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then Harry is toeing off his shoes before sinking down and pulling

Louis down on top of him.

"Posh new job and you couldn't even buy a bed," Louis teases before

Harry silences him with his mouth and a slap to the arse that makes

Louis squirm happily against him.

"Still better than that voyeuristic cat," Harry mutters against Louis

mouth in between kisses, already sliding his hands under Louis' jumper.

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"You know," Louis says, his voice muffled as he sits up to let Harry

pull the jumper and the shirt underneath it over his head, "Duchess only

has lovely things to say about you."

Harry actually brightens up a little at that, the complete idiot. "Is that

so?" he grins as Louis pushes his blazer off of his shoulders.

"Don't look so smug about it," Louis says, leaning back to let Harry get

his jacket the rest of the way off. "She just knows you're a pushover."

Harry laughs and pulls his shirt off too, and Louis barely gives him the

chance to get all the way out of it before claiming his mouth again. He

can't believe he ever went without kissing Harry, can't believe he made

it through twenty-five years of life without it and can't believe he let

himself ever go without once he'd had it. Can't believe he almost let

himself go without it for the rest of his life.

Harry seems to have missed this just as much as Louis has, judging by

the way he moans when Louis presses the full length of his body down

into him and doesn't waste any time getting his hands on the swell of

Louis' arse. They're making up for lost time, moving fast and urgent,

trying to touch all of each other at once. Louis breaks the kiss to press

his mouth against the side of Harry's jaw, biting at Harry's ear, and the

sound of Harry's soft laugh is everything.

"Arm up," Louis says, touching Harry's left arm. He wants to find that

old familiar place on the inside of Harry's bicep and mark it again, like

he hasn't since that morning back in the spring in Harry's old flat. He

wants to make it his again.

Except Harry goes still at the words, and when Louis looks up at his

face, he's not smiling anymore. He's just looking at Louis, and Louis is

unnerved by what he sees there, the little bit of fear in his eyes.

"It's okay," Louis says instinctively. He kisses Harry's shoulder. "It's

okay."

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And then Harry closes his eyes and lifts his arm, and that's when Louis

sees it.

Right there, in the little secret place where he used to leave the shape of

his mouth on Harry's skin, there's the outline of a star in black ink. It's

not fresh, Louis can tell. There's no redness around it, no raised edges,

just smooth skin and five points and dark lines standing out stark

against the fairness of Harry's skin.

Louis absolutely cannot move.

"I got it three weeks after I left," Harry says, and Louis is so startled by

the sound of his voice that he almost cracks his head against Harry's

when he looks up.

"Is it," Louis says, but his voice doesn't come out right and he has to

swallow and try again, "is it—"

"Yeah," Harry says. His eyes are open now, and he's looking at Louis

like he's trying to be very careful with the way he answers the question.

"I, um. I just kind of decided that even if it was over and I never saw

you again, I wanted to keep that part of my life with me. Like,

permanently."

He presses his lips together and waits for Louis to respond and, oh, if

Louis has any doubts left about what exactly Harry means when he

says that he loves him, this is the part where they're blown apart. This

isn't a photo or a note or a scrap of something novel and pretty. It isn't

something he can put on a wall or keep on his shelf. It's something

that's with him all the time. It's something that lives with him, that

keeps living with him.

"Do you like it?" Harry asks quietly, looking for a moment

breathtakingly young.

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Harry wants this every bit as much as he does, Louis realises, just as

desperately and constantly and completely. In the breath between

coming to that conclusion and crushing his mouth into Harry's again,

Louis thinks that he has never loved anything quite so much in his

entire life.

Pushing Harry's shoulders flat against the mattress, Louis leaves his

mouth and goes to work on his arm, biting down on the tattoo. Harry

groans, his hips pushing against Louis where he's straddling him, and

God, Louis had almost forgotten how responsive he was. He thinks

about trying to keep him quiet, pushing his fingers into his mouth to

give him something else to do with it, but he decides he wants to hear

him. He wants to hear how loud Harry can get for him with nothing but

this.

He sucks down hard on the mark that's already forming in the star, one

hand braced on Harry's chest to feel the way it expands with every

heaving breath. He smooths his tongue over the red skin, feeling how

warm it is, and then nips gently at it, trying to stay inside the lines of

the star.

"Lou," Harry pants, and Louis bites down again, hard. "Fuck, Lou,"

Harry almost shouts, his hips snapping up again. Louis can feel the

hard line of him through their trousers and can't help but roll his hips

down against it, hissing a breath through his teeth. When he pulls away

from Harry's arm, the star is livid, with a promising bruise already

forming. He bends back down to lick at it a few more times before

giving it one last long suck that has Harry whining and fisting his hands

in the sheets. Louis realizes he's still grinding down against him, can't

stop himself, and if circumstances were different he'd want to see if he

could make Harry come just like this. He has other plans tonight,

though.

He leaves off, finally, sitting back up straight and just rubbing his

thumb lightly over the mark. "I'll take that as a yes, then," Harry says,

once he's caught his breath.

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There's humour in his eyes, but Louis doesn't play along. He just leans

down and captures Harry's mouth in a careful kiss. It's sweet, and

delicate, and Louis doesn't deepen it until he feels Harry's eyelashes

flutter against his cheek. Then it's slow, and thorough, and when Louis

sits back up Harry is looking at him completely starry-eyed. "I love

you," Louis says. "So much."

