It's 1967 and Harry is tired of being that little religious boy who everyone makes fun of. Tired of God pretending not to hear him, he decides to take other reins in secret; How bad could it go if he turned to the Devil? How fast would he answer him...
The lights were off, the room was dark and cold, even though the two people in it were very hot. The snow had begun to fall outside and the wind was blowing against the window that almost reached the roof, but Harry was too busy to pay attention to the storm that was slowly beginning to form.
He couldn't stop moaning over the Devil's mouth because of his rapid thrusts. All that could be heard was the smacking of their lips, the bed creaking, and the sound of Louis moving in and out of Harry. Both of them naked, joined in the best possible way.
—I'm gonna... —The curly boy tried to warn, but it was too late. He let out a choked, high-pitched gasp as he arched his back and bent his little toes, tensing every muscle in his body as his essence shot out, staining both torsos.
As he tried to catch his breath, he remained still until the entity reached orgasm inside him. Both were left sweating, breathing heavily and their bodies stuck together. Louis held his arms at the sides of Harry's head and began to give him deep, slow kisses on the lips, which were immediately reciprocated. His hands went down the little boy's body to his buttocks.
—I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you anymore. —He pressed his hands to hold him closer while kissing him. The boy's arms surrounded the entity's neck. —You're mine.
—Yes... —And, fuckin' hell, he was.
The kisses continued, but Louis could feel them getting slower from his favorite boy. He came out of the latter and laid down beside him, drawing him into his arms and waving his hand, causing the blankets to fly in his direction and cover them both.
He knew that Harry wasn't sleepy, because he had been sleeping for most of the three weeks he had spent there without leaving. The boy was afraid, even sometimes when he was with the Devil, and he had to start explaining to him that there was nothing more evil than him with him while the entity was there. He was thin, pale, with marks that he didn't make. They were bumps, little bumps like brushing your fingers against a piece of furniture, or getting dizzy and leaning hard against a wall. He no longer laughed, he didn't smile a lot and was very dizzy.
Should Louis ignore Harry's pleas and go in search of what damaged him? They weren't getting anywhere, and his boy was dying slowly. Because of him.
He stayed up all night, as always, thinking of a thousand things as he caressed her husband's face and admired him until dawn.
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It was December 20th. The snow continued to fall and the Styles family packed up to go to the cabin where they always stayed for Christmas with Harry's aunt, uncle, and cousins. Harry was folding clothes on his bed with an open bag on the side. Dominique could be heard upstairs and the curly boy wouldn't stop humming. Louis was watching him in a corner with his eyes wider than usual and serious as if he were traumatized. That song had been played more than seven times and his husband was still singing it.
—Holy hell, —the Devil says before he pretends to rest his index finger on a vinyl. The music upstairs stops abruptly and he sighs, leaning against the wall. A few steps and a "I'll fix it!" from his sister-in-law are heard before Dominique is played again from the beginning. Harry laughs softly. —I could kill your sister.
