Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fall in California is really just an extended summer that Louis happily accepts as long as he can lay in the grass, eyes closed and bare stomach out as it takes in the warmth of the sun. He’s suited for the summer—too much energy to be confined in the house, loves feeling the heat on his skin, and loves wild house parties. Well, not that he went to a lot of house parties this summer. Louis was busy with other things and just the thought of the summer has him smiling under the sun, his hand trailing over his sun-kissed belly. He wouldn’t be able to stand any winter outside of California, which Zayn takes every moment to remind him.

“—and there’s so much snow that you can’t even see out your fucking window,” Zayn groans, slamming his book shut.

Louis stretches his neck to peek one eye open and glance over to him. Unlike Louis’ love for the sun, Zayn opted for shade offered by the large tree, leaning back against the tree trunk. His legs stretch out before him in ripped denim jeans, paired with an even more ripped long-sleeve shirt. Apparently Zayn prefers to wear clothes that literally hang by a thread rather than just throwing on shorts and a regular shirt like everyone else. Zayn seeks the shade like a stray animal seeks shelter in the middle of winter.

Louis laughs in amusement and shifts his head on his bag that serves as his makeshift pillow. He’s gotten too comfortable and spoiled with a different type of makeshift pillow throughout the past year and his bag pales in comparison, but he’ll get used to it. Louis has a feeling he’s going to have to get used to a lot of things this semester.

“That’s why I belong in California,” Louis sighs contently, sliding his shirt higher on his stomach so he can feel more of the sun’s rays on his bare skin. He stretches his legs out his shorts, allowing his legs to get kissed by the sun. He winces slightly at the pain in his ass, lifting his hips and wiggling them before settling back down. “Winters here don’t go below 55.”

He hears Zayn faintly mumbling to himself about how you're so spoiled and you’d never survive winters in New York because the only thing that Zayn repeats other than Louis’ weakness towards the cold, is that he’s from New York.

“Oh, hey!” Zayn suddenly shouts, disrupting Louis’ peace.

Reluctantly, Louis raises a hand as a shield to cover his eyes, letting them adjust. When they finally come into focus, he sees a tall man in a black shirt tucked inside beige trousers (that in Louis’ opinion, are sitting way too high on his waist). His brown curls bounce with the occasional breeze that whips by them, causing a lock to fall in front of his eyes. He carries a couple of books in one hand and a full coffee cup in the other.

Louis quips a curious eyebrow. Second cup of coffee and it’s only ten in the morning.

“Hey, Professor Styles!” Zayn waves.

The man’s eyes glide to Louis, flicking to his bare stomach for a fraction of a second. They’re used to fleeting looks, quick enough to not rouse suspicion but enough to let the other know what they’re saying. Louis gets it now, even when the man’s eyes flick back to Zayn. He sees how his hand grips his coffee cup a little tighter, his arm muscle flexing as he adjusts the books in his other hand, the little huff of breath he exhales before stretching a smile across his pink lips.

“Hello, Zayn,” He takes a couple steps toward them, stopping where the concrete meets the grass. He’s gripping his books so hard that his knuckles turn white and his rings start to dig into his skin.

They’ve built up a year’s worth of familiar gestures with each other. Louis can’t help but roll his eyes to himself as he sits up, dramatically smoothing his shirt back down his stomach. He watches him out of the corner of his eyes and bites down a knowing smile when he sees the tension in his shoulders loosen.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis chimes in, his other hand still serving as a shield when he looks up at him.

Harry’s smiling even before his eyes meet Louis’. Despite having a face of an open book, Harry’s been slowly doing better. Louis can see the way Harry scrunches his nose as some sort of excuse to move his face muscles and hide his smile. Louis looks at him knowingly, his eyebrows raised slightly and his lips pressed into a firm line.

Idiot.

“I can see you still refuse to call me Professor Styles,” Harry takes a sip of his coffee; black with a splash of soy milk. Louis revels in the small bits he knows about him, the seemingly mundane facts that nobody else knows. It makes it even better that Louis was the one who made his first cup of coffee for him this morning, leaving it by the bedside table before he rushed out back to his own dorm.

“Until I can see your certification,” Louis casually shrugs his shoulders, “you’re Harry to me.”

“I’m teaching,” Harry deadpans, cocking his head towards the English building. “Actually headed to my class right now.”

Leaning back on his hands, Louis kicks the toes of his shoes together. “Supervised teaching,” Louis schools his face into something serious, but he knows Harry can see the quiver in his lips from fighting back a smile. “Still don’t have a certificate.”

Harry must deem this an appropriate moment to flash a bright smile, laughing into the lid of his coffee cup as he takes another sip. “I’ll see you guys in class tomorrow.”

With a lift of his coffee cup, he lets his eyes linger on Louis for a beat longer and then he’s on his way to his English Literature class. Louis itches to follow him and sit in with the class just to be around him longer than their sneaky glances as they pass by, but he resigns himself to stay where he is. Louis will see him in Appreciation of Literature tomorrow, the only salvation of the class.

Zayn bumps Louis’ shoulder with his shoe. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay with meeting me all the way in the English building? Your class is across the campus.”

Louis pretends to crack his neck, turning it to the side with an exaggerated groan as he looks at Harry striding past crowds of students. He happily smiles at anyone who acknowledges him and pulls the door open for a couple who apparently find holding hands too important to open the door themselves. Harry turns his head over his shoulder to Louis’ direction. They’re so far away from each other that he’s not even sure if Harry can tell he’s looking at him, but even with the distance between them, Louis could always make out that dimple carving into his cheek as a smile makes its way onto his lips before he heads inside the building.

“Yeah,” Louis wipes his lips with the back of his palm to hide his own smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

As Louis steps out of his cognitive psychology class, books clutched to his chest and his shoulder bag bumping against his hip, he has to press his lips together to hold back a knowing smile. He doesn’t even have to glance at the custodian closet to know that it’s cracked open, just enough to peer through the small gap.

A smile pushes at his lips when he takes just one step past the closet before someone grips his arm and yanks him into a dark room. He would’ve let out a startled squeal if he wasn’t used to this by now. Louis would’ve been a little more scared, but another thing he’s grown familiar with is the grip of this hand and the way the cool rings press into his own skin.

It’s fine if someone sees Louis getting pulled into a custodian closet, as long as nobody knows who’s pulling him into it.

He’s barely got time to look around the dark room lit by a dim light bulb when he’s pushed against a wall, a hand cradling the back of his head as plush lips find his own. Louis stumbles into a bucket on the floor, but Harry catches him by firm hands on his hips. Louis moves quickly, raking one hand through the mess of curls while the other winds its way around the broad shoulders. He can’t hear anything but their lips desperately moving against each other, the wet smacking whenever they pull apart only to press together again like even going an hour and a half of class time is too much time apart.

Which it is, Louis supposes, considering they have to go at it in a custodian closet instead of meeting up later tonight.

“Bribed Niall for the keys again?” Louis pants in between kisses.

“You little shit,” Harry grunts against his lips, surging forward again to roughly press their mouths together. “You knew I’d see you.”

Letting his bag fall off his shoulder, Louis laughs, warm breath fanning across their faces. “That’s kind of the point of me walking all the way across campus just to see you before your next class,” he replies, hands sliding down to either side of his neck.

“Love you,” Harry whispers, kissing him and pulling away with a wet smack of their lips.

“Love you, too,” Louis grins. His hand cups the side of his face, softly thumbing over the thin skin under his eyes. “You okay? I saw you drinking your second cup of coffee. Unless you threw away the first cup I made you.”

Harry breaths out a laugh, his dimple popping out as he shakes his head. “Love your shitty coffee,” he mutters and swiftly catches Louis’ wrist when he goes to twist his nipple. “No, I just had to catch up on grading some assignments.”

Louis frowns. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I wouldn’t have come over if I knew you had so much to do.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry kisses his wrist and nudges his cheek with his nose. “I prefer fucking you into the mattress than commenting on rough drafts, anyway.”

Louis’ hips jerk on their own accord and they both moan. “Still felt you when I was laying down on the grass earlier,” he whispers.

Harry kisses him again, tongue sliding against the seam of Louis’ lips before he dives in with a hungry noise at the back of his throat. He presses his body fully against Louis’, nudging a thigh in between Louis’ legs. “You looked so good, baby,” Harry grunts, nipping at his lip and kissing him again. “Sunbathing at school without a care in the world.”

“I had no care until someone interrupted me,” Louis tugs on a curl at the nape of his neck and smirks when Harry moans, dropping his head to the crook of Louis’ neck as they rut against each other.

“You know how I feel about him,” Harry mumbles into his damp skin, tugging him closer around the waist.

Rolling his eyes in the dark, Louis circles his hips and grinds down on Harry’s thigh. The pressure zips through his hardening cock, making Louis shudder against him. He knows Harry’s more jealous of the idea that Zayn and Louis get to freely hang out together on campus, while they have to avoid even looking at each other too long. And he knows it’s even harder for Harry to actually see them together. He’d help it if he could, except Louis loves seeing Harry walk to his next class during his break even if they don’t talk to each other. Their fleeting glances and poorly bitten back smiles whenever their eyes briefly meet sends a rush through him.

“I wouldn’t let anyone fuck me in a custodian closet,” Louis says softly, kissing Harry’s cheek. “I’d much rather do that than sunbathe.”

He feels Harry smile under his lips, his cheekbones stretching across his skin. “Yeah?” Harry pulls away and presses his thigh harder against Louis’ cock. “You liked me fucking you when students are right outside? They probably heard how much you love my cock. You get so loud, baby.”

He can hear voices right outside the door, their footsteps passing by as they head to class. Louis nearly bit through Harry’s skin from holding back his moans while Harry pounded into him the last time they were here. He loved walking out in a daze, fucked out and limping, with the ghost of Harry’s fingers leaving a bruise on his hips and neck.

