Word Count: 4,300
A/N: Harry and Louis have a date in the city - but Louis has… prior commitments. This oneshot is loosely based off Ni, All Alone and follows it’s filthy, smutty lead. Sorry I’m not sorry that it’s like 2,000 words of dirty Harry. Enjoy! Beware: feels.
“Would you like to see the menu whilst you wait, sir?” The waiter’s uniform and towel covering his arm was not a sufficient facade to hide his excitement at serving Harry Styles. His face bubbling, he was broiling beneath his collar, his cheeks flushed red.
Harry smiled politely up from his phone, taking two menus from the eager man and placing one in front of the empty seat before him, “Sure. Thank you.”
An absent look on his face was hiding a very cluttered mind. Harry’s eyes vacantly scanned over the menu as his thoughts kept being drawn back to the empty seat in front of him and the excitement as to it’s future filler. Louis Tomlinson. It was their first few days in New York for this tour and just like last time, they were taking the first opportunity they could get to have a night out by themselves. The fans followed them everywhere they went, but with some clever decoying and satisfying a few rabid fans at the hotel with some pictures and autographs, Harry had been able to give them the slip.
Chicken, soup, steak. What would Louis want?
Harry had found himself never looking at the right column on the menus anymore when he was out with Louis. Price didn’t bother him when they were together; when it normally would cross his mind. Something about date night with Louis made him forget all his inhibitions and everything in the world except the boy in front of him.
It was about ten minutes and countless glances at his phone later that Harry was again joined by the waiter, who looked cheerfully down at him, pen and paper at the ready.
“Would you like to order for you and… and your friend?” A small blush crept across both of their cheeks.
“Date.” Harry spoke proudly for once.
“You’d like the sticky date?” The waiter looked down, eager to please his customer, writing quickly - only making the situation far more awkward for a stupidly brave Harry.
Maybe later, Harry’s mind went dark momentarily before he blushed furiously, “N-no I mean,” Harry’s throat hitched, “he’s my date.”
“Oh.” The waiter absorbed the information he’d been blessed with, appreciating it’s weight and took it upon himself to smile acceptingly at Harry, almost knowing how hard that would have been, the waiter spoke, somewhat quieter, but laced with pride, “Would you like to order for you and your date?”
Harry smiled down to his menu, his mind piecing together meals that they could share now that he knew the wait staff was on his side and would definitely overlook the ‘no sharing’ tag at the bottom of the menu, “I’ll have the pasta, this one, and I think he’ll have the, erm, this chicken one. That looks good.”
The waiter nodded and winked at Harry, well aware of his intentions. “And drinks?”
“Oh, erm - house wine for me please. None for him. He’s picky with his drinks, he can do that.”
The smartly dressed lad then collected up the menus, one of which hadn’t even moved yet, and assured Harry his drink would be out to him in a moment, leaving the choclate-curled boy to scroll through his twitter and smile guiltily at some of the tweets that mentioned a possible Larry date night. How right they were.
Half a glass of wine down, Harry was spinning his phone on its corner with his fingers lazily when he jumped at its sudden buzz. His knee came up and banged on the table leg, almost knocking over the glass of wine. His cheeks were soon as red as the liquid in the glass he held close to his face as a shield, letting his curls drop over his eyes - everybody was looking at him for a few seconds before allowing themselves to become occupied in their own conversations again.
As soon as he was relatively alone in his head again, no judgement boring through his consciousness and making him feel like he was made of glass, Harry checked the text. The name ‘Boo’ highlighted and inviting on his lock screen. Harry smiled at it for a few seconds before quickly remembering where he was, a straight-faced facade quickly swiping over his mushiness.
‘Eleanor got in early. Can’t make it tonight. Sorry x’
“Oh.” Harry spoke quietly, his head facing his lap where the phone lay in his hands.
His vision blurred quickly, his chest tightening. A hiccup escaped his lips before he could contain it, so he lifted his head and sneakily wiped his eyes with the napkin sitting beside his shiny forks and knives.
