Chapter Text
Louis sucked smoke into his lungs. It was a cool, late September evening on the riverside. The wind was ripping through the buildings, cool as it danced around his ankles and ruffled his hair. He had Oli by his side and Calvin, Luke, and Stan were in front of them. The three of them had their hands shoved deep in their pockets, walking with an exaggerated swagger.
Louis scoffed under his breath, the smoke pooling out into the night air.
They’d just finished unloading a shipment at Wharf 28, a tiny strip of an illegal dock jutting into the Thames with a nondescript warehouse on the back. Now, they were now doing a perimeter sweep, lazily, he could admit. He’d just flicked his finished cigarette into the river when Calvin shouted.
“Oi! You Cox fuckers, what’re you doing down here?”
There were four people walking towards them. The flickering street lights just barely illuminated them. Louis squared his shoulders on instinct and he felt adrenaline rush to his hands.
His family had been scuffling, if not outright warring, with the Cox family for the last forty years or so. The Tomlinson’s dealt in “acquisitions” of a sort, while the Cox Family were petty criminals. A Cox thug had never seen a store he didn’t want to rob or a safe they didn’t want to poorly crack. Those fuckers stole a shipment of firearms out from under them all those years ago and the Tomlinson’s never forget.
Louis even had a tattoo that said that - snaking around a dagger and up his forearm.
The Tomlinson’s owned the riverside and the Cox family ran the underground like rats. Zipping between them, running the streets, and maybe even worse than the Cox family were the Haggerty’s. They dealt in drugs and people - no class in that. Louis did his best to ignore them entirely, but sometimes they sold to them if times were slow. The shipment tonight was theirs.
Someone yelled back at Calvin, but Louis wasn’t paying enough attention to know what he said. He was watching his boys - their shoulders rising and tensing, their fists clenching at their sides.
“Easy lads,” he said under his breath.
Luke unfurled his fingers, but the other two didn’t. He raised an eyebrow and Oli shifted uncomfortably next to him.
“The riverfront is ours,” Calvin shouted back, his whole body curving with the force of the words coming out.
Louis sighed.
The four Cox gang members picked up their pace. Louis licked his lips and stretched his neck. They were in their territory, but his mum would be pissed anyway.
A big lad with bleached blond hair was spitting curses at Stan, up in his face now. Louis squared his shoulders and eyed the group in front of him. His eyes snagged at the lad on the far left.
It was the Cox heir. Harry Styles.
Son of Anne Cox-Styles and grandson of Gritty Cox - one mean son of a bitch. Louis had only seen Gritty a handful of times and he had the look of an old gangster - fat, in a three piece suit, and gold chains. Theft should be an elegant thing, but not the way the Coxes did it. He was notorious for a smash and grab, just the thought had Louis’ lip curling in disgust.
In front of him, Harry had curly brown hair down to his shoulders, greasy and windswept, and a frown on his face - twisting it in an ugly way. They’d never met before, but Louis had always known who he was. That they were both set to inherit their families legacies. That meant they were destined to despise each other.
And Louis did.
He’d had half a mind to stop the bickering before he saw Styles there, but now he kind of wanted to get a piece of him. See what he was made of. His family had kept him locked up tight until now and he was hardly ever in the city.
Louis squared his shoulders and said under his breath to Oli, “Styles is mine.”
Oli nodded and seamlessly moved around Louis so that Harry was right in front of him.
All it took was Calvin shoving a hand in some skinheads shoulder and everyone was fighting.
He moved closer to Styles and thought he saw a flash of panic cross his face before it hardened. Louis jabbed at his stomach and then they were scrapping. He was sure every single one of them was carrying a piece, he knew his boys were, but jumping each other in the streets was for pleasure more than anything else. He caught all of Harry’s blows on his sleeve covered forearm and he’d gotten him a couple of times in the stomach before.
Before.
They had never been face to face before now. They’d never touched, skin to skin, until Harry landed a punch to his face, high on his cheekbone.
Louis shoved him off and was pulling his fist back from Harry’s abdomen before he realized his face wasn’t tingling because of the pain.
It pooled out from his cheek, over his face, down his neck and spine. A shiver in the late September night. Heat, sparks - whatever you wanted to fucking call it.
It was the curse of touch. That there was always the risk each person you shouldered past on the street or bumped into in the pub could turn out to be your soulmate. That some fucking prick nails you in the eye and now you’re saddled with him for life.
He shook out his arm and stretched his neck again to hear it crack. He was trying to shake it off, but of course he couldn’t. His whole body was coming to life. Singing into the night. Like if it could, he’d be spilling light out of every pore into the darkness.
