The story runs on the six o’clock news, on the biggest broadcast of the day. Reporters from all the big news stations, paparazzi, and fans alike swarm the hotel. By the time Louis is led out of the building by the six biggest, buffest security guards that they have, the crowd is so thick that Louis literally can’t see where it ends.
Louis ducks his head and follows along obediently, trying to ignore the blinding flashes of what feels like a million cameras going off all at once. The paparazzi get some great shots of him, still flushed and wide eyed, draped in clothing a size or two too big for him, practically trembling beneath the weight of the stares and screams directed at him.
He’d spent three weeks practicing the look in the mirror, and he’s careful not to lose it until he’s finally alone, locked up in a different hotel roomwith security outside the door and the curtains drawn tight over the windows.
Then he lets himself smile, just a little.
Louis fumbles their hands together underneath the table until he’s managed to get their fingers laced tightly. His palm is damp and sweaty, sliding against Harry’s. Harry knows something’s up, has to know, but he doesn’t say anything. He just grips Louis’ fingers a little tighter and nods along to whatever Niall’s saying. He won’t stop the meeting to ask, not when he’s convinced that it’s probably something Louis needs something from him in private.
He’s not wrong.
Louis’ breath catches in his throat as he thinks about what he’s about to do, really thinks about it. This is the second last step of the plan, and that’s so fucking scary that Louis almost forgets to take another breath in. Harry’s voice trails off in the middle of a sentence, head tilting towards Louis instinctively. He opens his mouth, about to ask, despite all the other people in the room.
Louis wiggles his hand out of Harry’s grasp and stands up so fast that he knocks his chair over. He leaves the room without saying a word.
His vision blurs a little as he stumbles down the hallway. He can’t tell whether it’s tears or if it’s just spots dancing in front of his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He feels his way to the bathroom, fingers trailing along the wall, shoves the door open and drops to his knees as soon as it swings shut behind him.
He’d stopped taking his pills intentionally, all of them except the birth control, because he’s desperate, not stupid. The point is that he knew that it was coming, knew that it would be hard, the third heat of his life, but he never really expected it to feel like this, feverish and empty and painful, like he’s going to go out of his mind if he doesn’t get Harry’s knot in him.
There’s time to back out before Harry gets here, to go back up to his room or call Paul and have him stop Harry, but Louis just closes his eyes and puts his sweaty forehead down on the cool tile. It has to be now. It just. It has to be now.
The coolness of the tile helps with the nausea, at least a little, and Louis takes in three big, shuddering breaths before the door creaks open behind him.
“Louis,” Harry says hesitantly. Louis vaguely hears the door snick closed again. That’s good, he’s pretty sure, but it’s hard to remember why. It’s hard to think about anything other than how much he wants to be split apart on Harry’s knot so he can come and just stop thinking.
He just wants to let Harry take care of him.
Louis squeezes his eyes closed tighter and presses his face further into the tile. “Baby,” Harry says helplessly. “What - what’s going on?”
It’s a useless fucking question, partially because Louis is in no state to answer, but mostly because Harry can clearly smell what’s going on, just like Louis can all but taste Harry’s cock already fattening up.
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Larry fics
FanfictionIn no way whatsoever, to I hold copyright, or own and credit into which the stories that are contained in this book. I give full credit to all the writers of these stories.