“Her.” Harry whispered to himself again before reverting his attention to the little grey bubble of heartbreak that was the worst news he could have possibly gotten that day. The day he’d been looking forward to the whole time they’d been on break in London. Their plans had been made even more exciting when Louis kept promising ‘after Sweden’, ‘after recording’, “In America, I’m all yours.”. The betrayal cut Harry deeper than he ever thought the depths of his emotion ran. A blackness crept over his night, a pox fell over the whole tour and his relationship with Louis felt toxic. A desperate sadness overwhelmed him - worst of all, in public.
His vision blurred again as he replied,
‘That’s ok. Have fun. See you later. X’
He couldn’t bring himself to hate Louis, or even be mad at him. It wasn’t Louis’ fault Harry wasn’t alluring enough, interesting enough or good enough to hook and hold Louis to the point where he didn’t want to hide anymore. Surely if Louis felt what Harry felt about him, he wouldn’t want to keep up the charade - surely he’d want to come out and be public about it.
Harry would just have to work harder.
Picking up the crystal glass in front of him, almost awaiting his desperate need for numbing, Harry downed the rest of the warm-crimson liquid, before catching his waiter’s eye and summoning him with a quick waggle of his fingers.
The blush crept over his cheeks once more, steadily raising the temperature of his face in unison with the deep-seeded sickness in his gut. The feeling of rejection swirled through his belly and licked at his heart, which recoiled with pain at every beat.
“Anything I can get you, Mr. Styles?” The chipper voice of the waiter made this even more embarrassing - even harder to handle.
“Uh,” his face flickered with shame, before a wall quickly erected itself before his face - the last thing he thought would have to erect this evening, “the bill, please.”
The waiter hesitated, unsure if this was some kind of sick joke, or if he’d done something wrong, something to offend his valued customer. He soon saw the hurt lingering behind Harry’s eyes as they exchanged glances. No wall could protect Harry from at least some of his emotion from escaping through his now suddenly tired, green eyes.
“I can just cancel your order - don’t worry about the bill. Your drink’s on me, okay?”
“I really don’t need y-” Harry stopped abruptly as the waiter’s nose scrunched, determined he wasn’t going to let Harry win this one, so he surrendered, “-thank you.”
Harry stood up and was walked politely to the desk by the waiter, who made an effort to keep a smile on his face whilst other patrons stared at Harry as he left without eating. He felt like an idiot; an absolute idiot. He should have seen this coming, he shouldn’t have ordered for Louis and he shouldn’t have looked so excited and made this so much worse.
Stopping at the lectern by the door, Harry stood to face the waiter, who’s smile had faltered and pity polluted his face.
“I’m sorry about your night.” Seemed to be all the waiter could offer.
Harry opened his wallet, determined to tip the boy for being so understanding and helpful throughout; but a hand quickly deterred Harry’s fingers away from the crisp, green bills that sat patiently for their turn to make Louis and Harry’s night better; well that was the plan anyway.
“Seriously?” Harry spoke, almost a little irate now, “Can’t I give you anything? How about… err, how about an autograph?”
The waiter’s face lit up once more, his hands scrambling around the lectern for a pen and some paper. Harry was always ready for this situation and whipped out a hidden sharpie from an inside pocket that was always on him. The side of his open-blazer flicking outwards as his skilled hand repeated a movement he’d done a million times before - getting ready to sign an autograph.
With his iconic signature now decorating the paper in the mans pocket, Harry strode out into the unseasonably cold New York street. Spring was supposed to be well underway, but the bitterly-icy breeze whipped up Harry’s scarf as he tried to wrap it around his neck - the coat-check girl having not wanted to let it go when he left the restaurant.
He tamed the wayward fabric, tucking it into his blazer. His fists scrunched together and shoved into his pockets in frustration, his eyes red from more than the cold, Harry was not stopping for anyone. He almost stomped down streets, spinning on his heels a few times when fans spotted him round a corner and screamed for him. He didn’t want to be rude by ignoring them, but he also knew he might snap if he was irritated in the slightest way right now and the last thing he would ever want to do was insult or upset one of the millions of people who dedicate so much time, effort and money in making Harry who he is. No, he had to deal with his failures by himself.
