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sounds of the city around them. Louis doesn‟t know what the hell either

of them are doing here, or what he‟s supposed to be doing, or what

Harry wants from him at all.

“Your train tomorrow,” he hears himself say, “it‟s, it‟s at two, right, or

is it—”

He never gets the rest of the sentence out, because Harry surges

forward onto his knees and crushes his mouth into Louis‟ before he can

say anything else. Louis tips over backwards with the momentum of it

and Harry follows, crawling between Louis‟ thighs and digging his

fingers into his hair.

Louis takes about half a second to catch on, and then he slides his

hands up under Harry‟s t-shirt and thinks yes, God, just fuck this out of

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me, because maybe they can get each other out of their systems like

this, maybe they can just leave it all here. He digs his nails into Harry‟s

back and opens his mouth up to his tongue, feeling the grass of the

pitch tickle the back of his neck, and wonders if this at least will let him

stop thinking for a while.

But then Harry‟s pulling back, hauling Louis up to a sitting position

with him before shrugging off his jacket. “Here,” he murmurs, and

leans around Louis to lay it out flat behind him before pushing him

back down with insistent hands, the smooth material in between Louis

and the wet grass.

His fucking jacket, God, Louis can‟t expend anything on attaching

some kind of meaning to that. He doesn‟t care, categorically refuses to

care, and would prefer to skip straight to the part where Harry fucks

him until he screams, but Harry seems content to press bruising kisses

to Louis‟ mouth for the next thousand years.

Normally Louis would be more than capable of speeding things up

himself, but somewhere along the line Harry‟s snuck his hands to

Louis‟ wrists and pinned them down in the grass above his head.

Frustrated, Louis nips at Harry‟s lips a little too hard, and he mutters,

“Come on,” when Harry pulls away with a hiss of pain.

He looks up at Harry, straight into his eyes for the first time since he

got there, and he knows exactly what he wants must be written on his

face. Harry‟s own face is unreadable, and he gives Louis a short shake

of his head, but he does press his hips down hard into Louis‟, biting his

own lip as he watches Louis‟ head loll back. Louis pulls one leg up and

around Harry‟s, pulling him closer.

“Louis,” Harry says. He‟s looking at Louis like he can see straight

through him, and Louis can‟t play it this way.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Don‟t.”

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When he opens his eyes, Harry is still looking at him steadily. “Don‟t

what?” he says, voice flat, his hands still on Louis‟ wrists. The light

from the city, so far away and muted, is the only thing moving on his

face.

Louis is arching back up into Harry, is saying words. “Don‟t,” is what

he‟s saying, pressing his lips against Harry‟s neck, kissing along his

jaw. He leans up close, pressing one desperate kiss to Harry‟s mouth,

then another.

Both of them have their eyes open, and Louis finds himself staring at

eyelashes when Harry mumbles, “Don‟t what?” against his lips.

Louis‟ eyes fall closed and he moves by muscle memory, pressing

another kiss to the corner of Harry‟s mouth. He thinks you know what

when he tugs on Harry‟s bottom lip with his teeth, thinks you know I

can‟t say it when Harry‟s hips move against his.

“Come on,” he whispers again, and it sounds so loud in the empty dark.

Harry just ducks his head, lightly kissing Louis‟ neck again and again,

his grip on Louis‟ wrists not giving an inch. Suddenly he bites down,

his teeth scraping well above what Louis‟ collar would hide. It goes

straight to Louis‟ dick, yes yes yes sparking all the way down his spine,

but—

“Careful,” he hisses, “marks.” Harry freezes, his breath hot on Louis‟

skin, and he lets go of Louis‟ wrists. Louis can hear the soft sound of

Harry‟s hands as they move down to fist in the jacket underneath them,

and Harry pushes his head blindly into the juncture of Louis‟ shoulder.

It‟s silent on the pitch, but Louis still feels the soft “Please” more than

he hears it.

Louis can‟t control his hands now that they‟re free, and he smoothes

them down the line of Harry‟s back before reaching up to tangle them

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in his hair. The way the soft strands wind around his fingers feels

hellishly familiar, and oh, Louis will never, ever talk about this.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah, Haz.”

Harry breathes out harshly, his entire body wracked with it, and then

he‟s back to work, sucking hard at Louis‟ throat and sliding one arm

down to slip under Louis‟ waist where his back has arched up off the

ground. Louis can feel a second heartbeat in his neck, throbbing under

Harry‟s lips, and he knows the mark it leaves will be livid and obvious

and still not enough.

After what feels like years, one of Harry‟s hands finds the back of

Louis‟ thigh where it‟s wrapped tight around him and slides up until his

palm settles on the swell of his arse, and Louis‟ breath catches in his

throat when Harry digs his fingers in. There‟s something about the way

Harry‟s touching him, something possessive, fingers spread all the way

out like he‟s trying to count him up in handfuls and cover as much of

him as he can at once. It makes Louis feel very, very small.

Louis‟ shirt is almost rucked up to his armpits by now, but neither of

them seem particularly concerned with it, so he settles for getting his

hand between them and under Harry‟s shirt again. He presses his palm

up against the skin of Harry‟s stomach and it‟s burning hot and

trembling against his touch, and he doesn‟t let himself memorize the

way his heart turns over in his chest at that. All he memorizes is the

noise Harry makes when Louis tightens the leg around him and the way

the muscles under his hand go taught when he cants his hips up.

Harry‟s grip on his arse tightens, palming it before sliding his hand up

and dipping below his waistband to feel skin instead. He lifts his hips

up a little bit, just enough to take the edge off while he leans in to kiss

Louis again. This time he takes it so slow it almost hurts, ghosting over

Louis‟ lips until Louis has to close the distance himself and then

holding onto his tongue for long enough that Louis isn‟t prepared at all

when Harry‟s hips drop back down and grind him into the pitch.

