https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1dchristmasfest2020/works/27573493?view_adult=true
this one has both fluff and smut in it so in my opinion it's sort of a perfect balance, it's not too detailed in the smut but enjoy nonetheless :)
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London is a mess in the snow. Whatever romanticized image they sell you of fluffy white flakes gracefully twirling on a twinkle lit street filled with cheerful folk, it's absolute bollocks. Slushy snow too heavy to float drips down like a runny nose on the city and collects in a wet sock mine-field of ash grey clumps for the dour faced citizens to slog through. Louis Tomlinson and his thin ankles are quite thankful to be burrowed in his forty story office as the pitch black sky swallows every colour and leaves the city below a hellscape of sleet slicked ice.
This year there's no reason for him to face the bleak drive north filled with monotonous hours of vacant fields that sent him closer to sleep than the distant town he used to call home. If home is a place, he figures he lost it when the house he grew up in sold well under market value only to be torn down and developed into a condominium. If home is a person, well, he lost that too when his mother passed. It sure as shit isn't the glass box apartment he has downtown, occupied more hours of the week by his cleaning lady than himself.
This office, with its corner view of the skyline more often under cloud cover than not, is probably the closest thing he has to a home. The thought makes his reflection in the window frown back at him with the realisation he might be a tad pathetic. It's hard to deny when his office contains a closet full of fresh suits and the bottom drawer of his desk is stocked with personal toiletries, not counting the sofa that doubles as his bed most nights. He's distracted from admitting his own loneliness when the night chill cuts sharply at the back of his neck and a shiver wracks through him.
He blinks his dry eyes and sinks into his chair after hours of finalizing a new deal the company will implement in the New Year. Given the unfortunate time shown on the clock face, he doesn't need to glance into the hallways to know they're barren of even the squeaky-wheeled janitor carts. With a sigh, he stacks neatly printed copies to the side and eases into his jacket, opening the Maps app on his mobile to route him the fastest way home.
Things have a nasty way of piling up in the horrible combination of poor weather and anxious drivers hurrying home for the big day, so he's expecting a few unfavourable detours. What he's not expecting is the solid grid of red lines and a pop up informing him the weather has gone from 'ugh this is gross and annoying' to 'blizzard warning in effect: travel not advised' levels of horrible.
Every major route has closures due to vehicle accidents, fallen trees and telephone poles, and snow piling up faster than the plows can manage. Louis huffs in small resignation. It's the only moment he takes to be forlorn about the predicament before moving into action to settle in for the night, perhaps a little oddly pleased not to be leaving the only place he feels he belongs.
His broad shouldered coat resumes its station on a stiff hanger in exchange for one of the soft jumpers he keeps specifically for nights like this. He'd never wear something so shapeless during daylight hours, but in the dim sanctuary of his office he slips out of his Italian silk shirt and into the old comfort of cotton, wrapping handfuls of oversized sleeves around his balled up fingers. His trousers hold their crisp lines even as he steps out of them and into worn heather grey trackies in a waft of fresh scented laundry soap.
Glasses come out next as he rounds the desk, turtle shell things he's fostered a love-hate relationship with. To finish his habitual hibernation, only one thing is missing. He grabs the inconspicuous mug from his desk. A hot cuppa.
His plans are halted the moment he opens his sideboard cupboard to an empty tea tin. And the second one a shelf below it is abysmally vacant too. It's not the biggest misery, all it takes is a run to the staff kitchen to pilfer a stack of tea sachets. Still, Louis savours the chance to act out in a way he never does in public and makes a childlike whine at the cruel delay of his blanket bundle time.
After his short strop, his fingers tap softly against the lid of the empty tin as he crosses through the dim room and pulls open the door to greet the world outside his bubble. Besides the financial shares he has invested in it, or even the title next to his name, there is an unmistakable feeling of ease in this building made of glass and steel Louis is hard pressed to find elsewhere.