He spat on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Oli called the guy he was fighting with a “horse fucking cunt.”
He could barely hear it through the static in his ears.
Louis squared his shoulders, but Harry wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was looking down at his hand, his fingers flexing under the streetlight. Louis thought he could see a tremble in them.
“What?” He sneered. “Giving up already?”
Harry looked up with wide eyes. There were several emotions crashing into each other on his face and Louis didn’t want to decode a single one of them. All he could focus on was Harry’s green eyes. Louis hadn’t known they looked like that. Hadn’t known that they would look like the forest. Like going for a hike in summer. Like moss breathing life from a tree trunk.
Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but shut it quickly. The line of his lips hardened and his body tensed again, ready to fight.
It’s the way it had to be. It didn’t matter that they were soulmates, that they recognized each other from touch alone. They were on different sides. A line was drawn in the sand and Louis wasn’t a traitor. He was a Tomlinson and they never forget who they’re loyal to.
The fight ended when the big Cox lad flattened Stan to the ground and then Luke and Oli tackled him in retaliation, beating the shit out of him.
Between one blink and the next the entire Cox crew was gone.
Louis spit blood on the ground and did his best to pretend the rushing in his ears was adrenaline. Luke and Calvin had Stan between them, his arms slung over each of their shoulders. They were laughing despite the broken ribs Stan undoubtedly had.
“Drinks, boys?” Luke asked.
“I could use one,” Oli agreed. “Fucking cold out here. Louis?”
Louis nodded. The boys walked ahead of him and he was digging in his pocket when he felt a hard yank on his collar and he stumbled backwards.
His legs were barely keeping him upright as he staggered through an open door and into the dark warehouse. They called it that, but really it was an old gift shop on the Thames they’d converted years ago. It gave them all a laugh to say they had souvenirs. It had been locked and the alarm set, but still he’d been pulled through the door and the alarm hadn’t sounded.
He turned and pushed his captor into the wall, his forearm pressed against their chest. They made a soft grunt as they hit the drywall. Through the moonlight coming in the tall windows he could see a set of green eyes.
“What do you want?” Louis asked harshly, but he couldn’t deny he was intrigued.
Harry kept his mouth shut, eyes casting back towards the door.
Outside he could hear Oli as he said, “Oi! Where’d Tommo go?”
Calvin responded back, “Dunno mate, probably went off alone, you know how he is.”
The others murmured in response before their footsteps trailed off.
When they were gone, he let go of Harry with a shove and stepped back to lean against a crate. They’d just facilitated a shipment earlier that evening, so the warehouse was full.
“What do you want?” Louis asked again.
He could see Harry’s chest rising in the moonlight and the faint sounds of harsh breaths coming from his partially opened mouth. Louis raised an eyebrow.
“Who are you?” Harry finally asked.
Louis cocked his head to the side. “You don’t know who I am?”
“No, I…” He trailed off and Louis heard him swallow, a loud clicking noise through the otherwise quiet warehouse. “I’ve been away at uni. I don’t know- I just got back.”
Louis couldn’t help the smirk curling on his lips. Harry Styles was a flustered little thing, wasn’t he? Six foot tall, with wide shoulders, but he had no clue. Louis made a clucking noise in the back of his throat, like he’d used to chastise his dog.
“You’re Harry Styles. Twenty two this year, hm? Just graduated from Edinburgh, isn’t that right?”
Harry had gone still across from him. His chest no longer heaving. His eyes no longer blinking.
Louis smiled wider, leaned back so his body was more open. So he looked comfortable even if he didn’t feel it. He was in charge. He was the boss.
“What’d you study?” Louis asked.
Harry let out a shuddering breath. When he spoke, the words tripped over themselves. “English Lit.”
Louis nodded. From his jacket pocket he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He plucked one and his lighter from the carton.
“Not too helpful for this kind of life, is that?”
Harry huffed out a breath. Clearly getting annoyed with Louis and he felt a thrum of pride in that.
“Who are you?” he said again and made to move off the wall.
Louis smiled, his tongue pressing against his cheek. “I’m Louis Tomlinson. A bit offended you didn’t already know that, sweetheart. I’ve had an eye on you since you were in nappies.”
Harry went stock still and then he let out a ragged breath. The reality of their situation finally seemed to dawn on him.
In the silence, triumph and something else, something better, ran through Louis’ veins. He lit the cigarette and took the first, long drag.
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said boldly. He stepped closer.
Louis laughed, a sharp ha ha ha falling from his lips with a cloud of smoke.
“Of course it matters, Styles. I could kill you right here and wouldn’t give a fuck.”
