distract him. For a second, Louis is almost offended. He’s great at distracting people and even better at distracting Harry.
But. Bacon. Bacon will always win.
“Will you buy me waffles too?” Louis asks, finding the energy to roll over in Harry’s arm, tilting his chin up for a kiss. It’s short and sweet, more of a hello than anything.
“Yeah,” Harry says easily, pecking a few more quick kisses against Louis’ mouth. “Get you all full of good food and a little tipsy, perfect mood for putting out.”
God, what an enormous arse. Louis slaps his hand down against Harry’s stomach and pushes himself up. “Now I’m definitely not putting out,” he says, launching himself off the bed and racing for the shower.
And if Harry follows him and ends up convincing Louis to put out right then and there well. It’s not like that is really a surprise.
“If you’re getting the short stack there’s no point in me getting the waffles,” Louis says, trying to lean into Harry’s space and peer at his menu even though it’s the exact same one he has in front of him.
“You’ve literally been talking about how you want waffles for the past twenty minutes,” Harry points out. “You haven’t said a word that’s not related to waffles and now you’re just going to abandon that plan?”
Louis considers that, still draped half over Harry’s side, and doesn’t bother moving away when the waitress arrives. “Hullo, loves,” she says cheerfully, taking a pencil out from behind her ear. “Ready to order?”
Everyone looks to Louis. It’s not because they’re waiting for him to give the go-ahead, either. He has a bad habit of changing his mind about what he wants to eat just before they’re ready to order and they’re all used to it by now.
“I’ll have the blueberry waffles with a side of bacon and a mimosa,” Louis decides, sliding back down onto the seat properly but still leaning into Harry’s side. He doesn’t listen to everyone else placing their orders, too busy trying to steal the tea Harry’s already ordered for himself. It’ll inevitably be too sweet with all the sugar Harry’s dumped in there, but it’ll be worth it. Tea practically runs in Louis’ veins.
There’s a few minutes of idle chatter that Louis doesn’t really pay attention to, still half asleep. Then, what seems like abruptly Niall says, “Jesus, Lou, why don’t you just get in his lap?”
Louis blinks, looking up. He’s got Harry’s left hand trapped between his own, idly playing with his wedding ring, more concentrated on that than anything. And he is, actually, half in Harry’s lap.
Oh well. The boys are well aware of the fact that this is not a sexless marriage.
“Seriously?” Harry asks, laughing. He doesn’t make a move to pull away. “You gonna ask us why we don’t just get married next?”
“We are married, though, honeybunch,” Louis simpers, wiggling his way onto Harry’s lap properly and finishing the rest of the tea. “And you love me.”
“Way too much,” Harry sighs, squeezing Louis around the middle, and it’s so normal and commonplace that it takes Louis the rest of the day to realize that something about it was different.
It wasn’t an I’m in love with you, not quite. But it was definitely something different than all the times they’ve said I love you before. Something more.
“C’mon, babe,” Louis says into Harry’s mouth, digging his fingers into Harry’s back, trying to coax him in with his mouth. “Let’s fuck.”
He really shouldn’t have to be putting in this much effort. At this point Harry should be a sure thing - what’s the point of being married if Louis has to work at getting him to put out? Honestly. Not to mention that Louis is sitting on the counter literally only wearing one of Harry’s shirts, completely naked underneath it.
“I have to go,” Harry insists, but he’s not pulling away from Louis’ mouth. His hands are big and warm on Louis’ thighs, stroking slowly.
He’s definitely going to give in. Louis just has to work a little harder., that’s all
“To lunch?” Louis scoffs, wrapping a leg around Harry’s back and pulling him in close. “Why go out to lunch when you could stay here and eat me out instead?”
Harry hums into his mouth, pulling Louis forward, nearly off the counter. “You trying to say that eating you out can take the place of lunch?”
Louis’ arse is barely on the edge of the counter, about to fall off. He squeezes Harry’s hips with his legs, arching his back, trying to get some friction going. “I’m saying that if you stay home I’ll let you put your cock in my arse as many times as you want.”
“If I go to lunch you’ll let me put my cock into your arse as many times as I want as soon as I get home, though,” Harry says, ducking his head to mouth at the curve of Louis’ jaw instead, peppering his skin with wet kisses.
He’s not really doing much to dissuade Louis’ desire to fuck.
“Yeah,” Louis admits shamelessly, still trying to pull Harry onto the table with him. “But why wait two hours to get off when you can get off now instead?”
“You’re living in a fantasy world if you think lunch with my sister is only going to take two hours,” Harry murmurs, voice gravelly as they kiss again. He’s not doing much to resist Louis’ advances anymore, letting him pull him down until he’s leaning over Louis with his elbows planted on the table.
Louis is great at getting people to realize they want to have sex with him, but he’s fucking amazing at convincing Harry to. He has yet to fail to get Harry to have sex with him and he’s not about to start now.
“She can wait,” he says, going for the three buttons Harry’s bothered to do up on his shirt, fumbling to get them undone as quickly as possible. “Need you right now.”
Maybe it’d be embarrassing if he was saying that to anyone other than Harry, needy and pleading. It is Harry, though, and Louis hasn’t been embarrassed to tell him anything since he was nineteen years old and told him about that time with the two liter bottle of Sprite and the spiders.
Harry sighs into Louis’ mouth, shrugging out of his shirt. “It has to be quick,” he says, thumbing over a nipple as he drags Louis’ shirt up over his head, leaving him completely exposed. “You gotta come quick for me, baby. Gonna eat you out real good and you’re gonna get yourself off like that, alright?”
Louis is already trying to wiggle Harry out of his trousers. “What about you, though?” he asks, unbuckling Harry’s belt with sure hands. “How are you gonna get off?”
What can he say? He likes plans, alright, and he likes hearing in detail exactly what Harry wants to do to him. It’s a perfect compromise.
“What makes you think eating you out isn’t going to be the thing that gets me off?” Harry asks, kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth once more before pushing himself back up and helping Louis turn over. They’re both naked now, head to toe, and that’s good. That’s so good. Nakedness is good for sex.