Little pools of light litter the otherwise dark bullpen of desks, lamps his colleagues forgot to switch off in their haste to begin their holidays. The thought of them home with their families makes Louis smile fondly. The women with shimmering hair and painted lips have become his friends, the men in crisp suits people he can hold steady conversation with over pints. His younger skateboarding-and-ripped-jeans self would have spat in the face of these people, assuming the worst of them. Years here have shown him behind the gloss and glamour there are real people, some more vapid and vacant than others just as anywhere else, but also a few genuine gems kept in his close circle he's happy to trade jokes and stories with every day of the week.
There's not a sound as he slips through the corridor, the cozy socks he tugged on barely making a sound as he pads over the glistening floors towards the break room. Hopefully someone's left the milk in the fridge. Last time someone tossed it assuming he'd be out of the office and he'd been forced to have a stern word with everyone about the significance of scrawled penmanship on waxed cartons and the meaning of 'MINE - no touch'. Tea without milk may as well be dumped down the drain. Not that Louis would waste tea like that, he'd still drink it, but he wouldn't enjoy it.
He's still pondering the chances of a milky Christmas miracle when he turns the corner at the end of the hall and collides with something warm and solid. The empty tea tin slips from his hands and clatters to the floor.
"Holy fuck!"
Louis defensively raises his arms at the quick flash of movement. Once the moment has settled he makes out the shadowy silhouette of curly hair and broad shoulders, the figure swearing richly in mirror surprise.
"Hello, darling," slips from Louis' tongue once he's recognized the lad.
It's the intern. Not some pimple faced kid earning credit, an actual paid graduate on track for full placement after the holiday break. Louis shook hands with him in some vague memory a few months back when they'd brought him on, and he doesn't need the light to know the exact shade of brown the silky curls on his head are and the light shine of green in his irises. Both make an impression.
"Louis, I'm sorry. Didn't see you," Harry says in a subdued tone Louis' heard on the other side of his office walls for weeks now.
In the dark Louis can't tell if there's a flush to Harry's cheeks, which is comforting because he can feel the heat of his own.
"It's okay, love. What are you doing here so late?"
A hand ruffles through the curls and Louis' tempted to reach out and brush a fallen one from his face. He crosses his arms instead, attempting to seem professional in socks and cotton. His toes wiggle in their knit homes.
"Got caught up in something," Harry mumbles without looking at him and Louis doesn't know what the hell could have kept a bloody intern in the office so late but he's eager to cut this interaction short so they can pretend this mortifying moment never happened. "Weather shut down my ride home."
Harry shrugs his shoulders under a deep emerald knit. Wool, if Louis felt right for the split second he'd been pressed against it. Not the scratchy type but something closer to cashmere, that soft stuff from the special mountain goats. Merino. It sits nicely on Harry's broad chest and hugs the subtle curve of his trim physique. He belongs in a December catalogue for posh furniture, whereas Louis closer resembled a college student fueled by ramen.
"Try Leeroy's, tell him Louis' asking. Might take a while tonight but he won't leave you out in the cold for too long," Louis says as he grabs the fallen tin and starts to step his way around the man.
Leeroy has been his driver since the beginning. Both of them have grown since meeting, Louis crawling his way to a corner office on the fortieth while Leeroy established a fleet of luxury transportation. No doubt they'd be working just like Louis round the clock, even on this night.
Louis slips past Harry to relieve the other man of the eyesore of his wardrobe, making a mental note to drop by his driver and old friend's soon to catch up and say 'hi' to the kids.
The encounter leaves Louis jittery. In the rosey glow of a single strand of multi-coloured lights above the break room sink, his fingers drum along the worktop and his leg jostles as he waits for the kettle to boil. It's odd to know somewhere in the building there's a Harry. Louis touches the strands of his fringe to ensure they're neatly in place. Should he have said something more? Did it sound conceited to say his own name would handle Harry's ride home if it was simply true?
Louis scowls. Social proficiency is a natural skill of his, except, it seemed, when a certain intern was involved. In sharp movements he stuffs the tin with pilfered bags to keep him stocked through the night, tamping down one bag at a time until the kettle clicks over to boiling.