“Make me come,” Louis whimpers, fingers clenched in his shirt as he desperately ruts against Harry’s thigh. “Please. I can’t—I can’t go to class like this.”

Harry kisses his forehead and smirks, his hand making its way from his hip to cup his bulge. “You’re so small though,” he coos, rubbing his hand against his length through his denim shorts. Louis drops his head back and moans, pushing his hips against the pressure. “Don’t even think anyone could tell how hard you are.”

Louis whines, high in the back of his throat and squeezes his eyes shut. The last time Harry made him go to class hard, he could barely keep his head up to focus and nearly left in the middle of class. He was so close, so desperate to be full of Harry’s thick length, fingers, or tongue. He doesn’t think he could do it again, not when Harry’s licking along his sweaty neck and his hand is rubbing against him.

“I can’t—“ Louis chokes off in a gasp when Harry squeezes his tiny cock. “Anything, please.”

“Look at you,” Harry laughs lightly, his hot breath fanning against him and making Louis shiver. “So desperate to come like a naughty school boy, hm?”

Harry pops the button on his shorts and slowly pulls down his zipper, biting his lip harshly when he sees the lace pink panties Louis has underneath. Slipping his hand inside, Harry grips his cock and his hand practically engulfs it, making it look even smaller than it already is. His thumb circles around his head, gliding through the precome dribbling out. Louis’ so wet that it’s enough for Harry to run it down his prick, coating him.

“Yes—yes,” Louis mewls as Harry starts to stroke him, thrusting his hips to fuck into his hand. “Feels so good.”

Harry kisses the corner of his eye and tugs his shirt up with his other hand. Louis quickly scrambles and pulls it over his head, letting it drop on his bag beside them. Harry pinches a nipple harshly, rolling the bud between his fingers and Louis shudders with pleasure, whimpering for more.

“Good thing you didn’t have these out,” Harry mutters low in his throat as he plays with his nipples. “I would’ve played with them right then and there. You know I can’t resist them, don’t you?”

He rolls it between his fingers before ducking his head and sucking it into his mouth, laving his tongue wetly over the bud. Louis lets out a choked out moan, trying to keep quiet seems nearly impossible from the combination of Harry’s mouth on his sensitive nipple and his hand quickly stroking his cock.

“M’close,” Louis pants, gripping the back of Harry’s head to keep him tucked in the crook of his shoulder. It’s getting stuffy in the small closet now, making it harder to breathe, but Louis can’t bring himself to care when Harry twists his hand at his cockhead, sliding through the precome there.

“Yeah?” Harry says against his chest, giving his nipple another lick with the flat of his tongue. “Gonna go to class with cum all over you? You’re so fucking dirty, princess.”

Louis nods his head and pumps his hips into Harry’s hand. “Yes—ah,” he whines as Harry squeezes his cockhead. “Dirty just for you.”

Harry pulls his mouth off his nipple, the sudden cold hitting his chest, and kisses Louis roughly with lips glistening with spit. “Always so good for me,” Harry replies against him, nipping at his swollen bottom lip. “C’mon, come for me.”

With three more quick strokes, he arches and comes in Harry’s hand, Louis’ moans getting lodged in his throat. Harry mumbles praises into his damp neck, kissing a trail up to his jaw until he reaches his lips. Louis barely has the energy to kiss back as he comes down from his high, his chest panting heavily.

He looks down at himself and sees his cum slowly trailing down his chest. “Fuck,” Louis pants and reaches down, pulling tissues out his bag. He begins to wipe himself down, rolling his eyes when he sees Harry pouting. “I’m almost late to class.”

Harry slides his finger through the cum, up to his mouth, and taps Louis’ bottom lip, eyes dark and intent as he watches Louis give in and suck his finger onto his tongue. He tightens his lips over Harry’s finger, sinking down until his lips reach a silver ring. Harry grunts and reaches down to palm himself over his trousers, thrusting his finger in and out of Louis’ mouth.

“Do you have to go to class?” Harry asks, voice gruff and low. “Wanna fuck your face.”

Harry curls his finger to fishhook his mouth before pulling out completely, his hand cupping the side of his neck. Louis’ eyes drop down to where Harry’s roughly rubbing himself, his thick length pushing against his trousers. His mouth feels empty with want and he nearly drops down to his knees there, but shakes his head instead. Standing on his toes, he tilts his head back and kisses Harry’s lips firmly.

“You can’t be a professor and encourage students to skip class,” Louis smiles against his lips, giving his chest a pat. “Have fun taking care of that.”

He squeals when Harry smacks his bum as he bends over to pick up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Harry smiles smugly at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “When are you going to start calling me professor?” He asks.

“When you actually are one,” Louis says with his hand on the doorknob. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Isn’t that how words work? You did study English, right?”

Louis’ quick to slip out the door before Harry can smack him again, his laugh echoing through the hallways as he makes his way to his next class with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

They met on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was early in the semester and Louis remembers how easy it was to find a table in the corner of the library, away from the large windows where the heat was streaming in. The library was less crowded in the beginning of the semester, students opting to fill the cafes or the gym because assignments weren’t anywhere near due.

Still, it didn’t stop Louis from getting his work done, especially that Tuesday. He was studying gaze aversion, how in some cases, people tend to turn away in the middle of a conversation to smile because they get overwhelmed with joy and can’t handle the emotion that they have to look somewhere else.

Louis was highlighting looking away helps to reduce their heartbeat when someone tapped the desk. Looking up, he met eyes with what he’d imagine exhaustion personified to look like, the skin under his eyes gone dark and his hair looking like it hasn’t gotten a good wash in about a week. His white shirt stained with pen marks hung loosely on his body, swaying with every shift, and his brown corduroy pants hid his long legs.

“Hi,” Louis said, his voice going high at the end so it sounds more like a question.

The guy smiled, shy and soft, and hitched his bag higher on his shoulder. “Hi, um—” he pursed his lips, tapping his long fingers against the wooden table, “Sorry, but do you mind if I sit here?”

Louis arched an eyebrow and scanned the room before looking back up at him. “Since it’s so crowded, right?”

Curls bounced around as he snort-laughed, a dimple popping out, and he dropped his gaze to his feet. “S’hot at the other tables,” he replied sheepishly.

The table was hardly big enough for Louis’ books and notebooks, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say no. The guy looked like a stray puppy and Louis wasn’t about to be the one to kick him to the curb. He stood there waiting patiently, almost apologetically like he was a burden, so Louis quickly stuffed a binder and pencil pouch into his bag, clearing the table except for his book, notebook, and a pen.

Glancing back up at the guy, Louis’ lips curved into a smile and he gestured at the seat across from him. The guy hesitated, a wrinkle forming between his brows as he stared at the seat. “Go ahead, sit,” Louis picked up his pen and started twirling it between his fingers.

With the verbal green light, the guy gratefully plopped down in the seat and let his bag fall off his shoulder, sighing in relief like the weight itself would drag him down in a minute. “Thanks,” he said with a wide smile.

“M’not one to get in the way of academics,” Louis shrugged, but that was enough to earn him another soft laugh, another dropped gaze.

Louis makes him avert his gaze eight times in the span of that warm afternoon.

Louis’ self-control has always been thrown out the window when it comes to Harry, so it’s no surprise that he finds himself at his flat Friday night even though he should be working on his assignments. Every time he gives in, it gets harder to make up excuses to Zayn or anyone else who asks him to hang out at a bar or club. With his high grades, it’s believable enough when Louis tells them that he’s staying in to study. It’s not exactly a lie either, since he actually gets more work done that night than he would if he was at his dorm.

Because as much as he loves being cuddled up on the couch with Harry while they watch television, or being fucked over the kitchen counter as their dinner burns, Louis does love their quiet moments when they can just be alone together. The kitchen table would be cluttered with books, pens and papers as they work in silence. Louis finds himself watching Harry at times, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he skims through student papers and occasionally marking them with a red pen.

Times like these is when Harry looks so much like when they first met a little over a year ago in the library. Harry, with his tangled hair and sleep-deprived eyes, when he asked to sit next to Louis. The table wasn’t really big enough for two people and their load of books and papers, but they eventually made it work. That little table in the corner of the library might as well have their names etched into the wood of it.

They looked like two students with their noses in their books as they studied weekly together in that library. If anyone looked closely, they’d see their fingers tangled together under a binder or their feet grazing the other’s. Passing Harry whenever he was on campus was like a treat, a smile spreading over Louis’ face before he even knew it. Harry’s internship had him teaching at different schools, making it easier to avoid suspicion when they knew Harry was going to graduate with his masters and come back to shadow teach at their school to get his certification.

Laying next to Harry the next Saturday morning, Louis’ body heavy with sleep as he yawns quietly, he smiles at the memory now. It seems like forever ago, even though it’s just been a little over a year. Harry snores next to him, his bare chest rising and falling with every breath. Louis’ usually the one to sleep in, but ever since the semester started, he’s had to be the one to wake up early to make it back to his dorm before class started.

He loves mornings like this though, when his body wakes up early now that it’s gotten used to it and he can relax into the warm sheets beside Harry. They spent the summer apart with their too-short visits, and the semester acting like the other doesn’t exist outside of class, so it seems like a gift when they can freely take each other in without any rush or fear of someone else catching them.

Harry’s hair lies in a tangled mess, drool drying on his chin as he buries himself further into the sheets. “I can feel you watching me,” he mumbles, voice deep and rough with sleep.

Louis flicks his nipple and watches him laugh and squirm away, only to shift closer again. “You have drool drying on your chin,” he points out, reaching his hand over to rub at it, Harry’s morning stubble scratching the pad of Louis’ thumb.

“Or maybe your dried cum,” Harry peeks an eye open and squeezes his arm around Louis’ waist, tugging them closer together. “Not complaining, though.”

Their soft cocks rub together under the sheets and Louis bites back a whimper, fingers digging into Harry’s bicep. “You better not complain, it was your idea to blow me after you already fucked me.”

