Arousal pulses low in Louis' gut, fueled by the way Harry has wrapped one leg around the backs of his thighs, the way he's gone completely lax underneath him, happy to give whatever Louis wants to take. All Louis can think about as Harry sucks on his tongue is the redness of his lips and the way he fit nearly an entire banana in his mouth at breakfast the other day, and he grinds down against Harry without thinking, swallows Harry's gasping moan, and does it again. Getting Harry's mouth on him can wait. Right now he can feel Harry hard against his belly, so he wiggles around a bit, hisses when he manages to line them up, the friction on his cock through two layers of trousers just enough to have his eyelids fluttering closed.
When he rolls his hips this time, sparks flick down his spine and he bites off a groan, fingers tightening in Harry's hair without thinking. He can feel Harry's cock twitch in his trousers at that, body trembling and heat pouring off his body in waves, so he does it again. Harry's head falls back on a moan, neck bared for Louis' mouth, and when Louis latches on, works on sucking a mark into the base of his throat, he wraps his other leg around Louis' waist as well and ruts up against him urgently.
Louis' fingertips feel as if they are on fire, pulse thundering in his wrists, his belly, the base of his throat as he rocks against Harry steadily, desperately. The divan knocks against the wall with each thrust, timed perfectly with the noises Harry is making, little gasps and whimpers that have Louis' head spinning. He works his hips harder as he tries to drive Harry higher, wants to tip him over the edge, watch him fall apart. Louis slides one hand down so he can grip Harry's thigh and hitch his leg higher around his waist, changing the angle at which they're slotted together. He can feel Harry's body tensing underneath him, and he tugs on Harry's hair in counterpoint with the rhythm of his hips, lifts his head so that he can watch the way Harry's mouth falls open, lips bitten red and cheeks stained pink. Louis rocks against him, quick and rough, and he can feel the pulse of Harry's cock against his belly as he comes, can feel Harry's fingers digging into the small of his back hard enough to bruise as he holds on and rides out his orgasm.
Louis watches him come down, still rutting against him absently; tracks the bright flush of his cheeks, the haze in his eyes as he blinks them open, the slow curve of his mouth when he catches Louis watching him. Louis is still achingly hard and so, so close, but he starts to move away, to give Harry space. Harry just latches on, though, wraps his entire body around him and buries his face in Louis' neck, whispers, "Don't. Keep going, please."
Warmth and affection bubble up in Louis' chest, words threatening to spill over. But he manages to tamp down on them, buries his face in Harry's hair, and rocks against his belly with slow, even rolls of his hips that have pleasure building and building until he can barely breathe, can barely see, knows only Harry and the feel of Harry's body beneath him, around him, the cadence of his voice as he murmurs nonsense into his ear.
Louis comes with a muffled gasp, stars bursting behind his eyelids, every muscle, every nerve in his body straining toward Harry. The only thing he's conscious of for the next few moments are Harry's arms and legs around him, the scent of Harry's hair in his nose, the constant litany of HarryHarryHarry on his mind. They lay there for minutes, hours maybe, Louis can't be sure, while the world around them settles. Louis feels drained, damp with sweat, but the last thing he wants to do is move.
"Louis," Harry eventually whispers into the curve of his neck. Louis grunts in response, brain still too sluggish to form words. "It's raining."
Louis groans into Harry's hair, then, resigned to the fact that they'll have to move eventually, he slowly steels himself to get up. "I'll go close the windows."
"No," Harry says, voice still pitched low, as if he's trying not to disturb someone, but there's an underlying tone of hysteria. "It's raining inside."
"What?" Joints creaking, Louis lifts his head and rolls onto his side so that he's sandwiched between Harry and the back of the divan and he can look up at the ceiling. Sure enough, rain is falling gently in an uneven circle around them, the carpet and the cushions around them already heavy and stained dark with water. Louis shakes his head to clear the last of the fog and the rain stops. "What?" he repeats.
"Louis..." Harry starts, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His cheeks are still red and his hair is a wild, sweaty mess. He looks thoroughly debauched, deliciously disheveled. Louis wants to devour him.
He gets so caught up in his thoughts, in his plans to take Harry back to his chambers and spread him out on his bed, that it takes him a moment to register that Harry is speaking to him.
"Louis!"
Louis blinks away the image of a naked Harry in his bed reluctantly, but he slides a hand up the inside of Harry's thigh, just because he can, asks, "Yes, love?"
"You're making it rain again."
