I met you in the toilet (Larry One Shots - book 5)

you've got your legs up in the sky, with the devil in your eyes

From: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1030430

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Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2439

Summary: Harry dressed as Miley gets what's coming to him.

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"And we caaaaaan't stop-"

"Harry – Harry shurrup – please-"

"And we wooooooon't stop-"

"Shush." Louis is laughing even as he pushes Harry up against the wall in the hotel corridor – maybe a little too hard, but the world's all fuzzy around the edges and he's spent the entire night carefully trying to avoid his half-naked boyfriend in spandex.

"It's our party we can do what we want," Harry drunk-whispers solemnly at him. Louis bursts out laughing again, the foam finger wedged in between them.

"I am going to hurt you if you don't get rid of that – this thing," Louis says, concentrating very hard as he wrenches the foam hand out of Harry's lax grip and throws it on the floor. Harry grins wonkily at him.

"Maybe you should hurt me anyway," he suggests, eyebrows raised, and Louis can't resist: he plasters himself up on him, one hand curling in a tight fist around one of the loose buns on the top of Harry's head, tugging him down so he can bite down hard on his shoulder. Harry groans and wobbles in his arms as there's the sound of drunken footsteps at the other end of the corridor.

"Room – we need to-" Obviously Harry doesn't have their room key unless he's stashing it in his spandex, so Louis fishes in his jeans for his, dragging Harry two doors along the corridor and jamming the key into the slot. Harry stumbles in behind him, switching all the lights on as he goes and nearly tripping up on a half-packed suitcase as he pulls the duvet off the bed with a dramatic flourish and flops down on the bed, legs spread and already palming himself. Louis has to steady himself on the wall, trying to decide if he sober enough to do all the things he'd wanted to do earlier in the night when Harry had first come out of the bathroom, completely Cyrus-ed up and laughing so hard he couldn't even twerk properly.

"Lou," Harry moans from the bed, trying to shimmy out of the shorts, "Lou, get over here, help me-"

"No," Louis says, more firmly than he'd intended. "Wait. I need a piss. And a moment. To sober up," he says, before shutting himself in the bathroom, staggering over to the toilet and leaning on the wall as he pisses, endlessly, closing his eyes and trying to focus. He'd been so fucking bored of Eleanor's constant po-faced company that he'd got much much drunker than he'd meant to in public around a half-dressed Harry – because it's always hard enough to control himself anyway without being drunk, and Drunk Louis does always seem to be able to find Harry at some point during a night out, usually in toilets or club corners, always just the wrong side of risky. Once he's done he splashes his face with water, paint running in streaks down his neck, so he takes his t-shirt off too, and after a moment's consideration, his jeans as well. He gives his cock an experimental squeeze, pleasantly surprised to find it's stiffening up cooperatively. It would be a crime to waste tonight because of too much booze.

"Right," he says, to nobody in particular, before returning to the room and – it's still not enough to prepare him. Harry is half-out of the spandex, cock laying hard and heavy on his stomach as he pumps a hand inside himself, face contorted in lax, drunken pleasure. "You – uh," he clears his throat to mask the squeak in his voice, "Started without me, did you?"

"Well – you were taking ages – uh – and I've been waiting – all night, so." Harry's face twists as he pulls his fingers out, shaking his wrist. "It's always so difficult when it's me on my own. My wrist aches." He pouts up at Louis as he straddles him, taking his lube-slick hand and twining their fingers as the other goes back to tug on the bun at the top of his head, roughly pulling him up for a kiss. They slurp at each other – and really, there's no other word for it, Harry's mouth wet and tasting like sickly alcohol, those disgusting cocktails he and Lou and Gemma were on all night – and as Louis untangles their hands and runs up and down his chest, he grins when his fingers brush the rough, slightly loose tape over his nipples.