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He waits until they get back to the hotel to shower. There were showers at the venue, but he’s never been particularly trusting of them. Who knows what kind of bacteria live in them. At least with a hotel they’re cleaned on a regular basis. For all he knows the showers at a venue might not have been cleaned in years.

Gross.

He spends a long time underneath the spray, soaking up the hot water until he’s both flushed and pruny, and then piles a towel on top of his head while he walks around the hotel room, digging his bare toes into the carpet. It’s one of the rare nights when they’ve all gotten a room to themselves - Paul said it was for good behaviour, but Louis doesn’t believe that. Yesterday they ganged up and stole all of his left shoes. There’s no way they’re getting a reward for good behaviour.

The room is already a bit of a tip, even though they’ve only been there for a few hours. He’d been looking for Liam’s Batman shirt before they left for the venue, pretty sure that he’d thrown it into his bag when they left the last hotel. He hadn’t found it, but Liam’s been crying about it nonstop, so he keeps looking for it now, tipping his entire bag out onto the floor.

He’s in the middle of sorting through his clothes, trying to determine which ones are clean enough to be worn again, when he hears the doorknob start twisting.

He freezes in the middle of the room, hunched over his bag. He’s pretty sure that it’s Harry, but this might be the one time that he would actually prefer it to be some dedicated fan who’s managed to get past security.

The door clicks closed so quietly that if Louis wasn’t waiting for it he might not have heard it. “Thought I told you to come to my room once you had your shower,” Harry says. It sounds like he’s stopped right in front of the door. Louis doesn’t know whether to appreciate that or not.

“Got busy,” Louis says shortly. He gets back to folding his clothes, putting them back into his bag more or less neatly.

It’s less, but no one needs to know that. “I’m sorry,” Harry says, a tad too sweetly. “I must have done something to give you the impression that I was asking.”

If Louis’ fingers falter on a shirt it’s between him and the shirt, alright? “Go to bed.”

He doesn’t even know that Harry’s crossed the room until his fingers tangle in Louis’ hair, pulling his head up and back, until he’s looking up at Harry from underneath his eyelashes and gasping.

“Who gives the orders in this relationship, sweetheart?” Harry asks, increasing the pressure until Louis’ eyes water, just the tiniest bit. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that you asked me for this.”

“I asked,” Louis gasps, “I did, I asked.” The pressure loosens, breaking their eye contact, which Louis is immensely grateful for.

“You asked,” Harry murmurs, nudging his socked toes underneath Louis’ bare ankles. “You asked me for this, and I’m going to give it to you. Do you need to use your word?”

Louis shakes his head. Harry’s hand doesn’t move with him, pulling on his scalp a little, but it’s like the pain reminds him where he is. “Okay,” Harry says. “Okay. Do you need to put on something softer?”

The question is confusing. Louis doesn’t understand it at first, and Harry’s grip goes from tight and controlling to loose and comforting. “To be on your knees for ten minutes,” he clarifies.

Oh. That. For some reason Louis wasn’t expecting that, even though Harry had hinted at it earlier. He considers the question before shaking his head slowly, moving Harry’s hand with him this time. The pajamas that he has on will be fine, probably. They’re not his softest, but how hard can kneeling on the floor for ten minutes be?

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