Dirty Thoughts (l.s.)

Part 9

They say it's ought to get worse before it gets any better. And if that was true, Harry had to start getting better really fucking soon, because it was never this bad. He was crying almost every day. He got the meds only three weeks ago and taking them changed his life. He saw colours differently, he felt the world as new, but it was too much from time to time.

He figured the meds would subdue his feelings, but instead he was feeling everything in all its glory once a day or so. Like it was all gathering inside him waiting for the moment he'd let go. It was usually in the shower in the morning after his exercise. He was good after that, like truly good for the day. Louis didn't even notice. Harry hoped, because the man was usually sleeping that early in the morning. And Harry had half a mind to talk to Louis about it every time, every day. But then his mood would come back to normal and he'd forget why it was that important in the first place.

The mood stabilizers that should've stabilized his mood, as it said on the damn thing, were working only if he took them without a delay, which, turns out, he's the worst at. That meant mood swings and weird sensitivity to everything. He wasn't able to take hot showers, the cold once also seemed colder than usual. His muscles were hurting after his yoga exercises and his fingers acted as if he didn't play guitar every day of his life for more than ten years now. He wasn't feeling like himself. Also, sex got weird.

With that thought he walked out of the in-suit, drops of water still running down his skin and fell on the bed. Louis opened one eye to look at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Tired, baby?" he mumbled, stretching his arms over his head.

Harry grunted, turning on his side to look at his boyfriend.

"Not too tired," he smirked. Louis lifted his leg under the covers in useless attempt to hide his morning excitement.

The man shook his head, turning to face him. "I need to be at the office in an hour," he whispered, one side of his face had a print of his pillow case.

"I can do a lot in an hour."

"I don't doubt that," Louis chuckled, his voice raspier in the morning. "But I'm truly not that good."

Harry giggled, throwing a leg over Louis covered body. "Come on, don't be modest," he turned on his sugary voice. "It was all I was able to think about since yesterday."

He wasn't lying. Their last couple attempts to have sex ended up with Harry frustratedly thrashing in the sheets, while Louis tried everything to make him relax and give in to the pleasure. He was able to make Louis climax, but that's where his own lust seemed to stop. And he didn't like it that much. It was an important part for him, to be able to lose his mind in a good orgasm, to relax his mind from all of his thoughts. And Louis was understanding, he stopped when Harry told him to stop and did everything in his power right until the moment Harry got too frustrated to care. But Harry saw what it did to his boyfriend. It made Louis question himself, and more than anything Harry wanted to stop that train of thought.

He got one hand under the covers, slowly moving it over Louis' torso. It was always a pleasure to feel the muscles under his fingers tighten, to sense the shivers running. He loved that he was able to make Louis that aroused just from his touch. The man's lips opened on a sigh, his eyes closing.

"You're a menace," he breathed out, when Harry moved just one finger over Louis' erection.

"I've been told," the younger man murmured. "Maybe you need to teach me a lesson," he whispered close to Louis ear.

Louis chuckled and opened his eyes to look at Harry. The blue color was almost grey this rainy morning but still so loving, full of care and open to read every emotion.