Harry hums, his hand trailing down his back until he reaches his ass and palms him. The tips of his fingers ghost between his cheeks, softly grazing his furled rim and making Louis whine. “Mm, don’t forget when I ate you out,” he mutters, pressing forward to kiss him. “Love when you spend the night and I can make you come over and over again.”

A shiver runs through him when Harry dips his finger into his loose hole. “I love it even more when you make me breakfast,” Louis pants, kissing Harry’s shoulder and pushes back against his finger. “C’mon, you have to get the groceries. I’m hungry.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows, a smug grin spreading across his face. He barks out a laugh when Louis slaps his shoulder and groans, rolling onto his back. “Are you sure you can do the laundry without breaking the machine?”

“I’ve done our laundry plenty of times,” Louis frowns, mostly because he feels empty without Harry’s warmth now. “I trust myself with that more than picking out food.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek as he stares at the ceiling, the morning sun painting his pale skin a light golden. Louis shifts in closer, throwing an arm around his waist as he lays his head on his shoulder. He knows it’s frustrating that they can’t go out and do grocery shopping - or anything else - together. They even have to pretend to conveniently bump into each other at a cafe, strike up a platonic and casual conversation about the weather or the new fall drinks on the menu just to have their fill of each other.

They live in a gray area—not exactly prohibited, but heavily frowned upon. Louis would throw up a middle finger to any judging looks, but he’d never risk Harry’s career. Their relationship would earn Harry some unwarranted glances from other faculty members, something that makes Louis’ blood boil just thinking about it. He might not even get his certification if Professor Egan, Harry’s mentor, doesn’t give him a good letter of recommendation.

So it’s easier just to keep it undercover for now, even though it’s like the devil tempting them whenever they pass each other and fight not to spare a glance at one another. Harry’s got the rest of the semester until he finds out if he gets his certification and as impatient as Louis is, the next three months doesn’t seem terrible when he’s laying next to Harry like this.

He gets it, though. It’s frustrating to Louis as much as it is to Harry.

“Hey,” Louis nudges his shoulder with his nose and smiles up at Harry when he turns his head to peer down at him. “I think Zayn said he needed more granola bars for breakfast.”

A wrinkle takes shape between Harry’s eyebrows. “Okay, what flavor does—”

“So I need to go to the grocery store to get them,” Louis rolls his eyes as he sits up. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and turns to glance at Harry over his shoulder. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and head out. If I just happen to see you there, then it’s just a coincidence.”

Harry’s lips slowly stretch over his face, his eyes beaming. “See you soon, baby,” he says, letting his eyes shamelessly roam down Louis’ bare body.

Louis sways his hips as he walks to the restroom, smiling to himself when Harry groans. It’s not the best solution and definitely not the ideal situation, but they make it work.

He’s late.

Louis runs down the hallway, his shoulder bag bouncing against his hip as he clutches his book to his chest. His white Vans thunder across the linoleum floors and squeak as he halts to a stop in front of his classroom, breathless and sweat beading at his forehead. Pulling the door open, the class falls silent as everyone turns to him and Louis feels his face flush even more. He holds his book tightly to his chest as he quietly makes his way towards his desk near the middle of the class, stepping over backpacks and binders.

His professor just sighs at the intrusion, but carries on with the lesson and Louis quietly sighs in relief. Peering up under his eyelashes, he sees Harry in the corner behind his professor with his hand sitting on top of a large stack of paper. He has his chin propped in his hand and quirks a questioning eyebrow at Louis, who just shrugs and tries to focus on the lesson.

Even with two cups of coffee in his belly and another one in the works, Louis can’t fight back the yawn that escapes him throughout class. He rubs his eye with the heel of his palm, Harry’s cream cable knit sweater falling back over his hand when his hand flops back on his desk like even holding his arm up requires too much energy.

He reaches for his cup again to down the rest of his coffee when his professor calls out loudly.

“Louis?” The professor asks, white eyebrows raised.

Louis curls in on himself, crossing his ankles over each other. “Yes, Professor Egan?” He mumbles.

“Wilde,” Professor Egan sighs like repeating himself is the greatest labor. “When did he die?”

He studied this. Louis studied this just last night. Or technically, this morning—very early morning that required him to chug down two and a half cups of coffee. He remembers writing out Wilde’s birthday, his death, the reason for his imprisonment but now under the intense glare of his professor, Louis can’t seem to remember any of it. The room is silent while they wait for his answer and if Louis peers over at Zayn, Professor Egan would catch him in a second.

With his hands in his lap, nervously playing with the hem of the sweater, Louis quickly glances to the corner of the room again. His gaze meets green eyes filled with a mix of both amusement and worry. He runs a hand through his unruly brown waves, the other hand twirling a pen between his long fingers, before a smile hints at his lips.

November, he mouths.

“November,” Louis quickly parrots, biting down his own smile.

Professor Egan looks at him unimpressed. “I asked for the date, not the month.”

Louis’ eyes flick over to the corner of the room again and Harry is already holding up three fingers on one hand and making an O with his other, a slight pleading look on his face that Louis easily reads as please remember the fucking year. The class lightly snickers at his dramatics, always finding it endearing when Harry helps the class out behind Professor Eagan.

“November 30, 1900,” Louis tries again and Harry slumps back in his seat with relief, holding his hand in a thumbs up.

“Nice to know your memory found you,” Professor Egan nods. He straightens his stack of paper and glances at the clock hanging in the wall. “Alright, we’ll continue on Wednesday, class. Don’t forget your readings and your rough drafts are due in two weeks.”

The class erupts with students zipping up their backpacks, shoes shuffling against the linoleum floors, the chatter amongst people as they file outside. Louis packs his pencils into his pouch, stuffing it into his shoulder bag before hitching it on his shoulder and standing up, hiding another yawn into his sweater paw.

“Christ, you nearly pissed yourself in class,” Zayn points out with an arched eyebrow.

Louis frowns at him. “No I didn’t,” he replies, fingering the strap of his bag. “If I did, it’s because I drank so much coffee.”

They’re the last ones left in the class and they start to make their way through the desks and towards the door. “If I had a dollar for every time I saw you yawn—“ Zayn begins just as they step foot out the door.

“Tomlinson?”

Zayn and Louis both turn their heads back to Harry in the corner, absentmindedly looking through his stacks of paper. Even when Louis can’t fully see his face, he can still make out the corners of his lips pulled downward and the slight furrow between his eyebrows. His broad shoulders hunched over, elbows resting on the desk, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he flips through the papers. Harry looks like an authoritative figure now, full of control. A slight thrill sweeps through Louis as he feels his face flush with heat.

Zayn shoots a curious look at Louis, who just casually shrugs to appear nonchalant.

“Yes?” Louis nearly whispers, tugging his bag in front of him like some sort of shield.

Harry flicks his eyes up briefly to meet Louis’, emotionless and intimidating. “Can you stay back please? I need to talk to you about your last essay,” he says.

Louis and Zayn exchange a quick glance. “I’ll text you later,” Louis says, nodding his head to the door.

“Alright, hope everything’s alright,” Zayn claps a hand on his shoulder and leaves, the door clicking shut soundly behind him.

“Is everything okay with my paper? I got my grade already, Harry and—“ Louis rambles, taking slow and tentative steps toward his desk until he’s just a couple inches in front of it.

Harry raises his eyebrows as he looks up at him, leaning back in his chair. His shirt stretches over the lines of his muscles and Louis can’t help but let his eyes linger there. Louis’ small hands grip the strap of his bag a little harder, his throat suddenly more dry than it was a second ago, and he flicks his eyes back up at him.

“Harry?” Harry chuckles, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You mean Professor Styles?”

Either the lack of sleep or Harry’s muscles distract him enough to let his mouth run before he can stop himself. “You’re not a professor yet,” Louis corrects. “You’re just a student-teacher.”

Harry’s full lips quickly press together in a firm line as he stands up from his desk and slowly trudges toward Louis. With every step he takes forward, Louis takes one back until his bum hits the edge of a desk and his hands fly to grip it. Harry closes in on him, hands gripping his slender waist and pressing them together. He leans down to press their foreheads together with hot breathing fanning over each other’s faces, their lips a hair’s length apart.

“You didn’t seem to mind calling me Professor Styles last night when you went on your knees to stuff your mouth full of my cock,” Harry whispers against his wet lips.

A shiver runs through Louis and he quietly gasps, his eyes flicking towards the door where he can still hear the faint chatter of students as they walk by.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, fingers clutching onto Harry’s broad shoulders. “The door’s unlocked.”

Harry’s strong arms circle around his waist, pulling them even closer. “You probably like that, don’t you, baby?” He mutters in his ear, lips catching his earlobe to give it a bite. “Want someone to walk in here and catch you bent over the desk while I spank you.”

Whimpering softly, Louis throws his arms around Harry’s neck and buries his heated face in his neck. “I’ve been good,” Louis whispers against his skin.

“Have you?” Harry muses. His hands drift down the slope of his back and over the swell of his bum, groaning in Louis’ ear when he grabs the meat of it and jiggles it in his hand. “You were late, first of all. You could barely stay awake throughout class. I had to give you the answer to the question. Are you even wearing panties? Or did you expect me to fuck you in the classroom, hm?”

Louis shakes his head frantically, kissing the sharp line of his jaw where stubble peppers his skin. “No, no, m’wearing panties,” Louis replies like he’s convincing a courthouse. “M’good.”

He was so tired and sleep deprived that Louis barely thought about what he was wearing, throwing on the first thing his hands grabbed. He didn’t think twice when he pulled his leggings and Harry’s sweater on. Louis definitely didn’t anticipate Harry holding him back after class, but a thrill runs through him anyway. He was going to meet Harry at his flat after his classes like he usually does, but the thought of being bent over his desk sends a surge of excitement through him. The lights are still on and anyone can walk in to see Louis crying as he clutches at the desk while Harry spanks his bum red. The voices of students suddenly seem louder and clearer and Louis suppresses a shiver of them potentially hearing him as he comes undone, stuffed full from Harry’s cock.

