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The most stressful week of Harry's life begins like most of his weeks: with Harry on his knees in the bathroom of a dodgy gay bar, waiting for a cock to appear in the roughly cut hole on the side of the stall.
It's just after midnight Saturday and Harry has struck out time after time on the dance floor tonight, grinding his arse against more than a dozen strangers and whispering huskily in their ears that he's about ready to leave if they are--only to have them demure, saying they've got an early day tomorrow or they need to make sure their friends get home all right. Harry respects their decisions, of course, because he's nothing if not an ethical, consent-minded slut, but once his dick is so hard in his jeans that it might rip a hole in them, Harry is forced to give up his dreams of getting fucked tonight and resort to jerking off on the bathroom floor with a stranger's dick in his mouth.
The first cock that appears is short and fat, with thick wiry pubic hair at the base. Harry gets his mouth on it so fast he nearly chokes himself, his hand tightening around his own cock, pulsing hard and ready in his hand--the cock in his mouth is so hard already, it makes Harry see stars as he gets the whole length of it slick and bobs his head up and down on it. This stranger is already so close--just a few more strokes surely--
Just when Harry is sure he's about to go over the edge, the stranger pulls their cock out of Harry's mouth, making a slick pop. Harry's heart sinks and he whines, pressing his face against the stall wall and mouthing after the cock desperately while he ruts against his own hand, but he hears the stranger come with a grunt into their own hand. Harry moans, sticking his tongue out desperately, like maybe the stranger will notice and give Harry their cock again for a second round--but all he gets is a come-covered thumb smoothing over his lip appreciatively.
"Thanks, love," the stranger says gruffly. It's against the general rules of gloryhole etiquette, but strangers always seem to be moved to express their gratitude after they've felt Harry's throat flutter around the heads of their dicks. Harry doesn't appreciate the compliment much, though, since it's almost always accompanied by the sound of zippers being done up and stall doors swinging open and closed again. This time is no different. Harry crumbles against the floor in frustration, his own dick still throbbing without release in his hand. All the time he's spent on his knees over the years has made him almost too good at this, able to bring strangers to orgasm so fast with his mouth that Harry himself doesn't have time to make himself come while he's still filled up with cock. It's a curse almost worse than the actual--
Harry's self-pity is interrupted by the door swinging open again. He grips his cock firmly in his hand and straightens up again. This time he'll go slower, make sure he has time to get off himself. Or maybe he won't need to--he might be close enough as it is, as he lowers his mouth into the right position to receive another stranger's cock, with one hand still jerking himself off slowly.
The dick that appears is strangely pretty. Harry's seen quite a lot of dicks, and even if they make his mouth water, he usually does not go so far as to call them pretty, but this one--well. It's long and just thick enough for Harry to feel full of it without actually hurting his jaw too much, slightly pink and curved to the left, with neatly trimmed pubic hair at the base and nice, full, round balls that Harry almost wants to get his mouth on just for the hell of it. Most importantly, though, there's the vague scent of lavender emanating from it, like whoever this dick belongs to just hopped out of a luxurious bath and hasn't had their dick smashed into sweaty jeans for the past four hours.
Harry finds it isn't difficult to take his time approaching the pretty dick, in spite of how desperate for release he is himself. He practically nuzzles it first with his cheek, giving it little kisses and long licks as it hardens under his tongue. Whoever Pretty Dick belongs to, they seem content with the pace Harry takes, audibly letting out soft sighs that make Harry's dick throb harder in his hand.
When Harry finally wraps his lips around the head and sucks, Pretty Dick lets out an audible "oh, fuck" and their stance falters for a moment. Harry hums and runs his tongue all over the head, savoring the slightly salty taste. Pretty Dick's hips jerk forward a little, seemingly involuntarily, pushing their dick another inch farther down Harry's throat, and Harry moans loudly. His own cock slaps loudly against his hand as he pushes his lips even farther down the pretty dick, until it's sitting at the entrance of his throat. Harry pulls back quickly, pulling an audible sigh from Pretty Dick, only to fuck his face down onto it hard and fast again, leaving a sticky trail of saliva as he goes a few more times, bobbing up and down and getting himself close in the process.