He watches the instant inky swirl of fragrant black tea steeping in hopes it'll keep his mind from Harry. It doesn't. All he can think about is wherever the lad is headed to spend Christmas morning since Louis hadn't even had the decency to ask. Hopefully his family is close enough, or maybe his friends will gather.
Someone as brilliant as Harry deserves to be surrounded by loved ones on a day meant for cheer and celebration. The thought of him alone in a cold flat grates against Louis' conscious to the point of distraction and he adds sugar to his tea without thinking. He never adds sugar. He takes a sip and finds the light sweetness on his tongue isn't horrible.
Hot mug in hand, Louis starts his treck back to his office. Silver streaks glint on the ornaments tastefully positioned throughout the place. Their cheerful facades bring a bittersweet melancholy in the half lit night. Christmas' past spent with his family flit through Louis' head beside old dreams he used to have of little stomping feet in his own future home. Both are distant now, pushed to the side while he's been focused on his career for over a decade. As he enters his plush office filled with comfortable leather furniture and windows for walls, he thinks maybe it's finally time to shift focus.
Louis takes a moment to settle into the divot on the sofa he's made over countless nights. The decorative throw pillows are softer than they look and he piles them around him, tugging a blanket from the closest over his legs so he's bundled. From his pocket he rolls out two little earbuds and his mobile, ready to settle in with an audiobook to take his mind away.
Just as he pops the buds in he sees the red battery flash on his mobile screen. With a curse Louis debates simply rolling over and going to sleep, but he has two chapters left and is secretly looking forward to the happy ending barely ten minutes away, so he shoves the blankets down and shuffles across the floor on a mission to find the charger in his desk.
He finds the chord and plugs his phone in, watching the battery flick to the green charging bolt with satisfaction. The moment he sets it down on the polished wood of his desktop the lamp goes off.
Louis frowns and flicks the switch a few times, then sees his phone battery has gone back to red. Poking his head out of his office confirms it, the entire place has gone dark. Power outage.
He slips back to his desk and checks his phone to find three percent battery left. There's a good chance Harry's already in a car on the way to his flat somewhere in the city. There's a small chance he's already home and slipping into bed. There's an even smaller chance he's still in the building without any light and soon to be zero heat if the furnace stays off for longer than an hour.
Louis childishly twists his fingers behind his back in cruel hope and presses dial.
"Just about to call you," Harry says upon answering with a smile in his voice.
"You're still in the building?"
"Yeah, was shelving in archives."
Louis stares at his phone in disbelief. What the bloody hell was Harry shelving archives for on Christmas Eve? Louis growls when he sees he doesn't have enough battery to get into it, already dropped to one percent, but he plans on getting an answer at some point.
"Meet in my office."
The line disconnects before either can say anything more. Louis drops the useless hunk of plastic and leans against his desk. His eyes catch on the blanket nest he's made on the couch and it jumps him into action, scurrying over to sort it because he's mortified himself enough for one night. With only the glow of the city to light the room he organizes the pillows back into their correct corners and folds the blanket in half.
The ivory fleece falls elegantly over the back of the sofa as a double knock rings on his door. Louis turns just in time to see Harry peaking in.
"Figured you shouldn't have to wait in the dark by yourself." Louis offers, smiling automatically at the beauty before him.
Harry's features are defined by the soft shadowy light. He fiddles with a stray curl while leaning in the doorway.
"Right, uh, but actually I didn't get an answer when I called for the car, so..." he shrugs without meeting Louis' inquisitive eyes.
"Really?" Louis frowns. Maybe Leeroy's drivers were stuck in the mess outside, maybe they were playing it safe and cancelling the night all together.
Harry simply nods, his eyes busy taking in the large space around them. Louis tries to imagine what he sees, if he can make out the family portraits on the bookshelf, and the plushness of the blanket, and the novels neatly stacked to the side of his chair. Or does Harry only see the glossy lacquer, and supple leather, and gilded details? Can he tell Louis' tried to bring warmth and sincerity into the professional landscape? Louis tugs at the sleeves of his jumper as he looks between the intern and his dark office.
