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every emotion he has weren‟t otherwise occupied.

Harry reaches up and carefully, carefully slides Louis‟ glasses off his

face, then carefully, carefully folds them and slips them into Louis‟

shirt pocket. Louis hands hang uselessly at his sides, and his ears are

full of the sound of his own hitching breaths. He‟s never felt so obvious

in his life.

Harry leans in, impossibly closer, and Louis doesn‟t quite understand

how they aren‟t touching, because even the air around him feels like

Harry, even the stage beneath his feet. Harry reaches a hand towards

his face, and Louis thinks finally, but his hand hovers and clenches into

a fist.

“Louis,” Harry says, “don‟t make me fly blind, here,” and oh, that is

enough.

“You complete shit,” Louis lets out in a rush, “I am about to fucking

die waiting on you and you are just mmmph—”

And there it is, there, like the explosion at the end of a mile-long fuse.

There was a gap and now there isn‟t, Harry‟s mouth on Louis‟ and his

hands on his face. Louis can‟t help but gasp, his hands coming up to

clutch at the crooks of Harry‟s elbows, his mind one big record scratch,

stuck on the thought Harry kissed me he kissed me he kissed me and

Christ, if he doesn‟t pull himself together in the next half-second he‟s

going to miss it.

Harry kisses with intent, with focus, with singular purpose. Harry

kisses Louis like it‟s premeditated, like he‟s planned every slick drag of

his lips against Louis‟. Louis doesn‟t even try to keep up, still not quite

able to believe what‟s happening, much less contribute to it. Harry‟s

hands drop to his shoulders and the two of them are moving, Harry

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pushing Louis up against the side of the prop stairs. They‟re pressed

together, knees to ribcage, and Louis is overwhelmed.

Harry pulls back, breathing heavily, one arm braced against the stairs

by Louis‟ head. He searches Louis‟ face with wild eyes, pupils blown

wide, cheeks flushed.

“Lou,” he says, voice rough, and Louis isn‟t sure what he‟s looking for

but he‟s glad he asked. Louis breathes once, twice, and lifts a hand to

Harry‟s face. He drags his thumb across Harry‟s bottom lip, and the

way Harry‟s eyes fall closed makes something in him give way.

And now he‟s the one moving, crowding into Harry‟s space and kissing

him frantically, threading his fingers through Harry‟s hair. Harry‟s

hands are around his waist and his tongue is in his mouth and Louis is

sure he had plans to do other things with his life but he can‟t for the life

of him remember why he‟d want to do anything but this.

Harry‟s moving, and at first Louis thinks it‟s just the momentum of his

own body carrying them backwards, but then Harry‟s grabbing his

braces and blindly dragging him towards the mess of prop furniture in

the middle of the stage. Louis feels Harry run into something, and then

they‟re tipping over, Harry pulling Louis down with him. There‟s deja-

vu in that half-moment of weightlessness, but then Louis lands heavily

on top of Harry and finds he has other things to think about.

They‟re on a ratty prop sofa at center stage. Harry slides up to make

more room, Louis crawling after him. One of Harry‟s hands flattens out

over the small of Louis‟ back, pulling their bodies flush together,

before flipping the two of them over in a single movement so slick that

Louis is almost as impressed as he is turned on.

“You‟re gonna have to teach me that move one day, Styles,” he says,

sliding his fingers back into the hair at the nape of Harry‟s neck.

Harry is grinning like a fool. “Is this okay?” he asks, nodding down at

their position.

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“Yes, Jesus,” Louis says, dragging Harry‟s head back down into a kiss.

“How fragile do you think I am,” he mumbles against Harry‟s mouth.

Harry responds by sucking hard on Louis‟ bottom lip. Louis can‟t help

the whimper that escapes him, so, okay. Point taken.