Then he stills. Pretty Dick groans. Harry stays absolutely still, other than the rapid pumping of his hand over his cock. Pretty Dick fucks into his mouth slightly, like a question, and Harry moans loudly in reply, pinching his own nipples with his free hand while his whole body moves into the slow, hard fucking Pretty Dick is giving his mouth.
The momentum they build up is incredible--Harry nearly cracks his skull against the stall door from the force of it, how Pretty Dick is using his mouth like it was created just for this, to be filled and fucked with beautiful thick cock, making Harry dribble all down his own chin and struggle for breath as his nostrils fill with the scent of lavender and desperate fucking, and that's what ends up pushing him over, practically screaming around the dick in his mouth and coming in thick ropes all over his hand and the floor: knowing that there's no way he could give himself over to Pretty Dick's pleasure more than this. He comes so hard he sees white.
Pretty Dick lets out a strangled moan and moves to pull out of Harry's mouth just as he starts to come down from his orgasm, but Harry whines and tightens the grip of his lips around the cock, whirling his tongue around the sensitive underside again. Pretty Dick starts panting, the sound loud even over the thrum of the club music that can still be heard through the door.
"I'm--" Pretty Dick's voice pierces through the bathroom, slick like honey in Harry's ears, and Harry launches himself onto the stranger's cock so swift the head of it plunges right into Harry's throat, and that's the last thing the stranger can say before he comes with a shout down Harry's throat.
Harry feels deeply, deeply satisfied as the pretty dick slips out of his mouth at last, quickly softening but still immeasurably pretty with its pinkness and slick sheen of spit. Harry kisses it before it goes back into the stranger's pants. He stares straight ahead, watching the stranger's bulge in a happy, post-orgasmic daze until the stall door opens and they leave. Only then does Harry pack his own cock (half-hard again, damn) back into his jeans. Part of him wants to stay, get himself off again on another dick--but he knows that anything after this will just be a let-down.
There's a knock on the stall door.
Harry wipes the drool off his chin quickly. He doesn't remember hearing the door open again, but he's still in a kind of haze from having his mouth fucked so good, so. "On my way out," Harry rasps, wiping his slick lips against the back of his hand while he stands up on wobbly legs. Whoever it is waiting to get on their knees at the hole next, they're out of luck. Harry's just had the best cock this club has ever seen.
But when Harry opens the stall door, still wiping spit off the corners of his mouth, he recognizes the jeans that are standing in front of him. He recognizes that bulge. Pretty Dick. Harry stares at it for a moment before Pretty Dick clears their throat and Harry looks up into the stranger's eyes.
Blue. Electric blue, and a soft fringe and awkward smile that's almost prettier than their dick. Harry might be in love.
"Hi," Pretty Dick says. He glances down at Harry's crotch and bites his lip. "'m Louis." He extends his hand.
Harry swallows hard, dropping his gaze to Louis's marvelous thighs. He takes Louis's hand. "Harry."
Louis makes a strangled sound in his throat as he keeps shaking Harry's hand long past when it is socially acceptable to split. Absolutely nothing about this interaction is socially acceptable, though, so Harry allows himself a small smile as Louis's warm, soft hand squeezes his.
"You have come on your hands," Louis says eventually.
Harry withdraws his hand immediately, shoving it into his pocket. "I--oops. Sorry. Oops."
Louis shakes his head and laughs, a loud, thick sound that drowns everything else put of Harry's head. "That was--" Pretty Dick scratches the back of his head, smiling down at the floor. "The best blowjob I've had in years."
"Thanks," Harry says, his voice cracking. He swallows. The taste of Louis's come is still in the back of his throat. He balls up his hands in his pockets and feels something between shame and unadulterated happiness. When he glances up at Louis and sees a smile even prettier than Louis's dick, his feelings summersault directly into the latter.
