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back of the couch, smiling crookedly at him, curls falling everywhere.

He‟d look almost angelic if it weren‟t for the fact that he‟s completely

starkers and Louis can just make out the swelling on his lower lip from

where he bit down on it while getting sucked off against the bathroom

wall.

“You‟ll be okay,” Harry says. He leans down and presses a sideways

kiss to Louis‟ lips. “You‟ve got me.”

Louis smiles on reflex, because it‟s nice, and then the feeling in his

chest hits his throat and he chokes on it. He wraps his hand around the

back of Harry‟s neck and pulls him down into another kiss before he

has a chance to say anything else huge and terrifying, and Harry

complies happily, opening his mouth to let Louis‟ tongue inside.

As long as this keeps going, as long as it‟s Harry‟s mouth and Harry‟s

body to distract him, he can keep everything else at bay. People have

casual sex all the time. Hell, he used to have casual sex all the time. He

can do it again. He doesn‟t have to fall into anything.

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Harry‟s mouth breaks off for half a moment and then he‟s climbing

over the back of the sofa and straddling Louis‟ hips and, Christ, he‟s

already starting to get hard again. Should that even be possible? Even

after the hour-long interlude on the coffee table? Even after the thing

with the jam? Obviously Harry is some kind of sex demon designed

specifically to ruin him.

Harry leans back down and kisses him properly, and it‟s just. It‟s not

fair how perfectly their angles line up. Louis doesn‟t stand a chance

against the way his lip fits between the soft pull of Harry‟s, the way

Harry‟s hand settles into the small of his back like it belongs there. It‟s

too good, too much, and that‟s why Louis hasn‟t been able to make

himself disengage for what feels like days but has only been hours,

since the first kiss under the stage lights.

Stage lights. Shit. He left all the stage lights on, and all those costumes

out, and he‟ll need to go in early today to get everything back in order

before classes start for the day, and then he needs to make copies of

worksheets and call his set designer to make sure the last piece will be

painted in time, and he should really get in the shower soon, shit—

“Stop thinking,” Harry says, voice whiskey-rough and vibrating deep in

Louis‟ chest where they‟re pressed together. “Just a little longer.”

Yes, all right, his brain says, because really, how can he hope to argue

with that, but then Harry slides his mouth down to Louis‟ throat and

starts working on a bruise and Louis has to stop him.

“Wait, wait,” he says, tugging lightly on Harry‟s hair to get him to pull

off. “Not there. Too visible.”

Harry whines a little. “Come on, Lou. I wanna do it somewhere people

can see.”

Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the rush of heat Harry‟s words send

through him. He doesn‟t have enough left in him to deal with that,

much less flip them over, so he just pulls on Harry‟s elbow and makes

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discontented noises until Harry gets the hint and switches their

positions.

“Put your hands above your head,” Louis tells him.

Harry smirks and does as he‟s told, grabbing onto the armrest behind

him and wriggling his hips a little under Louis‟. Cheeky bastard. Louis

kisses him once more on the lips, then the side of his neck, then bows

his head and sinks his teeth into the inside of his left bicep. Harry

hisses at the pressure, hooking one of his knees around Louis‟, and

Louis sucks hard enough on his skin to make him dig his fingernails

into Louis‟ back.

When he‟s satisfied with his work, he breaks the suction with a small,

wet sound and plants a kiss on the spot.

“There,” Louis says. He pulls back to let Harry see the place where he‟s

been marked, vivid red on fair skin in the shape of Louis‟ mouth.

“Visible but inconspicuous. Nobody even has to see it unless you want

them to. The perfect solution.”

Harry smiles up at him, and Louis isn‟t sure if he‟s pleased with being

marked or with Louis‟ ingenuity. “All right,” he says, reaching up to

touch Louis‟ lips with the tip of his finger. “That‟ll be your spot, then.”

Thankfully, Louis is saved from having to come up with a response to

that when Harry slaps him on the arse and nudges him off. “Now go on,

get in the shower. I‟ll even give you five minutes before I come in after

you.”

“How generous of you,” Louis says, wobbling to his feet.

Harry just presses his lips together like he‟s trying to contain his smile.

“You‟ve no idea.”

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When Louis finally makes it to the bathroom, he has to take a moment

to brace himself before looking at his reflection in the mirror above the

sink. He‟s not sure what to expect at all.

Debauched, he believes, is the word for what he sees when he opens his

eyes. His hair is a absolute catastrophe, the Hindenburg of hairdos,

mussed up in the back and greasy from sweat and matted with jam on

one side and, seriously, whose fucking idea was the jam? His mouth is

rubbed red and raw. The marks on his ribs and hip are already turning

colors from pink to purple, and Louis thanks the powers that be for

whatever miracle of restraint that kept him from letting Harry put one

of those on his throat. There‟s no way he could have hidden that

without some really elaborate scarf maneuvering.

He‟s a complete mess, and worst of all, he likes it.

“Get a grip,” he says to his reflection.

He pulls back the shower curtain and almost has a heart attack when he

sees something lurking in his bathtub until he realises it‟s Duchess,

curled up in the corner and looking deeply reproachful. Apparently the

bath had been the only safe place left in his flat.

“Sorry, love,” Louis says, reaching out to stroke her head

apologetically. She glares at him and evades his touch, leaping out of

the bath and disappearing around the door.

