He spends the hour with his motion restricted, helplessly rutting his hips against the mattress to relieve some of the burning need in his groin. It both helps and makes it worse, the feeling of being on the edge of release but not quite there. It's difficult to breathe, and if he allows himself to think about it he'll panic. So he tries to ignore the tape covering his mouth, and instead focuses on breathing shallowly through his nose.
Helpless. Helpless. Helpless. He loves Louis so much, it hurts. It hurts. He wants to be good enough for him; he's aware that there's no one in this world who's good enough for Louis.
The thing is, Harry knows it's a bit strange, knows it's a bit unusual. What person willingly experiences such torture, and then finds pleasure in it? It's pure masochism at its finest, and Harry is confident enough now to refrain from denying it. A while ago, before he met Louis, he might've been confused by it. Might've shied away from it.
But now . . . Well, now, it's become a part of him. The lovely pain. The beautiful torture. The relief in knowing that he's showing his devotion in the almost primal way—taking pain upon himself, for the sake of his love.
Well, only sort of. Louis really isn't a sadist, never has been. Harry was the one who started the whole BDSM thing, had even asked for it wordlessly, hinting at what he wanted and waiting for Louis to pick up on it. Nervously.
Louis had smiled when he realized what Harry was getting at, had wrapped his fingers around Harry's wrists tightly and watched in awe as Harry came apart underneath his touch. He wasn't a sadist but he liked the power, liked knowing that he had the capability of doing that, of enticing that exact reaction out of Harry. He wasn't a sadist but he would pretend to be one for Harry. Harry, the masochist.
Dominant-submissive relationships weren't easy, so Louis and Harry were doing very well considering the challenge. It required a lot of communication, and though their communication as a couple was better than most, it was the cause of virtually all of the conflicts that arose in their relationship. The safe word, kiwi, for example. Communication solved that problem, but it could've been avoided if they had just spoken about it sooner.
Harry breathes out a long exhale, mind hazy from the extreme amount of arousal that feels like an enormous vat of potential energy within him. He doesn't even have to try to not think about much, because when he's in this state all he can think about is the present. There's no past, no regrets. No future, no worries. Just now now now, the ache of latent pain and desire that's brimming from him. That, and Louis. It's impossible for him to think of anyone else.
Pleasure in penance, and peace too, yes, peace in penance as well. Release in retribution, that's what he's yearning for. There's release and relief and reprieve, all beautiful words that he desires so deeply. And then the bravery, the valor in vulnerability. Courage. Pleasure, peace, release, relief, reprieve, valor. Penance and retribution and vulnerability. Self-punishment. Masochism.
These words are interconnected, woven together by a shiny golden thread.
Time drags slowly. Each second is like prodding at an open wound. Harry waits. An hour, maybe, but it feels like an eternity.
And then the door clicks open.
Footsteps cross the room at a steady pace, each pause between the footfalls perfectly spaced. Harry counts the steps in his head, listening:
One... two... three... four....
At ten the steps stop. Harry cannot see behind him but he knows that Louis is standing at the edge of the bed, looming over him. Waiting coolly, calmly taking in the scene of Harry lying waiting, taped up and tied up, unable to move. Wanting, waiting, begging, gagging.
"Have you been good for me, baby? Did you do what I asked?"
Harry lies still and hopes that Louis can see how hard he's tried to be good for him.
Cool fingertips graze the crest of his bum, running along burning skin in an unexpectedly tender touch. This is the only reprieve he gets before the metal plug is removed swiftly and three fingers are jammed into him at once.
Louis had used his own spit for the plug, but now, with the lack of lube, it hurts a lot. Harry knows Louis is careful enough not to cause any damage, but that doesn't stop the painful burning and pinching as Louis fills him with his fingers.
It's strange. There's the feeling of emptiness when he has nothing inside, then compared to the feeling of the metal plug which is another emptiness in its own kind of way. And the feeling of Louis' fingers which fill him up but aren't really enough. But Harry isn't greedy—at least he tries not to be. So he sinks deeper into the mattress and lets Louis take care of him.
This is the bond between dom and sub. This is unadulterated trust and strong faith. This is love, in a strange, twisted, wicked form.
In the heavy silence there's the sound of Louis' fingers pulling in and out of him, relentlessly. Other than Harry's muffled breathing that's the only sound there is.
