fine line

𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘

2010 comes back to Harry in flashes. A locked room. Louis' hands in Harry's hair, on his neck, his shoulders, his waist. Clothes falling on the floor, being guided backwards until he falls with a muted thump on a bed.

There are, however, some notable differences this time around. The door is unlocked and wide open, because this is Harry's house that he owns. Louis' hands are still all over him, but with a careful kind of patience neither of them had six years ago. Harry's skinny jeans, something he never would have thought to wear at sixteen, are inside-out at the foot of the bed from all the struggle he went through trying to get them off. ("These are sexy, Harold, but they lose points for slowing down actual sex.")

When Louis is naked on top of him, Harry takes a second to trace the tattoos on his chest and down his arms. Louis shifts occasionally, mumbling "That tickles, Haz," at a certain point, but not stopping him. Harry moves his fingertips down to Louis' slim wrists and then back to his chest, to the big piece right under his collarbones.

"It is what it is," Harry whispers under his breath, drawing each letter with his finger. His eyes flick up to meet Louis'. They're a startling blue even in the low light, and even with the dilation of his pupils. They're pensive, studying Harry. Waiting.

"What does it mean?" Harry asks.

Louis closes his eyes for a second as if remembering something; something painful. "Sometimes there are things you can't change," he says quietly after a minute. His eyelids flutter but they don't open.

Harry reaches up and tilts Louis' chin until their gazes lock again. "Sometimes there are things you can," he says, and raises to meet Louis' lips with his own. There's a fierceness to the kiss, as if he's trying to prove a point. As if he's telling Louis, This thing, with me. This is something you can change.

Louis meets him halfway, giving as much passion as he's receiving, and aligns their bodies until Harry is gasping into his mouth, their tongues sliding together. Louis' hips begin to circle slowly, and heat curls in Harry's stomach.

Louis pulls away from his mouth to suck a kiss on his neck and Harry inhales sharply. "Fuck me." Louis releases him only to hover over Harry and raise an eyebrow. Harry swallows hard. "Please."

A small smile graces Louis' lips. "Okay, darling."

Harry feels a different kind of heat - something warm and comforting like a summer breeze - move through his chest, bringing to mind a word he's been actively avoiding thinking about. Love. He feels it. He's sure he does. But confessions of love are not a way to tiptoe back into a relationship.

Louis positions him carefully, only removing his hands to retrieve lube and a condom from Harry's nightstand. His fingers find their way with an expert kind of ease that Harry's never had the chance to experience. He's having kind of an internal battle about it, with half of him being unfairly jealous that he isn't the one Louis learned this with, and the other half screaming at him to just enjoy it.

Ultimately, the latter half wins, and he lets the pleasure crash over him in waves that only become more intense when Louis removes his fingers and pushes fully into him. He takes a second to adjust as Louis kisses him softly, moving to his jaw when he has to turn his head and catch his breath.

Harry squeezes Louis' bicep and nods, giving him permission to continue. The first thrust is shallow, both of them still getting used to the overwhelming feeling, but Louis quickly sets an even pace, fast enough to build the feeling in Harry's gut but slow enough to drive him crazy.

"Is it how you imagined?" Louis wonders, his voice coming out raspier than usual. Harry's brain is currently short-circuiting, but he manages to choke out a few words in response.