The hotel was tall and grand, it’s golden doors complimented royally by the smiling, burgundy-clad gentleman who was ready and waiting to open them for Harry as he trudged in, his boots immediately clicking against the floor, reflecting his pace and eagerness to get to his room, maybe drink himself stupid and go to sleep until tomorrow when their minders woke him and grilled him for being late to rehearsal or something.
The blood drained from Harry’s face as he awaited the elevator in the lobby as a voice echoed off the floor and walls around him. His reflection in the matching golden elevator doors grew paler. Louis spoke again, over the top of a girl’s shrill, infectious laughter.
“That’s Yorkshire ‘fer ya.” Louis’ voice bounded once more.
Harry’s curls bounced as he whipped his head around to see the two coming down the steps from the upstair bar - they were probably heading to the elevators to go to Louis’ room. In a quick decision, one too quick for his feet to keep up with, Harry bolted from the crevasse that housed the six elevators and almost tripped into a tall yucca plant that decorated the lobby in what Harry bemused was probably the stupidest place to put a plant: right in his way.
He used its leaves to shield his escape as he darted around the nearest corner of the lobby, just as Louis and Eleanor reached the elevators. His chest was heaving, the rejection making him far more breathless than he should be. Louis always seemed to manage taking Harry’s breath away; whether it be crippling him in pain as he had tonight, or when Harry came crawling back, day after day, into his arms that he so desperately craved.
Those arms were currently wrapped around the wrong wavy-haired person.
His hotel room was sickeningly, almost embarrassingly empty to Harry. He shrugged off his blazer and left it on the floor by the door. The boots slapping against the hardwood a few moments later.
He almost wanted to run to the bedroom and bypass the lounge entirely. He knew what awaited him in there, and he didn’t want to confront that pain just yet. He couldn’t avoid it though, and as he lightly treaded into the main room of his hotel suite. His back was against the wall, his arms outspread and he would probably have been guessed to be sneaking around rather than desperately trying to stay as far away from the pain sitting in front of him as he possibly could.
Sighing into himself, Harry pushed his hands from the wall and skulked forward wearily toward the empty suede couch. Folded blankets and waiting pillows were exactly where he left them when he prepared the room for date night - undisturbed. A small pile of DVD cases sat atop the coffee table infront of the couch in a formation like a hand of cards. An empty bowl awaited warm popcorn, more of which was going to be lost in the sides of the couch when Harry and Louis tried to throw it in each others mouths from afar as they always ended up doing whenever a movie lost their interest for a split second.
Harry clenched his eyes shut, almost as tightly as he felt his chest constrict as soon as his hand brushed over the soft blanket he’d left out for Louis. It was white with a bright pink, repetitive circle pattern on it. Harry’s ‘Her’ blanket.
His shaky hand picked up the room phone as quickly as it could. He had to get this over and done with before he ended up a sobbing mess on the floor.
“Hello— hey, um.” Harry’s free hand fiddled with the bottom of his shirt nervously, “I err, I need to cancel the champagne I ordered up to room 11-77 for tonight… Th-Thank you.”
Something made Harry sit down on the couch and torture himself, even if it was only going to be for a minute, but something told him he needed to go through that. He soon found the ‘Her’ blanket wrapped around him, absorbing some salty tears that crept over his eyelids and slipped down his cheeks. Louis had abandoned him. Again.
All he wanted was to be under that blanket with Louis, watching one of the five stupid movies he’d picked out. Louis would make some remark about the actors that would have Harry in stitches, leaning against Louis’ shoulder for support while he guffawed and spilled popcorn all over them. Then Louis would wrap a protective arm around Harry’s waist and slide him closer while he giggled, Louis’ nose gently taking in the scent of Harry’s curls, which he’d washed that morning for that very reason; a new shampoo too, because he knew Louis would notice and comment on how nice it smelled, making Harry blush and giving him and excuse to bury himself into the inviting neck and collar that he would be pulled close to.
Then Harry knew Louis would have lifted him by the chin, leaving a lasting kiss on his all-too ready pink lips. Harry would always lean more into any kiss given by Louis, desperate for a deeper contact that was always denied him; the tease Louis was.
Louis’ hands would be all over him first, thats how it always started.