Tied up and completely helpless, he writhes on the sheet with limited mobility. That sickening feeling of pain mixed with blissful pleasure builds up in the pit of his stomach, and he lets it turn his mind hazy. There is nothing but here, nothing but now, nothing but Louis Louis Louis raging in his mind.
He comes with desperation, whining through closed lips covered by duct tape and making a mess on the sheets. The release, so long awaited, in its finality, is better than anything he's ever felt in his entire life.
Reality dips in and out of focus, and black stars flickering in his vision as his eyelids flutter open and closed. Everything is blurry and soft. Harry sinks into the bed, completely pliant and spent, exhausted.
Time passes, but Harry doesn't notice. He's too tired and blissful and relieved, satisfied from the pain and abuse in that strange way. Content.
Louis drops the dom act and peels off the duct tape. Harry doesn't even notice the sting. It takes a long time, and as Louis removes the tape he leaves gentle kisses all over Harry's skin, whispering praises. The kindness is such a contrast that it's startling, but welcome.
You're so good for me baby, so good. You did exactly as I asked. So good, baby. I love you.
Louis cleans him with a wet towel, on his tummy and his bum, and then rubs Vaseline on the areas of skin turned red and inflamed by the tape. By then Harry is more lucid so he sits up and kisses Louis deeply.
"I love you," he whispers into Louis' lips, his heart warm and happy. He feels so supported, so taken care of, and it feels lovely. The aftercare is a big part of it, but really it's the pain that makes him feel this way, the punishment that makes every soft touch feel even softer.
"Love you too, baby. You did so well, I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you for taking care of me," Harry murmurs, now nuzzling his face into the warm, comfy crook in Louis' neck.
"Was it okay? Was it too much?" Louis asks, situating them so Harry is sitting curled up in his lap.
"It was good," he sighs happily, undeniably relaxed and just so grateful to Louis. "So good."
"Is your bum okay?"
"Sore, but feels good."
Louis smiles sweetly at him, and Harry thinks he's glowing like the sun. "Alright baby. Let's take a nap."
They settle back into bed, underneath the hotel duvet, and Louis lets Harry curl up in his arms. For a while they lie facing each other, Harry as small as he can make himself with his face pressed into Louis' chest. Louis strokes his spine languidly, smiling when Harry lets out tiny content sighs. The gentle touch of soft fingertips on the bumps of his spine makes his skin tingle.
"Can I blow you?"
Louis laughs and then kisses the top of his head. "You have a concert tonight love, you need your voice."
"But-"
"No baby, let's just sleep."
"After," Harry presses, looking up into Louis' eyes.
"Sure," Louis agrees, probably just to placate him, and then he gently flips Harry around so they're spooning. Louis wraps his arm around Harry's bare waist, pressing the side of his elbow into Harry's hip and squeezing tightly so Harry feels safe and secure. "Now go to sleep—we have a few hours before you have to leave."
The afternoon sunshine is filtering in through the windows, and from the cracks in the blinds Harry can see the dark blue sky illuminated by the harsh, golden light of the sun. He likes this about hotels, likes being ten or more stories up and so separated from the noise and movement of the city below. Up here, everything is removed and peaceful. In the privacy of the liminal room he doesn't have to worry about ironing his face and setting his expression to neutral. He doesn't have to worry about being seen with Louis and he doesn't have to hide when he kisses him.
It's sad, but it's one of the few places where they can really be themselves.
Harry closes his eyes and relaxes into Louis' warmth. There's no use in thinking of what could be—only pain in its contemplation, and longing, too. He forces the image of total liberty from his mind and drifts off almost immediately.
Of course, his slumber is still filled with dreams of Louis. Of warmth, of the sun. The two of them and nothing more, beautiful silence and softness.
Six years. Six lovely arduous years they've been together, and together they've been through Hell and back. A surreptitious relationship is never easy and with them sometimes it seems damn near impossible, but they fight for each other with valor. Their love is strong, eternal, everlasting in the way that they refuse to give up on it no matter the pain or the fear. Because the pain is worse when they're alone, and the fear never really ebbs or fades.
There are an infinite number of universes, and Harry is certain he and Louis are in love in every single one of them. No matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are two halves of one whole, carved from the same star, made from the same stardust. In most they find a way to be together, a way, any way, and it works out. But in those desperate few, something goes wrong, a mistake is made, and they're separated. Or irrevocably worse—never even together in the first place.
The thought makes Harry ache, even in his dream, so he pushes it away, and thinks of the universes where they don't have to hide.
He and Louis are lucky, though, that in this universe, they can be together.