Smut and fluff

Use somebody

By istajmaal

Nick hadn't been entirely sure what kind of reception he should expect when he knocked on the door of the Styles-Tomlinson residence a few hours after receiving the most interesting text message of his life. But if you'd asked him, he probably would have guessed it'd be Harry smiling giddily, waggling his eyebrows and holding a bottle of wine, or Louis and some of his teenage popstar minions squirting him with water guns.

The reality was somewhere between the two, and that was the first sign that Nick was entering uncharted territory.

"Wasn't sure you were going to come," Louis said. He answered the door wearing nothing but blue boxers and red socks, carrying neither a bottle of wine nor any juvenile instruments of war. He was also obviously hard in his pants.

Nick snorted and leaned against the doorframe. "Think what you will of me," he said, "but I'm not an idiot." When Louis Tomlinson texted you saying, Harry wants you to fuck him tonight, no I'm not kidding, you didn't just assume that he was probably actually kidding. You took the chance, and if you got sprayed with a water gun, well, you'd figure out later how the joke was still on Louis after all.

Louis raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything. "Come on, then."

Where's young Harold, Nick almost asked as Louis led him through the living room Nick was familiar with towards what he presumed was Louis and Harry's bedroom, which he was... less familiar with. But something about the way Louis was holding himself (okay, probably his bloody erection) stifled Nick's natural inclination to tease until he figured out what, exactly, was going on.

Louis stopped outside a closed door in the corridor and took a deep breath before regarding Nick with a grimace. "I'm a multimillionaire," Louis said. "Something gets out and I'll have you killed."

Nick was so far from expecting that that he can't think of any response but to gape at him. "Fingers crossed," he said, holding up two pairs of crossed fingers in exaggeration. "Have you got him wearing a bunny suit in there or something?"

Louis shook his head, but it seemed like it was more of a reflexive gesture than a response. "He's been waiting," he said. "Longer than I planned, but..." Louis shrugged as he pushed open the door. "You'll see."

Nick saw.

"Wow." Nick blinked hard and rubbed at his eye. "Well. I. Wow."

Harry was on all fours on the floor—or, like, Nick assumed it was Harry, because context, and because of the boy on the floor's gangly legs and curly hair and cute little bum and the tattoos all up and down his arm—all right, it was obviously Harry, but it didn't look like any version of Harry Nick had ever seen because Nick had never seen Harry gagged and blindfolded with a plug in his arse, so. Shit. Harry's hands were covered with what looked like huge black mittens that were chained together in the front, thick noise-canceling headphones were covering his ears, and drool was dribbling down his chin around the ring gag pulled tight into his pink mouth. There was an open bottle of beer settled on the center of his back, dripping cold condensation onto his pale skin. Harry seemed to be shaking with the effort to keep absolutely still. Somehow, what Nick found most amazing was that his head was still upright, facing the mirror directly across the doorway where Nick and Louis were standing, even though he couldn't see himself or them.

"If I'd known this was all it took to make you speechless," Louis said, "I might have invited you a lot sooner." He left Nick standing on the doorway, picked the bottle up from Harry's back, and sipped it once before setting it down on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, his feet just grazing where Harry's hands were covered in mitts, and Harry exhaled loudly and started to shake a little less.