You and I found love, lost under the shade

1

There's pleasure in penance.

These words are running through his mind as he's shoved onto the bed. Pleasure in penance... release in retribution. He can barely remember his name but he knows these words, knows they're true. Hands claws at him hastily, to tear off his clothes, until he's left naked and vulnerable. Heart pounding.

Pleasure in penance, release in retribution, on the hotel bed he finds reprieve. A little tiny oasis from the suffering. His boyfriend is on top of him, playing the part of the perfect dom, and through the closed blinds the golden sunlight is streaming in. It's mid-afternoon, just after three o'clock, and though the city is bustling just as it does on any given day, they're on the eleventh floor of the hotel so the noises on the streets are nearly muted.

Their own little heavenly getaway. Their own little dark paradise.

He lies there, trying to be still, and failing when Louis grabs his bicep, hard, which startles him even though it shouldn't. His back is arching and his legs are tensing as Louis aggressively squeezes his arm again, followed by a harsh tug to Harry's hair.

In a cold voice, the words "be still" bite through the air, and Harry stills in submission, despite the pain. There's burning in his scalp where his hair is tugged, burning in his arm where his skin is pressed, burning in his groin where his arousal is siphoned. There's another harsh yank at his curls and this time he can't keep quiet, can't keep the groan from leaving his lips, solidifying his pain.

"Shut up!" Louis barks, releasing his vise-like grip on Harry's upper arm for a moment in favor of slapping Harry in the face. The smack rings through the air like a confession of a sin. He grits his teeth in pain, but relishes in it. Wants more of it.

After that, he keeps his mouth shut. A while ago he might've spoken up, talked back, just for the punishment. Because he enjoys it. Nowadays he takes it more seriously because the punishments, in turn, have increased in severity. Rather than spanking or something equally as pleasurable, Louis will ignore him. Tie him up and leave him in the dark for a while, and come back long after Harry has broken down, shattered to pieces. Louis does this because he knows it hurts more than any physical punishment. Louis knows that the humiliation of being left in the dark, unable to move, stranded on the hotel bed and completely at the will of another human being, is worse than any beating.

There's a lot of grappling as Louis yanks Harry's skinny jeans completely off of him. It takes a while to get the cuffs around his feet, and Harry tries to help out by lifting his legs, but Louis clamps his hand around Harry's ankles and orders him to stop moving. The command is punctuated by the long drag of his fingernail down the inside of Harry's thigh, leaving a bright, raised red line on the milky white skin. It stings and burns, on fire. Harry thinks it's peculiar how shallow wounds often burn more than the real abrasions.

When he feels his eyes water, he closes his eyelids to the pain. All to keep the tears away.

Louis must see this and decide he doesn't like it, won't let it happen, so he grabs Harry's jaw and seethes, "open your eyes. I want you to fucking watch." So shiny green eyes flash open obediently to meet steely blue ones.

"I'm gonna tie you up, and then I'm gonna leave you here. You're gonna fucking lay here and be still until I come back and tell you otherwise. Got it?"

Harry's stomach dips, as if he has suddenly swallowed a heavy weight. Louis is going to tie him up and leave him, for God knows how long. It's been hours, sometimes. The worst hours of his life those are, when he lays there, bent in an uncomfortable position, naked and ashamed and afraid, in pain. Looking for a release, any type of release. Not able to find it until Louis allows him to find it.