“Know you love my bum,” Louis says happily, stretching his arms up over his head and wiggling said bum as enticingly as he can manage. It’s pretty damn enticing, if he does say so himself.
Harry presses a kiss to it, brief and gentle before he pulls away long enough to get himself properly situated. It already feels good, just that single tiny touch against Louis’ bare skin. He can’t wait for what’s about to come.
“Might turn you back over after you’ve come and wrap your fingers around my cock, make you get me off even though you’ll be all sleepy and whiny, come all over your belly,” Harry continues, spreading Louis’ arse cheeks apart. Cool air rushes against his skin, over his hole, making him shiver and pucker, longing for a real touch. One that’s satisfying and sensual, a finger or Harry’s tongue, whatever he wants to give him. Louis isn’t even that picky about it right now, that’s how much he wants to get off.
His cock is trapped between his stomach and the table, and if he was any less turned on it’d be uncomfortable, cool, hard wood quickly warming up underneath his body. He pays it no mind now, too focused on Harry’s voice and Harry’s hands and the things Harry can do to him.
“You mean you’d leave me all alone and messy in order to go out when you should be staying home to take care of me?” Louis asks, barely resisting the urge to push his hips back against Harry’s face, force him to get on with it.
“Oh, baby, we both know I’m not capable of leaving you alone when you’re still covered in my come,” Harry says. “Already texted Gem that I was gonna be late.”
Good. Louis isn’t ever going to try to make Harry choose between his family and him, but when there’s sex on the table Harry damn well better be choosing the sex, even if that means he’s running a bit late.
“You’re my favourite,” Louis says, gasping as Harry takes that exact second to lick him, small and tender to start off with.
Harry hums against his hole, sending vibrations straight through Louis’ body and to his cock. “Your favourite what?”
There would only be one answer to that question even if he wasn’t in the middle of tonguing Louis’ arse and they both know it. “Everything,” Louis answers, squirming so much Harry has to hold him still as he keeps licking, small licks turning broad and a little rough, eating him out the exact way Louis likes it. “You’re - fuck, you’re the best husband I could ever ask for. Love you.”
“You’re the spouse I never knew I wanted,” Harry murmurs, thumb coming up to stroke over Louis’ hole slowly. “Love you too.”
He goes back to eating Louis out with a ferocity he didn’t have before, words clearly having spurred him on, wiggling his tongue into the tight clench of Louis’ hole like he has a thousand times before. It feels amazing, has Louis’ cock throbbing, belly tightening from how close he is already. He’s so easy for Harry it’s ridiculous.
It’s slippery wet and hot, soft little scratch of Harry’s tiny little facial hairs that aren’t even close to being a beard rubbing against the inside of his cheeks, roughing him up just a little. Just enough to add something to it, the edge that has the throbbing in Louis’ balls spilling out all over the surface of the table. It’s probably messy and disgusting, come spilling onto surfaces they eat off of, but all Louis can do is pant against the wood and try not cry from how good it is.
Maybe he’s not that successful. Harry would never dare to breathe a negative word about it.
“So good for me, baby,” Harry’s saying, shushing him gently as he pulls his tongue out of Louis’ hole. He’s just as gentle as he turns Louis back over, cradling the back of his head and the small of his back. Come smears across Louis’ skin, pooling into his naval and streaking his back.
Harry doesn’t waste any time kissing him, not even trying to get his, just slow, gentle strokes of his tongue against Louis’, holding him as he comes down from his orgasm.
This isn’t even the first time they’ve had sex today. Louis feels almost high with it, wiggling heavy fingers at Harry and saying, “C’mere, love. Wanna help you.”
“Not gonna be a whiny brat about it, then?” Harry asks, shoving a knee onto the table and climbing up carefully, shifting so Louis’ head is in the crook of his elbow, keeping him still as he lines himself up carefully.
“I don’t whine,” Louis responds, less huffy than he normally would be due to the fact that his orgasm is still tingling in his spine, and curls his fingers around Harry’s cock. “I’m very elegant and I always return the favor for my partners.”
Harry has to help him keep his fingers wrapped around his cock and start stroking, but that’s neither here nor there. Louis is tired, okay. “I don’t think elegant is the word you’re looking for, here,” Harry tells him, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “And with other people, maybe. With me you’re lazy and always want me to do all the work.”
If Louis had any energy he would tighten his fingers and prove exactly how wrong Harry is. He doesn’t, though, and if he’s being perfectly honest Harry isn’t wrong. He likes how Harry wants to take care of him when they have sex, how obsessed he is with making sure Louis gets off, with making sure it’s good for him.
“You fuck all my energy right out of me,” Louis murmurs, turning his head for a kiss. “And you like it, you dirty fucker, that Harry Styles is the only person who can turn me into a puddle of goo during sex. It gets you off almost more than my arse does.”
He’s not wrong and he knows it. There’s still something incredibly satisfying about the way Harry huffs a laugh into his mouth, still dragging Louis’ hand up and down his cock, picking up momentum. “Well,” he says softly, biting at the corner of Louis’ lip, “you’re not wrong.”
What did he say. Louis knows he’s not wrong, same as he knows that wrapping a leg around Harry’s back and arching up into him will make Harry stifle a curse and fuck into his hand faster, hot cock slipping through his grasp easily, about to come.
“Come on me, then, babe,” he says, thumbing over the head of Harry’s cock. “Know you want to.”
It’s not particularly sexy. It gets the job done regardless - Harry gets impossibly heavy as he comes, cock spurting pulse after pulse of come all over Louis’ belly, his hand. Everywhere, making even more of a mess. It’s disgusting.
Louis loves it.
He runs his fingers through Harry’s hair while he comes down, breathing hot and heavy against Louis’ cheek. Their skin is already starting to stick together, sweat and come acting almost like an adhesive.
“Should be better at saying no to you by now,” Harry says eventually, head dropped down onto Louis’ chest. The table is starting to get seriously uncomfortable underneath them, all hard edges and ungiving surface.
“You’re never going to be good at saying no to me, babe,” Louis tells him, tugging gently on a strand of his hair. “Now carry me to the shower.”