Harry doesn’t even have his own office that they can go to, always resorting to his flat or Louis’ dorm whenever Zayn goes out. During the summer, they made do with phone calls and FaceTime, Harry’s rough voice telling him he was a good boy as he stroked his hard length and watched Louis fuck himself with a vibrator while he desperately wished it was Harry instead. The photos he sent to Harry makes him flush with heat whenever he thinks about them: come painting his stomach and chest glistening white after he fingered himself, holding his asscheeks open to show off his pink hole wet and shiny with lube, his small, pink cock begging for Harry’s attention even though he was miles away.

Harry would go up to San Francisco to visit him every two weeks, or at least try to, and they’d reunite like a soldier coming home from war. Going to the warm and sunny beach, licking melted ice cream off Harry’s long fingers, having a picnic in the park—it was probably one of the best summers Louis had.

Despite the semester starting and seeing Harry almost every day, it still doesn’t seem like enough. Being under his watchful gaze throughout class only makes Louis itch with want, constantly shuffling in his seat as he fights his prick from hardening every time Harry sucked on the end of a pen, his cheeks hollowing. Sometimes Louis almost wishes Harry wasn’t the student-teacher for his class so he could actually focus and learn, but quickly retracts that thought when he sees Harry’s heated eyes hungry with want on his legs or lips.

“Do you want to show me how good you are?” Harry asks, cupping his jaw and stroking his cheekbone.

Louis would never turn down the chance to show how good he is, how good he always wants to be for Harry. He quickly nods and lets his bag fall from his shoulder, his fringe falling over his eyes as he bites his bottom lip. He goes up on his tippy toes and pecks Harry’s lips eagerly.

“Yes, please,” Louis replies, small hands clutching his loose white button up. Harry’s never one for formal wear, always opting for stylish comfort, but Louis loves to see how he’s shifted from a student to an upcoming professor in the works. His shirt is tucked into his high waisted brown trousers, loose enough to appear casual, and his unruly waves are practically begging for Louis’ fingers to run through them.

Harry’s hand slides to the back of his head, pushing their lips together in a forceful and desperate kiss. It’s all wet tongues and warm lips sliding over each other frantically as Harry walks them back over to his desk. When Harry pulls away, Louis whines and goes to suck on his jawline instead, nipping at the skin.

“Bend over the desk,” Harry murmurs in his ear, voice low and hoarse, sending shivers down Louis’ spine.

Louis turns around quickly and bends over the wooden desk, turning his face so he can watch for the door. It suddenly feels like he’s standing right under the sun in his sweater and leggings, wanting nothing more than for Harry to rip his clothes off so he can feel the cool AC breezing over his skin. He can feel his heartbeat against the desk, waiting in anticipation.

The leather chair behind him makes a noise like Harry’s sat on it and he hears it roll closer. Harry hums to himself and Louis lets out a small gasp as Harry runs his hands up the back of his thighs to his bum, gripping each globe in his hands tightly. Whimpering high in his throat, Louis grips the edge of the desk tighter and squeezes his eyes shut, delighting in Harry’s fingers digging into his skin.

“Pull your leggings down,” Harry orders, massaging into his ass once more before letting his hands fall.

A shudder runs through Louis just by hearing the sternness in Harry’s voice, loud in the stillness of the empty room. Reaching behind himself, Louis digs his thumbs into the waistband of his leggings and starts to drag them down.

“Slower,” Harry instructs.

Louis wishes he could see Harry, relaxed in his seat with dark eyes intensely watching him become undone. Louis feels like he’s putting on a private show for Harry, giving him something for his eyes only despite the crowd of people right outside. It makes his head spin, walking that delicate line of private and exposed, and it only makes Louis trust Harry even more.

Letting his eyes close, Louis pulls his leggings down slower, revealing skin that’s begging to be touched. His stomach flutters with nerves now that he’s bare in his classroom, his breath coming in soft pants.

“Stop,” Harry says.

The waistband of the leggings stop right under the swell of his bum, pushing them up higher and making them look even more round and full. The waistband digs into his skin, something Louis is able to ignore once Harry’s hands smooths over his ass with a satisfied groan. Biting down on his bottom lip, Louis suppresses a whimper and arches his back more into Harry’s touch.

Suddenly, Harry’s right hand disappears only to come back down with a loud and quick slap, echoing through the empty room.

“Ah!” Louis gasps.

Harry smooths his right hand over his heated skin, the cold metal of his rings feeling like ice. “So beautiful,” he whispers, pulling his cheeks apart and groaning at his tight, pink hole. “This hole’s begging to be fucked over a desk.”

Heat builds up at the pit of Louis’ stomach just thinking about Harry pounding into him when there’s a class right next door. “Please,” Louis whispers breathily, biting his bottom lip.

“Yeah? Sounds nice, doesn’t it, baby?” Harry’s hand trails up to squeeze his hip like a promise. “Want you limping to your next class, stuffed with my cum.”

Tears threaten to prickle at the corners of Louis’ eyes when he thinks about sitting in class, full of Harry’s hot come. Louis’ small, hard prick bumps against the desk, precome smearing against it. Louis clenches his hole around nothing, desperate for anything Harry will give him.

Louis doesn’t have time to say anything back because Harry’s hand comes flying back down on his left asscheek now. Louis jolts from the sting, panting hotly against the desk.

“Harry,” Louis exhales. “Hurry up, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Harry grunts in disagreement, his hand rubbing over Louis’ red bum but pats his hip. “On your knees.”

It’s hard to maneuver with the leggings clamping tightly around his legs, but Louis manages to turn around, Harry’s sweater falling down over his sensitive skin and he hisses from the brief touch. Harry’s eyes slowly trail from Louis’ scuffed white Vans, up his legs and his own sweater that practically looks like a dress on Louis, all the way up until their eyes meet again, a smirk playing on his lips.

He reaches to play with the hem of the sweater and hums to himself. “Our golden student’s been bad,” Harry states and those words alone make Louis squirm with the urge to prove him wrong. “If you’re so good, you need to prove it to me. Start with getting on your knees, princess.”

Louis drops to his knees immediately, the cold floor creeping through his leggings. Harry rolls his chair back and raises an expecting eyebrow at him. Louis crawls towards him on his hands and knees until he’s under Harry’s desk and in between his legs, where he should always be. His hands stay still where they lie on his knees as he looks up at Harry through his eyelashes. Harry smiles down softly at him, cupping himself and pressing the heel of his hand onto his cock to relieve some pressure. Louis bites his lip to stay silent and glares at Harry’s smirk.

Wasting no time, Harry pulls the zipper of his trousers down and Louis watches with hungry eyes. His hands tighten on Harry’s thighs as his fat cock comes into view, pressing against the fabric. Precome soaks through the cotton material and Louis unconsciously leans forward, mouth already open with want.

“Harry, please,” Louis knees in closer and runs his hands up his thighs. “Can I?”

“Better hurry up, baby,” Harry cocks an eyebrow at him, relaxing back into his chair. “Someone might come in soon.”

Louis immediately tugs his pants down so his hard cock springs out, flushed red and leaking at the tip. He sucks the head into his mouth, moaning at the taste and sinking down further until the corner of his lips start to sting from the stretch. His eyes roll back when Harry grunts, his hand clutching the back of his head and messing up his hair there. Louis starts to bob his head, letting drool run down the corner of his lips as he tongues at the vein running down the underside of his prick.

He loves having Harry in his mouth, his lips stretching so wide as he stuffs himself more with his cock until he’s choking on it. He hears voices out in the hallway again and he bobs his head faster, the tip nudging the back of his throat every time and he makes a gagging noise. His head swims with the thought of people hearing him choke on Harry’s thick length, eyes brimming with tears and spit running down his chin.

“Fucking hell,” Harry grunts. Louis peers up at him through his eyelashes and he throws his head back, giving Louis a good view of his sharp jawline. “Yeah—just like that, baby. Sucking me so good, aren’t you?”

Louis whines around his cock, sliding off to suckle at the head and digging his tongue into his slit. He pulls off with a gasp, sucking in a large breath of air. “Love your cock so much,” Louis replies with a rough voice, his hand stroking him quickly.

“You can’t get enough of it,” Harry pants, pushing down on Louis’ head. Louis takes him in again despite his jaw aching and his knees starting to hurt, his lips tight around his cock. “You’re so desperate that you’d get down on your knees for it. People right outside can hear you take down my cock like a naughty school boy and you don’t even care as long as you’re filled.”

“Need it,” Louis nods frantically, kissing the tip and digging his tongue into the slit.

He’s just about to take him in his mouth again when Harry pulls him back by the hair, eliciting a whine from Louis. “You need what?” Harry asks, eyes dark. “Need my cock? Need to be stuffed with it?”

“Anything,” Louis says immediately. His eyes drop to his thick length, glistening with spit and Louis squirms with want, his tongue lolling out his mouth.

A smug smile spreads across Harry’s face as he rolls closer, pressing on the back of Louis’ head with a firm hand. Louis preens and kisses away the precome, letting it smear over his lips before taking him down again. He bobs his head quickly, the tip brushing the back of his throat every time. When Louis looks up at him through his lashes, Harry’s got his head thrown back in pleasure, showing off his sharp jawline.

Louis’ hand is about to trail over to fondle his balls when he suddenly hears the door handle moving.

Fear rushes through Louis like a stroke of lightning and he’s about to pull off when Harry glances down at him quickly. Before they could say anything, Harry rolls the chair closer to the desk until his chest hits the edge of it, careful not to gag Louis. He’s completely under the desk now, hunched over with his knees starting to ache while his mouth is stuffed with Harry’s cock. Harry’s hand grips the back of his hair gently, his thumb drawing reassuring circles. Louis focuses on not making a sound while he listens to the door swing open and footsteps coming closer.

“Styles,” Egan’s surprised voice says. “What are you still doing here?”

