These Inconvenient Fireworks (original story on ao3 by complemtattoos)

six

I think I'm dead. - Louis says. His voice is hoarse and tired for more than one reason. He is not yet in pain, but he is quite sure that once this is established he will never remain that way for the rest of his life. - I think you killed me.

- I didn't kill you. Harry says, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice without having to see him. He is strolling around the kitchen wreckage in all its naked glory, completely sated by the chaos he is, Louis and his apartment are equally destroyed around him. There are underwear on the shelf. Real underpants. This is something that is happening in Louis' life. This is something that Harry Styles did to him.

From where Louis is sprawled on the couch, he has a clear view through his bedroom door. The mattress is lying halfway out of bed on one side looking completely defeated, and the duvet is hanging over the chair in the corner. There is an empty bottle of wine stuck under the nightstand and the lamp is hanging by the handle to the side (he remembers that, his mouth around Harry and one of Harry's elbows bobbing sideways as he arched). The papers that were on the kitchen counter are now everywhere. He may vaguely remember letting out a strangled noise and sweeping them to the floor with one hand and bending Harry over the tiles, and how Harry had loved Louis to have taken control.

It's 5 o'clock in the morning now. Louis has a bite mark on his hip. Louis has a hickey forming in his ribs. Louis cannot leave this sofa again.

- I have to collect the term papers today. - Louis says, looking at the ceiling. The fog of sex is beginning to settle around him, and anxiety is creeping back. - I have to put them into action on Friday.

- Can you do that. - Harry says easily. Louis can hear the sound of him dislodging a frying pan from the drawer under the oven that he never opened.

- I don't think I can, though. - Louis says. - I think I can't even move, actually.

Harry didn't respond at first, busy pulling the egg carton out of the fridge and a basin in the cabinet. Of course, Louis was going to get involved with the only person in the world capable of making omelettes after an all-night sexual display.

But suddenly, Harry's face hangs upside down on the back of the sofa, smiling crookedly at him, curls falling everywhere. He would look almost angelic, if not for the fact that he is completely naked and Louis can see the swelling on his lower lip where he bit while being sucked against the bathroom wall.

- You'll be fine. - Harry says. He leans over and presses a kiss to the side of Louis' lips. - You have me.

Louis smiles reflexively, because it's good, and then the sensation in his chest hits his throat and he chokes on it. He wraps his hand around Harry's neck and pulls him down in another kiss before he has a chance to say anything else huge and terrible, and Harry happily complies, opening his mouth to let Louis's tongue in. .

In the meantime, as long as it's Harry's mouth and Harry's body distracting him, he can keep everything else at bay. People have casual sex all the time. Hell, he used to have casual sex all the time. He can do that again. He doesn't have to fall for something.

Harry's mouth pulls away for a moment and then he's climbing over the back of the sofa and riding on Louis' hips and, Christ, he's already starting to get hard again. Is that still possible? Even after a long hour's interlude at the coffee table? Even after the jam thing? Obviously Harry is a type of sex demon designed specifically to ruin him.

Harry leans down and kisses him correctly, and that's it. It is not fair how perfectly their angles align. Louis has no chance against the way his lip fits between Harry's soft tug, the way Harry's hand settles on a small part of his back as if it belongs there. It's very good, very, and that's why Louis hasn't been able to break free for what he feels for days, but it only took a few hours, since the first kiss under the stage lights.