He‟ll be damned if he lets that go unanswered, though, especially not

when he can taste the smirk on Harry‟s lips. Louis arches his back and

rolls his hips up into Harry‟s, pressing up into his solid weight. Harry‟s

mouth falls open in a silent moan, letting Louis‟ tongue steal inside, but

God, Louis wants more, wants to make Harry shake apart. He lets his

legs fall open, framing Harry‟s thighs, and presses up into him again,

sliding his hands up under his shirt.

Harry does groan now, pulling away from the kiss. “God, Lou,” he

murmurs, his head falling into the curve of Louis‟ neck. He presses

back this time, rolling his hips in slow, filthy circles against Louis‟ as

his teeth scrape his throat. Louis draws a hissing breath and can‟t help

but drag his nails down Harry‟s back, clinging on for dear life.

Louis is. Louis is probably going to die.

Harry sits back a little, and Louis leans up instinctively to follow him

before realising that Harry‟s sliding his braces off his shoulders.

“What‟re you doing?” he asks inanely.

Harry‟s hands are back at his waist, tugging his shirttails out of his

trousers. “If I don‟t put my hands on you soon I‟m going to lose my

mind,” he says matter-of-factly. “All of you.”

Fuck, Louis thinks, trying to assess the situation rationally. “Fuck,” he

says, grabbing hold of Harry‟s hands. “Harry, I can‟t fuck you on, on

the sofa we‟re using in the show. That‟s, God, that‟s definitely

unethical.”

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Harry seems unperturbed, moving to kiss the other side of Louis‟ neck.

“Whose ethics are we talking about?” he says lightly. “My ethics are

fine with this.” He bites down on Louis‟ collarbone. “I find you being

clothed unethical.”

“Shit, Jesus, I am going to murder you,” Louis says, pushing Harry‟s

head away. Harry just grins at him, his mouth red and obscene. “Can

you, Christ, can you hold that thought for, like, however long it takes to

get to my flat?” Harry rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, but slides back

down the sofa enough that Louis can stand on wobbling legs.

“Keys,” Louis says, patting down his pockets. “Keys, fucking keys, my

entire kingdom for my fucking—shit.”

“I‟ve got your kingdom right here, babe,” Harry snickers, already

crowding up behind him, breath hot under his shirt collar, and can he

not, for three seconds, Christ on crutches.

“You are,” Louis says, feeling Harry smile against the back of his neck,

“the least helpful human I have ever met. Also, my keys are in my

classroom, because of course they are, so.”

“So let‟s go get them,” Harry says. He finally peels off and jumps

ahead of Louis, leading the way out the side door of the theatre and into

the hallway. Louis swears under his breath and takes off after him.

It‟s, it‟s... surreal, actually. Unbelievable. He barely has his wits about

him enough to pray that nobody is around this late to see him like this,

shirt halfway untucked in the front, braces tugged loose on one side,

mouth raw and red from Harry‟s teeth and the faint stubble on his jaw.

He looks for all the world like a horny teenager, and he can‟t remember

the last time he let anyone get him like this, and it hits him all of the

sudden that it‟s Harry that‟s done this to him. Impossible Harry with

his ridiculous curls and his wide open smiles and his heart that fills up

rooms and rooms and rooms, Harry who pulled him out of a cardboard

box and pinned him down on the football pitch and played Whitesnake

for Zayn at a carwash, Harry who he‟s been trying not to fall for for

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months because, obviously, in what world do things like this actually

happen to Louis Tomlinson?

And the thing is, Harry wants him. Not just accepts what Louis wants

from him but wants him right back, hungry and restless, pulling Louis

down the hall by his hand, hair and eyes wild with it. Louis has never

met anyone in his life as sure of himself and what he wants as Harry is,

and what Harry wants, apparently, is him.

Louis skids to a stop because he feels like he‟s about to have an

aneurysm, and he pulls on Harry‟s arm to turn him around.

“Wait,” Louis says, because he has to know, “the whole time?”

