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the patience to get Louis all the way out of his shirt, so Harry just

leaves it open and switches his attention to getting his trousers out of

the way. He manages to deal with the fastenings without taking his

tongue out of Louis‟ mouth, but then he pulls back just as he‟s about to

get his pants down.

“Er, hang on,” Harry says, getting clumsily to his feet. Louis is about to

protest when he‟s confronted with the sight of the knickers sliding

down Harry‟s long legs and he decides that he should probably just

shut up forever. Harry steps out of them and kicks them off to the side

before climbing back down on top of Louis, bare arse settling on Louis

thighs, and Louis has never hated trousers so much in his life.

Harry finds Louis‟ waistband again, and Louis feels like he could cry

from relief when Harry‟s hand finally closes around him. Harry gives

him a couple of rough jerks just to tease, and Louis figures he probably

deserves that much, but then he‟s lifting his arse up to pull Louis‟

trousers and pants down farther and Louis feels the cool tiles under his

skin.

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Harry reaches behind them and extracts the lube from under the table,

wasting no time before slicking Louis up. Neither of them are going to

last long, and they both know it. Louis‟ just glad Harry‟s already open

and ready, because he needs to be inside of him, like, right now. Harry

lifts himself up and takes a hold of Louis‟ cock, and Louis grabs onto

his thighs to steady him.

“Ready?” Harry says, looking him straight in the eyes.

Louis digs his fingers into Harry‟s skin. “Yeah.”

Harry sinks down in one continuous, controlled motion, eyes shut and

mouth hanging open as Louis slides into him. It‟s so good, that first

tight push and then the smooth heat after, and Louis wants to throw his

head back and let the feeling take over but he can‟t tear his eyes away

from Harry. He sees the moment when he hits that spot inside of him,

sees Harry‟s breath hitch and his chest strain at the silk, and then he

bottoms out and Harry‟s arse hits his thighs.

They stay like that for a moment, Harry‟s hands braced on Louis‟ chest

and Louis trying to catch his breath, and then Harry rolls his hips, and

every nerve in Louis‟ body flashes white hot.

It‟s frantic after that, both of them swearing and gasping and moving

together. Louis‟ hands move from Harry‟s thighs to Harry‟s arse,

sliding up under the skirt and guiding him to meet each thrust. Harry

leans back, supporting himself on hands, and the view is something

Louis knows he‟ll never forget as long as he lives, the long line of

Harry‟s body and the muscles in his shoulders, black silk and white

lace and the way his throat moves every time Louis pushes back in. He

can‟t actually see the place where their bodies meet, blocked by

Harry‟s skirt, but somehow that makes it even better.

He can feel his orgasm starting to build low in his gut, and he wants

Harry with him, wants them to tip over the edge together. He shifts one

of his hands off of Harry‟s arse and brings it around to the front, and

when he grabs his cock, Harry jerks forward, body curling over Louis

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in a tight arc. He sinks his fingernails into Louis‟ shoulders as Louis‟

hand moves under the skirt.

“Close,” Harry pants, dropping his head down to kiss Louis‟ neck

messily. “So close, Lou.”

“Come on,” Louis says, and it‟s too much, he can‟t make it any longer,

can‟t feel Harry tight around him and wet on his throat and hard and

heavy in his hand any more, “come on, Haz.”

He gives his wrist one more twist and Harry goes tense and it hits them

both at the same time. Louis‟ hips buck up off the floor and he comes

with a shout, and Harry‟s right there with him, face buried in his

shoulder.

It feels like it takes them ages to come back down. When Louis‟s brain

starts functioning again, he realises that Harry has collapsed on top of

him. He knows this not just because of the weight and the feeling of

wet silk sticking to his stomach, but because there is a doily headband

poking him in the face.

“That,” Louis says finally, lying on the kitchen floor mostly clothed

with a grown man wearing a French maid costume in a sex coma on his

chest, “was unexpected.”

“You‟re telling me,” says Harry‟s voice from somewhere in the vicinity

of his shirt collar. Harry moves at last, rolling off of Louis and onto the

floor next to him. He stretches his legs out and smiles at the ceiling like

he‟s content with the cosmos. “Lacy knickers. Duly noted.”

“Shut up,” Louis says.

They manage to get up eventually, after few more minutes on the floor

trying to summon up the energy to move. Harry pulls the dress off over

his head and Louis shucks his clothes the rest of the way off and they

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leave it all in a pile on the bathroom floor. They shower and brush their

teeth together and then Louis turns off the lights and they fall into bed.

It‟s been a month or so since Harry started sleeping over like this, and

it‟s not like it was something Louis had ever planned on. He just

remembers one night in his bed, fucked out and happy and tucked up

warm against Harry‟s chest, hearing himself say, “Stay.” And Harry

did.