Harry takes a few steady breaths before speaking. “Figured I’d use this as my temporary office before the next class comes in,” he replies. His voice is rough and dry, straining to come across normal. Louis tongues at the underside of his length, nearly whimpering when Harry harshly tightens his fingers in his hair.

“You’ll get your own office soon enough,” Egan laughs lightly. “The students adore you and you’ve been doing amazing.”

Pride swells in Louis’ chest and he can imagine Harry beaming brightly. “Thanks to you, Egan. You’ve been a great mentor,” Harry says.

Louis tightens his lips around Harry and slides down deeper until his cockhead grazes the back of his throat and his eyes start to water. He feels Harry’s stomach muscles clenching and he pulls on Louis’ hair tightly as a warning, but Louis lets the spit run down the corners of his mouth as he keeps his cock warm, getting him wet and messy.

Professor Egan chuckles and then sighs loudly. “Don’t be too easy on them, though. I can see you’ve got a soft spot for Tomlinson.”

At hearing his own name, Louis nearly jolts up if it weren’t for Harry’s hand on his head. He’s alert now with his interest piqued. Harry soothes him by his hand gently cupping the back of his neck, keeping Louis around his cock as if he could go anywhere else.

“I’m hard where I need to be,” Harry says softly.

If Louis’ mouth wasn’t plugged from Harry's cock, he’d roll his eyes or twist his nipple, but his eyes flutter shut at the weight of Harry in his mouth. Louis loves to keep Harry’s prick warm and wet, wants to keep him inside always. Saliva drips all over, running from Louis’ mouth down to the base of Harry’s cock and he nearly whimpers at seeing how messy he is, right under Professor Egan’s nose and he doesn’t even know it.

“That’s how it should be,” Professor Egan agrees. “I should be going, I just forgot my pen here. I’ll see you next class.”

“See you, Egan,” Harry grunts, coughing to hide his sudden hoarse voice.

When the door clicks shut, Harry slowly rolls back in his seat and his cock leaves the warmth of Louis’ lips. He whines in protest, crawling towards him and his glistening cock, missing the girth and heaviness in his mouth despite his aching jaw.

“So fucking naughty,” Harry clicks his tongue in disapproval, wrapping a hand around himself and slowly stroking. “On your knees with your mouth full of cock with your professor right there. You that desperate for this?”

Harry starts to stroke himself faster with an obscene wet noise in the still quiet, but Louis whimpers and nods his head. His eyes never leave Harry’s wet shaft, his mouth practically salivating even more with want. He’s in that headspace now, fuzzy and dazed, and it’s too late to try to go back to reality.

“Want it,” Louis whispers, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs and kisses his throbbing cock. Louis moans against it, pulsing and warm against his lips. “Please, fuck me.”

Glancing at the clock, Harry smirks and flicks his gaze back down at Louis. He placed a hand on the crown of Louis’ head, gently thumbing circles there. Louis can’t help but preen like a kitten, relaxing into the comforting touch.

“Bend over the desk,” Harry says roughly. Holding his trousers up with one hand, he stands up from the chair and reaches down into his bag.

Louis stands up with a groan, the ache in his knees coming in full force, and lowers himself over the desk. He can hear the faint commotion outside the class if he focuses hard enough, but the zipper of Harry’s bag pierces through the quiet anticipation.

Glancing at Harry over his shoulder, Louis smirks when he sees Harry pull out a packet of lube. “Eager?” Louis quips an eyebrow.

Harry chuckles, deep and rough. “You’re the one bent over the desk,” he replies. “And I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Louis hums and pushes his bum out even more, a silent agreement. “Me too,” he says softly. “So hurry up, Haz.”

“Condom?” Harry asks.

“Jesus,” Louis laughs into his forearms. “You got a whole sex shop in there, too?”

Harry reaches over and gives his ass a quick, stinging slap. Louis gasps from the blow, his eyes fluttering close and instinctively arches his back out for more. He mulls over the choice for a second; using a condom would help with the mess, but Louis wants to be messy. He squirms just at the thought of being filled with Harry’s hot come, his hole eagerly tightening.

Louis turns his face into his forearms, his face flushing with heat. “No condom,” he murmurs under his breath.

He hears some ruffling and then Harry hitches the sweater up Louis’ body until it’s gathered under his arms. Harry glides his hands up Louis’ narrow waist, skimming his nipples and pinching them, drawing a shuddered gasp from Louis. Harry kisses Louis’ shoulder blade and trails his lips up to behind his ear. “Love you so much,” Harry whispers.

Having Harry pressed close to him cuts Louis’ patience in half. “Love you, too,” Louis replies. “Haz, c’mon, I need you inside.”

Pressing another kiss to Louis’ shoulder, Harry tears the line packet open and hastily coats his fingers. He pulls Louis open with one hand and gently brushed his pink, tight hole with the tip of his other hand. “Look at that,” Harry murmurs reverently, digging the tip of his finger into his entrance. Louis bites on his forearm to keep him from moaning. “Tight little hole hungry for this cock, hm?”

Louis’ clenches down as soon as Harry’s finger slides in down to the knuckle and he lets out a shaker breath. “Want it—ah,” Louis gasps when Harry pushes his finger out and fucks it back in. “More, give me another.”

Harry clicks his tongue, but prods two fingers at his wet hole and slowly eases them in, scissoring his fingers. He’s quick to stretch Louis out, his slick fingers working him open with nothing but their ragged breaths and the obscene noise of Harry’s fingers sliding in and out of Louis.

With one final stretch of his fingers, Harry glides his fingers out and grips Louis’ hips tightly with wet fingers. Two fingers and a rushed prep isn’t nearly enough for Harry’s size, but they don’t have time. Louis even likes the burn a little, loves being stretched wide open around Harry’s thick cock.

He hears Harry slicking himself up and then feels his thick cockhead brush against his hole, clenching down in anticipation. Louis’ fingers curl tightly over the edge of the desk as Harry begins to push in. Harry leans over Louis’ back and hides in moan into his shoulder, sliding in deeper.

“Fuck,” Louis pants into the wooden desk. “So fucking big inside me.”

Harry grunts and pulls Louis’ hips back onto his cock until his ass is pressed against Harry’s pelvis. He wastes no time in sliding out and then snapping back into Louis’, eliciting a high-pitched whine from him.

“So gorgeous spread out over a desk,” Harry mutters, roughly fucking into Louis. “Taking my cock like a good boy.”

Louis can’t even help the whimper that falls out his mouth as Harry’s cock pummels into him, jolting him into the desk. Thinking about everyone outside heading to their next classes or studying for their upcoming tests while Louis’ bent over a desk stuffed with Harry’s cock gets him dizzy. Their skin slaps together with a resounding noise, echoing throughout the empty class.

“Yeah, mm,” Louis whines when Harry’s shaft brushes against his prostate, making his toes curl. “Feels so good—oh!”

He can practically see Harry smirking when he circles his hips and his dick presses against his prostate. “Can’t wait to have my own office,” Harry pants, snapping his hips faster. “That way I can always have you like this, open and ready for my cock whenever I want.”

Louis lets out an unabashed moan that turns into a whimper when Harry pistons his thick girth into him faster. They’re loud now, their skips slapping obscenely together mingled with their moans, the desk moving across the linoleum floors with each heavy thrust. Louis can’t bring himself to care when he’s got Harry’s cock fucking into him so hard as he lays there useless and dazed.

He pants against the desk, whimpers falling out with every snap of Harry’s hips that make his ass bounce from the force. “Oh!” Louis gasps with a shudder. “Mm—yes! There—right there, ah!”

With one hand still gripping his hip, Harry’s other hand slides up to his shoulder as he snaps his hips into Louis’. “Yeah?” Harry whispers gruffly. “You want me to fuck you so everyone can hear how well you take this cock?”

Tears spring into the corner of Louis’ eyes and he squeezes them shut as Harry pounds into him harder. “Give it to me—ah!” Louis cries, pushing his bum out as if Harry’s cock isn’t filling him to the brim.

“So fucking tight around my cock,” Harry groans and pulls Louis’ ass cheeks apart to see his wet rim stretched around his cock. His thumb circles the sensitive skin as Harry saws his prick in and out of Louis with an obscene slapping noise. “Always feel so good for me, baby.”

Louis doesn’t even know how much time they have left, his mind narrowed down to the feel of Harry’s cock fucking into him roughly. Drool starts to run out his mouth and onto the desk as he lays there limply, soft whimpers falling out whenever Harry hits his prostate.

“Harry,” Louis mewls. “Fill me up, need it.”

Harry grunts and squeezes his hips harder, picking up the pace of his hips. “Gonna come,” Harry warns, biting the side of Louis’ neck and soothing it over with a wet kiss.

Sliding his hand through Louis’ damp skin, Harry’s hand reaches around until it wraps around Louis’ small prick. Harry starts to stroke Louis in time with his frantic thrusts and Louis’ whines get choked up in his throat.

Throwing an arm back to keep Harry’s head in the crook of Louis’ shoulder, Louis pants heavily against the desk as he feels the heat in his stomach coil. “Mm, so close,” Louis breathes.

Sweat drips down the temples of Louis’ forehead as Harry snaps his hips harder with a force that’ll leave bruises. Harry strokes Louis off with an obscene wet noise from how fast he works his hand. Louis’ mouth drops open in a silent, long moan as he spurts all over the desk. Harry groans loudly against his skin and fucks into him deeply one more time before his hips stutter, spilling into Louis with his come in long, hot spurts. Louis contently sighs, smiling to himself at Harry’s warm come inside him.

Turning his head back to face Harry, Louis locks their mouths together in a lazy kiss, nothing more than a slow drag of their lips. Harry gently pulls out with a squelching noise from how wet and loose Louis is. Louis clenches down immediately and whines when he feels a trickle of Harry’s come drip down the inside of his thigh.

