Ask and I'll Obey

Chapter 1

Louis loves touring, but sometimes, he really fucking hates it. The closed quarters. Living out of a suitcase that becomes just a pile of dirty clothes far too often. He hates being in enclosed spaces. Never really getting to enjoy the freedom of being outside for too long. It's always from the bus, to the venue, and then back to the bus with a few interviews in between as a change in scenery.

And then there's the awkwardness. The lack of privacy that boys their age require for...personal reasons. It's disturbing, just how much he knows about the other lads and their needs. He could write a book about it. A whole series that would probably get picked up as a shitty film, eventually.

The bus is far from quiet, even at two in the bloody morning, and Louis is regretting that he didn't charge his mobile so he could plug in his headphones and listen to some music. In the bunk across from his, Zayn is doing that really loud mouth-breathing thing that occurs in his sleep whenever he's exhausted, which is pretty much always. Niall is still keyed up. Unable to relax after the gig earlier and strumming his guitar in the makeshift lounge at the back. It doesn't bother anyone, and Liam is able to sleep straight through it if his snores are anything to go by.

The humming of the engine always plays in the background, adding to the cacophony, and Louis is able to drown it out easily, but...

Above him, Harry keeps shifting restlessly, and not the way he usually does when he sleeps. It's more...purposeful, and Louis tries not to groan, because he somehow knows exactly what he's about to do. He strains his ears, not sure why, but it gets unnaturally quiet in Harry's bunk, as if he's listening. Waiting.

Louis hears him take in a shuddering breath, and fuck, he's touching himself. It's obvious. Well, obvious to him. Harry's never been good at keeping quiet when it comes to physical things, and the fact that Louis is aware of this is proof that he's spent way too much time being in close quarters with him to recognize what he sounds like when he's rubbing one off.

Harry's shitty excuse of a bed creaks in protest with his movements, and he goes still, keeping quiet to gage if anyone's heard him. Louis evens out his breathing, doesn't know why he wants Harry to continue undisturbed. He should punch the slats above him. Tell the younger man to take it into the toilets where he can have some semblance of privacy. Where Louis doesn't have to hear it.

But he doesn't do that. Stays still, instead.

Above him, Harry's breath hitches and stutters, a low whine escaping his throat before it's abruptly cut-off, and all is quiet again. Louis swears he can hear his heart beating in his ears. A loud pounding that stretches out time. Thirty seconds pass. Fifty, and then Harry's moving once more, the sound of flesh on flesh burning itself into Louis' ears. He's careful in the beginning. Keeps the rustling to a minimum, but as it drags on he gets careless.

Louis can hear the way the sheets shift, Harry's hips thrusting up to meet his fist, no doubt. He can see it imprinted behind his eyes when he closes them. The way Harry's curls would be matted to his forehead, weighed down by sweat. How his lids would flutter over green irises nearly blown black as he became assaulted with pleasure. Harry's white teeth sinking into the bottom of his bright red lip...

He's huffing now, close to the edge and of course Louis knows his rhythm as if it were his own. His hand almost aches to match the movement, and he's so hard between his legs it's painful. This is why he hates touring. This. The proximity, letting him in to vulnerable moments like this. Making him want things he shouldn't-

But he does.

Harry's sounds are muffled now, and Louis just knows he has one hand wrapped around his cock and the other covering his own mouth, as if it'll help. And that shouldn't make such a nice picture. It shouldn't make Louis' heart beat faster.