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lower, stroking down Louis‟ cheek, and then he‟s coming with a

choked-off shout. Louis swallows around the bitterness that floods his

mouth, waiting for it to end before sliding his fingers out gingerly.

He looks at Harry, who is staring at the ceiling in what appears to be a

catatonic state. He‟s breathing, though, so Louis isn‟t too worried.

Louis decides to give him a minute and stands up, stretching. He‟s

probably got about two minutes until he passes out himself, so he

should make use of them. He removes the condom, feeling rather

pleased with himself, and ties it off while walking to the bathroom on

wobbling legs. When he comes back, Harry is lying where he left him,

but he manages to turn his head to look at Louis.

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“Come here,” he says, his voice gravel and sex. He slides over on the

mattress, giving Louis room to lie down beside him. They‟re both

sticky with sweat, but Harry doesn‟t seem to care, pulling Louis in

close for a lazy kiss. He hums happily around Louis‟ tongue and then

pulls away, giving him a final peck. “Sleep,” he says, though Louis

isn‟t sure if he‟s talking to Louis or himself. He finds himself inclined

to agree, though, even if Harry‟s head is heavy on his chest. His eyes

slipping closed, he finds he doesn‟t mind much.

When he wakes, he knows it‟s morning by the sound of the birds

outside. The light that strikes his face is soft, though, muted into

various colors by the scarves Harry‟s got hanging in the window.

Right. Harry.

Louis blinks the sleep from his eyes and turns to his right. There he is,

curled up and rumpled, face slack and peaceful. Sometime in the night

one of them must have pulled the sheet over them, and Harry‟s skin

looks impossibly golden against the white fabric, like there‟s a light

inside him that never turns off. It takes a conscious effort not to touch

him.

He looks like he‟s sound asleep, and this is when Louis should make a

break for it. He should carefully slide out from under the sheets,

making sure not to wake Harry, dress in silence, and leave. He could

leave a note like Harry did, get in his car, and drive. He could be home

inside half an hour, easy, and fall back asleep in a bed that didn‟t come

with this pathetic eagerness that‟s thumping in his chest.

Harry‟s a big boy, he would survive waking up alone, probably

wouldn‟t even blink. But something in Louis rebels against that,

bristles at the idea of Harry slowly surfacing into wakefulness with no

one there to see. It just—it seems a waste. That‟s all.

So when Harry furrows his brow and makes an unhappy noise half an

hour later, his fingers clenching in the sheets as he stretches, Louis is

there. Harry‟s eyes squint open against the light and fall on Louis. The

slow, groggy smile that blooms on his face is enough to put a gag on

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the part of Louis‟ brain that‟s still screaming for him to make his

excuses and leave.

“Hi,” Harry says, rolling onto his side to face Louis.

“Hi,” Louis replies in a small voice, baffled. He knows he‟s, you know,

pretty good at sex, but that doesn‟t justify the way that Harry is looking

at him.

“Sleep okay?” Harry asks, and Louis just nods in response. “Good,”

Harry says softly. “You want to come over here, then?” And, well, it

would be rude to refuse, wouldn‟t it.

Louis slides closer, his hand reaching out and running down Harry‟s

arm. Harry‟s heat has seeped into the bed around him during the night,

and his skin and the sheets have the same glowing warmth. Louis leans

in and kisses Harry carefully. Their mouths are sour from the morning,

but Louis can tolerate it for the sake of the pleased sound Harry makes.

Then all of a sudden he can‟t tolerate it anymore, not the softness of it,

the slow melt of the moment. Soft things are quick to vanish, easy to

forget, too fragile for life as Louis has come to understand it. And he

can‟t tolerate that, not for this.

He pushes lightly at Harry‟s shoulder until Harry takes a hint and lies

back, then breaks the kiss and settles down on his side next to Harry,

pulling his left arm up above his head. Harry looks at him curiously,

but Louis sees recognition dawning in his face as he leans in to sink his

teeth into the underside of Harry‟s upper arm.

Harry draws in a hissing breath as Louis goes to work, biting and

sucking at the spot that Harry had once set aside for him. “Christ,

someone‟s pushy in the morning,” Harry says, sliding his other hand

into Louis‟ hair. Louis breaks away, snickering into Harry‟s arm.

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“I‟m sure I don‟t know what you‟re talking about,” he says slyly,

sliding his hand under the sheets to wrap his hand around Harry‟s half-

hard cock. His own erection presses up against Harry‟s hip, and Harry

half laughs, half gasps.

“You little shit,” he says, and rolls over quickly so he‟s on top of Louis.

He grins down fondly, lacing their hands above Louis‟ head, and slots

their hips together. The contact and friction is good, it‟s so fucking

good, but what has Louis breathless is the closeness of it, the way he

and Harry are flush against each other head to toe.

They‟re barely moving, just shifting together slowly in the low light. It

may be morning, but this second, right here, feels outside of time, like

Louis is going to get stranded here forever if he doesn‟t watch himself.

Harry leans his head close to whisper in Louis‟ ear, and Louis can feel

every movement of his lips. “You‟re going to pay for that one,

Tomlinson,” Harry says lightly, and Louis doesn‟t think he knows how

right he is.