“I don’t suppose you have a plug in your bag?” Louis asks as he slowly drags his leggings back over his bum, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of the wetness against the fabric.

Harry laughs behind him and pulls the zip on his trousers. “I’ll make a note to carry one with me from now on,” he replies. He turns Louis around and kisses him against the desk, tongue delving into the warmth of his mouth. “Can’t believe I never fucked you over a desk before. Wanna do it all the time now.”

“Mm, imagine how good it’d be when you do get your own office,” Louis whispers against his mouth, leaning forward to nip at Harry’s bottom lip. “When you come back from class, I’d be on my knees ready to keep your cock warm as you grade your papers.”

Harry grunts and roughly pulls their mouths together, rutting their sensitive cocks together and pulls away. “Go to class before I fuck you again,” Harry gives his bum a slap and kisses Louis again.

Louis laughs and nods, smiling to himself when Harry reaches down to hitch Louis’ bag in his shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Haz,” he says as he makes his way to the door on shaky legs.

“Professor Styles!” Harry calls out right before Louis slips out and closes the door.

In Louis’ next class, as he sits in his seat with his ankles crossed and takes notes, he feels Harry’s come slowly drip out his loose hole and hides a smile under the sleeve of Harry’s sweater.

Now that the beginning of the semester is over and the freshmen seem to have gotten used to having a coffee shop on campus, the morning rush has slowed down. Louis’ still tired of making his twentieth cup of pumpkin spice latte, but he isn’t exhausted thirty minutes into his shift either. The air outside is crisp and chilly, drawing students and professors into the shop’s warmth with Norah Jones crooning over the speakers.

“Do you think they’ll fire me if I take out my notes to study?” Stephanie pops up beside Louis and leans against the counter, her long black hair falling out of its hold around her tan, plump face.

Louis tucks a long strand behind her ear and smiles. “Cramming in some last minute studying?” he asks.

“That only works for you because you still manage to pull out a perfect grade,” Stephanie fondly rolls her eyes. “Dylan’s got that Halloween party at his place next weekend. I want to get studying out of the way so I can pick out my costume.”

Louis smiles, thinking of his own costume at home, tucked in the bottom of his drawer. He's about to dive into a list of possible costume ideas for Stephanie when the door swings open.

It’s not unusual for Harry to pop by during Louis’ shift since Harry’s next class starts at 10am. He’s done it a handful of times now, sipping his coffee while he looks over papers or reads a book. Louis can't help but flick his eyes to him whenever he can just to catch Harry reading Louis’ scrawled writing that says fuck you or stop stalking me or stay a little longer today. He’s pretty sure that he mirrors Harry’s poorly-hidden smile if the customers’ puzzled expression is anything to go by.

Louis can easily watch Harry as he strides in, flared black trousers swinging with every step. It’s almost funny how Harry still can't seem to control his face, even with nearly two months of practice. Harry gazes around the shop like it’s his first time there, eyes glazing over the tables for an empty spot even though he knows there’s always an empty table near the left wall, just a couple feet away from Louis. Harry doesn’t spare Louis a glance, stopping just a little before the counter to read the menu when they both know he orders the same thing every single time. It’s only when Harry nods to himself, glasses dropping down the bridge of his nose, that he approaches the counter and finally meets Louis’ eyes.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis greets casually, taking in the way Harry’s dimple threatens to pop out.

Stephanie lightly pinches his waist with a frown. “Professor Styles,” she corrects with a tut that would make his mom proud.

“He’s not a professor,” Louis pouts, dramatically rubbing his waist.

“Yet,” Harry adds, the corner of his lip quirking up.

Louis rolls his eyes and turns toward Stephanie, leaning his hip against the counter. “I’ve got it, you can go study,” he nods his head towards an empty table.

Beaming gratefully, she goes to grab her bag and stake her claim on a table at the opposite end of the shop. There’s a few other students, focused on their reading or tapping away on their phones.

“What can I get for you?” Louis asks Harry with a knowing smile.

Harry rubs his chin like he’s knee deep in contemplation. “I’ll just take a black coffee with an extra shot and a splash of soy milk,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

Punching in the order onto the register, Louis cocks an eyebrow at him. “Extra shot?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Harry heaves a sigh with a slight shake of his head, handing Louis a bill and letting his fingers linger against the back of Louis’ hand. “I was up all night eating—“

Louis’ cheeks flush immediately and he punches a button, the money from the drawer flying out. Ignoring Harry’s deep chuckle, Louis grabs his change and shoves it into his open palm, curling Harry’s finger over the crumpled money with a little more force than necessary.

“I’ll bring your order to you,” Louis says firmly, dropping his hands onto the counter and muttering under his breath, “Idiot.”

Harry laughs loudly, dimple carving into his cheek as he drops the change into the tip jar. He shoots Louis a wink before heading off to the table, setting down his stack of books and pulling his laptop out his bag. Louis has to tear his eyes away from Harry before he gets drawn into a trance of watching him work, turning away from him to get his coffee started. His body works on autopilot as he starts the machine and he glances at the time. He’s only got about another twenty minutes left of his shift and he figures if he puts on some Fleetwood Mac, Harry can do his work while Louis reads his textbook, and it’ll be just like working together in Harry’s flat.

It’s the closest thing they can get to being together in public and it gets tiring, having to find loopholes to jump through just to appear normal and casual when all Louis wants to do is lean his head on Harry’s shoulder while he works. Even going outside of campus together is a little risky with LA circulating rumors faster than Louis can blink. He wants their summer all over again, the safety of San Francisco where they were away from the life they have now.

Two more months, Louis thinks as he scribbles a poorly-drawn middle finger on Harry’s cup and writes eat this. Two more months until the semester ends and Harry gets his certification, if all goes well.

Louis’ drawing hearts around his work of art when the door chimes and Zayn strides in, happily waving to him. Startled, Louis nearly drops the cup and marks a long, black line down the side of his hand instead. He places the cup under the machine so the coffee can pour into it and smiles at Zayn when he approaches the counter.

“Do I look that terrible?” Zayn laughs, running a hand through his dark, black hair.

Louis shakes his head and rubs at the black mark, only smearing it even more. “No, you just scared me,” he replies. “You usually go to the coffee shop near the English building.”

“I do, but I wanted to see if you were down to study? I’ve gotta finish this book by this weekend,” Zayn holds up the book in his hand and rolls his eyes.

Louis can practically feel Harry’s eyes burning into them now and he shifts from foot to foot under the intense heat of his glare. “Um, I’ve got class after this,” Louis mutters, fighting to keep his gaze from flicking to Harry.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Not right after,” he argues. “You’ve got thirty minutes to spare, don’t you? C’mon, I came all the way across campus.”

Biting his lip, Louis scratches his thumb against the wooden counter and heaves a sigh. He has been bailing out on Zayn and everyone else for awhile now, always throwing them excuses so he can be with Harry. He can’t even remember the last time he went out with his friends and just figured that their class time together or their brief walks across campus would suffice.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis croaks out, nodding. “I’ll get your coffee before I clock out and we can head to the library?”

“I’ll just grab a table here,” Zayn gestures to the empty tables. He pulls out a bill from his wallet and hands it to Louis with a smile. “Library might be more packed than here, anyway. Might have to fucking camp out before finals just to get a table.”

Louis laughs and grabs the money. “Alright, give me a couple more minutes,” he says.

Zayn nods and turns around, stepping into the opposite side of the room until he pauses. “Hey, Professor Styles,” he waves and cocks his head to the side. “What are you doing on this side of campus?”

Harry’s fingers still on his laptop and he clenches his fists tightly, his leg bouncing in place. Louis bites his bottom lip nervously as he watches the exchange. “Coffee here’s better,” Harry murmurs, keeping his eyes pinned on his laptop screen. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even attempt to look cordial, but probably feels Louis staring at them. Harry spares a glance up at Zayn with a forced smile.

Zayn chuckles lightly and nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, Louis makes the best coffee,” he states and Louis swears Harry’s eyes flash red at the comment. “I’ll see you in class, then.”

Harry just grunts in response and Zayn pads over to the other side of the shop, claiming an empty table and settling in. Louis frantically makes Harry’s coffee and quickly draws more hearts on the cup before he makes his way over to Harry’s table nervously.

He sets the coffee on the table gingerly like he might set off a ticking time bomb. “It’s just studying,” Louis whispers under his breath.

“I know,” Harry replies, keeping his eyes on his laptop.

Louis lingers there for another moment, but when Harry doesn’t offer anything else, he sighs and walks back to the counter to start on Zayn’s coffee. When he clocks out, Stephanie throws him a grateful smile when she takes over and Louis sits across Zayn with their books sprawled over the table. As soon as Louis sits down, he shoots Harry a text that says i love you with heart emojis that nearly fills up the entire screen. When minutes pass and Harry still hasn’t returned his text, Louis slumps in his chair and actually tries to study.

They mainly study in silence aside from Zayn reading out funny excerpts from his book or Louis telling him interesting facts he’s just read. He stays absorbed in his studies until he hears the slam of a laptop shutting closed across the room. Louis peers up from his book to Harry stuffing his laptop into his bag before grabbing his books and thundering towards the door.

Harry doesn’t spare Louis a glance, just tosses the coffee cup into the trash can and exits, leaving Louis with a sinking feeling.

“Are you gonna talk to me or are you gonna ignore me like you did my texts?” Louis says in lieu of greeting when he enters Harry’s flat later that night.

He drops his bag onto the floor, toeing off his shoes and marching to the couch where Harry’s sitting with a paper in one hand and a red pen in another. The TV’s not on and there’s no music playing over the speakers, making the apartment blanketed in quiet. Harry’s back is to Louis and he makes no acknowledgement of hearing him, head bent down as he reads the paper.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Louis stands in front of Harry, grabbing the pen out of Harry’s hand and tossing it onto the coffee table. “What the fuck are you, twelve years old?” Louis asks with his hands on his hips.