Harry points up at the ceiling, at the light drizzle falling over their heads. Confused, Louis shakes his head. "It's not me, I can't."
"Lou, I know it isn't me, and it doesn't just rain indoors. You made it snow last night, are you sure you've never done this before?"
"No," Louis whispers, sitting up and staring up at the ceiling in wonder. It's stopped raining again. "No, I've never done anything like this before, how can I - this has never." Louis stops, looks back over at Harry and swallows nervously.
"Magic doesn't always develop right away," Harry explains, scooting closer to Louis so that he can brush his damp fringe out of his eyes. "Maybe it just needed a push."
"My sister turned her hair bright blue when she was seven months old," Louis states. "One time, when I was nine, my mum wanted me to wear this hideous tunic to a party. While her back was turned, a fierce wind carried the tunic right out the window. But I never... It's been twelve years, what -"
Louis looks down at his hands, at the state of his clothing and the divan they've just christened, then back to Harry. A laugh rumbles up in his chest, giddy and bright. At Harry's baffled look, Louis wiggles his fingers at Harry, waits for him to clamber into his lap so that he can wrap his arms around him and hug him close. He buries his face in Harry's neck and breathes him in, the roses and cinnamon scent of him mixed now with the smell of clean sweat and rain and sex.
"What is it, Lou?" Harry asks, carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of Louis' neck.
"It's you," Louis replies, tilting his head back so that he can look up at Harry. Kind, gentle, beautiful Harry. His Harry. He leans in and nuzzles Harry's temple, murmurs, "I lose control when I'm around you."
"Don't say things like that," Harry whispers, even as he turns into Louis' embrace, hands tight on the back of his neck and breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
"Why not." Louis presses the words into Harry's skin.
"Because," Harry replies, voice barely audible. "I'm already falling in love with you."
~
The forest is alive with the sounds of birds chirping and small creatures rustling in the underbrush, wind whistling between leaves and the trickle of water downstream. Louis feels completely at peace, stretched out in the grass along the river bank in just a pair of trousers. They are supposed to be working on teaching Louis to control his magic, but Harry is whispering quietly to the horses and the sun has made Louis drowsy, a half-eaten apple held loosely in his hand. He can't even muster up the energy to lift it to his mouth.
Louis is dozing peacefully, soothed by the twittering of birds overhead and the quiet rush of the river, when something heavy drops across his thighs and the apple is snatched out of his hand. He hears a crunching noise and a hum of approval before he can wrench his eyes open to find Harry perched in his lap, naked and looking well pleased with himself. His breath catches in his chest. There is so much to take in, acres of sun-warmed skin set carelessly on display for Louis' hungry eyes. It takes him a moment to realize that Harry is rocking back and forth in his lap, shifting against his hardening cock with slow, even rolls of his hips.
"I'm not a horse," Louis lets out in a strangled voice, fingers itching to fit themselves around Harry's hips so he can hold him in place, thrust up against him.
Harry just shakes his head, a maddeningly peaceful smile on his face. He sets the apple core aside, then braces his hands on Louis' belly, fingers spread wide across his ribcage as he leans in close and murmurs, "No, but I could still ride you."
Lust clouds Louis' mind, sets his skin humming and buzzing with anticipation. He watches hazily as Harry wraps a hand around his own cock and tugs lazily, rocking into his own grip so that his bum drags against Louis' dick, teasing him to full hardness. Harry is a vision, flushed with arousal, thighs clenching around Louis' hips, and Louis is mesmerized. He doesn't even notice the darkening of the forest or the way the wind has picked up, whipping Harry's hair into his face, until Harry stills and looks up at the sky.
"Louis," he says calmly, as if he's not just worked Louis up so much he's dizzy with it. "Relax. Control your magic."
Louis shakes his head frantically. His entire body is tingling, magic simmering just beneath the surface. His mind is an endless loop of Harry, a need to touch him, a desire to be inside of him, to claim him, to keep him at his side forever, and he feels as if he's about to burst out of his own skin. He can feel his heart beating a frenetic tattoo against the inside of his chest, doesn't realize that his breath is coming out in panicky bursts and that the wind is swirling madly around them until Harry places a hand on his chest, palm broad and warm and firm, like an anchor. Louis grabs at Harry's wrist, eyes shuttering closed, and takes slow, even breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.