An hour and two orgasms later finds them in Harry‟s tiny shower,

taking turns to duck under the weak spray and wash away the remains

of the last twelve hours. Hands slide over slippery skin a few times, but

neither of them can muster up the energy for shower groping, much less

shower sex. They do indulge a brief make-out session against the

bathroom sink after they‟ve brushed the morning breath from their

mouths, but they‟re only human, and Harry tastes like mint and Louis.

When they leave the bathroom, Louis makes a beeline for his clothes,

but Harry seems indifferent, walking naked to the kitchen. Louis

watches from the corner, pulling on his pants, as Harry reaches up and

takes something down from the top of the refrigerator: his camera.

“Don‟t you dare,” Louis says, his trousers halfway up his legs, but

Harry isn‟t pointing the camera at him. Instead, he turns and eyes the

table.

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“So vain, Tommo,” Harry says, lining up his shot. The table is exactly

as they left it last night, plates lying out and wineglasses empty.

Harry‟s chair is still lying on the ground. He snaps pictures from a few

different angles, then straightens, seemingly satisfied. He looks at

Louis with a smile. “Don‟t worry, Lou, I won‟t document your

current…vulnerability.” He nods at Louis‟ state of undress and walks to

put the camera back above the fridge.

Louis makes himself laugh as he buckles his belt, but the words hit him

harder than he wants to let on. If Harry wanted, he could document a

hell of a lot of things, vulnerability included. It would scare the hell out

of him if he let himself think about it, but it‟s muffled, buried under

white sheets and colorful scarves and the thought of the picture Harry

just took finding a place on his wall.

Harry saunters over, still naked, his hair dripping. He slips his arms

around Louis‟ waist from behind and hums happily. “You could stay if

you want,” he says. “For the day. I‟ve got food, we can just hole up

here and…” he trails off, grinning into Louis‟ neck. “Hang out.”

And it sounds wonderful, it really does. It sounds amazing, and that‟s

what‟s got Louis squirming, because it sounds so amazing that he could

get used to it. Louis has a policy against getting used to amazing things,

especially when he feels like he‟s already used up his monthly quota of

self-indulgence. That‟s what staying would be, an indulgence,

especially when he actually has things he needs to be doing.

He slips out of Harry‟s arms reluctantly and picks up his shirt, pulling it

over his head. “Sorry, Hazza my boy, but I can‟t actually stay. I‟ve got

to run by the flat to feed Duchess, she‟s been alone since last night.”

Harry just looks at him, his face falling. “You‟ve got to feed Duchess.”

Louis nods his head furiously. “She‟s very particular, if I don‟t get

there soon she‟ll be out of sorts all week.” It‟s true. He has the scars to

prove it. Sure, he could text Zayn and have him run over to feed her, or

call one of his neighbors, but he can‟t justify doing that for the sake of

a few more hours of sex, no matter how good it is.

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Finally, Harry nods back. “Okay. Fair enough. Another time, then.”

“This was—I had a really nice time, this was lovely,” Louis stammers,

feeling oddly guilty. He shouldn‟t feel guilty. These are the actions of a

mature, responsible adult. “Thank you for dinner. And. Everything

else.”

Harry just smirks a little and pulls Louis in by the waist, drawing him

into a slow, unhurried kiss. “You‟re welcome,” he murmurs when they

finally break apart, and God, this would be easier if Harry were at least

wearing some pants.

Louis manages to extricate himself, doing his best to avoid all eye

contact. Evasive maneuvers need to start now, or his resolve is going to

collapse. He grabs his coat from the armchair and walks toward the

door, preparing to say goodbye. Turning back, his hand on the

doorknob, he‟s confronted with the sight of Harry leaning against the

kitchen counter, watching him like a particularly lustful Greek statue.

“I might be able to come back later,” Louis rushes, and that is

absolutely not what he planned on having come out of his mouth.

“No pressure,” Harry says, but he‟s beaming, and naked, and Louis

flees to the safety of the lift. If he slides down the wall and sits there,

head between his knees, for a few minutes before hitting a button, then

frankly he doesn‟t think he could be blamed.

He makes it back to his flat in one piece, and Duchess is only

moderately wrathful over her delayed breakfast. It‟s a surprisingly

productive day for him, and he cuts a vast swathe through the mountain

of marking that‟s been looming over his head all week. If the urgency

of avoiding the decision of whether or not to go back to Harry‟s gives

him a bit of extra drive, well, at least his neuroses are having positive

side effects this time around.

Louis has to quit dodging the issue when Harry texts him mid-

afternoon.

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so should i put clothes back on or not

Groaning, Louis tosses the phone down the couch. Fucking Harry and

his nudity and his ability to make this all sound so easy. And it feels

easy, too, when Louis is with him, feels as easy as a song, which is all

the more reason for Louis to be disciplined about this now. If he can‟t

trust himself when he‟s around Harry, he can at least try to be rational

when he‟s alone. Right now, rationality is telling Louis that the last

time he had this little self-control he didn‟t like the way things ended.

Sighing, he reaches down the couch and grabs the phone.

sorry, haz, got buried by work, don‟t think i can make it :(

He lets his head drop back against the cushions and thinks of Harry

reading the text, thinks of the way his lips purse when he‟s

disappointed. Before he can think about it, he picks the phone up one

last time.

but i‟ll be thinking of u later tonight when im alone ;)

And honestly, what the fuck has rationality done for him lately anyway.