Harry’s eyes opened, his brain paused for a moment. His pants were suddenly uncomfortable, his zipper restrictive. Wide-eyes conveyed a body-wide surprise at his reaction to the thought he’d been having. His day had turned so dark and so gloomy so quickly, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that his thoughts could turn dark in all together different way, dark thoughts that might just brighten up his world a little bit more, if even for a few climactic seconds.
Excitement flared at the back of his mind, like the spark of a match in a dark room. A tiny smile teased the right corner of his mouth, his pearly teeth showing themselves gleefully for a moment as he arched his back and clumsily wriggled his way out of his pants, his thumbs pulling them down as they hooked into the waist line.
His Tommy Hilfiger boxers stretched to accommodate his growing excitement. The black fabric stretched somewhat below the white waistband, which sported the brand name and was being slightly elevated where his length held it away from his stomach.
Harry’s hands smoothly slid over his clothed chest, teasing the bottom of his shirt before snaking their way up and exposing most of his stomach to the warm air in the hotel suite. He quickly lifted his shoulders from the couch, eager to get his clothes off before he got himself off.
A minute later, Harry was bare on the couch, the ‘Her’ blanket was lazily thrown over one of the arms of it, with one of his feet resting on it and the other sitting on the ground beside the couch as he lay diagonally across it, his head resting in the nook where the other arm and the back of the sofa met. A dark smile dominated his face, his lidded-eyes darting beneath their confines as they tried to keep up with the flourry of images passing over the darkness that swallowed his consciousness into a place it hadn’t been for a while. A primal, instinctual place - a place that had one purpose and one purpose only; to get him off.
His smile never abated, his mind had lifted his spirits far beyond the realm of depression and self-seclusion he’d let himself slip into just a few minutes earlier. His hips itched with eagerness, and his right hand almost ached to relieve it. Giving in to his instincts, Harry allowed his hand a slow descent down his smooth torso. Its only resistance given by the slight elevation in each of Harry’s muscles that dotted the way to his hand’s target: euphoria.
A shaky breath slid out of Harry’s lips just as his hand slid over his awaiting length. A quiver of excitement had a quick giggle follow that shaky breath, followed by a suspicious look at his surroundings; as if checking for an excuse not to go through with it. Finding none, Harry’s hand started a slow pump that was really just unfair on himself; the aching increased to a steady throb that ended up quaking into his hips and up his back.
So many thoughts came crashing into Harry’s mind, the weight of them had his head leaning back against the couch arm, mouth agape as he escaped into pleasure. The memory of Louis’ golden skin, moonlit, shiny above him as Harry’s legs straddled beneath him; the memory of Louis’ broken pants into Harry’s throat every night for two weeks straight while they were in Australia, away from everyone and everything that inhibited them; his teeth grazing down Louis’ collarbone as the slightly darker boy whispered his name.
‘I fucking love you, Harry.’ The most booming memory that bounded through his mind, cracking all others before it like mirrors dropped against hard ground. Louis’ bright lapis eyes, hopeful, honest - his lips, moulding around the words with artistic precision. His accent echoing about Harry’s consciousness and vibrating down his neck, spreading warmth through his shoulders that seeped all the way down to his hips and eventually turned into a surge of lust that had his hips surging after it; Harry was rocking into his hand like he’d never done before.
He lifted his hand, the dry rub becoming a bit uncomfortable now - he didn’t need lube, and he didn’t have any, but he was feeling it; he spat generously into his hand, spreading it over himself and let a slick allowance rear its pleasurable head as he started up the massage once more.
His hand twisted, his hips gyrated, his lips reddened as his teeth bit down into them. His hips were alight with pleasure; the match of excitement in a dark room had caught fire to the curtains and was now wildly ablaze - he was euphoric.
‘I fucking love you, Harry.’
“Oh.” Harry panted out, his left hand clenching tightly around the side of the couch as he edged closer and closer to his goal. A dull secondary throb starting up deep within his hips, a bright rising catch in his constant feeling of pleasure that hitched higher and higher as he flicked his wrist faster and faster.
The images swirling in his mind were like a firestorm, Louis was everywhere and in every one of them. Harry loved that boy, he might not feel like he deserved him, but God did he want to and that’s what mattered to him now - he wanted Louis.
