Led By Your Beating Heart [L.S AU]

14

Now that Harry's let the thought foster, he can't stop thinking about it, can't stop thinking about what it's like to be free, to just put everything out there. They just had their second-to-the-last rebrand meeting, and, to their delight, their plan is being pushed forward, effective in two weeks. Just in time for Harry to finish the last of his pap dates with Sara, and right in time for the first wave of interviews for their new album.

They're still going to have a final meeting to discuss and finalize everything, right before the plan goes into action, but this is it. This the end of the uphill battle, of long monotonous negotiations and contract arguments and compromise. They're finally going to be able to show the world what One Direction is actually capable of, musically.

And they're actually going to get good, real promo for their music. No more asinine pap walks with models, or cameras flashing in his face, no more syndicated articles about some random girl that he's supposedly seeing. Nor will he need to continue seeing the way Louis' eyes turn sad every time he says that he needs to go out with Sara, or the way Harry gets cuddled aggressively when he comes home from a pap walk with her. This is the end, the light at the end of the dark tunnel, and Harry--

Harry's excited.

But there's still something to be said about the thought of coming out.

"I want the world to know," Harry gasps out, when Louis' got three fingers inside him and is pushing them in and out slowly, torturously slowly.

"Know what, babe?" Louis asks, and Harry focuses on the stretch of his hole, the feel of Louis' fingers in him, pushing against his prostate.

"That you make me happy," he answers. He reaches out, grabbing Louis' other hand. Louis' eyes find his. "That you make me so incredibly happy, Lou."

"You make me happy too," Louis answers, ducking down to press a kiss on one of the swallows on Harry's chest.

"But I want the world to know," Harry repeats.

Louis' fingers still in their movement. "You know that you don't need to come out for me, right?"

Harry squirms, trying to get Louis' fingers to continue their pace. "I know," he says. "But I'm doing this for me."

Because he is. Louis may have been a factor in wanting to come out, but in the end, the thought of actually being free, the thought of not having to hide the fact that Louis--a man--makes him happy, is what he wants. He wants to be able to openly talk about Louis the same way Liam openly talks about Sophia, wants to be honest about what he loves and who he loves, wants to be unapologetically himself. Louis may be a factor, but he's not the only factor. There are still many, many more.

"But I want you by my side," he continues. "When I come out. Please."

Louis kisses him, searing his lips onto Harry's, tracing his lips with his tongue. "Of course," he answers, when they separate, and he's smiling wide, so wide that his eyes crinkle in the corners. "I'm glad. I'm so, so glad, Harry."

"I'm glad too," Harry answers, wriggling again, trying to take Louis' fingers deeper. "Now come on, focus, please."

Louis fingers him for a bit longer, until Harry's panting again, his skin sweaty and sticking on the sheets. "Fuck me," he begs. "Come on, Louis, fuck me."

Louis pushes into him slowly, and Harry closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of Louis inside him, the way he fits into Harry, like a missing puzzle piece. He loves the slight burn as he stretches to accommodate Louis' girth.

Louis doesn't say anything, his eyes, instead, finding Harry's own. They're gentle, the colour of a calm lake in the middle of the woods and Harry wants to drown in them.

Louis fucks him slowly, his hands gentle on Harry's torso. He presses kisses on every part of Harry he can reach, his mouth leaving white hot burns in its wake, like Harry's very own brand.

Harry hasn't felt more alive.

He grips Louis' shoulders, feeling the way they move and shift beneath his palms. Louis is dainty, yes--he looks delicate, looks a lot like fine china--but beneath the skin, hidden in the sinews of his muscles, is a hidden strength.

"Louis," he gasps, as one of Louis' thrusts press against his prostate. "Lou, please."

"Shh," Louis says, no, whispers into the skin of his neck.

Harry whimpers.

It's not long until Louis grows desperate, chasing his release. He thrusts harder, faster, the blunt head of his cock pushing up to his prostate, and Harry can do nothing but gasp and take it, take Louis further, the furthest he can.

Louis props himself up on one arm and uses his other hand to wrap around Harry's cock, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. It makes Harry clench around him, and Louis moans, ragged. He throws his head back and fucks Harry harder, faster, like an incoming storm, and Harry can do nothing but ride it out.

Louis kisses him, pushing their lips together, and the kiss is gentle, so, so gentle, a complete contradiction from the way Louis is moving on top of him, all sweat-slicked skin and desperate, hot skin contact. Harry pants into his mouth, drinking Louis in, because he's never not drinking Louis in, can never actually stop himself from consuming all of Louis he can. His own body understands; the way he takes Louis in deeper is testament to this.

Because Louis just gives. He gives and gives and never expects anything in return. He gives Harry his light on a daily basis, shining it enough that Harry feels warm and happy inside every day. Even when he was eighteen and Harry was sixteen, in the dingy X-Factor bathrooms, Louis gave him, a boy he barely knew, a bit of his light and a fond smile, and Harry had felt warm all over, and confident enough to think that, hey, maybe I can do this.

I love you, he thinks. He doesn't know if he says it--too caught up in the way Louis' skin feels against his, the way Louis is moving inside him--but the thought is there, burning into the forefront of Harry's brain. I love you, I love you, I love you.

"God," Louis manages to gasp, tearing his mouth away. His lips are raw, bitten. "God, you're gorgeous, Harry. You're so, so beautiful. You make me happy, babe, always. You always make me so, so happy."

Their orgasm hits them in sync, with Louis burying himself into the hilt and groaning, and Harry spilling all over himself, all over Louis' hand. He holds Louis so deep that, for a moment, he doesn't know where he ends and Louis begins, and it wouldn't be a bad thing, he thinks, to be joined like this forever.

There's a moment of total quiet. It's bliss.

"You make me happy too," he whispers into Louis' hair. "So, fucking happy. I feel so alive, with you."

It's not the 'I love you' that's in his brain, but it's still something.