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breathing and the wet sound of mouths.

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The adrenaline has finally started to subside, and on his other side, he

can feel Liam sitting very, very still, and Zayn wants to apologize again

or promise to make this up to him or even just make a joke about the

whole thing but he can‟t, physically can‟t bring himself to look at him.

He‟s too drunk to know if he‟s fucked this up completely, but

fortunately he‟s at least drunk enough that the whole situation is kind of

hilarious. In a hysterical, oh-God-what‟s-happening-how-is-this-my-

life sort of way, yes. But hilarious.

Harry and Louis have abandoned all restraint by now, hands

everywhere and hips grinding and muttering things to each other

between kisses that Zayn can only catch bits of, “yeah” and “God” and

once “mine.”

“D‟you lads need a condom back there?” Niall says, grinning over his

shoulder. Harry doesn‟t even respond, and Louis only spares a moment

to take one hand off of Harry and throw Niall an obscene hand gesture

before returning it to the inside of Harry‟s shirt.

Liam has pulled out his phone and is apparently attempting to occupy

himself, but Zayn is close enough to see the screen and all he‟s doing is

scrolling up and down through his contact list again and again and

again. Zayn feels like laughing, but he also feels like dying, because

Liam is right there and this is weird, and Zayn really should not be

turned on by two of his best friends getting each other off but he‟s

drunk and he hasn‟t been laid in a long time and he‟s riding the sexual

frustration from being with Liam all night and Harry and Louis are both

fit and he‟s only human, all right?

“You‟re so fucking hot,” Harry mumbles, sounding drunker than ever,

and Louis practically fucking purrs at that, the vain bastard. Zayn‟s

trying not to look, honestly, he really is, but Louis leans in and drags

his tongue up Harry‟s throat and it‟s really, really hard to look away.

“Like that, babe?” Zayn sees Louis say against Harry‟s neck. He grinds

down hard, and the noise Harry makes in response is absolutely

pornographic. Louis‟ mouth drops open a little like even he wasn‟t

prepared for that one, and then he moves his mouth up to Harry‟s ear

and says, “Gonna fuck you as soon as we get home.”

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There‟s a muffled clatter from Zayn‟s other side as Liam fumbles his

phone onto the floor of the cab. Zayn buries his face in his hands and

prays for deliverance.

The taxi drops them off at Louis‟ flat, and Zayn gives the driver an

extra ten pounds and a heartfelt apology before they all take on the

stairs, which is no small feat in their current state. Louis has got Harry

by the hand, and the instant they make it inside, he pulling Harry

toward the bedroom.

"Have you got a condom?" Louis mumbles to Harry, half-tripping over

a lamp table and not keeping his voice nearly low enough. "We used

the last—"

"Do we need one?" Harry interrupts impatiently. Zayn is very thankful

they're almost to the bedroom, because this conversation is far beyond

anything that needs to be public knowledge. Louis stumbles to a stop

momentarily to squint at Harry, like maybe he's seeing two of him and

he's trying to pick out which one is the real one. "I haven't—not with

anyone else," Harry says. "Have you?"

Louis grabs a fistful of Harry's shirt and says, "I haven't wanted to fuck

anybody else since I met you."

There's a full second in which Harry looks absolutely gobsmacked, and

then he says, quite eloquently, "Fuck," and Louis grins and yanks him

into the room and slams the door behind them.

“Wait for it,” Niall says, holding up one finger. He counts backwards

silently, mouthing three, two, one—

As if on cue, distorted guitar comes flooding from Louis‟ bedroom

stereo through the wall, the bass turned up so loud that it rattles the

dishes in the kitchen cabinets.

“God, The Weeknd? Really?” Zayn says. “Does Louis even know who

that is?”

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“Harry makes their sex playlists,” Niall tells him, pulling one of the

pillows off the couch and throwing it on the floor before flopping down

on top of it. “He asked me for suggestions once.”

“Why didn‟t he ask me?” Zayn says, pouting.

“Because he doesn‟t want to fuck to Drake on vinyl,” Niall says. He‟s

kicked back with his hat pulled down over his face, so he doesn‟t see

the face Zayn makes at him.

“I like Drake,” Liam chimes in. “I like Usher better, though. Mostly his

slow jams.”

Niall extends a fist for Liam to bump it and says something

appreciative followed by something about mixtapes, but Zayn is busy

trying very, very hard to process that input in this context without

curling into a ball on the floor.

He fetches a six pack of beers out of Louis‟ refrigerator instead. And so

The Weeknd plays on, and Niall orders a pizza, and they all stay up for

another hour drinking and talking about pointless things while Harry

and Louis fuck in the next room, and it‟s completely ridiculous, but

somehow it still feels natural, like this was always going to happen

anyway. Maybe that‟s just because he‟s drunk.

