Summary:
Harry wants to pull them down and suck him off. Harry wants to never take them off and eat him out over the lace. Harry wants to push them aside and fuck the imprint right into Louis' body.
Work Text:
When Louis steps out of the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe with a hand on his hip, Harry thinks he's going into cardiac arrest.
The panties look like fucking sin against his skin, lacy pink on his tan, and—and his cock, somehow already hard and horribly restrained by the underwear. The very tip of it is poking out, precome leaking through his slit. It looks obscene and absolutely filthy, and Harry doesn't think he's ever been harder in his life.
There's a tiny shade of awkwardness, though; Louis' face is mostly unreadable, and Harry isn't sure how he should outwardly react, if this is something that Louis likes or if he wants to back out completely.
Except then, bringing a hand up to comb through his hair, too long and in desperate need of a haircut, Louis looks him dead in the eye and says into the silence of the room, "I'm not going to call you daddy," and all the mild tension diffuses out of the room.
Harry's mouth quirks up into a smile, but he doesn't think he has to say anything to that, just stares until Louis walks forward, slowly, intently.
Harry's sat on the ottoman in front of their bed, legs open and relaxed, just enough room for Louis to step in between them. He doesn't, though; walks right up to Harry's knees and stands there, looking down at Harry with a glint in his eyes and a cock in his hip. When his hands press down on Harry's shoulders, Harry feels like he is burning; Louis is the one mostly naked, but he feels trapped and caught in his gaze and very, very exposed. He wants so much. He wants fucking everything, and he wants it with Louis, and he wants it right now.
"Turn 'round," he manages to say, voice low and already hoarse.
Louis drops his hands from his shoulders and does, slowly, like he's putting on a full fucking show for Harry.
The lace is stretched tight around his ass, thin and sheer enough that Harry can see everything almost as clearly as he would without. He can't help when a hand lifts to take hold of a cheek, nor when his thumb rubs down and presses the material inward. Louis gasps a little, his arm reaching backwards to grip Harry's shoulder once again.
Harry leans down to bite lightly right below Louis' hipbone, balancing himself with a firm hold on Louis' thigh as he moves further down still, until his breath is blowing above the knickers, above Louis' hole. He wants to—so much, he wants to do so much, but he wants to do it right, too, with Louis splayed out before him, bared and eager.
So he makes himself sit up straight, leaning back and waiting 'til Louis finally turns back around, cock harder still, dark and so hard through the underwear. Harry wants to pull them down and suck him off. Harry wants to never take them off and eat him out over the lace. Harry wants to push them aside and fuck the imprint right into Louis' body.
Louis wants him to do something, judging by the way he's looking at Harry.
"C'mere," he says, closing his legs a bit more, enough that it's comfortable for Louis to sit on his lap, lingerie-clad ass directly above his cock and grinding down a little.
Harry pulls him down and in for a kiss, his hands automatically going to Louis' hips. He bites at Louis' lips lightly, the kiss going straight to filthy in zero flat, Harry's tongue tracing the outline of Louis' mouth, the sharpness of his teeth and how he gives just as good as he gets, fingers gripped tight in Harry's hair, pulling at the strands hard, hard enough for Harry to moan and just kiss back harder.