Craning his neck up, Harry finally looks him in the eyes with a firm gaze and lips pressed together in a tight line. “Do you want me to apologize or something?” Harry tilts his head to the side, voice low and monotone.

“I want you to talk to me,” Louis says, lips quivering already, just from hearing Harry’s voice for the first time in hours. He takes a steady breath and collapses in the seat next to Harry, prying the paper out of his hands and throwing it onto the table.

After the cafe, Louis spent his classes nervously chewing his nails and constantly checking his phone for a message from Harry, who ended up never replying. Their fights never got to the point of cold silence. It nearly drove Louis insane with this new unknown territory and he almost skipped his last class just so he could go to Harry’s apartment earlier.

Louis knows what Harry’s upset about, but it’s what Harry’s thinking that gets Louis itching with curiosity. Given their situation, Louis knows Harry has more riding on his shoulders than Louis. If anything were to happen, all of Harry’s hard work would be for nothing and Louis doesn’t know what he’d do, knowing he had a hand in ruining his career. The tight rope they walk seems heavy under their careful steps, ready to break at the wrong move.

Harry falls back against the cushions and runs his hand through his tousled hair. He takes his glasses off and scrubs his face up and down before turning to look at Louis with tired eyes. “Louis, I had to fucking sit there and watch you study with Zayn while we can’t even stand too close without the chance of it looking suspicious,” Harry explains.

Louis already knew this before he came here, but it’s made worse when Harry sits in front of him in defeat. Harry’s hands lay limp on either side of his own thighs when they should be touching Louis. The air between them feels too tense and still, making Louis squirm from the awkward silence. Reaching out seems like it’d ignite a fire, so Louis keeps his hands clamped together in his lap with a furrow between his brows.

“You think I like that we can’t study together or grab coffee?” Louis counters. “We knew this was how it was going to be before the semester started.”

“That doesn’t make it easier,” Harry argues firmly, sitting up straighter to angle his body towards Louis. A curl falls in front of his face and Louis has to dig his fingers into the palm of his hands to keep himself from reaching out to tuck it back. “I’m not mad at you and I don’t hate him. I just—I hate seeing you do things with him that I should be doing.”

Louis throws his hands up exasperatedly. “What do you want me to do? Not hang out with him or anyone else?” he scoffs. “You can’t ask that of me, Harry.”

“I never asked you to,” Harry snaps quickly and then melts back into the cushions with a deep sigh.

A fight was bound to happen, their efforts to keep their distance from each other inevitably snapping back at them at one point. Louis quickly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and shuffles closer to Harry, just enough to feel his warmth.

“I know it’s hard,” Louis whispers, fingers ghosting by Harry’s on the soft fabric of the couch. “If there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you, you have to let me know.”

“Speed up time?” Harry asks, drawing a soft laugh out of the both of them.

Turning his head towards Louis with a soft smile, Harry curls his fingers around his and pulls on his arm until Louis eagerly climbs into his lap. Louis digs his face into the crook of Harry’s shoulder, inhaling deeply as his arms circle Harry’s neck. Harry’s arms wrap around his waist and he gently runs his hand up and down the length of Louis’ back.

Louis feels like he could stay on Harry’s lap like this for the rest of the night just to make up for the entire day.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Louis mumbles into his skin, biting at his skin and pressing a kiss to the same spot. “You gonna give your students the cold shoulder every time they do something you don’t like?”

Harry’s laugh ripples through him and he squeezes Louis’ hip. “Well, I only give one student of mine a spanking, so the cold shoulder seems more appropriate,” he replies.

Kissing a trail from Harry’s shoulder, up the line of his neck, to his lips, Louis immediately opens his mouth so Harry can dip his tongue in. Their mouths move against each other hungrily, their lips swelling from the force. When they pull apart, Harry thumbs across Louis’ wet bottom lip, glistening with spit.

Louis nips at his thumb and smiles down softly. “Think you can manage not being annoying for another two months?”

“Mm, I’ll think about it after I spank you like you deserve,” Harry grabs a handful of Louis’ ass and kisses his throat.

Pulling his head back, Louis frowns deeply. “Deserve? I don’t deserve shit,” Louis climbs off his lap and heads to the bedroom, throwing a glance at Harry over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it though. Hurry up, Haz.”

Harry nearly falls face first into the carpet with how fast he gets up and chases Louis into the bedroom.

While Louis can draw a detailed map of Harry’s flat, Harry’s only been to Louis’ dorm twice—once when he came by to drop off a book Louis forgot at his place and another time when he dropped off soup when Louis wasn’t feeling well. The dorms are filled with familiar faces and the people on the same floor as Louis is somewhat of a second family, so anyone new is bound to stick out. Both times required a lot of effort to disguise Harry well enough to pass as a visitor and not himself—not that Harry looks like an actual professor, but he has a natural tendency to stick out like a sore thumb. Harry nearly threw a fit when Louis told him to take off his rings that were a dead giveaway.

Halloween isn’t Louis’ favorite holiday until this year when it works out in their favor. Everyone flocks around under heavy makeup and masks, crowding the hallways to head to parties or go trick-or-treating. Zayn left early to help set up the party at Dylan’s, leaving Louis alone in their room to get ready. He’s just looking at himself in the mirror, adjusting the bunny ear headband, when the door knocks in five quick successions.

Louis smiles to himself and hurries to the door, all of ten steps in their small dorm, swinging it open and gets greeted by a tall Stormtrooper. Louis didn’t believe Harry when he told Louis that he was being serious about buying the costume, but he stands before Louis, head to toe in his costume that looks good enough to be part of the movie. Rolling his eyes, Louis yanks him inside and shuts the door behind them.

“Harry, what the fuck?” Louis laughs, eyes trailing over his costume with his arms crossed over his chest. “You were being serious?”

Harry pulls the mask off, leaving his hair a mess on top of his head. He takes in a deep breath and smiles to himself, spreading out his hands with jazz fingers. “Of course I was,” Harry states happily.

His eyes wander freely over Louis’ costume, taking in Louis’ thigh high black lace socks, the tight, black bodysuit clinging to his skin with a cotton bunny tail on the back, and the pairing black bunny ears perched on top of his hair. Smirking to himself, Louis spins around and arches his back with his hands on his hips.

Shaking his bum, the round cotton tail bounces around and Louis smiles. “Do you like my costume?”

“Baby…” Harry grunts, taking a step forward. His eyes never leave Louis’ plump ass, reaching out to smooth a clothed hand over the smooth skin. “You look so good.”

“I can’t tell how much you like it,” Louis pouts, turning around to face him with his hands clasped together with his ankles crossed. His eyes drop to Harry’s crotch before meeting Harry’s gaze again. “Your stupid costume kind of gets in the way.”

A laugh ripples out of Harry and he takes the last few steps between them to grip Louis by the waist, pulling them flush together. Cupping the back of Louis’ neck, Harry kisses him eagerly. Louis preens against him, relaxing into his arms as their lips move together, tongues colliding with one another in a wet kiss.

Harry’s hands slide from Louis’ hips to grab a handful of his ass, a globe of flesh in each palm. Squeezing roughly, Louis gasps into Harry’s mouth and whimpers when Harry nudges a thigh in between his legs.

“Do you have to go?” Harry asks roughly, dark eyes flicking to Louis’ swollen, red lips that shimmer with saliva.

“I can be late,” Louis smiles, surging up for another kiss.

Louis backs him up until Harry falls back onto Louis’ narrow bed. Climbing into Harry’s lap, Louis starts grinding his hips down in circular motions, groaning when the material of Harry’s costume uncomfortably rubs against his hardening cock.

“Get this fucking costume off,” Louis giggles into Harry’s mouth.

Harry laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to Louis’ lips and gets off the bed. Louis helps him unzip the ridiculous costume and lets it fall to the floor, impatiently tugging on the shirt next. He pulls down Harry’s pants, his thick shaft springing out, red and throbbing already and Louis’ mouth immediately salivates. Sitting prettily on his knees, Louis reaches out and fists Harry’s dick at the base and rubs the wet tip over his lips, smothering them in precome.

Harry hisses and grabs a fistful of Louis’ hair, hips jolting forward. Louis instantly opens his mouth to take in the bulbous cockhead, digging his tongue messily into the slit and moaning.

Louis pulls off and puckers his lips, letting drool run out and down Harry’s cock to get him wet and messy. Looking up at Harry under his eyelashes, Louis smiles up at him. “C’mon, hurry up,” Louis whispers softly, stroking him leisurely.

“Thought you said you could be late,” Harry replies, eyes dark as he gazes down at Louis.

“I also want you to fuck me,” Louis says pointedly.

Harry surges down to kiss him, his tongue eagerly seeking Louis’ warm mouth. They scramble up to the pillows, rutting desperately against each other. Harry’s cock rubs against his thigh and Louis arches up to seek more friction, clawing at Harry’s back.

Straightening up, Harry peers down at Louis sprawled against the bed. Louis’ bunny ears lay crooked so Harry adjusts them and leans back down, mouthing wetly at Louis’ neck. He drags his lips down his chest to his cock pressing up against the black bodysuit. Feeling Harry’s warm mouth kiss him through the fabric, Louis grinds his hips up and grabs a fistful of Harry’s hair.

“What does my naughty bunny want?” Harry asks against him, tongue licking the fabric right where Louis’ dick is.

Louis thrashes against the pillows and pants heavily. “Anything, just—c’mon,” Louis whines, pressing down on Harry’s head harder.

Harry laughs against him and kisses his cock through the fabric, his hands sliding up his bare thighs. Gripping his hips, Harry flips Louis over onto his hands and knees. Louis groans and arches his back, presenting his ass to Harry eagerly. Humming contently, Harry lands a slap to his right cheek.

“Ah!” Louis gasps into his bedsheets.

Grabbing the meat of Louis’ ass, Harry squeezes him roughly and pulls them apart. “Cute little bunny tail sitting on this gorgeous ass,” Harry says with a low voice. “And it’s all mine, isn’t it?”