Harry spends a solid five minutes protesting Louis’ unfair treatment of him, but ultimately he gives in and does it. And then proceeds to fuck him in the shower, big dick thrusting in and out of Louis’ body so good all Louis can do is gasp and take it.
Louis has the best husband in the world.
Louis stares down at the papers in front of him, words swimming on the page. He can’t read a word of it, doesn’t understand any of it. It doesn’t need to be read for its meaning to be clear, though, and the words are mostly swimming due to the wetness in his eyes.
How fucking stupid can he be. How fucking stupid. He’s known this was coming for the past week - Harry told him, over the phone, just before Louis hung up on him and refused to answer any of his calls. It’s not a surprise, is the point.
He just never expected it to hurt this fucking much.
“Lou,” Harry says gently, trying to catch his attention from across the table, “just sign, yeah? Sign and we can be finished with this.”
Memories of the past six months flash through Louis’ brain. Sitting on the counter and distracting Harry while he tried to make breakfast. Curling up on the sofa together to watch telly, half in each others laps. The way Harry always made sure to come home at a reasonable time so Louis wouldn’t be sitting up too long, waiting for him, and how Louis annoyed Harry into going with him most places so he wouldn’t have to worry about returning the favour. Lazy Sunday mornings tangled up together in their bed, not even having sex, just talking. That time they got spectacularly pissed and couldn’t even get it up to have sex, falling all over each other with laughter as they stumbled their way home. How much things stayed the same even as they changed.
That’s all it takes for Louis to decide. Fuck these papers. Fuck this signature. Louis isn’t signing shit.
“No,” Louis says, looking up. There’s silence in the room, all eyes focused on him. He picks up the papers with only slightly shaky hands and rips them in half, letting them scatter wherever they want. “If you want a divorce you’re going to have to do it the hard way.”
“Louis,” Harry says pleadingly.
Louis wishes absently for something to throw. “We’re in love,” he says shortly, shaking his head. “No matter how much you try to deny it you’re in love with me just as much as I am with you.”
There’s so much more he has left to say - how hurt he is, how angry, but the words aren’t coming to his mouth. He just.
He has to leave.
Harry doesn’t follow him.
By the time he reaches home, Louis’ made a decision. He’s not going to sign those papers. He’s not going to let Harry destroy their marriage, even if it is a marriage that started out as a drunken mistake. It’s everything now, at least to Louis, and he’s not going to let it go without a fight.
The first thing he does is call a locksmith. He’s not going to sign the papers but that doesn’t mean that he’s not going to make Harry’s life a living hell until he admits that he’s irrevocably in love with Louis and that he wants them to spend the rest of their lives together.
He’s half expecting Harry to walk in the entire time the locksmith is there. That never happens. Then, as more time passes and Harry still doesn’t come home, Louis gets angry.
Er. Angrier.
Louis has had a lot of really good times in his life, and he knows how lucky he is to have the success he’s had.
The past six months were the best of his life. The fact that Harry is pretending he doesn’t feel the same hurts, but it also makes Louis angry. He fucking knows that Harry loves him, okay, and he doesn’t mean platonically. The amount of sex they’ve had is definitely not platonic.
Before he knows it, he’s wandered into their bedroom, taking in the jumbled mess of clothes piled on top of the chair, the muss of the unmade bed. He’s still angry, so incredibly angry, and he’s about to do something he might end up regretting.
Oh well. It’s not like Harry doesn’t have the money to replace everything Louis destroys. And he definitely has it coming.
Destroying Harry’s collection of ugly, expensive shirts only makes him feel better while he’s doing it. Then, staring down at the tattered remains of some of Harry’s favourite things, Louis mostly feels empty.
And lonely. Really, really lonely. He’s never taken Harry for granted but he’s been there for Louis every time he’s needed him for the past six years, and this is like feeling his heart snap right in half.
He pushes his feelings to the back of his head long enough to snap a picture of the clothing, send it to Harry, and then shut his phone off. Then he curls up in the middle of the pile and falls asleep to the scent of the laundry detergent they use.
When Louis wakes up, he has six voice mails from Harry and countless texts. He doesn’t bother reading any of them, dragging himself down to the kitchen to find something to eat.
His eyes keep sliding over to the table, sitting innocently in the middle of the room. He can’t stop thinking about it, about Harry shoving him down onto it and kissing the breath right out of Louis’ mouth, about the sex that had followed.
Looking away from the table doesn’t help. The counter catches his attention next, then a spot on the floor just beside the fridge, the wall. They’ve had sex on nearly every surface in this room. Nearly every surface in this house, actually, and Louis doesn’t know whether he should be impressed that they managed to do that in only six months or just give in to his urge to cry.
Everything in this house reminds him of Harry. He can’t even think about sleeping in their bed, not with the sheets still mussed from the last time they slept there together, not with the way Harry’s pillow will still undoubtedly smell like his cologne.
His tea is cooling in his hand by the time his phone vibrates. It’s Harry calling again, and this time Louis answers.
Because he’s weak and he misses the sound of Harry’s voice more than he can say.
“What,” Louis says, setting his cup down on the table as gently as he can manage.
“Did you seriously change the locks?” Harry demands, not even bothering with a greeting.
The corners of Louis’ mouth curl into a smile. Just a small one, but it’s there. “You’re the one who wants to divorce me, I don’t know why you’re surprised.”
Harry’s sigh is frustrated. “I need to get my things, Louis,” he says, completely ignoring the statement.
“They’re my things now,” Louis says disagreeably.
“You - Lou.”
Louis sinks down farther in his chair, tucking the phone against his shoulder. Simply hearing Harry’s voice shouldn’t make him feel better when they’re currently in the middle of the biggest fight they’ve ever had. Even if Harry isn’t exactly treating it like a fight.
“They’re my things now,” Louis repeats calmly. “And I’m not giving them back.”
Hanging up on him is incredibly satisfying.
Over the course of the next week, Louis does a wide variety of awful things to Harry’s belongings - he takes great pleasure in burning the clothing he’d already torn up, sending a video of it to Harry; posts an ad for every single car Harry owns and then emails him all the links; un-alphabetizes his record and book collection; systematically destroys every plant Harry has spent a painstaking three months growing; re-gifts the fucking hideous dead plant painting; packs all the knick-knacks and photos Harry’s collected and stores them in the attic because even Louis isn’t terrible enough to get rid of them - until the only thing left in the house that’s a physical reminder Harry is Louis’ own wedding ring, sitting heavy on his finger.