"Wouldn't chance leaving now, disaster begs to happen if you try ice skating the streets with those giraffe legs."
Harry pouts but doesn't disagree with Louis' assessment.
Louis motions over Harry's shoulder at the door.
"There's the chairs in the break room but, honest, probably best to stay here." With me, he means. "Place is gonna start cooling down real quick with the heater out. I got, uh..." Louis waves at the blanket neatly folded over the sofa and turns to his closet, hoping Harry can't see inside it and realize how it's practically a working wardrobe with a fair share of bedding. He pulls out another silky-smooth fluffy blanket, this one a dark shimmering red.
He hands it to Harry. "Take the sofa."
"And you?"
"I'll be fine in the chair," Louis nods to his generously ergonomic chair behind his desk. Not the worst thing he's ever fallen asleep on.
"No," Harry says so sternly it shocks both of them into stillness. This time Louis has a better view to catch the blush that creeps over his face as he stammers hesitantly through a softer excuse. "I mean, I'll hardly fit on the sofa anyway and it's your office. Maybe I'll just take the floor-"
"Are you taking the piss?" Louis narrows his eyes at the clueless boy. "It's Christmas, Harold. You're not sleeping on the floor."
Harry's lip twitches into a smile.
"Yes sir," he jokes softly and Louis has to turn away and clear his throat to hide how he chokes on his own spit. Harry talks to his back with a smile in his voice, "Think I saw some candles on the desks out there, I can grab them for some light?"
"Sure, sure, yeah." Louis nods and keeps his back turned, fussing with the blankets and pillows on the sofa until he realizes Harry's still confined in the starched crisp lines of work clothes, and while they fit him perfectly, he can't be expected to find any sort of comfort in them when trying to sleep through the night.
"Wait."
Harry stops in the doorway. Louis pulls out a loose pair of joggers matching the ones he's currently wearing from the bottom of the closet and tosses them lightly to a frozen Harry, who reacts just in time to catch them.
"You stay here and change, no point creasing those more than needed."
They're nice trousers, is all. Thick stitched and durable, holding their shape around supple curves Louis' studied far too long to be appropriate. He doesn't think about them now, about how those same curves will fill joggers he's worn countless times, how the ankles will ride high and Harry's thighs might pull the crotch tight.
Louis trips out of the office in his haste to escape the thoughts of it. The moment he's on the other side of the door he deflates. Fuck. What the hell is he doing?
Swearing under his breath to himself, Louis storms around as much as he can in the dark open-plan office floor to gather the few rather poignantly scented candles he can find.
When he returns Harry's sat curled on the couch, the red blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders. His socks have adorable snowflakes on them, and yet, even now he wouldn't be out of place splashed on glossy pages.
"I hope you don't mind... " Harry looks unsurely at him.
Louis has no idea what he thinks Louis would mind but he doesn't, at all. There is literally no mind left.
"No, yeah, you're all right darling," he says just to cover all bases and hurriedly places the scavenged candles on the coffee table as his grip starts to slip.
Harry makes an intrigued sound as he picks up the candles one by one to sniff. Louis can hardly tear his gaze away from studying each reaction instead of focussing on finding the matches in his desk drawer like he should, leaving his hand to uselessly fumble over the clutter blindly. Finally his fingers seize the little booklet and he settles on the sofa with a healthy, conservative, workplace-appropriate space between them.
Louis lights a match with a flick of his wrist and takes the candles as they're offered, pine, vanilla, and--
"Not that one," Louis scrunches his nose at the sight of the rose scented candle, "smells like my gran."
Harry snorts and Louis' so off guard by it the flame burns the tips of his fingers before he can shake it out. The discarded candle is set aside while the other two glow cheerfully, producing a surprising amount of soft warm light that wraps around the curves of Harry's dimpled face.
"Not quite a roaring fire, but it'll do, yeah?" Louis asks.