Harry lifts a hand to Louis' face, running his thumb across his

cheekbone. "I love you too," he says, his voice low and just a little bit

broken. Louis turns his face into the touch, nipping lightly at the heel of

Harry's hand, and then starts shifting back down Harry's body.

"Budge up," he says, making himself room between Harry's legs. He

runs his nails through the coarse hair leading down from Harry's navel

before going to work on his belt and trousers. "What, wearing pants

now, Styles?" he says when he reaches the black boxer briefs

underneath.

"Yeah, I'm a sell-out," Harry grins, lifting his hips so Louis can slide

the whole lot down. A little bit of tugging and untangling later, and

Harry is finally naked. Louis briefly considers robbing a bank so he

could pay Harry to just loiter around his flat naked on a permanent

basis, but then he remembers the more pressing issue, which is Harry's

cock standing hard and flushed and waiting for him.

"Mmm, missed you," Louis says, and Harry is still laughing when he

bends his head to lick the first long stripe up the shaft. He has, is the

funny thing, he's missed this body that he knows so well. He's good at

this, he knows he's good at this, and sometimes getting Harry off felt

like a work of art.

So he knows that Harry likes having attention paid to the head, likes it

when Louis uses his hands to stroke him while he sucks him off. He

thinks that maybe Harry likes the way Louis' hands look wrapped

around him. Whatever it is, it still holds, because it's not long before

Harry is having trouble keeping himself from thrusting up into Louis'

mouth.

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Blowjobs have never been Louis' favourite thing to do, honestly, but he

likes doing this for Harry. He likes how much it wrecks him, how

Harry seems surprised every single time. He likes how hard Harry tries

to stay in control, because he knows that Louis doesn't really like

having his mouth fucked. He likes the taste of him, and the way Harry

will kiss him frantically when it's over. The size of him might make

Louis' jaw ache after a while, but it's worth it for the way he gets harder

and harder in Louis' mouth. It's worth it for the sounds he makes.

He's being uncharacteristically quiet this time, actually, and Louis pulls

almost all the way off and lifts his eyes to check on him. What he sees

makes him moan around Harry's cock, pressing his hips down into the

bed.

Harry's got one arm—his left arm—braced back and clinging to the

edge of the mattress. His head is up on his pillows and tilted to the left,

and he's craned his neck to get his teeth in the flesh of his upper arm,

biting down on the bruise Louis left there, the one that's filling up the

tattoo Harry got for him. Louis can't tell if he's doing it to try to keep

himself under control or if it's getting him off too, if the pressure on the

sensitive spot is adding to whatever Louis' mouth and hands are making

him feel. He keeps his eyes on Harry as he swallows him down farther,

and he watches Harry bite down harder, the skin right under his teeth

blanching where they cut in. Louis feels his own cock twitch in his

trousers at the sight, at every different way Harry is his in this moment.

Louis doesn't want it to stop yet, hasn't had enough of Harry looking

like that, so he takes his time with it, coaxes Harry toward the edge

again and again without ever getting him quite there. Harry's chest is

covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and Louis watches it strain as he

works him, watches the muscles flutter and contract. He's gorgeous like

this. He's always been gorgeous, but the context of this, the knowledge

that this is the body of someone who loves him, of someone he loves,

makes it so striking. Louis has never thought of himself as particularly

lucky, but today is changing that fast enough to give him whiplash.

He takes Harry in deep again, living for the way Harry's mouth falls

open and his lower lip drags against the tattoo. Harry's so, so close,

Louis can taste it in his mouth, and this time he decides to let him have

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it. He picks up the pace a little, and he feels one of Harry's hands on the

back of his head, twisting his fingers into Louis' hair. He expects

encouragement, but instead Harry tugs gently, pulling him off.

"I—" Harry starts, and then he looks down and sees Louis looking back

up at him, and his whole body shudders. He screws his eyes shut like

he's in pain, and Louis realises that he's trying not to come from just the

sight of Louis between his legs.

"You can come, Haz," Louis says gently, and he's still not even

touching Harry but the sound of his wrecked voice almost makes Harry

come again, and God, that's fucking amazing. "I want you to."

"Not yet," Harry grinds out, voice breaking, and he has to take a few

huge, shaky breaths before he's willed himself down enough that he can

stand to open his eyes again. He steadies himself and looks back down

at Louis. "I want—fuck, Lou, please, I want—"

"What, love?" Louis says, pushing up onto his hands.

Harry pulls Louis up and kisses him, tasting himself on Louis' tongue,

and then he moves his mouth to Louis' neck. "The first time you make

me come again," he says, catching his bottom teeth on Louis' throat as

he goes for his jaw, "I want it to be while I'm inside of you."

And Louis wanted to make Harry come, but yeah, okay, that sounds

better. "Yeah, Haz," he says, suddenly incredibly aware of how

restrictive his trousers are. "I want that, I want that."

Shifting his weight, Harry grabs Louis around the waist and rolls them

over. Louis has never quite gotten over that initial surprise, the shock at

the way Harry goes from being a bit taller than him to suddenly

surrounding him completely when they're close like that. It's offset, he

supposes, by the way Harry is fumbling with his belt buckle and

chanting "off, off, off," like a child.

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"For God's sake," Louis says, half-laughing. "You get the shoes and I'll

get the rest, all right?" Harry obliges, pulling off his shoes and tossing