"I'm about ready to head out of here," Louis says, "if you are."
Harry absolutely, totally is.
&&&
"Let me suck you off."
"No, no, can't wait, please--need you in me now--"
"Want to make you feel good."
"You are, fuck I promise please--oh god yeah fuck like that yesyesyes--"
"Just can't get enough of my cock, can you?"
"No, I--please, oh my god no don't no please please--"
"But you sound so nice when you beg for it."
"Nngk."
"Okay?"
"Yes. Please. Yes yes yes oh god yes--"
"Ask nicely, then."
"Please. Please--sir. Please."
"Like when you call me that. Again."
"Sir, sir please--oh god fuck me, D-daddy--"
"Gonna come on Daddy's cock, darling?"
"Yes, yes, Daddy, Daddy, don't stop pleasepleaseplease--"
Harry comes twice with Louis's cock in his arse. The second time, Louis jerks Harry off with his own come while pounding into his prostate and making Harry call him Daddy while he thrashes in the sheets.
The most stressful week of Harry's life begins with a very, very good night.
&&&
At first, it's just convenient that Louis wants to keep fucking Harry. It's the least amount of effort Harry has put into finding a way to come since he was in his first year of uni and everything changed for him, sexually. It's not that he hasn't wanted a relationship--it's just that Harry has a particularly difficult sexual history to explain to his partners.
It's not that he sleeps around so much that is the problem--he's always safe when things get anal, even if he can get a bit fast and loose with the blowjobs, and he gets tested regularly--it's the reason why he sleeps around so much. Before Harry's brief affair with a warlock in uni, he was perfectly happy getting off by himself into a sock every night before bed. But after that one disastrous night where Harry came prematurely in Nick’s eye and ran away mortified before getting the other boy off, he's been physically incapable of orgasm unless he's actively giving someone else pleasure. He had one brief, disastrous relationship in the wake of that incident, which ended in tearful accusations that Harry wasn't turned on by his boyfriend and Harry's impassioned insistence that that was a lie--but no matter what Liam did with his tongue, Harry wouldn't come.
He'd gone back to the warlock and apologized, later, which is when he found out what happened. Nick regretted the thing, but spells cast in anger were almost impossible to revoke, he told Harry. The best Nick could do for Harry after that was let him get himself off while he sucked the warlock's cock.
That was years ago now, and Harry had long since adjusted to his new lifestyle. He found he genuinely enjoyed bringing other people pleasure in addition to being forced to in order to achieve his own orgasm. Sometimes it didn't feel like so much of a curse, being forced to go out and cruise every time he wanted to do something about his boner. It felt like magical permission to experiment, to explore as many sexual things as there were eager partners to try them with.
Now that Harry's at the age where there are engagement stories all over his Facebook feed, though, he’s started to feel the sting of disappointment every time he walks away from a good fuck without the guy’s number. He has more than enough great friends (including, funnily enough, Nick, who turned out to be a pretty nice guy when there wasn’t come in his eye) and great sex to keep him from being lonely, but it’s not quite the same as having a person—one person who could be a great friend and a great fuck and maybe even a great father all at once.
There’s just no way that Harry could explain his situation to someone, or force them to deal with all of Harry’s weird sexual baggage. At least, not unless he was sure that person was The One. Which is why things start to get awkward when Louis starts not only fucking Harry on a regular basis, but taking an interest in his personal life. In addition to some other personal things.
“Let me suck you off.”
Harry wakes up in Louis’s bed for the second day in a row, which is—well. It’s nice. Like, it’s a nice bed, objectively, with incredibly cool, smooth sheets that are almost as delightful to wake up in as they are to get fucked into with his hands held behind his back. And the beautiful man pressed tightly against his back, his hard cock flush against Harry’s arse—he’s pretty nice, too. As are his hands, his petite little hands, barely big enough to wrap around the full girth of Harry’s cock, but that doesn’t stop Louis from trying.