A stray thought about his novel strikes him as he watches Niall try to

goad Liam into shotgunning a can of Coke. A band, he think. Not

singers. The book should be about a band. He hopes he can remember it

when he sobers up.

He passes out on the couch, and when he wakes up in the morning,

Harry is cooking everyone pancakes in his underwear with bruises on

his knuckles and love bites all over.

“Not a bad night,” Harry says, smiling sleepily at Zayn. He gestures

with his spatula to where Liam is curled up against the opposite arm

rest, fast asleep.

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Zayn smiles back. “Nah, not bad.”

261

262

It all starts with an offhand comment while Louis is lying dazed on his

living room floor, his brain a mess of post-orgasm delirium.

“That was fun,” he says to no one in particular. He feels like he may

have rugburn in the morning.

“Yeah?” Harry says, rolling onto his side to perch his chin on Louis‟

chest. Harry came first this time, so he‟s had more time to recover.

“Yeah,” Louis says sleepily. “It‟s fun with you.”

It‟s something he‟d probably never say in his right mind, but he‟s too

sapped of energy to care at the moment.

“Good,” Harry says.

Louis reaches up and tangles his hand in Harry‟s hair, scratching lazily

against his scalp. Harry smiles, closing his eyes and leaning into the

touch.

“It‟s been a long time since I had fun with this, actually,” Louis

comments.

Harry frowns without opening his eyes. “Why?”

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“I don‟t know,” Louis says. He can feel his eyelids getting heavy, and

he gives up all hope of making it to the bed. He‟ll deal with the back

pain later. “Just stopped trying, I guess.”

It‟s just a small admission in a moment when his guard is down. He

doesn‟t mean anything by it, honestly, but he should have known that

Harry would take it as a personal challenge.

He‟s sitting in his classroom a few days later, engrossed in a book

while his students take an exam, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

It‟s a text message from Harry, and he smirks a little at the screen when

he reads it.

can‟t wait to see you later sweetcheeks :) let‟s order food and stay in,

i‟m feeling toppy today x

It‟s not unusual at all for Harry to get a bit suggestive in the texts he

sends Louis while he‟s working. He likes it, actually, likes the thought

of Harry sitting in the studio at school waiting for his prints to dry,

typing cheeky things to Louis while surrounded by other students.

Louis‟ own students are currently absorbed in their exams, too

intimidated by his ironclad anti-cheataing policy to let their eyes stray

far.

He thumbs open the reply box.

are you? ;) x

He puts his phone back down on the desk and returns to his reading.

The minutes pass quietly, and Louis is so distracted by his book that he

almost misses Harry‟s reply when it comes. He opens up the message

with the hand that‟s not holding his page, skims it, and promptly

knocks over his tea.

gonna fuck you while you suck on my fingers like you don‟t know if

you‟d rather have my cock in your arse or your mouth xxxxx

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Louis swears under his breath, scrambling for stash of fast food napkins

in his desk drawer as his entire class looks up to see what the

commotion is.

“Sorry!” he says, voice higher than usual. “Minor tea disaster! Finish

your exams!”

He makes a frantic sort of shooing motion at them and starts trying to

mop up his tea before it soaks through all the papers on his desk,

mentally cursing the day that Harry Styles was born as he goes. When

he‟s satisfied the situation is contained, he pulls the message up again

and types out a reply without daring to glance up to reread.

harold pls

That night they order in Thai and Harry makes good on his promise,

fucking Louis into the mattress with two fingers in Louis‟ mouth. It‟s

good, and it‟s fun, and Louis realises that Harry‟s doing this on

purpose. He‟s trying make things fun.

It‟s a realisation that makes his heart do weird things in his chest when

he‟s lying in bed that night, and he can‟t afford to let himself think

about it too deeply. He can deal with it as long as it‟s a game, like the

two of them running up and down the pitch at midnight. He can handle

competition. Hell, he‟s good at it. And he is not about to let this

incident go, for lack of a better word, untopped.

He plans his next move carefully, choosing a home football match that

he knows Harry‟s been anticipating for weeks. He‟s been to enough

games by now to know exactly when to make his way down the stands,

when the team has cleared out of the locker room for good to finish

warming up before the game starts while Harry is the only one left

inside.

Harry looks up from his clipboard when he hears the door open and

smiles when he sees that it‟s Louis. Louis had been counting on that,

knowing that Harry is always so pleased when Louis comes to his

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matches that he‟d never suspect nefarious purposes. Sometimes he

thinks his line of work underutilises his specific skill set. Maybe he‟d

be better suited for war strategizing, or professional chess. Sexy, sexy

chess.

“Hello,” Harry says. “Come to wish me luck?”

Without further ado, Louis knocks the clipboard out of his hands,

shoves him back into the lockers, and wipes the smile off his face.

The kiss is rough, dirty, and Louis knows he‟s caught Harry completely

off his guard by the way his hands cling helplessly to his shoulders.