Harry's mouth quirks into a lopsided boyish grin that matches the twinkle in his eye. "Closer to birthday candles, really."
Now it's Louis' turn to snort. "Little off there unless we're counting decades."
Harry looks at him, perfect petal soft lips wide with shock as he asks, "It's your birthday?"
Louis stills. Shite. He hadn't mentioned it all day while people had been rushing around getting things done for their holidays, not a word slipped out of him when they'd laughed about the suckers who received joint gifts, but now he's just told Harry. The Intern. Harry the intern. Fucking shite.
"I would have gotten you something if I'd known," Harry continues, worrying his lip while his brow creases.
Louis swipes his fringe to the side with nervous fingers. "That's alright, lad, nothing to worry about. Just a few more trips round the sun, innit?"
A hand on his knee startles him. He looks up and sees Harry's gentle face much closer than Louis remembers him being, the metre between them now millimeters.
"Wanna give you something anyway."
Louis' got just enough time to enjoy the sparkle in Harry's eye before they slip closed and they're kissing, oh fuck, they're kissing and Harry's lips are the greatest things Louis' ever felt against his own. The kiss is as sweet as the boy it's from. Louis sighs into it, completely enraptured by the gentle press of warmth that leads him into bliss. They part slowly, Harry's rosy cheeks no doubt matching Louis' own as they suck in air that had seemed unimportant seconds ago.
Louis' hand has cradled Harry's jaw, fingertips brushing soft curls and overtly aware of the racing heartbeat under his touch. Harry's bottom lip is left with a tempting shine and Louis' focus struggles to choose between it and the glory of learning each speck of colour in Harry's eyes. There's a caution in them growing by the second and Louis' grip automatically tightens to keep Harry from pulling away. He nearly gets lost in the rush of Harry's breath, wanting desperately to capture it, but first he needs to smooth away the crease between the boy's brow.
"Wonderful, it was wonderful," Louis reassures and watches his thumb stroke along Harry's jawline. He wants to trace the same path with his tongue. He meets Harry's eyes in a showcase of willpower. "Only fair I give you something in return. For Christmas, yeah?"
He leans in just as slow as he can manage, his hold loosening until it'd be easy to break if Harry made even the slightest effort to pull away. He doesn't. Instead their lips meet again, this time melding into something vigorous that shoots sparks of heat into Louis' belly at the promise it shows.
They pull apart just long enough for Louis to suck in air and Harry to pant, "Happy Hanuka," before they fall back into each other.
Louis' hands smooth over the soft jersey of the borrowed joggers, pulled just as tight as he'd known they would be on Harry's arse. The boy is quick to eagerly take the incentive and move into Louis' lap, still licking into his mouth as their bodies press together in a solid line of heat. Too much heat. Louis' starting to sweat under his layers as the wiggling boy rolling his body against his gains momentum and rocks their crotches together in a rhythm that has them both moaning.
Louis shoves his hands under Harry's knit and it's not long before it's tossed carelessly into a corner. Louis' hands trace the thighs wrapped around him next, a desperation to feel their supple softness without barrier giving him the strength to take control with a push.
Harry lands on his back with legs parted around Louis, highlighting the obscene outline of his cock straining in the borrowed joggers. Louis can't resist cupping the length, pressing into it's solidness and holding it flat against Harry's tummy. The boy whimpers, the wonderful expanse of his bare chest flush with excitement while tangled curls frame his beautiful face.
"You're so worked up, love," Louis keeps steady pressure along Harry's cock as he strokes him through the cotton layer and nearly faints at the sight of a dark wet patch growing with every upstroke. He looks at Harry's face in awe. "You getting wet for me?"
"For you, just for you," Harry whines as his hips try to hump into Louis' palm.
Louis moves his hands to hold Harry's hips in place with a small tsk at the impatient whine he receives.
"Only good boys get presents."