Harry had moved close enough to him now that he cast Louis in shadow. Close enough that he could feel the heat from his body without them needing to touch. Their bond was so strong right after forming that he could have probably felt Harry from anywhere in the room.
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing,” Louis said with a shrug. He pulled another drag and as he moved the cigarette from his mouth, held lightly between his fingers, Harry snatched it, quick as anything, and tossed it to the ground.
Louis licked his lips as the smoke curled out of them.
“I’m not kissing you if you taste like smoke.” Harry ground it out under his boot.
Louis, slowly, pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He kept his eyes on Harry, his heart pounding. He knew what it was, desire. It couldn’t be helped. They were made for each other, yeah? That’s the schtick of soulmates. And it did do something to him, he couldn’t lie, to see Harry’s claws come out.
He put another cigarette in his mouth, smiled around it and said, “good.”
Adrenaline was coursing through him. He loved a fight, but there was something just as good about this. He was nearly shivering with it, his own arousal and, he imagined, Harry’s. Two storms pushing against each other. Snapping at each other in a slow, sensual dance. Something was going to break, it was clear enough, but it was fun until they hit it.
Harry reached out a hand towards him, slower this time, and Louis knocked it away with his wrist. Harry made a choked off sound in the back of his throat.
The unlit cigarette was still between his lips and it nearly fell out when Harry reached out again. This time he let him touch. Cool fingers skated across the bruise on his cheek.
The first place they’d touched, now the second place.
Louis’ body thrummed with it.
Just as good as the first time, like the punch was a kiss and his body was blooming.
Harry’s cheeks had gone red and he didn’t want to know what his own face looked like. He reached for Harry’s wrist and clasped it in his palm. But he didn’t move Harry’s hand away.
It was hot - hotter than skin had any right to be, and Harry reacted with a whole body shiver. His lips parting as if to moan.
As if there was enough pleasure in the touch to his wrist to stimulate his whole body.
He felt Harry’s fingers like pleasurable static on his cheek, Harry’s skin molten under his and then, underneath all of that, he felt it like a song - the way Harry could feel him. Like they were trapped in an echo chamber. What he felt, Harry felt. What Harry felt, he felt.
Back and forth until it was overwhelming.
It was nothing, but a touch, but Louis’ entire world had narrowed to that touch. Harry’s other hand scrabbled at his side, trying to work his hand under Louis’ jacket, under his shirt. Louis used his other to grip at Harry’s neck and tug his hair.
A loud groan echoed through the empty warehouse.
Their bodies snapped together. Louis lost his casual stance against the crate and instead had a thigh between Harry’s leg, his cock growing hard against it.
It was crazy, ludicrous, that the barest touch was enough to drive them to the edge.
It was almost enough with clothes between them. Each place they pressed together burned. There had never been desire like this before.
Harry’s fingers found the skin of his stomach and Louis’ hips jutted forward. Harry’s face was flushed and his eyes glassy as he looked down at his own hand. Like he couldn’t believe they had found a home on Louis’ skin. Like he couldn’t believe the thrumming electricity running between their bodies. His mouth was parted and his breath was hot where it licked down Louis’ face.
He let go of Harry’s wrist to tug at his waistband, Harry’s hips moving faster in response. The fingertips on Louis’ cheek skimmed from his temple to his chin. This time, they were gentle when they pulled the cigarette from between his lips and threw it to the ground.
This time Louis didn’t care.
Harry moved to kiss him and he dodged it by putting his mouth below Harry’s jaw and biting.
Harry screamed.
Louis could feel the touch like one thousand bee stings on his lips. All the way through his teeth like they’d dissolved completely. Like his tongue was pressing against an open flame and he’d need the burn forever.
Harry’s finger dug into his abdomen, into his throat, his own still between Louis’ teeth and Louis could feel them all over and over again.
He pulled at Harry’s shirt, some silky thing that felt like liquid on his fingertips, until it popped open and slid off his shoulders to his elbows, then he tugged on Harry’s trousers again. They were an ugly pair, not something meant for street fighting, that was for sure, and had a rip in the knee from scuffling earlier.
He sucked up and down Harry’s neck and listened to Harry’s whimpers like a choir, like a funeral and he was happy to die.
He pulled open Harry’s trousers and tugged at the zipper.
“Louis,” Harry said thickly. It was the first time he’d said his name and Louis didn’t mind the sound of it. “I need…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Louis mumbled into the skin behind his ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth and felt, with his hand just inside Harry’s waistband, his whole body reacting.
His abdomen clenched, his hips bumped forward into Louis’ thigh and his cock strained at the flayed zipper. Louis could feel the ghost of his own touch on himself, like a warm point of pressure tingling with pleasure.