“G-god, Lou—“ Louis already knows exactly how Harry likes to be touched, which was certainly very nice as he brought Harry off twice while fucking him last night, but is at present making panic stir in Harry’s gut. “Please, I—“ Harry breaks off with a groan as Louis coaxes some precome out of his cock and then lets go of Harry, bringing his fingers up to his own mouth to taste.
“Your taste is so lovely,” Louis whispers in his ear, which is a lie, Harry loves come as much as anyone but it certainly isn’t lovely—but it’s a nice lie, is the thing, which makes Harry shove his face into the pillow and grind his arse back against Louis’s cock with all the more fervor.
“Please—“ Louis’s cockhead nears the rim of Harry’s arse, still just as wet and open and hungry for it as it was last night, and Harry’s sentence gets lost in the groan coming from deep in his throat.
“Not right now, love.” Louis runs a teasing finger down his crack anyway, his fingers just brushing over Harry’s hole. It feels way, way better than it should. “Wanna give your arse a rest. Just wanna suck you off.”
Harry wants to argue with that, he really does, but—it’s crazy, really, how turned on he is just from this, just from waking up to the smell of sweat and lube and lavender, how every time Louis touches him it makes a shiver go down his spine, but the warm, constant hardness of Louis’s cock behind him makes Harry feel like he’s too close to even try having a conversation like that—let alone the other conversation they could have.
“Thighs,” Harry chokes out, grasping for the lube blindly with his hand as he struggles not to brush his painfully hard cock against the sheets. “Fuck my thighs, please, please, I need—“
“Fuck.” Louis reaches out and grabs the lube that Harry was grasping for. He takes Harry’s hand and squeezes it quickly. “Fuck. All right.”
It takes less than a minute for Louis to lube up Harry’s thighs and get in the right position. It’s just time enough for Harry’s mind to start to clear a bit, enough for him to wonder if he should just have that conversation with Louis, what it might mean if he did, if it would really be that big a deal and if it were—
Then Louis’s dick slides between Harry’s slicked-up thighs and Harry’s brain shuts off again, because that—that feels way better than Harry remembers, just—feeling Louis on top of him, between him, around him, tangled up in him, hearing Louis panting in his ear and calling him baby while he takes his pleasure from Harry’s thighs, and that—of course, it's always that—that's the thing that pushes Harry over the edge, makes him stutter and thrash and moan in the sheets while Louis grasps his hips so tight he’ll leave marks.
Harry goes absolutely limp after his orgasm, sinking into the sticky sheets without even enough energy to protest when Louis stops fucking his thighs and starts jerking himself off while staring down at Harry hungrily. Harry hums and manages to turn his head just far enough to watch him work his hand over his pretty, pretty dick.
“On me,” Harry mumbles as Louis’s eyelids start to shudder. Harry’s voice gains strength with Louis’s impending orgasm. “Mark me, please—Daddy. Mark me.”
“Yeah,” Louis says, and even though he closes his eyes when he comes, one of his hands comes down to rest on Harry’s hip again as he shoots long stripes onto Harry’s arse. He collapses on top of Harry. It’s sticky and sweaty and Harry has places to be (namely: not in this bed, again), but Louis whispers mine into his ear as he wraps his arms around Harry to spoon, and it leaves a totally different, much more wonderful mark.
&&&
"Let me suck you off."
It’s the fourth day Harry has woken up in Louis’s bed. Not in a row, mind, but it has all been within the same week, so Harry doesn’t think that’s much of a defense. He’s starting to feel like he might not even need defenses with Louis, which Nick tells him is a common side effect of being well-fucked, but what does Nick know, anyway?
Well. Nick knows exactly why it’s a bad idea for Louis to be between Harry’s legs licking his lips right now. Harry knows too—can feel a bit of panic prick at his gut as he considers the possibility of unrelenting pleasure with no chance of release driving him crazy, literally making him have a psychotic break. He's not sure if it's possible, but with the way Louis makes him feel, anything could be possible.
