Sidelines

Part title

Barely three minutes in Harry's biting his lip white, squeezing and twisting his hand around the two of their cocks until his wrist is sore. He's already about to burst, he comes so quick when he's high and with this annoying fit boy under him it's even worse. He doesn't have to worry about embarrassing himself, though, because Louis' nails are digging into his shoulder blades so hard he has to assume he's close, too.

He keeps making these noises, little 'oh's or breathy curse words, his face blissed out and a flush on his neck and chest. It's slippery and hot and Harry's wrist is starting to cramp, a dull pain shooting up his arm. He tightens his grip anyways, trying to get them both off as fast as he can.

Louis comes first, shuddering as he spurts into Harry's fist and onto his belly. Harry moans as Louis' cock pulses against his own, his own orgasm pushing through him. They're both silent for a minute, breathing heavily as Harry rides out the aftershocks. Harry collapses down next to Louis, still breathing hard with hooded eyes. His skin is tacky with a thin layer of sweat and his hand is sticky with come. He wipes it absentmindedly on Louis' sheets. Louis turns over on to his stomach with a sleepy frown, burying his head into the pillow.

"You're the shittiest lay I've ever had," He mumbles sleepily.

"You're one to talk," Harry grumbles back.

"That orgasm was so weak I literally regret it," Louis continues.

Harry just hums. The wet patch he's currently face down in would probably beg to differ.

-

Louis is pulled out of sleep by his phone buzzing with Instagram likes and comments from some picture Zayn posted on his phone last night. He picks the fucking noise maker up and sees it's five in the bloody morning, so why are all these people up?

He doesn't think he drank enough to be hungover, nor slept long enough to be completely sober, but he still feels the leftovers of his crashed buzz coursing through him. He hears a faint snoring at his side and fumbles around for the source, fingers landing on a warm bicep. And it's not that he forgot, per se, about his and fucking Harry Styles'...endeavors, but it's a healthy reminder toward his sleep-bleary mind.

He thinks about pushing the boy off the bed and kicking him out of his room, but his mouth is slightly open and his curls are everywhere and God why is he so cute?

Louis curses himself and kicks at the heavy comforter pooled at his feet enough to where he can drag his aching bones out of bed and stumble around for a semi-clean pair of trackies. He pulls on a pair of gray ones, only a small stain on the knee.

"W'ya keep it down," He hears Harry slur just before something soft hits him square in the arse. Louis' pillow is on the ground now, Harry's arm now hanging off the side of the bed where Louis once was.

"Shut the fuck up, mouth breather," Louis grumbles, stumbling in the general direction of the door. Harry makes some noise of protest and waves his hand around as Louis stumbles out the door and down the dark hallway.

Louis' not sure what he expected. His intentions were to get the fuck away from Harry before he let himself jump him again, and maybe make himself a nice cup of tea, but upon his arrival to the living room, he realizes he's actually made a grave mistake. Liam and Niall are passed out on the floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles and a half empty bottle of vodka while Zayn sits quietly on his phone, a spliff between his lips. Louis collapses at his side and snatches the joint straight from his mouth, sucking in a long drag as Zayn whistles lowly and lets his knowing eyes drift to the hallway.