The swirling firestorm of images in his head soon reflected the swirling firestorm of pleasure that littered his hips and had his smile almost breaking his cheeks. His curls were sweaty, sticking to his face and covering his closed eyes. Harry’s left hand reached up and flicked them away iconically, sweeping them to the side as he always did.
The rising throb was reaching its summit and Harry’s dick was feeling like a breeze could set it on a chain-reaction to, well, meltdown. In response, Harry adjusted his position, he sat upright and laid his head over the back of the couch, his legs opened, his left hand took up position beside him, nails ready to dig into the fabric beneath them. Harry’s right hand and new best friend took up it’s position and his lungs exhaled slowly in preparation.
“Make it a good one.” He croaked, voice drunk with lust.
Harry’s hand blurred with the speed of his movement, his mouth lay agape, his hips buzzing, his nails scratching deep into the couch. His body was here to make him feel better, it was working for him.
‘I fucking love you, Harry.’
Harry’s hand soon felt numb against his shaft as his hips rocked with the force of his climax. The rising throb surged forward, moving from the back of his hips all the way up his body, from the tip of his dick to the ends of his toes.
He bit down hard into his lips, so hard that a metallic taste seemed to slightly pollute his tongue; his eyes clenched shut. Harry was on fire, ecstasy so rife he felt like he’d never get rid of it, that it would seep into the couch beside him, and in one way, it did.
As soon as he opened his eyes, his temperature raised and his heart rate still wild, a slow blush crept onto Harry’s cheeks as he spotted the mess. There wasn’t that much, but more than he’d bargained for. His hand reached beside him, and he wiped absently with the first fabric he touched, soon recoiling in horror as he recognised the circular pink pattern.
His euphoric state had him careless, and with a sassy shrug, Harry continued to rub the blanket across his stomach and chest.
Harry’s underwear and pants slid back on without much trouble before he noticed his phone buzz in his pocket - as if it were timed to. Checking the time, sure it would be well after his seven o’clock reservation and quarter after eight return to the room, he was curious as to who was texting him. Louis’ name sent a dagger into his gut just as it had before.
‘I miss you. X’
Harry threw his phone grumpily onto the ‘Her’ blanket still sitting on the couch behind him before staring at it guiltily and quickly regretting his anger.
‘I miss you too.’
Harry hadn’t taken a step toward the minibar for a drink when his phone buzzed again.
Harry stared at the message for a good five seconds before he heard an exacerbated sigh from outside his hotel suite door and an actual knock rattling off it. Chuckling to himself, Harry jogged to the bright red door down the short hallway, still clad in just his pants, and swung it open, revealing a robe-wearing, pyjama-donning, scruffy-headed Louis.
“Hi.” Louis spoke, a small smile pinching one of his eyes closed slightly, giving him the most charming little lines that Harry could never come to resist.
“Hey, Lou.” Harry smiled, before faltering and rushing a hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, “where’s Eleanor?”
“Zonked out from her flight. Still wanna go grab a bite?” Louis looked hopeful, almost begging.
“We missed our reservation.” Harry spoke defeated.
“Haz, this is New York. The city that never sleeps. I’m sure we can find somewhere.” Louis offered him a hand to take, nodding sidewards down the hall toward the elevators.
Harry smiled fiercely, taking up Louis’ hand and launching his lips into a quick peck of their lips that echoed off the walls.
“But I’m not wearing a-” Louis shut Harry up by discarding his robe and wrapping it around his shoulders, covering his body and giving Louis and excuse to slide his hands around Harry’s waist and pull him into a deeper kiss that had the curly-haired boy’s knees weakening.
“I fucking love you, Harry.”
“I love you too, Louis.”
Eleanor’s dark hair swished beside her as she brought her head back around the corner she’d been peering ‘round sneakily. In the distance, two overly close, inappropriately dressed boys were striding to the elevators, hand-in-hand.
A quick smile crossed her delicate features and an even more delicate hand pushed some of those wavy locks away from her face as she giggled inwardly, her eyes alight.
“Whenever you’re ready, boys.” her quiet voice didn’t echo off the walls, she spoke only to herself. Her loving message left only for their unconscious to know as she padded back, barefoot, to her room.