You drive me round the bend - l.s

Chapter 2

Louis' skin was slick velvet, pliant and warm under Harry's fingertips, sweat dripping down his spine. He was pushing back, breathing those little ah-ah-ah sounds every time Harry rocked back into him, tight and wet and scalding hot, and Louis looked over his shoulder with hooded eyes, lips parted around Harry's name—

Harry jolted awake, hips rocking into empty air, shuddering as he came.

"Fuck," he muttered and reached down to squeeze himself through the aftershocks, eyes still sandy with sleep and boxers getting wetter by a second, limbs twitching because the little zings of pleasure wouldn't stop shivering down his spine.

This had to stop bloody happening. It had been days, all right?

Days of waking up from a wet dream like a twelve-year-old who got hard from a light breeze and any free minute spent Googling 'post car crash trauma' and 'adrenaline high' and 'can nearly dying make you horny'.

Yes. Yes, it could, apparently.

You're such an idiot, he told himself, rubbing his softening cock through the wet boxers one last time before letting go and blinking his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. It had all been a product of nearly dying. It was temporary, this unhealthy obsession and vivid memories of pressing into Louis' body, of the way he'd fallen pliant when Harry had nuzzled the spot behind his ear, the press of Louis' teeth into his hipbones and the arch of his golden back.

In a few weeks Harry wouldn't even remember the colour of his eyes anymore, would be able to forget the way adrenaline had surged through his veins with every thrust and every slide of their lips.

His mother had always told him that he jumped in too fast and put too much of his heart into strangers' hands, and he knew he'd done it again that day, had confused the 'I'm alive' euphoria for real feelings for a moment. He just needed to shake it off and forget the way they'd worked together, as if they'd been reading each other's bodies for years.

Nothing about it had been real or permanent enough to fuck with his head like this though. He needed closure. The kind of closure he usually got after his one night stand kicked him out of the flat right after or turned out to have a boyfriend with penchant for violence or... just turned out to be an arse in general.

Louis' coat still hung in his closet.

He'd been telling himself he'd return it every single morning, just gathering courage bit by bit. Maybe he wasn't quite ready to meet Louis again, afraid of how it would make him feel, a part of him all too eager to cling to the memories for a bit longer.

He'd always had a masochistic streak.

He sighed a shaky breath and pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead, refusing to glance down his bare torso to see the fading bruises in the shape of Louis' teeth.

"Harry, you up, mate?" Niall yelled through the door just before he barged in, because his parents had never taught him proper manners. Harry didn't even bother throwing a blanket over his crotch. Niall should have knocked. "If you're done tossing off, can you get ready so we can go?"

"I wasn't—"

"So you've been moaning for the past hour, because—" Niall waggled his eyebrows. Harry was demoting him from best friend to just-a-flatmate. Speaking of flats, they needed one with thicker walls.

"I didn't mean to," Harry grumbled, covering his face with a pillow. He felt vaguely unfulfilled. He'd even tried to pull last night to see what it would do. It was just... no one had made him feel like that. As if the world might tip off its axis if Harry didn't have them right now.