He dipped his fingers in Harry’s pants, skimmed them over the base of his cock like a tease and they both moaned loudly. It was like he was touching himself, just the breath of it, a hint of a graze and he could nearly be on his knees.
A moment later Harry’s cock was in his hand, a perfect weight, a perfect feel and his teeth skidded on Harry’s skin with each pull of his hand.
Harry was heavy against him. Like he could barely take it, barely stand at all. His hands were scrabbling at Louis’ skin now, both of them under his shirt. Palms were pressed flat to his abdomen. Harry’s hands were so big they stretched from his belly button to his nipples, fingers pressing right on them.
Louis could have screamed, but instead he bit where Harry’s throat met his shoulder and had Harry screaming instead.
Fingernails scraped down his chest. His hand pulled at Harry’s cock and there were high whimpers echoing in his ear.
His belt came apart on the next moan and then Harry’s hands were in his trousers, tugging them down, the touch on his pelvis and thighs so electric Louis’ entire body broke out in goosebumps. Harry’s breath was hot on his neck, condensation forming on his skin in the cold warehouse from how he was panting.
“I need to-” Harry started and then choked off when Louis’ thumb rubbed under the head of his cock.
Louis could barely think past the pleasure. It had never felt like this, would never feel like this again. He shouldn’t have touched at all because anything else would always pale in comparison.
Harry knocked his hand away in a rush and Louis nearly whined at the loss, but Harry fell to his knees. His hands tugged Louis’ trousers and pants farther down in one swift tug.
Louis was dizzy with the loss of touch. His tongue still wet from Harry’s throat and his lips still buzzing, now faintly bruised.
Harry’s mouth was on his thighs. His tongue curving on skin and Louis could feel that lick through his entire body. His cock was standing straight out, red at the tip and weeping. Harry ignored it to suck at his legs, his hands wrapping around the back of them and fingers digging deliciously into his inner thighs.
He sucked on Louis’ groin and Louis fell back against the crates again.
A million pounds worth of coke was in that warehouse and Louis was letting his enemy - his soulmate - moan against the skin of his balls, wet and messy as Louis sat atop them.
Louis’ hand gripped in Harry’s long hair and yanked his head back.
His mouth was open, red and spit slicked and his green eyes, light like summer before, had gone dark with desire. The outside of his irises were such a dark green that they looked nearly black. His cheeks were ruddy with want in the moonlight and his chest was heaving.
Louis wanted him to beg.
He was already on his knees, his tongue falling out his mouth to get to Louis’ cock, his hands gripping at Louis’ legs so hard he could feel his cheeks spreading.
Louis could see it. But he could also feel his knees on the floor. The tickle of his own leg hair under Harry’s fingers. The weight of desire heavy in Harry’s belly, his cock partially pulled out of his pants where Louis had left it, drooling on his stomach.
“What do you want?” His voice was demanding and coarse like gravel, scraping through the silence between them. He felt Harry shudder under his hand.
He went to move forward and Louis tightened his grip.
Harry yelped and it turned guttural. The sting sharp on his own scalp, his own cock dribbling from the feeling.
“I need, I need,” Harry chanted. His fingers tickled up the back of Louis’ legs as high as they could go. Until they bumped his balls and ghosted over his hole and Harry groaned, low and deep, like he’d done it to pleasure himself.
It was good enough.
He loosened his grip, managing to pull his face into a smirk, his tongue licking at his own lips to watch Harry curl his in.
Harry’s shoulders relaxed. They were flushed and one whole side of his neck and shoulder were covered in red bruises and teeth marks. Deep satisfaction settled in Louis’ stomach at the sight.
He moved a hand from around Louis’ leg to grip the base of his cock. The touch was electric. It was a heat so burning it ran like ice throughout his body, shivered up his spine and one thousand pinpricks pointed into that one spot. He was thankful he wasn’t standing.
Harry’s tongue curled around the head and then enveloped him. Heat coursed through him. Wet pressure blanking out his mind.
Harry moaned around his cock and Louis hissed out at the feel.
He could feel the weight of his own cock on his tongue, a phantom girth straining at his throat and he was panting.
His fingers curled in Harry’s hair and he watched his eyelashes flutter against ruddy cheekbones. His eyes were wet and his mouth was dripping with spit as he sank himself as far as he could.
The bit of Harry’s own cock that was sticking out of his pants was glossy in the moonlight. They were spurting precome in tandem, the pleasure a tight circle around them, through them, linking them as one.
Harry was moving faster now, his hand making a clicking noise with the spit and precome coating his cock as Harry stroked him, his lips wide and lush against Louis’ skin.
