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It‟s past ten by the time he gets everything sorted and locked up, and

the drive home seems to last forever. He makes himself take the steps

up to his flat at a normal pace, forcing down the anxiousness ringing in

his ears. Harry knew what he was doing when he sent that message,

knew it was going to wind Louis up, and this is a game, after all. Louis

intends to win, whatever that means.

He hesitates for a second at the door, unsure of how to prepare himself,

before finally letting himself in.

There, on his sofa, is Harry, watching telly and slouching over a bag of

crisps, wearing a French maid costume.

Louis just stands there in the doorway, staring at him.

“Hello,” Harry says casually, scratching his head. The frilly little

headband he‟s got on shifts a little in his curls. Louis is sleeping with

an idiot.

“Really?” is all Louis can say.

“I was dusting earlier, but you took too long and I got bored,” Harry

tells him. He shoves another crisp into his mouth and stretches. “I guess

you win this round.”

Louis buries a laugh in his hand. “Where did you even get that?”

“Already had it,” Harry says with a shrug, and he would. Louis should

have known. If anybody has got a French maid costume stored in their

wardrobe for no good reason, it‟s Harry. “Fancy dress party a couple of

years ago. It was quite the hit.”

Louis rolls his eyes and drops his bag by the door before wandering

into the kitchen. Harry follows him without purpose, leaning against

the fridge, watching Louis get a kettle ready.

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He looks at Harry standing there in his kitchen, scratching his stomach

through his absurd costume, and he wonders if he‟s losing his mind,

because it actually looks good on him. The plunging neckline is

obviously meant for cleavage, but on Harry it just draws the eye to the

lines of his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, the hard planes of his

chest. The corseted waist makes his shoulders look impossibly broad

and his torso look even more impossibly long, tapering down to narrow

hips and the slim sway of his back. He‟s far too tall for the skirt so it

barely covers half of his arse in the back, and Louis can see lacy white

knickers underneath.

Harry catches him looking and winks, cocking one hip out to the side,

which, wow, nope.

Louis turns away with a shake of his head, reaching for a mug. “Are

you just going to keep that thing on all night?”

“Why?” Harry purrs in his best mock-sexy voice. He bends over and

plants his hands on the kitchen table, arching his back and thrusting his

arse up in the air like he‟s posing for a pin-up. “Do you like it?”

And God help him, yes, he does like it. He has no fucking clue why,

but for some reason that tiny bit of white lace on Harry‟s football-toned

arse is doing things for him that it really shouldn‟t be. But more than

that, he likes Harry, unbelievable Harry who put that thing on because

he knew it would make Louis laugh. Louis‟ never really had somebody

like Harry in his life, someone who just likes to make him happy and

stops at nothing to do so, who gives him things like this. Part of him

wonders if this is where the two sides come together, if this is where

sex and whatever you call the other thing between them overlap into

something bigger, if that‟s what‟s been happening all along.

“Maybe I do,” Louis says.

Harry lowers his lashes, playing exaggeratedly coy. “Then why don‟t

you do something about it?”

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Louis looks at him, at his pink lips and his legs that go on for days, and

he knows that Harry‟s won.

Harry watches as he takes his glasses off and leaves them on the

counter, and then Louis‟ moving forward and Harry‟s turning to meet

him and they snap together like gravity. It‟s always like that with the

two of them, push and pull until things line up just right. He can feel

Harry smirking against his lips, and Louis bites down on it until

Harry‟s mouth falls open and he can get his tongue inside.

He pushes Harry backwards by the shoulders and follows with his own

body, laying him out flat on his back across the table. One of Harry‟s

legs comes up to hook around him, and Louis reaches up to hold

Harry‟s hands above his head, keeping him pinned with hands and

mouth and hips. Harry uses his leg to leverage his body up into Louis,

rolling his hips, and Louis bites off a kiss to swear into the side of

Harry‟s neck.

Not to be outdone, Louis shoves one hand under Harry‟s skirt—Harry‟s

skirt, honestly, this is going into the Louis Tomlinson Sex Hall of Fame

as the most ludicrous fucking thing he has ever been turned on by—and

wraps it around Harry‟s cock. He‟s more than halfway hard, trapped

inside the thin material of the knickers, and he moans around Louis‟

tongue at the touch.

Harry kisses him like he always does, like it was his plan all along, and

Louis finds that it still hasn‟t gotten any easier to handle. He‟s not quite

sure how Harry, flat on his back in a ruffly outfit, manages to make him

feel like he‟s the one completely out of control. He moves his hand up

higher, flattening his palm over Harry‟s stomach before reaching into

the knickers to stroke him properly. The damp lace rubs against the

inside of his wrist as his hand moves, and Harry‟s grinding his hips in

earnest now, matching Louis‟ pace.

This is good, but he wants more, wants Harry begging and filthy, wants

to make him feel something he‟s never felt before. He wants to do

things he hasn‟t wanted in so long, and it scares him, but he wants it so

badly.

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He pulls his hand out of Harry‟s ridiculous skirt and steps back, and

Harry makes a noise of confused disapproval before Louis grabs his

shoulders.

“Thank God,” Harry says, letting Louis turn him around, and Louis still

can‟t quite get over how eager Harry always is for him. He widens his

stance, letting Louis‟s knees fit between his, and that would be it for

Louis if he didn‟t already have something else in mind. Instead, he

smooths a hand over the silk covering Harry‟s hip and down the side of

one thigh, then sinks to his knees.

“What‟re you—” Harry starts, looking over his shoulder, but Louis

presses his mouth against the lace fabric of the knickers and Harry‟s

voice dies in his throat.