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The hand under Harry‟s shirt closes down hard on Harry‟s belt buckle

in response, and Harry swears when Louis changes the angle of their

hips. They move together like that, rough friction and Louis‟ face in

Harry‟s neck, until Louis starts working on the fastenings of Harry‟s

jeans.

“Lou,” Harry says, and Louis freezes, because Harry‟s not allowed to

say his name like that anymore.

He opens his eyes again, more out of panic than anything else, and even

in the dark he can see Harry‟s lashes fanned out on his cheeks. He stays

like that for a moment with Louis frozen underneath him, and then he

presses one more kiss to Louis‟ mouth and starts crawling backwards.

Louis drops his leg from around Harry and props himself up on his

elbows to watch him shift down to settle in between his thighs. “This

okay?” Harry mumbles as his practiced hands make quick work of

Louis‟ belt and fly. Louis only manages a nod, but Harry must not see

it, because his head snaps up at the silence. “Lou? Okay?” he asks

again, insistently this time.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Louis says. Harry nods, his face serious, and

then slips his hands into Louis‟ jeans and boxers, sliding them down his

thighs. God, Louis is so fired if they get caught, but when has that

stopped them before? Harry wraps his hand around Louis‟ already half-

hard cock and bends his head to take it into his mouth, when Louis

finds himself reaching out to stop him.

“Wait—” he hears himself say, voice rough. Harry looks up at him, and

in the moonlight he‟s as beautiful as anything Louis‟ ever seen. “Could

you just—just touch me?” Louis grinds out around the stubborn lump

in his throat. “Just touch me and,” oh, he hates himself, “and kiss me.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment, closes his eyes in a way that

looks like it hurts, and then nods again. “Hold on,” he says, scooting

back. One by one he carefully pulls off Louis‟ shoes, then pulls his

jeans and boxers all the way off, folding them and putting them to the

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side. Half-naked and lying on Harry‟s jacket, Louis is grateful that the

pitch lights aren‟t on. This is as exposed as he‟s ever felt in his life.

Harry moves back up to sit between Louis‟ legs, dragging the tips of

his fingers along the line of Louis‟ thigh. Wrapping his right hand back

around Louis‟ cock, he slips his left arm under and around Louis‟ waist

to haul him up close, almost into his lap, the material of his jeans rough

against Louis‟ skin. Thrown by the sudden movement, Louis clasps his

arms around Harry‟s neck to regain his balance, his nose bumping

softly against Harry‟s cheek before they find their bearings, mouths

slotting together like gravity.

Spreading his left hand across the small of Louis‟ back, Harry picks up

a slow pace on Louis‟ cock with his right, firm and sure and enough for

Louis to gasp against his lips. Louis slides his fingers under the collar

of Harry‟s shirt, desperate for the feel of his skin somewhere other than

the white-hot points of contact under Harry‟s hands and mouth. Harry

tugs gently on Louis‟ bottom lip and then pulls away, dusting kisses

along his jaw up to his ear, then dropping to his neck again. When he

nips at the mark he left earlier it‟s a sharp pain that makes Louis yelp,

but he still turns his head to give Harry easier access. It hurts, but God,

it feels good to just let Harry take whatever it is that he wants and not

fucking think about it. It feels good that there‟s anything he wants at

all.

Louis can hear his own harsh breathing, feel the way his chest is

expanding rhythmically to meet Harry‟s in counterpoint with the hand

on his cock and the teeth at his throat. He loses track of time, and

there‟s no telling how many minutes pass before Harry licks gently

over what can only be a massive bruise and moves back up to Louis‟

mouth. Feeling liquid and drugged, Louis slides his hands up to Harry‟s

face and cradles his jaw, angling his head to better slip his tongue into

Harry‟s mouth.

Harry shivers under him and his hand squeezes on Louis‟ cock,

slippery from where Louis is already leaking. Louis can‟t help but push

up into his slick grip, knowing he‟s making needy noises and not caring

a bit. Harry must hear how desperate he is, because he makes a soft

sound of assent against Louis‟ lips and slides him down off his lap. He

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lets go of Louis long enough to pull off his sweat-soaked t-shirt, tossing

it over to the pile of Louis‟ clothes, as Louis does the same. Still fully-

dressed from the waist down, Harry rubs a thumb along Louis‟

cheekbone before carefully lifting his glasses off and setting them on

top of their clothes.

Pushing him back down onto the outspread jacket, Harry noses at the

sparse hair on Louis‟ chest before sucking hard at one of his nipples,

making Louis dig his nails into the back of Harry‟s neck. “I‟m gonna

fuck you, okay?” Harry murmurs against his chest. “You want me to

fuck you?” His hand slides down to roll Louis‟ balls between his

fingers as he speaks, and Louis can already feel tremors building in the

muscles of his thighs.

“Yeah, Hazza,” Louis manages, his breath hitching, “I want you to, I

want you—” and then Harry is rolling off him and getting to his feet.

He toes off his shoes and socks and takes something out of his pocket

before sliding off his jeans, no pants underneath. He‟s hard, as hard as

Louis is, and Louis wants to put his hands on him. The moon is behind

him, and naked in the night he looks tall and marble and utterly

unearthly. Louis watches him, chest heaving, and when he sees Harry

looking back he just splays his legs wider.

Harry falls back to his knees between Louis‟ thighs, and up close Louis

can see that what he took out of his jeans pocket was a small packet of

lube, which he tears open and spreads over his first two fingers.

Turning his head, he presses a kiss to the inside of Louis‟ knee, and

then starts to open him up, working his middle finger inside. Louis