He wasn’t going to last. He could feel Harry everywhere. It was too much. He hurtled towards the edge, pleasure coiling at the base of his spine.
Harry pushed himself forward, his body curling with the effort and took as much of him down as he could, twisted his head a bit so Louis’ hands would tug at his hair. He could feel Harry’s throat muscles contracting against his cock, his own throat echoing a fullness.
It was enough.
He groaned, his hips stuttering as he came.
Harry’s body shuddered under him and Louis watched, in awe, in delicious curiosity, as Harry spilled on his stomach and trousers, untouched, between them.
After Harry swallowed, he pulled off, just barely and breathed heavy puffs of air against Louis’ cock. His eyes were still closed, his lashes damp. His mouth and chin were covered in spit and come.
He looked young then, for the first time. Just twenty two to Louis’ twenty four - but now, panting on the concrete floor, hands still pressed to Louis’ body in supplication, he didn’t seem hardened by this life yet. His shoulders curved in, his hair a pretty mess. Maybe he looked the part - son of a gangster, but Louis could see now he was soft.
Louis took that moment to watch him unnoticed. His match. His person. No better than the scum from the docks on the bottom of his boot.
Finally, Harry’s eyes fluttered open. Clear green looked up at him. Open, devoted.
Louis very nearly sneered.
His breathing had almost calmed. In the climax of it all he could feel Harry less. The pulse pounding in his ears was his own now. The bond between them calmed with release, with culmination.
He leaned off the crate to pull up his pants and then buttoned his trousers, before sitting back on the edge. Harry was still on his knees, still breathing heavily. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
From his pocket, Louis pulled out his handkerchief. It was embroidered with an LT. His mum had given him a set as a gift for his twenty-first birthday.
She’d said, “A gentleman should always carry a handkerchief.”
And he’d joked, “So what, I’m a gentleman gangster now?”
She’d smacked him on the back of the head playfully and he’d rolled his eyes. But he did always carry one, though he most recently had used one to blot blood off his lip.
He wiped each of Harry’s cheeks, his lips parting under Louis’ hands. When he was done he dropped the soiled fabric to Harry’s lap. Harry sat back on his heels and used the handkerchief to wipe at his own body.
Louis pulled out his cigarettes again and lit one. He breathed in deep and then blew it out down at Harry, who grimaced.
Louis watched as Harry tucked himself back into his pants and then stood on shaky legs. He sucked another drag, raised an eyebrow and stood up. His tongue poked out to rub at the seam of his mouth for a moment, a smirk already forming on his lips as he made to move around Harry.
“Wait-” Harry rushed to say. “You can’t just go.”
Louis squared his shoulders.
“I think we’re done here.” He did a once over of Harry’s body, his cheeks and neck still flushed, and cocked his head to the side.
Harry curled his lips in reaction.
“What are we meant to do?”
Louis moved around him and Harry turned with him. It was magnetic, the faint thrum between them that hadn’t fully faded, like he orbited him.
“Quite literally, and I cannot say it enough - we do nothing.”
“What do you mean we do nothing? We’re soulmates,” Harry rushed to say. He caught Louis by the arm, but he shook him off.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Louis said simply. “We, you and me, are nothing.”
He dropped his burnt cigarette to the ground and let it coil smoke up between them for half a second before exiting the warehouse.
“And tell your crew to stay the fuck off the river,” he called behind him as the door slammed.
+
He splashed water on his face then looked at himself in the mirror as it dripped over his skin. There was a bruise just below his eye from Harry’s fist, but no other sign of what had happened. Over his shoulder he took in the familiar downstairs loo in his childhood home, the same slightly warped mirror and ugly wallpaper lining the room. It wasn’t the first black eye he’d admired in that mirror, he reasoned, and rubbed his cheeks dry.
He spit into the sink to try to rid his mouth of the taste of Harry’s skin, but it lingered.
His body thrummed from its new found other half. It already called for him.
But Louis had always been stronger than his body.
He didn’t need a soulmate and he didn’t want one. Harry was an inconvenience, certainly, but they had no reason to see each other, no reason to cross paths. Tonight was a fluke.
In the kitchen, his mum looked up from a bubbling pot of sauce on the stove when he entered. She was the head of the family, but in her downtime she loved to cook. She was always pushing food at him, at his six younger siblings. She raised them all on her own, with a string of men who didn’t last after his dad had died. Family meals were important, but their late hours usually meant they ate family meals close to midnight once she was home.
Her eyes snapped to the purpling skin of his face immediately.
“Heard you had some trouble tonight?”
He shrugged his shoulders and felt the ghost of a feather light touch on his chest.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”