That, he can’t bring himself to take off, not even long enough to do the dishes or to shower. He still believes - has to believe - that this is going to pass, that whatever it is they’ll figure it together the same way they always do. Their marriage is not going to end in a divorce. It’s not.
Louis also spends a significant portion of that week crying and refusing to see any of the boys, but that’s really neither here nor there. They’ll get through this. They will.
“Hey, mum,” Louis says absently, kicking the dishwasher closed with his heel and turning it on. Without Harry here he’s going to have to empty it himself, so there’s a good chance the dishes will just sit there for at least a day before he gets around to doing it.
“Lou,” she says. There’s a hint of something strange in her tone, something off.
Louis pauses, leaning his hip against the counter. “Mum?”
She sighs heavily, the sound of it crackling over the line. “You have to let him take his stuff back, Lou,” she says gently.
What the hell? Betrayed by his own mother. “No,” Louis says stubbornly. For a second, he can’t believe that Harry actually did this, ratted him out to his own mum.
He can, though. Actually, he’s surprised that Harry didn’t do it earlier - he’s always had a good relationship with Louis’ mum. The two of them team up on Louis to get him to do things often enough, the only reason this is different is because it’s Louis’ marriage on the line.
His marriage to his best friend that started off as a drunken mistake. It’s anything but that now, and his mum knows it.
“You can’t force someone to fall in love with you, Louis,” Jay says, still gentle.
A prickle of hurt shoots through him. “I’m not forcing him to do anything except admit his feelings,” Louis says. “This is Harry we’re talking about, mum, I can see right through him. I know he’s in love with me.”
“Sweetheart, you know I love you, but you’re being stubborn again,” Jay says. “You can’t just refuse to sign the papers.”
“Yes I can,” Louis says, picking at his thumbnail. “It’s not my fault he’s being an arse. If he didn’t want to be married to me he shouldn’t have gone along with it in the first place.”
“Lou,” she tries again.
Louis shakes his head sharply, even though he knows she can’t see it. “No. He’s being a dick and he can’t just decide that he doesn’t want to be married to me after we’ve spent six months being the most married. That’s not the way it works.”
“That’s exactly the way it works,” Jay says.
“Stop it,” Louis says angrily, clutching the phone tighter. “I know how he feels about me, alright, and I know that if he wants a divorce he’s going to have to fight me for it.”
He hangs up without waiting for her response, tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. It takes a long time to calm back down.
Eventually, he comes to a decision. Things can’t keep going on this way, not if Louis wants to keep his sanity. He texts Harry and leaves the door unlocked, and then he goes to get ready.
This isn’t him giving up. This is him taking a stand.
Harry’s not quiet when he comes in, boots clunking heavily on the floor, dropping things with dull thuds. His jacket, his keys, it sounds like. Louis has heard those sounds millions of times before and he plans to keep hearing them. This is his husband, and he’s not letting that go without a fight.
And Louis has never fought fair in his life.
“Christ,” Harry chokes out, coming to an abrupt stop in the doorway. “You - Lou.”
“What,” Louis says, hissing as he arches up into his own fist, nipples tight and pointed, completely exposed. Harry’s gaze is heated as he looks his fill, drinking in the sight of Louis’ naked body.
“You’re naked,” Harry says dumbly. His fingers curl into his palms like he’s having trouble not reaching out to touch.
Louis strokes himself again, slow and lingering as he drags his fist down his shaft. Sweat trickles down the small of his back, over the curve of his arse, drawing attention to how empty he feels, how much he wants Harry’s cock inside of him right the fuck now. “So? S’my house, innit? I can be naked wherever I want.”
“Our house,” Harry says, as if he can’t stop himself.
“My house,” Louis repeats, shoving his toes underneath his thigh and sweeping his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness over it. “S’my house.”
“Half of your shit is mine,” Harry says, taking a few aborted steps closer, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s the way divorce works. So half of this house is mine.”
He’s still coming closer, crossing the room until he’s right in front of Louis, which is as much of an invitation as Louis is probably going to get. He pushes himself up, letting go of his cock in order to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, hang off of him.
It doesn’t even take half a second for Harry to put his hands all over Louis’ body, sliding down his back and underneath his arse, hauling him up properly. “You don’t want to divorce me,” Louis tells him, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair and looking down at his face. “You want to fuck me in our bed and then fall asleep with me in your arms.”
Harry’s breathing has gone quick and shallow, eyes dark as he stares up at Louis, holding him up like it’s nothing. Louis squirms from the intensity of it, from the feeling of being completely exposed while Harry’s not, from the heat of Harry’s gaze fixed on him.
“I’m doing this for us,” Harry says a little brokenly, one hand sliding across Louis’ bum, getting a good feel. Louis lets him, but only because he knows where this is going. He’s still going to make Harry pay for hurting him like this later, after their issues have been resolved. “I don’t know why you can’t see that.”
Louis pinches him. Hard, on the back of his neck. “You’re a fucking liar,” he says, squeezing his fingers into his palms so he won’t give in to the urge to slap Harry instead. Not that Harry doesn’t have it coming.
God. Now Louis is a mix of upset and turned on and he has even less of a plan than he did when Harry walked in. He’s naked and wrapped around Harry the way he’s been countless times before and Harry’s still being a dick.
Harry swallows, eyes still sweeping slowly over as much of Louis’ body as he can see. “I’m not - ”
He is. He is and Louis is fucking tired of it. Yanking Harry’s head back with both hands buried in his hair feels like a victory, albeit a small one. “You love me,” he says, watching Harry’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows, eyes fixed on Louis’ mouth now. “You’re so fucking in love with me you can’t even see straight and you want to fuck me and make me come.”
He pulls again, tighter this time, earning himself a low noise from the back of Harry’s throat, almost pained. “For the rest of my life. You want to make me come for the rest of my life.”