True to his word, Harry gives him enough time to wash his hair in

peace under lukewarm water before climbing into the shower behind

him. He slides his hands through the suds on Louis‟ stomach and pulls

his back up against his own chest, dropping his head down over Louis‟

shoulder to kiss the wet skin on the side of his neck. Louis‟ body melts

into the touch, and he closes his eyes, shutting his brain up for a few

minutes just to feel Harry‟s hands spanning his hips and Harry‟s wet

hair sticking to his cheek. Every inch of Harry‟s body is slick and close,

and Louis gets to have all of that, gets to touch it however he wants.

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He covers one of Harry‟s hands with his own, and he feels Harry smile

against his shoulder.

Zayn is such a wonderful friend, honestly. He reminds himself of this

interminable truth as he hugs his cardigan tighter against his body and

soldiers on down the corridor. Who else would drag himself out of bed

at this kind of unforgivable hour, a full thirty minutes earlier than usual,

just to stop by to check in on how Louis is doing with everything he‟s

juggling at the moment? No one. Well, maybe Harry, but he doesn‟t

count. Wanting to fuck someone begets feats of superhuman strength

and dedication. Zayn would know.

He rounds the corner to Louis‟ hall and almost stops in his tracks.

There‟s a single classroom with its door open pouring light into the dim

hallway, and from it Zayn can hear the sounds of singing.

He knows Louis can sing. You don‟t have the kind of long-term,

codependent relationship Louis has with theater without that kind of

talent. Years ago he dug up the videos of teenage Louis as Danny Zuko

on YouTube and teased him about them for a month, but even in grainy

video of a low-budget school play, it was clear that once upon a time

Louis Tomlinson lived to perform. He hardly ever lets anyone hear him

sing anymore, having apparently packed that part of himself away with

the part that believes romance is anything other than a waste of time.

But right here in front of his face is Louis standing up on a stool in his

classroom, stapling papers up to the bulletin board and singing to

himself, “Met a boy, cute as can be—”

“Morning,” Zayn says.

Louis almost falls off his stool in surprise. He whips his head around,

clutching the wall for support, but his shoulders relax when he sees that

it‟s only Zayn.

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“Oh, hello,” he says, trying too hard for casual and advancing directly

to Definitely Hiding Something. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was coming to see if you needed any help,” Zayn says. He narrows

his eyes at Louis. He‟s got circles under his eyes and he‟s favoring his

left side, but every other part of him looks totally at peace, satisfied

and... oh. “Good Lord. You finally shagged Harry.”

“What?” Louis chirps, half-falling and half-climbing down from his

stool. “How did you—oh God, it doesn‟t,” his eyes dart around the

room in horror, “it doesn‟t smell like anything in here, does it?”

“What, no, why would...” Zayn‟s brain catches up to Louis‟ words, and

he suddenly feels deeply distrustful of every desk in the room. “Louis.

You didn‟t.”

“No, no,” Louis says quickly. “I, of course not. Ethics and all that.”

Zayn relaxes a bit, but his smugness stays in place. He knew it. He‟s

been trying to tell Louis for months that Harry was well set to fuck, and

he was right. He knows.

“But you did shag Harry,” he says, grinning. Louis opens and closes his

mouth a few times, looking like a flustered, recently-shagged fish, but

he can‟t seem to come up with a lie. His shoulders slump in defeat

finally, and it‟s all Zayn can do not to laugh aloud.

“How did you know?” Louis says, surrendering.

“Mate,” Zayn says, placing a hand on Louis‟ shoulder. “You were

singing „Summer Nights.‟”

Louis pulls a face. “So?”

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“It‟s December, and you‟re you,” Zayn says, and he can‟t help but

laugh at the rueful expression on Louis‟ face. It‟s a nice look on him.

“Relax, Lou, I‟m happy for you. Was it, you know, good?”

Zayn‟s heard all the graphic details of Louis‟ sexual exploits more than

once, descriptions of the backsides of men he‟s never met and details

he never wanted to know, but this time Louis just laughs a little,

turning his face away. “He‟s very... agile,” Louis says, and the way he

blushes tells Zayn all he needs to know. So Louis Tomlinson is capable

of bashfulness after all, eh? Zayn is going to have fun with this.

“Tell me more, Louis,” Zayn says, as serious as he can manage. “Tell

me more. Did you get very far?”

“I am five seconds from braining you with this stapler,” Louis says, but

there‟s no force to it at all. He‟s blushing too much to look threatening.

“So, the two of you are...” Zayn eyes him. “What, now?”

Louis drops his eyes, shrugging. “I don‟t know. It‟s not... I don‟t

know.” He coughs. “Oh, by the way, have you got the the code to

unlock the copy machine upstairs? The one down here isn‟t working,

and I‟ve never used the other one before.”

“Yeah, I‟ll walk up there with you after first period,” Zayn says

dismissively, knowing an attempt at a subject change when he sees one.

“So you haven‟t had that talk yet?”

Louis keeps pretending to be intensely interested in the stapler. “Hmm?

What talk?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. It‟s hard enough to get Louis to open up about this

kind of thing on a normal day, God knows this is going to be like

pulling teeth. “The talk. The, oh, hey, we used to be friends who don‟t

shag and now we‟re friends who do, talk.”

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“No, we, uh,” Louis clears his throat. “We‟re going to put that stuff off

until after the play is done, you know? And the end of term. I‟m busy