"No,” Harry says, avoiding Louis’s eye, “you don’t have to, just—just fuck me, yeah? Love when you fuck me.”
Louis stops Harry from flipping over to offer up his arse to him with a gentle hand. Harry pouts a bit, and still doesn’t meet Louis’s eye.
“Don’t want to make you uncomfortable, pet,” Louis says. Harry looks up. Louis looks just a tiny bit nervous, the first time Harry’s seen him like that since Louis first asked him home. “Just—let me just focus on you for a change, yeah? However you want it.” He says it so tenderly that Harry closes his eyes and sinks a little into the mattress.
“Yeah,” he says, before he can second-guess himself. "I want--yes," he hisses as Louis, beautiful soft Louis with his lips perfect for sleepy kisses, presses those lips in sweet kisses over the aching head of Harry’s cock and Harry just—lets him, lets himself lie back and feel it. He lets Louis draw back and lick him achingly slowly, thumb over his leaking tip. He lets Louis tease him for an age, getting Harry’s cock so slick with spit it might slide right down his throat soon. Harry even lets Louis look up at him through all the teasing, lets Louis see his shoulders shake as he considers the possibility of slipping deep inside the wet warmth of Louis’s mouth.
Even though Harry’s already hard enough to burst, hard enough for it to hurt, he lets Louis take his time, work his mouth over him slowly enough to drive Harry crazy—crazy enough to let him keep going, bobbing his head up and down Harry’s cock at a swift rhythm, getting Harry closer and closer to a brink that he can’t cross—
It isn’t until Harry’s cock nudges the entrance to Louis’s throat that Harry throws his arm over his face and says, “Oh, fuck.” He digs his heels into the bed and his fingers into the sheets and tries to move into it and away from it and not at all all at once, and he’s suddenly struck with the impossibility of what he’s trying to let happen, the futility of it, and he grabs Louis’s hair and drags him off his cock with more than a slight edge of hysteria.
“Let me touch you,” Harry blurts out before Louis’s mouth is even off his dick, “let me, let me—please, need to make you feel good, I—“
“Harry,” Louis says, his voice wrecked, and Harry closes his eyes and clenches his fist because Louis’s voice is wrecked from Harry’s cock in his throat and he’s close enough that that would send him over the edge itself, if it could.
Louis clears his throat. Harry covers his face again. He's so aroused by this man it's dangerous. Someone is going to get hurt. “Just need to make you feel good,” he pleads in a small, doomed voice,
Louis’s voice is still scratchy. “You are making me feel good, idiot.”
What?
Louis sits up on his haunches for a second and Harry peeks at him under his elbow. With one hand, he’s wiping some of the drool from the corner of his mouth. With his other hand, he’s jerking off that pretty dick of his.
Oh.
Harry’s back arches almost out of his control, slamming his head back against the pillow—he likes that he likes it he likes it like me like me he likes me he likes it—and all it takes is the ghost of Louis’s breath on his cock and the sound of Louis’s hand working his own dick to make Harry come with no warning, just a wanton shout, spilling all over Louis’s face and the sheets.
Louis grunts and rests his forehead against Harry’s hip as Harry’s mind spins around the words curse and pleasure and fucking hell. Louis comes a minute or so later, biting Harry’s thigh as he spills into his hand.
By the time Louis has picked himself up and cleaned the two of them off with a wet wipe, Harry is finally able to ask the question.
“You—you really liked that?”
Louis laughs a bit. His voice is still scratchy. “‘Course. Didn’t think I’d need to explain that to you.” He kisses Harry on the back of the head and slings his arm around Harry’s waist to spoon.
Harry has quite a lot he would like to explain to Louis, all of a sudden. Starting with how that was the first orgasm he’d had from a blowjob in his adult life, and working back quite a way from there. But as Louis presses a row of kisses into his shoulder, all the things that it was very urgent to not explain yesterday become far less important than snuggling back into Louis’s touch.
Harry will have time to explain tomorrow morning.