Harry groans again, eyes sliding closed for a split second before he’s moving, all but throwing Louis back down onto the couch and following him before their bodies can even come fully apart, pinning him down on the soft cushions. Then they’re kissing, open and wet and desperate as Louis shifts underneath Harry’s weight, trying to get his thighs spread for Harry’s hips to fit in between them.
Louis is going to make him admit it, even if it means spending the next month dragging Harry back down between his thighs every time he makes to get up. They’re in love, alright, and Louis knows that he’s not the only one who hurts with it, sometimes. With how in love he is.
It never felt like this with any of his other relationships. Not even El.
“You want me,” Louis whispers into Harry’s mouth, holding the sides of his face as they kiss. “Admit it.”
The denim of Harry’s jeans feels rough against Louis’ naked skin, almost abrasive. He’s moving, hands big and sure on Louis’ body, lifting his thighs up around his waist. Any arousal Louis had lost in their mini fight comes surging back, pinned underneath Harry’s body in a way he’s been countless times before.
“Course I want you,” Harry says, practically biting the words into Louis’ mouth, letting go of one of his thighs in favor of popping the button on his jeans, sliding the zip down. Louis wiggles impatiently, almost desperate for the feel of his bare skin.
But. Of course I want you. As if it’s something that doesn’t take any thinking about, a sure fact. As if it’s something Louis should never doubt.
Louis doesn’t. But the way Harry says it has him prickling, ball of anger coiling in the pit of his stomach, because Harry doesn’t get to say it like that, not after he shoved divorce papers at Louis and pretended like that’s what he really wanted.
“What do you want to do to me?” Louis asks, cradling Harry’s head in between his hands and kissing him again, butterflies squirming through his belly from how good it feels. He wants to get fucked, wants to have Harry’s cock inside of him. It’s been too long, making do with only his fingers when he’s been spoiled by this cock, this boy. The one who gives Louis exactly what he wants whenever he wants it.
Harry’s sigh is a little shaky, moving to breath into the hollow of Louis’ throat. His hands roam over Louis’ sides, stroking his naked skin, warm and possessive. He doesn’t want to let Louis go and Louis fucking knows that.
So he’s not going to let that happen. Simple as.
“Want to fuck you,” Harry murmurs, setting his teeth into that spot on Louis’ neck, the one he mouths at when he’s turned on and trying to convince Louis to have sex.
Not that Louis ever takes much convincing.
“Open you up and get inside of you,” Harry continues, one gigantic hand sliding underneath Louis’ back and groping at his arse, pulling his cheeks apart. “You want that?”
There’s a bruise blooming from Harry’s mouth on his skin. Louis holds back a whine, arching underneath Harry’s body. He pries Harry’s head up, keeping his grip tight in Harry’s hair, unwilling to let go. “I want that,” he tells Harry, because neither of them would believe it if he said anything else. “But you’re not going to get it unless you admit that you want to be married to me.”
Harry stares down at him, letting go of Louis’ arse to prop himself up on his elbows, hovering over his head. His eyes are dark and intense, hips rocking gently as if he can’t stop himself. It hurts a little, rough fabric rubbing against Louis’ skin, but it also feels good.
Really, really good.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Harry says, hurt flashing across his face so quickly Louis almost misses it.
He doesn’t get to be hurt. He’s not the one who gets to be hurt in all of this.
Louis has had enough. He knees Harry in the thigh and wiggles until he’s on top, sitting on Harry’s hips. He doesn’t waste any time in shoving his hand down Harry’s pants and fishing his cock out, exposing him to the air and immediately wrapping his fingers around it, giving him a firm, lingering stroke.
“No I’m not,” Louis says, bending down to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth, refusing to let it turn into a proper snog. Harry’s cock feels good in his grip, big and hard and pleading for some attention. “I’m giving you a choice.”
Harry’s hands come up to grip Louis’ hips, squeezing him tight. Louis breathes in deep and tries not to let the noises pressing against the back of his throat escape. One way or another, they’re going to solve this shit right now. Without having sex.
“What choice is that?” Harry asks, squeezing a little harder. It feels a little bit like a punishment. “Walk in on you naked and touching yourself for the rest of my life after you sign those papers or don’t ask you to again and just ignore the fact that our entire marriage is fake?”
Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s cock, just holding it for now. “Stop fucking lying,” he hisses. “This hasn’t been fake since the second we woke up in that bed together and you fucking know it.”
“It is fake,” Harry explodes, sitting up and nearly knocking his head against Louis’, pulling Louis’ hand off his cock. “Jesus, Lou, do you even remember getting married? We were blackout drunk!”
Stubbornly, Louis puts his hand back on Harry’s cock. Harry doesn’t try to stop him this time. “You want to know what I remember?” he asks, barely even pausing for a breath. “I remember the look on your face when you said I do. I remember that you couldn’t stop looking at me after, like you couldn’t believe that I was yours.”
Memories flick through his brain, of heat and sex and happiness. “But you know what I really remember?” Louis presses, gripping Harry’s cock tighter, mostly unintentionally. “I remember the first time you told me you were in love with me and all the times after that. So the only fucking way I’m going to sign those papers is if you can convince me you were lying all those times.”
Harry’s staring up at him, hair starting to stick to his temples, flummoxed, only a few inches away from Louis’ face. “Were you lying?” he demands. Tears prickle at the backs of his eyes, completely unbidden. “Were you lying to me this entire time?”
“No,” Harry breathes, putting a hand on Louis’ jaw and leaning their foreheads together, letting his eyes close. “No, Lou, of course not.”
“So what then?” Louis presses, letting go of Harry’s cock and putting his hand over Harry’s on his jaw. “Just tell me. Please.”
Harry’s inhale is shaky. “I love you.”
That’s not what Louis means. He digs his nails into the skin of Harry’s hand. “Tell me,” he repeats, wiggling up on Harry’s lap, until his arse is settled right over Harry’s cock, skin to skin.
God, Louis wants it in him. Right now.
“I don’t want it to be a sham,” Harry says. “Okay? I want it to be real.”