“Yes, the whole time,” Harry tells him impatiently, like it costs him

nothing, already picking his pace back up again. “Now can we please

keep moving?”

And, well, Louis can‟t argue with that, because he‟s beaming now and

he‟s pretty sure he‟ll combust on the spot if he can‟t have Harry‟s

mouth on him again in the next thirty seconds, so it‟s just as well that

they‟re stumbling up to his classroom. It‟s the last room with its lights

still on, and Louis actually manages to let go of Harry‟s hand for a few

seconds to dart inside. He‟s at his desk, hand already extended for the

keys resting there, when he hears the door snap shut and lock behind

him.

He turns around, and Harry‟s already right behind him, backing him

into the side of his desk.

“I can‟t make it back to your flat,” Harry says. “I can‟t fucking wait

any more. Please, just—”

Harry cuts himself off with a kiss pressed hard and bruising against

Louis‟ mouth, and this is probably a bad idea but Harry‟s still kissing

him and this is happening and there‟s not a single part of Louis that

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wants it to stop. Louis wraps his fist around the front of Harry‟s shirt

and kisses him back just as hard and hopes it‟s enough to tell him yes,

yes, God, please.

This time around, it‟s Louis that reaches for the waistband of Harry‟s

shorts first, and Harry that stops his hands.

Their lips break apart, and there‟s a breathless, frozen moment with

Harry‟s hands tangled up in his, their mouths just barely brushing, and

he knows Harry‟s asking permission again.

“Anything,” Louis says. He‟s terrified of the size of that word. He

doesn‟t take it back.

Harry, the son of a bitch, actually winks. And then he drops to his

knees.

“Holy God,” Louis says. He‟s already hard, almost embarrassingly so

and has been since Harry hips first fell in line with his, and Harry‟s not

mucking about anymore. He makes fast work of Louis‟ braces, and

Louis‟ breathing shudders to a halt as Harry yanks his trousers open

and shoves them down just far enough. The trunks Louis has got on are

a nightmarish red polka dot number, the last clean pair he had left.

Maybe he‟ll find the time to feel humiliated about it later, but at the

moment Harry is smiling wickedly up at him from under thick

eyelashes and slipping his fingers under the waistband and snapping the

elastic gently against his hip and Louis has never been farther from

caring about anything in his entire life.

It‟s been so long. So many months of wanting, of telling himself not to

want, of imagining what it would be like and seeing ghosts of Harry

behind his eyelids as he sweated into his own sheets, and none of it

prepared him for this.

His hands scramble behind him for something to hold onto because

Harry‟s tugging him out of his underwear and Louis feels like he‟s

going to collapse or die or go flying off the surface of the earth if he

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can‟t get a grip on something immediately. One of his hands closes on

the stack of unmarked papers on his desk, the other on some hideous

novelty stapler he got for last year‟s faculty Secret Santa, and, God,

hysterical laughter comes bubbling up his throat because Harry is going

down on him against his desk, and—

Then Harry licks his lips and takes him all the way down in one

smooth, wet motion and Louis is not laughing anymore.

The shock of it sings through Louis‟ entire body, and his torso arches

forward, curved around Harry like a sapling in a hurricane. He‟s not

sure what he was expecting. He has no real idea of how much

experience Harry has with men, and for all Harry‟s confidence, he

thought he‟d have to work up to it, but no, no, Harry‟s nose is brushing

against his stomach and it‟s all Louis can do to swallow the insane,

desperate noise that pulls out of his chest.

He looks down and realises that his hand is on the back of Harry‟s

neck, and he almost apologizes before he sees the laughter in Harry‟s

eyes. Then Harry does something obscene and incredible with his

tongue and fuck, Louis‟ never seen anyone give a smug blowjob

before, but if anyone could it would be Harry Styles.

Harry picks up rhythm, long slow pulls, and Louis has to close his eyes,

because the way it feels combined with the sight of Harry‟s lips

dragging down him is too much. He feels Harry‟s hands slide up the