Tonight, Harry presses a soft, minty kiss to his lips and settles in

behind him, and Duchess curls up between their feet. Louis realises as

he feels Harry‟s body relax into sleep against him that he has no idea

which of them is winning.

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All right, so maybe “complete fucking imbecile” was a bit harsh, and

maybe “if I wanted this kind of incompetence I‟d pay my fucking cat to

do it” had been a poor choice of words. Maybe Louis had gotten just a

little carried away. Really, though, Louis maintains that if the twat had

done his job in the first place it wouldn‟t even be an issue, so he‟s still

the victim in this case.

Regardless, the fact remains: it‟s two weeks before opening night of

Grease, Louis only has half of a set completed, and his set designer just

told him to go fuck himself.

This is not good. This is very, very bad.

He sends out a school-wide notice in the mid-morning announcements

that there‟s a mandatory cast and crew meeting in his classroom during

lunch period that day and spends the rest of the morning trying not to

lose his bloody mind. He concentrates on poring over the plans for the

set instead, writing down what‟s been done and what still needs to be

done, making list after list after list and praying to the gods of amateur

theater that his budget can handle this.

Finally lunch comes and everybody‟s piled in—even Harry and Zayn

and Niall standing up in the back—and he steps up to the front and

clears his throat.

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“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Louis says. “You‟re all

looking fresh-faced and lovely today.”

A laugh ripples through the crowd, and on the other side of the room

Harry flips his hair with a wink. Louis has to make a conscious effort

not to smile back at him. He‟s a professional, dammit.

“I‟m sure you‟re all curious as to why I‟m stealing your precious lunch

time away from you, so I‟ll get right to it,” Louis goes on. “I spoke

with Mr. Collins, our set designer, today. You may have noticed that he

has not quite been keeping up to the construction schedule.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that he is an incompetent idiot,” Louis

takes a breath before continuing, “he will no longer be working with

us.”

By the fact that nobody leaps out of their desk in sheer panic, Louis can

tell that no one in the room has any idea the magnitude of what this

means for them.

“Also unfortunately, I don‟t have anyone else to do this, so I am going

to be taking over as set designer as well,” Louis tells them, pacing in

front of his desk. “That means from here on out, if I‟m not in here, I‟ll

be in the theatre working on the set. Thankfully most of the biggest

structural pieces have already been built, but there is still a tremendous

amount of work to be done. So I‟m calling you lot in.”

He reaches down onto his desk and picks up the plans for the set,

rolling it out against the board and taping the corners up. He‟s got a

three dimensional model in the theatre, but this will do for now.

“I‟ve outlined the parts that are already completed in red,” Louis

explains, pointing to the different levels and platforms he‟s marked off.

“These bits have been built but not painted or dressed for the stage.

That‟s most of the big stuff. But then there‟s this.” He grabs a sheet of

paper off his desk and sticks it up on the board next to the plans,

dragging his finger down the page to show how much he‟s written on

it. “This is a list of everything else. We‟ve got a fair bit of prop

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furniture already, but we still have windows to line and doors to hang

and a couple of fake cars to build, and then everything has to be painted

and dressed, front and back. On top of that, we‟re replacing two of the

lighting trusses, which is going to require a lot of lifting.”

Louis takes a step back, letting everything sink in for a moment before

pacing back in front of his desk. “We‟ve got two weeks until opening

night and one week until the set needs to be structurally complete so

that we can do blocking rehearsals and full run-throughs on it. We‟ve

got the plans, we‟ve got the materials, we‟ve got the manpower. I know

at least a few of you have taken enough wood tech to know how to

handle a nail gun without killing anyone. I hate to ask you all to do this,

but I need your help. I‟ve seen all of you at rehearsals. I know you care

about this play, and I know you want it to be great as much as I do. So,

what do we think? Show of hands? How many of you think you could

find time come in and work on the set?”

Louis raises his own hand and holds his breath, hoping for at least a

dozen who‟ll be willing to maybe give up an afternoon or two to help

out. What he gets instead are dozens of hands going up all over the

room, extras and leads and prop wranglers alike. And along the back of

the room, Harry and Zayn and Niall have got their hands in the air too.

He forgets sometimes, he guesses, that he‟s not all alone in this.

“Brilliant,” Louis says, beaming.

He pins a schedule and a signup sheet up by the door listing the times

and days that he‟ll be working, and everybody writes their names in on

the way out, filling up the pages with promises to help. He also

announces that even though they‟ve already got a nine-hour rehearsal

this Saturday, he‟s adding a set construction party on at the end of it.

Everyone seems to take the news in stride, bless them.

After rehearsal that night, he drives home alone, parting ways with