The ache in Louis’ chest can’t decide whether it should ebb or deepen. “It was real,” Louis says, pulling back an inch or two. “Is. It is real. So what if we were drunk when we got married? It doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with you and you’re in love with me. This is real, Harry, and I need you to stop breaking my heart.”
Harry doesn’t look completely convinced. Clearly it’s up to Louis to finish convincing him.
“You didn’t even hesitate,” he continues. “When I asked you to stay married. I didn’t even have to convince you.”
He has to pause for a second, biting on his lower lip, because this is - he can’t make a joke out of this. Whatever happens right now is going to define the rest of his life, and while that’s scary the past six months have been a taste of happiness Louis didn’t even know he wanted.
“I know it’s scary,” Louis says, shifting so he’s cradling Harry’s head between his hands. His knees are starting to hurt but he barely even notices - this is too important. “Being married at twenty-two. You’re young and you probably never even thought about this happening now but it’s not that different from how we were before. You’re still my best friend, now we’re just married.”
“That’s all, huh?” Harry asks, reaching up to cover Louis’ hands with his own. “Now we’re just married.”
It’s so frustrating when Harry’s like this. Normally Louis can convince him to do pretty much anything without much of a fuss, because Harry’s easy like that, but when he decides to set his heels in he really sets them in. Louis wracks his brain for something else to say, something to add, and doesn’t come up with anything.
“Look, Lou, you know I love you,” Harry says. “I just think - ”
Never mind, Louis does have something else to say. “You’re in love with me, arsehole,” he interrupts, surging back up onto his knees again. “Look me in the face and tell me that you’re not and I’ll sign the papers.”
Weakly, Harry says, “I’m not - ”
Louis smushes his cheeks, forcing him to stop talking altogether. “Make me believe it, dickhead,” he orders. “You’re not getting that signature unless you can make me believe it.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to make you believe it if you won’t even let me talk?” Harry demands, pulling his face away.
Louis pinches him before he even thinks about it, light and right on the thin skin of his cheek. Harry’s eyes go cloudy in a way that says he’s thinking about retaliating, so Louis scrambles off of his lap, standing his ground two feet away. It’s a pretty safe distance - Harry’s gigantic arms shouldn’t be able to reach him.
“You’re in love with me,” Louis repeats. “You want to fuck me and eat me out and make me come and cuddle me and make me breakfast in the morning. You don’t want to go home to some cold empty house I’m not in and have to live without me. Admit it, Harry.”
Harry yanks a hand through his hair, doing little to smooth it out. “You’re being a brat,” he says mulishly, refusing to look Louis in the face. Although maybe that’s because Louis is naked and Harry is still drinking him in. That sounds reasonable.
“The last time you called me a brat was when I refused to suck your cock unless you promised to make me tea afterwards,” Louis says. “Do you remember that? Or is it lost in a sea of other memories almost exactly like that one because we’re married?”
“Stop,” Harry pleads, letting his hand drop back down into his lap. “Please, baby.”
It hits Louis like a punch to the gut, except it’s in his heart. Baby. Because no matter what, no matter what Harry says to try to convince him otherwise, that’s not how someone who only has platonic feelings for another person talks to them. And Louis isn’t giving up, isn’t going to sign those damn papers, but he’s had enough for today. He just wants to go to bed, curl up in a mound of blankets and dream about clouds and sunshine.
“Whatever,” he says. “Leave, stay if you want, I don’t care. I’m never going to sign those papers.”
He turns around, heads down the hallway to the stairs, dragging his feet. Fighting with Harry is exhausting in a way that fighting with other people never seems to be, and it’s always been that way. They get under each other’s skin so easily.
Footsteps fall behind him, light and slow as if Harry’s unsure about whether he should be following. Or if Louis wants him to be following, maybe. Louis pauses, resting his fingertips against the wall, and asks, “Why are you following me, Harry?”
Straight to the point. He has to be with Harry, sometimes, or else he’ll dance around the question. Louis does it too, he knows, but that’s different.
“I do love you,” Harry says quietly. “It’s not that I don’t.”
Louis waits, silent, while Harry shuffles closer achingly slowly, until he’s near enough to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist, soft cotton of his shirt molding to Louis’ back. Louis leans into him, into the hug, and tries not to feel like he hasn’t been touched like this in way too long.
“So what, then?” Louis explodes when Harry doesn’t elaborate. He twists in Harry’s arms, glaring up into his face.
He doesn’t get an answer. He gets kissed instead, so thoroughly his heartbeat almost triples, achingly good. Harry always kisses with this slick little curl to his tongue, and it’s familiar by now, but it still sends shivers down Louis’ spine. It’s unfair, how Harry can still kiss him like this, even after everything they’ve been through, cradling the back of Louis’ head with one hand and the other pressed firmly against the small of his back, pinning them together. Louis is practically pushed up onto his toes, caught in Harry’s hands, and he winds his own in the gaps in Harry’s shirt between his buttons.
Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Louis thinks wildly, and you’re mine.
“Take me to bed,” Louis murmurs, sliding his fingers along what he can feel of Harry’s chest. He can feel Harry’s cock, blood hot and hard where it’s been tucked back into his jeans, and all that desire he’d been swimming in earlier comes pooling back now, zinging through his veins.
Harry doesn’t stop kissing him as he picks Louis up, big hands wrapped around his thighs, nearly knocking them into the wall as he stumbles down the hall. Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hair, kissing back just as good as he’s getting, biting at Harry’s tongue, trying to suck it into his mouth. Trying to make sure Harry doesn’t lose focus again.
He does. Of course he does, because he’s Harry and he gets distracted easily, and it seems like he’s rather pin Louis up against a sharp corner of the wall and suck a mark into his neck than get them to where they need to be.
“Harry,” Louis breathes, arching away from the roughness of the wall, farther into Harry’s hands, hair sliding through his fingers like silk. “Babe. Fuck. Bed.”
“Bed,” Harry repeats, words hot against Louis’ skin. Teeth press gently against his throat, threatening to bear down, deepen the mark.
Louis yanks at Harry’s hair, pulling him back by force. “Bed,” he repeats, enunciating the word clearly. “Take me to bed. Fuck me. Now.”