Harry's face flames with the reprimand, but his hips jerk into stillness under Louis' touch. Gently Louis curls his fingers under the elastic band and tugs them low. He swallows his tongue at the sight of Harry's delicate trail of fine hair leading to his uncovered cock.
"Naughty," he tsks, unable to manage a single other word at the realisation that Harry's been freeballing it in his borrowed trackies.
"Wanna be good," Harry says and he licks his bottom lip and bites it like he knows just how coy he needs to be to rile Louis up further.
The growing pressure in Louis' own pants nearing painful is enough to concede that Harry does, infact, know exactly what he's doing. Louis doesn't tell him, instead ignoring his own cock to focus on where Harry's leaking all over himself.
"I dunno. Such a messy boy." He places his flat palm over Harry's dick again, the same as he had before the joggers had come off, and holds it there in a firm press.
Harry immediately tenses with the effort to stay still, straining beneath him and starting to break into a sweat. Good boy. Louis rewards him with a frim stroke and trails back to rub the pad of his thumb where he knows Harry's most sensitive on the underside of his cockhead.
Harry gasps at the direct pressure, breaking into a sob as Louis keeps his thumb there, swirling small circles in the slick precome. Every muscle in Harry's body tenses beneath him and Louis enjoys the powerful rush of seeing the boy work to control himself, mere seconds passing before Harry's chest is heaving with the effort to restrain himself. It takes him several gasping attempts through wet parted lips to get his words out.
"I can be your good boy," Harry sobs and the desperate edge of it makes Louis finally relent.
"You are, baby. Such a good boy for me," he soothes.
He gives Harry a full solid stroke from base to tip and swoops down to capture Harry's lips, leaning over him to extend the kiss into something sinfully deep. Louis allows Harry to come down from the direct stimulation while he works gentle tugs over his cock, setting a slow rhythm for the easy glide of their mouths.
Louis' hips rock up into Harry's arse, the tease of his clothed dick pressing right where he knows it'll slide so perfectly too much to handle for long. The moment Harry's trembling calms enough to deem steady, Louis is pulling away to peal off his clothes. He returns to lean between Harry's parted legs, one hand holding himself up while the other assists his dick in slotting right into the crease of Harry's cheeks The first catch of his dicks on Harry's heated skin makes them both groan.
Kisses are barely manageable now, closer to open mouthed panting in each other's space as Louis fumbles the lube he had stashed far, far under the sofa cushions. He slicks up and gets just enough of it into Harry in a mess of quick fingers.
"Who's messy now?" Harry cheeks when Louis squirts out too much lube and everything quickly becomes a wet glide.
Louis huffs a laugh with him but still gives a small tap to Harry's arse for the attitude. Harry reacts beautifully to the fingers, his lungs audibly working faster as Louis impatiently ups the pace. There's a hitch in Harry's throat when Louis pulls out until just the pads of three fingers remains snug in the silken heat. The night hangs still as his pinky finger tucks close and applies pressure. Both of their mouths drop, Harry no doubt from the feel and Louis from the sight he's indulgently propped himself up to see of his four fingers sinking into Harry until he's full, candle light just enough to make out Harry's glistening pink rim stretched impossibly tight around his' knuckles.
There's little time for Harry to complain in a deep chested whine as Louis pulls his fingers out, only to use the same slicked hand to guide his cock. Their groans echo off the glass walls of the dark room as Louis' dick breaches Harry's tight hole. Fuck, has it been that bloody long? Must be, because Louis can't hold back the surge of pleasure that rocks him to his core and urges him to pound into Harry relentlessly. He's captivated by the sight of Harry's tossed back head and parted lips and long, long line of his neck. Louis gives into his earlier desire and bites the line of his boy's jaw, sucking cruelly at the taught skin of his arched neck until it'll bruise.
Through the haze of his own pleasure Louis gets a hand between them and wraps it tight around Harry's cock, avidly watching Harry writhe at the dual stimulation. Louis nearly misses the split second it takes Harry's face to morph into an obscene showcase of ecstasy as a shocked cry and locked muscles accompany the heavy pulse of his cock spilling across both of them.