“Trust me,” Louis says, and Harry is bent over Louis‟ kitchen table

wearing a damn French maid costume, but somehow when he nods in

response, for a moment the look in his eyes manages to be completely

serious.

Louis pulls his eyes away from Harry‟s, focusing on pushing the skirt

up and hooking his thumbs around the top of the knickers. The lace

feels so delicate under his fingers, and Louis can‟t make sense of why it

turns him on so much. Maybe it‟s just that almost nothing about Harry

is delicate, not even the curling corners of his mouth or the way he

looks when he wakes up in the morning. He‟s all boy limbs and wild

hair and heavy eyelids, but then there‟s these frilly knickers and there‟s

that look of trust in his eyes and Louis doesn‟t know what else to do

but give him everything he can.

He tugs the knickers down just far enough and drags his fingertips over

the exposed skin, feeling goosebumps rise under his touch. He can feel

the tension in Harry‟s muscles, the anxious restraint of waiting for

Louis to close the space between them, and Louis wonders if anyone‟s

ever done this for Harry before. He hasn‟t done it himself in years, not

since the first boy he ever fell in love with. He hasn‟t wanted to do it

since, but he wants to do it to Harry. God, he wants it.

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He leans in and ghosts his mouth over Harry‟s balls first, because that‟s

safe, they‟ve done that before. Harry shivers at the heat of Louis‟

breath, so close but not quite touching him yet, and when Louis finally

presses his lips against the sensitive skin there, he can hear Harry

swallow a small whine. It‟s getting to him, Louis can tell, the

anticipation of what he‟s about to do, and Louis can‟t suppress a grin at

that. This round may go to him after all

The first time his tongue makes contact with Harry‟s skin, he can feel it

roll all the way down Harry‟s spine. His hands move from Harry‟s

thighs back up to his arse as he works with the flat of his tongue, and,

fuck, he knew Harry had a thing for his mouth, but his hips are already

shifting restlessly and Louis hasn‟t even gotten to the good part yet.

He drags the tip of his tongue up with agonizing precision, spreading

Harry apart with his thumbs, until finally, finally he hits his destination.

Harry gasps and swears at the same time, a breathless, shuddering fuck,

and Louis slides his tongue over the spot again, teasing.

“Jesus,” Harry grinds out, and Louis can tell how much it‟s costing him

to just stand there and take it. “Lou.”

Louis keeps moving, palming the swell of Harry‟s arse as he draws

circles with his tongue. He can tell by the way Harry can‟t stop

squirming that this has to be his first time, and that just gets Louis even

hotter, knowing nobody else has ever made him feel this way. This is

his. He darts his tongue out and just barely breaches him, and Harry‟s

hand slams down hard on the table, a groan tearing out of his throat.

Part of him wants to make Harry talk again, wants to listen while he

tells him exactly what he‟s feeling, but the fact that Harry hasn‟t said

anything else in minutes is doing enough for him. He glances up for a

moment and Harry‟s got his chin tucked against the lace ruffles on the

shoulder of his stupid costume, turned as much toward Louis as he can

manage, hair falling in his face and his mouth moving wordlessly. The

realisation that Harry can‟t, physically can‟t say anything goes straight

to his dick.

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He starts working Harry open with his tongue, feeling himself getting

harder with every pleading noise out of Harry‟s mouth. He slides one

finger up alongside his tongue, swirling it through the wetness there

before pressing in gently. Harry pushes back into it, desperate for

something more, and Louis slides his tongue farther inside.

His own spit is enough to get Harry started, but he‟s going to need

more than that if they‟re going to really get anywhere. He leans back

just far enough to open the rubbish drawer and snag the tube of lube in

there, popping it open and skipping right over the part where he

wonders how he got to the point in his life where it‟s necessary to keep

lube in every room of his flat.

Harry watches over his shoulder, and Louis makes deliberate eye

contact with him as he slicks his fingers. It‟s killing him, Louis knows,

not being able to touch him at all, to have to hold himself back. Louis

thinks about teasing him again this time, but he knows he can‟t. He‟s

too far gone now.

He pushes two fingers inside, fast and easy, and Harry‟s hips jolt

forward at the sudden fullness. Harry‟s already pretty slick, and Louis

knows it‟s not going to take much longer to get him ready, can already

feel his body giving him more room to work with. It‟s just as well,

because Louis‟ still fully clothed and he can feel his shirt starting to

stick to his back and if his cock doesn‟t get some attention soon he‟s

probably going to die. He works in a third finger and sets a quick

rhythm, and Harry rocks back into it, angling his hips so that Louis‟

fingers drag across the right spot every time.

“Lou,” Harry says, finally finding his voice again, “please, Lou, I

wanna touch you.”

Louis closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath, and slides his fingers

out.

“Get down here, then.”

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The last thin cord of Harry‟s self-control snaps at his words, and

suddenly he‟s being knocked backwards, Harry‟s hands coming up to

fist in the back of his hair as he crushes their mouths together. He lands

sprawled on his back with Harry straddling his hips, and he‟s been in

this position before, but he never really imagined it would happen again

on his kitchen floor with Harry dressed as a French maid. Harry sits up,

dragging his hands down to Louis‟ chest and sliding his braces off his

shoulders. His headband is hanging off the right side of his head.

“You look ridiculous,” Louis says.

Harry just smiles down at him and, God, Louis doesn‟t remember how

to want anything else. “Only for you,” he says.

He bends and kisses Louis again, making it last while he tugs Louis‟

shirttails out and gets the buttons undone. Neither of them really have