“Bossy,” Harry murmurs, grinding their hips together. His jeans are still open, sagging, so Louis’ cock is rubbing against cloth and it feels.
Good. God, it feels good.
“Always bossed you around,” Louis manages, head thunking back against the wall as Harry’s teeth scrape over his throat. His back arches as Harry’s hand smooths across his bum, feeling gently.
They haven’t fucked in over two weeks. Louis hasn’t had this big cock inside of him, splitting him open, in over two weeks. And he wants it now.
Right now.
“I know,” Harry tells him, hauling Louis back up in the air and starting back down the hallway, strides long and sure, hurrying. “Let you because you’re cute when you’re getting your way.”
“’m cute all the time,” Louis tells him haughtily, trusting that Harry’s got a good enough grip to hold him up as he pulls his hands out of his hair and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Nakedness is very important.
Harry stumbles a little as he kicks the bedroom door open, nearly dropping Louis before they make it all the way to the bed. “Gorgeous,” Harry says easily, coming down on top of Louis on the bed. They’re kissing again before Louis can respond, rocking together. Louis toes at Harry’s jeans, trying and mostly failing to drag them down.
“Get ‘em off,” Louis huffs, slipping his fingers into the neck of Harry’s shirt. “C’mon, babe, don’t you wanna fuck me?”
“Wanna fuck you,” Harry murmurs obediently, fastening his mouth to the pulse point in Louis’ throat and sucking.
Shit. It almost feels too good, has Louis’ toes curling in the sheets as he arches up, trying to get his hands to work long enough to push Harry’s shirt off of his shoulders. A button rips along the way, but that doesn’t matter. Not when he’s this close to getting what he wants, what he needs.
“Wanna stay married to me,” Louis presses, because apparently he doesn’t know when to quit.
Harry’s breathing is warm and quick against Louis’ skin. He doesn’t respond, trailing soft, wet kisses down the column of Louis’ throat, until he gets to his collarbone, where he bites down. Trying to make a mark, probably. Louis’ skin has been littered with them for the past six months, all over his body. Wherever Harry sees fit to leave them.
There’s a purple splotch in the shape of Louis mouth on Harry’s shoulder, the spot Louis always mouths at when Harry’s fucking him just right, deep and fast and so good it’s all Louis can do.
“Just be quiet for a while,” Harry says eventually, once he’s finished leaving his mark. He finally kicks his jeans off, nearly bruising Louis’ shin in a non-sexy way, and slips an arm underneath his back, cradling him close as he goes back to kissing his mouth.
Louis is terrible at being quiet. It’s one of his better qualities. He can’t keep quiet now, gasping and moaning and whimpering into Harry’s mouth as their hips line up, bare cock rubbing against bare cock. Harry’s shoulders are broad underneath his hands, getting the brunt of Louis’ inability to stop himself from digging his fingernails into something, and it feels so good. Too good. Louis already wants to come.
But he can’t do this if Harry thinks it’s going to be the last time. Louis is in this for life and he needs to hear Harry say the same.
“Harry,” he whispers, slowing the kiss. It’s impossible to stop entirely, surrounded by Harry’s body and Harry’s weight and Harry’s soul. “I love you.”
He can feel Harry swallow, jaw working as his mouth stills against Louis’ cheek. “Baby,” he whispers back, pained.
Louis pulls back. As far as he can go, anyway, pinned under Harry’s body. It’s hard to concentrate on anything but how good this feels, how much Louis has missed it, but he has to.
This is the rest of his life at stake, after all.
“Don’t,” he says, sliding his hands up to Harry’s face, feeling the roughness of his chin underneath them, the faint, almost invisible hair that’s incapable of turning into a proper beard. “Please don’t do this to me, Harry. You’re the goddamn love of my life and I know I’m yours. I know it.”
“You are,” Harry murmurs, brushing his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip. “Of course you are, baby, I love you so much.”
Relief blossoms across Louis’ entire chest, twisting in a way that almost feels better than any sex he’s ever had. “So don’t leave me, then,” Louis pleads, still gripping Harry’s face in his hands. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“Okay,” Harry breathes, pressing a kiss to Louis’ lip just beside his thumb. “I love you.” He kisses any response Louis has right out of his mouth, tongue sliding into Louis’ mouth as if that’s where it belongs and taking control of the kiss easily.
Louis lets him. He likes sex just as much as the next guy, but he’s never been as easy for anyone as he is for Harry. No one’s as capable of turning him into mush as Harry is, coiling desire in the pit of Louis’ stomach, making him whimper and moan and beg.
The first touch of a cool, lube slick finger against his hole comes as a welcome surprise. Louis presses down into it, helping Harry slip it into him, filling him all the way down to the third knuckle quickly.
“Feel so good, baby,” Harry’s saying, warm metal of his necklace pooling in the hollow of Louis’ throat. He doesn’t waste any time spearing Louis with a second finger, spreading him open. Blunt pressure rubs over Louis’ prostate almost unintentionally, so good that Louis gets distracted for a few minutes, breathing with his eyes closed and mouth half open, head tipped back against a pillow.
Suddenly, it clicks. Out of nowhere, Louis understands why Harry has been so weird lately, so reluctant to stay married even though that’s what they both clearly want.
“Let’s have a real wedding,” Louis sighs, letting Harry manhandle him however he wants, pleasure building in his spine. He could probably fall asleep with Harry’s fingers still inside of him, that’s how good it feels. “Marry me in front of all our friends and family.”
Harry’s fingers slow, still working easily, making space for himself inside Louis’ body. “You proposing to me, sweetheart?”
Louis swallows, opening his eyes again. “Not really much of a proposal when we’re already married, is it?”
“It’s the best fucking proposal I’ve ever gotten,” Harry responds, tucking a third finger inside Louis’ arse smoothly. “You’re the best fucking thing in my life.”
The heat in Louis’ chest spreads through his belly, down his spine. It’s everywhere, all encompassing. It’s everything. Harry’s everything.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” Louis manages, wrapping a leg around Harry’s back and arching up into him, sending their cocks skidding together. “’m ready.”
“You’re ready, huh,” Harry muses, stroking his fingers over Louis’ prostate. “You want me to wear a condom?”