Slowly but surely, the wind dies down and Louis' heart rate slows, but his grip on Harry's wrist does not loosen. Underneath the buzz of magic is a constant, urgent need to be close to Harry. Blowing out an unsteady breath, Louis uses his hold on Harry's arm to tug him down against his chest and into a bone-crushing hug. He can feel the sun peeking through breaks in the canopy again, can hear the birds resuming their song, and the tightness in his chest eases, just a bit.
"Well, that went terribly," Louis mumbles into Harry's shoulder, but Harry just laughs and presses a warm kiss just over his heart.
"Don't worry," he murmurs, sneaking a hand between them so he can rub at Louis' dick through his trousers. "I'm willing to put in the practice time."
~
The sun is just beginning to set, casting Harry's chambers in a dull orange glow, when the door eases open with a creak and rouses him from a light sleep. He pushes up onto an elbow and blinks hazily at the intruder. His voice is thick and deep and not quite clear when he slurs, "Zayn? 'S that you?"
"No, love," Louis murmurs, already toeing off his boots and stripping off his tunic and trousers as he approaches. He crawls into bed behind Harry and Harry moves back against him eagerly, fits himself to the curve Louis' body makes around his own and twists his head around so he can smile drowsily at Louis, accept a kiss. It's a brief one, not nearly enough, but Harry will settle for now, too comfortable with Louis' knees tucked up behind his own, one arm cradling his head and the other hand stroking back and forth across his belly.
"How was council?" Harry asks, shifting a bit so he can see Louis better. The setting sun casts a glow over his skin, highlights the wispy ends of his hair, turns his eyes nearly violet. He looks beautiful and otherworldly. Harry can't believe he gets to touch him, kiss him, gets to feel the rhythm of his heart as he falls asleep and witness the creases from the pillowcase on his cheek when he wakes up in the morning, bleary-eyed and fluffy-haired and lovely.
The Queen has been at council in the neighboring kingdom all week, has taken Gemma and Charlotte along with her, and Harry and Louis have taken the opportunity to spend as much time in each other's company as possible, parting only for meals and Louis' nightly council sessions. They are going to have to be more subtle when the Queen returns, but for now Harry is content, wonders if this could be a preview of their life together, were the circumstances different.
He pushes that sad thought aside and turns around fully so that he is facing Louis, wraps an around around his neck and buries a giggle in his shoulder when Louis slides his hands down to cup his bum and drag him closer. He arches into Louis, relishing in the feel of skin on skin, moving against him with no real intent.
"It was rubbish," Louis murmurs, muffled where he has his face buried in Harry's hair. He slides his hands up and down Harry's back in broad strokes, warming him from the outside-in. "The council treats me like a child who knows nothing of politics."
"Aww," Harry coos, lifting his head so he can nip at Louis' bottom lip. His words are mumbled into Louis' mouth when he soothes, "When you're king, you can demote them all, find yourself a new council."
Louis doesn't return the kiss, just blinks at him silently for a moment before whispering, "What if I don't want to be king?"
Stunned, Harry pulls back, but only far enough that he doesn't have to cross his eyes to see Louis' face properly. "What? Why wouldn't you want to be king?"
Louis shrugs, face coloring a bit. His hands slide down to rest in the small of Harry's back and hold him in place, and his eyes are grave when he says, "If wearing a crown means giving you up, I don't want it."
Harry's heart lodges itself in his throat and he shakes his head fiercely. "I'm not worth giving up the crown, Louis."
Louis' smile is unbearably gentle when he pushes Harry's hair off his face and murmurs, "Ah, but you are, love."
He brushes a kiss over Harry's mouth, the apples of his cheeks, across his forehead, then moves slowly down the bed, dotting fleeting kisses against every centimeter of bared skin. The space behind Harry's ear, the pulse point in his neck, the top of a shoulder, the hollow at the base of his throat. Moves until he can press his open mouth to the skin just above Harry's navel, then turn his head and rest his cheek against the jut of his hip. Louis traces odd shapes against his side and up onto his belly before resting his palm over the gentle curve of his stomach.
"One day," Louis promises, tapping his fingers against Harry's skin, "somehow, we will be married. We'll have a house and we'll fill it with babies."
He pauses, and Harry can feel the slow expanding and contracting of his chest against his thigh, the soft puffs of breath against his stomach. He nearly misses Louis' question, can barely hear over the roaring in his ears when Louis tips his head back and asks, "That is, if you want something like that. With me."
Laughter bubbles up in Harry's chest, bright and light and jubilant, and he cards his hands through Louis' hair, whispers, "There is nothing in this world I want more."