~*~ Louis ~*~
Harry and Louis continue into their room, shutting the door behind them with a click.
“You can have the first shower. I’ll just, uh,” Harry looks around for a place to sit that would survive the messy goop seeping through the towel but finds nothing. “I’ll just wait here.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Just get your arse in the shower. It’s big enough for both of us.”
“But…oof!” Harry exhales as Louis picks him up without warning, tossing him over his shoulder.
“Have you learned nothing?” Louis asks, carrying Harry to the bathroom. Louis drops him to his feet inside the shower and steps in behind him, both still fully dressed in their dirty, food and mud filled, foul smelling clothes. Turning on the water, Louis lets it warm up before turning the spray head on. “Rinse out your clothes,” he says, urging Harry into the warm, streaming water.
When most of the muck is washed out of Harry’s clothes and down the drain, Louis switches places with him and proceeds to do the same. Stepping out of the spray, he pulls his shirt over his head, wringing it out and tossing it onto the floor just outside the shower. Harry freezes, staring when Louis moves forward and takes the hem of his shirt.
“Lift your arms,” Louis instructs as he begins lifting the shirt.
Harry doesn’t move. He just looks at Louis in confusion. “What?”
“Arms up so I can get this shirt off of you. It’s not much of a shower if you remain dressed in filthy clothes,” Louis teases.
Harry complies, raising his arms as Louis lifts the shirt over his head. He rinses out the shirt and tosses in in the same direction as his own before he pushes Harry back under the spray and hands him the shampoo. They take turns washing their hair then quickly discard their shorts and boxers to wash the rest of the grime from their bodies. There are things in places that Louis would have never thought possible. Fucking mashed potatoes.
“Turn around. I’ll get your back.” Harry turns around, and Louis takes a washcloth and the soap and begins to remove the remaining mess from his back. When Harry’s back is thoroughly clean, several times over, he hands Harry the soap and cloth. “Do mine, yeah?”
Louis relaxes under the slow gentle circles Harry is using to clean his back. His chin drops to his chest as he capitulates to the feeling of Harry’s hands on him. He could get used to this. Harry fingers gently at the stainless steel chain and leather band held together with a tiny padlock around Louis’ neck. “Is this a collar?”
“Yes,” Louis whispers, the heady sensations of Harry touching the collar encompassing him and nearly taking him to his knees.
The moment feels delicate and fragile as Harry’s voice lowers to match Louis’, “Do you ever take it off?”
Louis shakes his head softly. “No. I won’t take it off unless it breaks, and I have to replace it, or until I find someone deserving and willing to wear it.”
“What does it mean if someone wears it?” Harry questions curiously.
“It means they are mine.”
It takes every ounce of Louis’ control to refrain from getting completely hard. He wants Harry so fucking bad. His hands twitch with the need to touch his own dick. How would Harry react if Louis reaches down to wank himself right now? He’s just about to succumb to the impulse when Harry shakes him from his thoughts, letting Louis know he’s done with his back. Louis turns and rinses his back under the spray, almost missing the barely audible words.