Louis arches his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Since when do you want to wear a condom when you could be coming in me bare?”
Do they even have condoms? Louis honestly doesn’t even know. He used to have condoms in the nightstand just in case - it pays to be prepared, sometimes, even though he never really brought hook ups to the house. You can never be too careful.
“Wanna do you however you want,” Harry tells him, pulling his fingers out carefully and slicking up his cock. “However you wanna come. Want it on your belly?”
The sheer amount of feelings Louis has for this curly haired freak probably shouldn’t be this deep, this cemented after only six months. But it’s not just six months, though - it’s five years of friendship and taking care of each other that have turned into this, this sure feeling that Harry is the one for him. The only one.
“You mean you don’t know how to give it to me by now?” Louis asks, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair and arching up helpfully as Harry lifts his hips, angling him better. “Thought you were confident in your fucking ability.”
Harry’s face goes a little mulish, the way it does when he thinks someone is undermining his ability to do something. Louis delights in putting that expression on his face. There’s just something so incredibly satisfying about it.
“I know how to fuck you,” Harry says, tip of his cock nudging against Louis’ hole. Louis pets his hair, silky strands sliding against his fingers, and then Harry is finally pushing inside. “Always fuck you how you want it, don’t I?”
God, he does. He really fucking does. He’s going to have to fuck the answer out of Louis, though, because Louis is stubborn and he’s not quite forgiven Harry for trying to divorce him.
“You’re okay,” Louis tells him, exhaling a little shakily as Harry gives him inch after inch of his cock, fat and thick and filling Louis up the way no one else has ever been able to.
Harry kisses anything else he has to say right out of Louis’ mouth, breathing erratic and fast as he finishes pushing inside, cock firm and amazing where it’s lodged inside. Harry’s shuddery and sweating on top of him, and Louis still doesn’t remember much from their first time together, but he remembers this. Remembers how Harry’s breathing had seemed pained for a few seconds until Louis had rubbed a hand over his shoulder blades, how bitey he’d been.
How good he’d felt. How good he still feels now, starting to move slowly, gaining momentum.
“You love me,” Harry says, kissing him so deep that Louis’ toes curl a little, locked around Harry’s back. “You love how I fuck you and you love how I make you come and you’re my husband.”
Louis’ cock is lying hard and weeping against his belly, begging for some attention. He doesn’t have the hands to do anything about that right now, not when they’re both full of Harry’s hair. And his head, making sure he doesn’t go too far away. Louis deserves to be kissed as much as he wants, after all.
“Spouse,” he corrects, gasping as Harry picks up his pace, snapping his hips harder, faster. His cock presses against Louis’ prostate, making his stomach muscles tighten with how good it is. “’m your spouse.”
“You’re my everything,” Harry gasps back, brows furrowing as he tries to hold back his orgasm, still fucking hard and fast into Louis’ arse. It’s almost like he can’t stop himself, wants to come so badly, fill Louis up the same way he did that first time, the same way he’s been doing for the past six months, and that thought pushes Louis over the edge himself, hand flying down to his cock and stroking frantically as he comes.
He’s half aware of the noises he’s making, staccato little sounds that Harry keeps fucking out of him, come dribbling all over his fingers, and the things Harry’s murmuring to him in response. Soft, nonsense things about how good Louis feels and how beautiful he looks, how much he loves him.
“So pretty when you’re coming for me, baby,” Harry says, hushed, pressing open mouthed kisses to Louis’ jaw. Louis sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow and manages to curl one hand around Harry’s hip, connecting them in one more place.
“S’your turn now,” Louis manages what feels like minutes later. In reality, it’s probably only seconds.
Either way, he manages to bring his other hand up to cup Harry’s jaw, bringing their mouths together. It’s less of a kiss than it is Harry licking almost frantically into Louis’ mouth, tongue mapping the inside of it.
“Wanna come inside you,” Harry garbles, fingers tight on Louis’ hips. His pace is almost bruising, now, desperate, a sure sign that he’s about to come.
All Louis really has to do is lie there and take it - at this pace Harry would be able to get off even if the roof fell down around them - but he’s not going to do that. No, he’s going to help Harry get there because they’re married and Louis is the best fucking husband ever.
Instead, he strokes Harry’s hip with his fingers and says, “Do it, then. Make me all messy and wet inside like you want to. Know you like it when I’m full of you even after you’ve pulled out, that there’s a part of you still inside me. That I’ll still be dripping your come when I wake up and not even have a chance to get clean before you’re filling me up again.”
Harry’s breathing is erratic and fast against Louis’ mouth, shoving his hips in as deep as he possibly can and then staying there while he comes, body heavy on top of Louis’. It feels good, deep and intense, and if Louis hadn’t already come he definitely would be right now. Just from this.
“Baby,” Harry murmurs. He nearly sounds drugged, dazed and overwhelmed, and he’s even sloppier about kissing Louis this time, all tongue and spit.
Louis isn’t even that grossed out, that’s how much he loves this stupid boy.
Silence falls over the room. It’s a comfortable silence, only broken by their heavy breathing, and the soft, wet sound of their mouths meeting over and over again, slowing with the rate of the hearts. Eventually, Harry pulls out, hand gentle on Louis’ belly as he braces himself. Louis isn’t sore, exactly, but he’s definitely fucked out and happy. So happy.
“I wanna marry you again,” Harry whispers into Louis’ mouth as if it’s a secret, rolling them onto their sides and sliding a leg in between Louis’. They’re still all gross and sweaty and Louis has gotten the worst of it, covered in come and about to start dripping with it, but none of that matters. Not when Harry is holding him like this, tight and sure like he never wants to let go. “Properly, this time, with our families and our friends to bear witness to it. To how much I love you.”
Louis’ thighs are shaky and his muscles are sore, even though he wasn’t the one doing most of the work. He still manages to shove Harry down onto his back and climb on top of him, tells him, “You’re gonna have to work for it, then,” with his ring just starting to tangle in Harry’s hair.
Harry spends the next hour working for it, and then another three months after that while they plan a proper wedding. This time, when Louis looks into Harry’s eyes and says, “I do,” he remembers all of it.
Every single second.