larry smut

give and take

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497377?view_adult=true

~✰~

The click of handcuffs locking around his wrists feels like the last beep before the alarm goes off, the last tock of a ticking clock, the last grain of sand falling in an hourglass. He pulls on them out of habit, feels the supple leather pressing into his skin without leaving a mark. His heart beats faster though he's forced to stay unnaturally still; he has no leverage with his arms folded behind his back and his legs held wide open by the spreader bar. It's hard to breathe with his head down in the pillow. He waits.

He's unnaturally aware of himself like this, suspended between here and there and teetering on the edge. There's still enough clarity in his mind to be unpleasantly aware of the crease of the pillowcase uncomfortable against his cheek, of the hard press of body-warm metal against his ankles, of the drop of sweat running down the curve of his spine; not enough to steady his breathing or keep him from arching his back and presenting himself to Harry or stop him from wanting wantonly. He whines thinly and squirms around, can't do much more than that. Harry doesn't react.

He's still in the room; if he could focus, Louis might even be able to figure out what he's doing. As is, all he has is the vague awareness of being watched, the tingle at the back of his neck that tells him there are eyes on him, the occasional soft hum of a breath or the drag of feet over the carpet. He balls his hands into fists, short nails biting into sweaty palms. He wants to complain, to demand, to take; he wants to obey, to be patient, to earn the praise he craves.

He needs to be good.

His breath hitches when the mattress shifts. He arches his back until it hurts and bites his lip. The whisper of Harry's fingers over the backs of his thighs is so light it's barely there; Louis feels it like an electric current, a lightning that goes straight to his chest. He whines helplessly, arms shaking with tension and the need to move, to touch, to do something.

Harry's hands on his arse feel like they're melting the skin off; he's still painfully tender from the flogger, still feels like he's on fire all the way down the back of his thighs. He gasps when Harry sinks his nails in and scratches down over raw skin, leaving a burning trail behind. His first instinct is to get away, but when he tries, he only ends up losing what little balance he has and making breathing even harder on himself.

"Easy," Harry soothes, running his hand down Louis' back slowly. He doesn't help him up or even touch him anywhere else, careful instead to stay just far enough for Louis to feel the heat of his body without so much as a brush of skin. Louis huffs into the pillow and tilts his head down. His eyes are prickling with tears. The word is at the tip of his tongue, but he can't make himself say it yet. He takes as deep a breath as he can; the air smells like his own sweat and arousal.

Harry's hand feels huge and heavy at the dip of his spine, spans almost the whole width of his back. His teeth sink into his lip until he thinks he might draw blood; his heart is beating so hard it's almost the only thing he can hear. Harry thumbs one of his arsecheeks to the side and runs the head of his cock down his crack; it slips easily through the lube and catches on the loosened ring of his hole. Louis gasps and pushes back. Harry's open palm slapping over his arse makes him jolt forward and try to close his legs. The metal cuffs around his ankles press against the bone.

"If you want it, all you have to do is ask for it," Harry says, calm and gentle and sweet as if begging comes to everyone as easily as it does to him. He circles Louis' hole with his thumb.

"H," Louis grunts. He has to consciously force himself to relax because his shoulders are starting to hurt form how tense he is. Harry hums above him. He seems to be in no hurry when he dips his thumb inside and tugs, stretching Louis open. He taps the head of his cock over Louis' hole, teasing. Louis whines. "Come on." He's getting light-headed from breathing so shallowly; it feels like he's drowning in anticipation.