The sight of him, the vice like feel of Harry around him, it's enough to push Louis close and he chases the edge with vigorous pumps of his hips.
"Come on Lou," Harry's hands trace over his skin in scorching trails as he pants, "wanna feel you come inside me, wanna taste it."
"Fuck."
That does it.
Louis gasps as his belly clenches, his balls tightening, hips slowing to a pulse as he empties himself into Harry for every bit he's worth. Harry's body clenches rhythmically, milking him until Louis' too sensitive to stand it.
Now he's the one trembling as he eases out and pulls back, kneeling between Harry's sprawled legs. Louis grabs a piece of their discarded clothing and quickly wipes himself of the worst of it before crouching down on the supple leather couch and guiding Harry's knees over his shoulders.
Harry makes a small sound as Louis' tongue meets the swollen rim, the cheeks either side of him red from the way Louis' hips had slammed against them. The first taste of himself makes Louis want to pull away, but the soft sounds of Harry's cursing and the shaking of his thighs keeps him pressing closer, his tongue licking deeper into him to get as much of it as possible from the oversensitive hole. It's a revelation every time they've done this, to be in the most sensitive part of Harry, right where he's just been, and savour the evidence of his mark on the boy while Harry gasps and moans his name. The raw nerves leave Harry flinching away while the pleasure keeps him rocking down for more, an uneven motion Louis stills with a solid grip wrapped around Harry's creamy thighs and a hand flat on his shuddering stomach.
Once Louis has all he can hold he moves up, crawling over Harry's prone form and gently. Deep-seated satisfaction rolls through him as his hand cups the side of Harry's throat directly over blooming teeth marks. He leans in for a kiss. The moment Louis' lips part his come spills onto Harry's tongue. Harry's greedy for it, eagerly licking into Louis' mouth and surging up with renewed energy to chase after the taste. It shocks Louis still to witness just how fervent Harry gets like this, the way he wants Louis, all of him. Harry's throat works under his firm hold with every swallow.
Louis gently rubs the pad of his fingers over the swollen rim between Harry's cheeks, ignoring the little flinch of Harry's sensitivity to sink in. Louis uses his finger to work out what little else he can from inside Harry, feeding it to him between heavy kisses, unsure if he prefers the heat of Harry's mouth around his fingers or against his own tongue. They come down like that, softly melting into gentle kisses as tiredness drags them into a puddle amongst the blankets thrown half haphazardly over their cooling skin. Harry eventually rolls to press his back into Louis' chest, a little spoon tucked between the sofa and Louis' protective embrace.
Louis runs fingers through Harry's sweat damp hairline.
"Why didn't you go home, Hazza?" He murmurs against Harry's shoulder.
Harry tugs Louis' hand from it's place on his waist and gives it a small kiss, a tender way to buy time that Louis patiently endures. He settles in as Harry holds both of their hands against his chest.
"Didn't want you to be alone," Harry admits in a quiet hum.
Louis' heart swells.
This thing between them is still relatively new, a budding romance they've dipped their toes into slowly and responsibly given the positions they're in. They've been as patient as can be given the intoxicating rush they feel in each others presence, only held back by Louis' moral war over propriety in the workplace and Harry's understanding of how the situation could be perceived from the outside. Now, with Harry's full time placement waiting for him in the New Year, the past few weeks had seen an abrupt uptake in their pace.
They hadn't planned on seeing each other until tomorrow evening for a romantic night of adult celebration that Louis had hoped would lead to something like this. He's speechless knowing Harry would voluntarily spend his night, literally the night before Christmas, stuck in the office just to make sure Louis wouldn't be alone.
It's been a long time since Louis' had a home to return to. Snuggled next to a beautiful boy with a heart of solid gold, he thinks maybe next year he will. Louis shifts to feel the tame comforting friction of their bodies pressed together as close as physically possible and gives Harry a gentle squeeze in an attempt to say everything he's thinking. He leaves a lingering kiss on the back of Harry's neck, because he can.