“All yours,” Louis nods his head, pushing his ass back into Harry’s hands. He whimpers when Harry digs his hands into the flesh, his nails cutting into him.

“Let’s get this off so I can play with my pretty bunny,” Harry whispers.

Louis feels Harry’s fingers working the clasps on his body suit, quickly undoing them until it falls down his chest. He’s quick to slide them down his legs, pouting when his bunny tail goes with it.

“Face down, ass up, baby,” Harry instructs with a gentle hand on his hip. Louis does as he says, leaning on his forearms and resting his head on the pillows, preening when Harry smooths his hands over his bum. “Yeah, just how I like it.”

Louis mewls and quickly reaches over into his bedside drawer, fishing out the lube and tossing it back to Harry. Bringing his hand down, Harry gives him another stinging slap and grunts when Louis’ ass jiggles from the blow. Harry pulls his cheeks apart and Louis instinctively tightens his pink hole, sensitive from the cool air. Without warning, Harry spits on to his hole, drawing a choked gasp from Louis. He feels it slowly run down to his balls and he clenches his hands into the bedsheets.

“So fucking pretty,” Harry mutters, thumb swiping over his hole. He chuckles to himself when Louis clenches down, desperate to have anything inside him.

Louis hears the snick of the lube bottle opening and then a wet finger prodding at his pink rim, gently easing its way in. Sighing to himself, Louis relaxes into the bed as Harry’s long finger glides in all the way to the knuckle, content now that he has something inside him. Harry fucks his finger in and out, shortly adding a second finger. The stretch burns, even with how often they fuck, but Louis bites his bottom lip and clenches down on the fingers.

Harry scissors his fingers and Louis feels his warm tongue licking between them, flicking into his sensitive hole. He whines loudly, high-pitched and airy. “Oh, mm,” Louis moans, grinding back for more.

“Does my bunny like that?” Harry asks, laving his tongue over Louis’ sensitive hole and getting him wet from spit and lube.

Nodding frantically into the sheets, Louis arches his back obscenely. “Love it,” he breathes.

Harry dives in unabashedly, switching from soft kitten licks to full swipes of his velvet tongue. He buries his face deeper into Louis’ ass, teeth digging into skin as he moans and slurps against his hole. With Harry’s long fingers stretching him out and his warm tongue licking into him, Louis thrashes against the bed, quivering under his touch. He reaches up to adjust the bunny ears on his head when they nearly fall off, smiling to himself when they sit right again.

He loves how fast he can fall apart under Harry’s fingers, focused to dazed in an instant. Soft mewls of pleasure drift into the air as Harry kneads his ass with one hand, the other hand working its fingers into his loose hole. Harry eats him out like he’s starved, sucking his rim and licking between his fingers. Louis feels spit and lube slicking him up between his ass and thighs, getting him messy like he wants.

Harry slips his fingers out to pull him open even more, exposing Louis’ stretched hole to him. Releasing a whine from the sudden emptiness, Louis trembles and arches back to present himself and his waiting hole.

“Love how you taste,” Harry rubs the pad of his thumb over Louis’ pink rim, smirking at how loose he is now. He leans down and spits on him, letting it run down the cleft of Louis’ ass before he dives down to lick it back up again.

“Fuck,” Louis pants, parting his legs even more. “Feels so good.”

Swirling his tongue messily, Harry groans against him. His stubble tickles Louis’ skin, rough and itchy, but Louis preens in the feeling anyway. Harry fucks in his tongue and Louis clenches down on it, warm and wet before Harry pulls away again with a deep inhale.

He kisses up the knobs of Louis’ spine until he reaches Louis’ lips, kissing him deeply. Louis mewls at the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue, angling his neck up painfully to kiss him even deeper. With a firm hand on Louis’ hips, Harry turns him over while keeping their lips moving together frantically.

“Want you to ride me,” Harry pants against his lips, catching Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth and tugging before letting it go. He smiles at Louis’ bitten red lips, glistening with their swapped spit.

Louis nods lightly, head already spinning. Harry helps them flip over so Louis’ sat on his lap. Louis immediately starts rutting against him, their cocks rubbing together perfectly. Glancing down between them, Louis nearly cries at how small his own cock looks next to Harry’s. It’s flushed red, precome pooling at the bulbous cockhead with prominent veins running on the underside. Merely looking at the thickness of Harry’s girth makes Louis instinctively clench down, his hole hungry for Harry’s cock to fill him up.

He sits up on his knees with his hands pressed flat on Harry’s muscled stomach, head bowed between his shoulders. Harry smiles up softly at him, reaching down to fist his cock. He hisses at the touch and rubs the tip against Louis’ hole with a wet, slapping noise.

“Ah!I Louis cries, collapsing on top of Harry and arching his back. He digs his face into the crook of Harry’s shoulder, fingers clawing at his skin. “In, need it inside.”

“Yeah, there we go,” Harry hisses as Louis lowers himself down on his throbbing length. “Sink down on my cock, just like that.”

Louis whimpers loudly when his bum finally meets Harry’s hips, impaled on his thick cock. He feels so close to coming already, just from having Harry inside him, and Louis’ cockhead leaks heavily, dripping down the side. Steadying himself with his hands pressed flat against Harry’s stomach, Louis starts to grind back and forth in small circles.

“Oh—” Louis chokes out a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut as Harry’s prick shifts inside him, so big that it brushes against Louis’ prostate with every swivel of his hips.

Harry’s nails dig into the flesh of his hips and he groans hoarsely as Louis moves his hips around his cock. “Feel so good, baby,” he grunts, thumbs sliding across his damp skin. “So fucking tight and wet around me.”

A whimper falls from Louis’ lips, gritting his teeth as he raises himself halfway off Harry’s length and falls back down. Their skin slaps together, punching out a groan from both of them. Louis’ small cock drools out precome, getting him even more wet and messy, just the way he loves.

“Love your cock,” Louis mewls, sliding off until only the tip is in. His hole immediately clenches down, begging for more after being empty for even just a second. “So big inside me.”

Louis drops down so he’s stuffed full again and gets himself into a smooth rhythm, the mattress creaking with his every move. Breaking his eyes open, he stares back at Harry who looks at him with a hungry gaze, bottom lip tightly bitten between his teeth. Louis loves how languid he looks as he lays there with Louis riding his cock, like he’s using Harry and his dick to get off, but he knows Harry’s struggling to not fuck up into Louis. His hands are tight on his hips, almost bruising, and his legs are stiff on the bed to keep to fight the urge to pound into Louis.

“Just like that,” Harry breathes, sliding his hands up his waist to thumb at Louis’ nipples until they harden. “Bounce on my cock like a good bunny.”

“Yes, mm,” Louis pants, rocking his hips harder. He glances down to see his tiny cock swing with every bounce, so red from how hard he is that it would be painful if Louis could think of anything besides Harry’s cock filling him up.

Louis works himself up and down Harry’s prick so roughly that his bunny ear headband starts to fall. It dangles loosely until it threatens to slip and Louis starts to slow down to adjust them, but Harry gently pulls his wrists down. He reaches up to fix it back onto his hair with a satisfied smile.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers shyly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Harry’s wet lips.

“You’re welcome, baby,” Harry says against his mouth and kisses him again. His hands trail down his back until they reach Louis’ ass, squeezing the plump flesh in each hand. Louis preens against his neck and pushes back into his hands, driving his cock even deeper. Harry gives his ass a quick, stinging slap and Louis gasps hotly into his neck, his hips starting up a slow grind again. “Naughty bunny, bouncing on my cock. Your tight little hole is so hungry for it, isn’t she?”

Louis ruts against him, pressing his leaking prick into Harry’s abs and smearing it with precome. “Want it so bad,” Louis pants, his hand gripping Harry’s bicep. “Fuck me, please.”

Harry hums and suddenly Louis feels a finger trailing over where they’re connected, his pink hole stretched wide around Harry’s cock. He clenches down instinctively, moaning loudly as Harry chuckles.

“Need my cock?” Harry asks, pulling Louis’ cheeks apart. “Gonna take it like a desperate little bunny?”

Too dazed and limp, the only thing Louis can manage is a slight nod of his head. He arches his back, groaning when Harry’s girth shifts inside him. “Need your big cock fucking me,” Louis whimpers desperately.

Slapping his hand down on Louis’ ass once more, Harry soothes it over with a placating rub and jiggles his ass cheeks in each palm. Pulling him apart, Harry bends his knees and thrusts up in, quick and rough.

“Ah, yes,” Louis pants. His eyes flutter shut as Harry pounds into his little hole, their skin slapping loudly together until all Louis can hear is their mingled moans, the headboard knocking against the wall, and the slap of their skins every time Harry dicks into him. “Mm, fuck. Just like that—oh!”

Encouraged by Louis’ moans, Harry plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up ruthlessly. Their skins slap together from the force of Harry’s hips driving up into Louis’ hole, jostling him on his cock. Louis lays against Harry’s chest, whiny and soft moans pouring out his mouth as he tries to gyrate his hips.

“Gonna come,” Harry grunts, curls sticking to his sweaty temples. “M’gonna fill up your tight ass and plug you up so you still feel me at the party.”

“Please,” Louis pants. He lifts himself off Harry’s chest and starts to desperately bounce in small motions. With the bodysuit, he doesn’t even know how he’ll hide the plug, but all Louis can focus on is being full of Harry.

Harry pounds harder into Louis’ bouncing ass, meeting him halfway and groaning roughly. He grips Louis’ damp hips and helps him bounce on his throbbing cock, eager to fill him up.

“Yeah?” Harry smirks up at him with dark eyes. “Going to class and parties all full of me, baby. You’re so fucking dirty.”

Louis nearly cries, his fingers clawing at Harry’s abs and he bounces harder. The noisy squelch of Harry’s wet cock ramming into his messy hole spurs Louis on and has him frantically chasing their releases.

“Need your come—hngh,” Louis mewls, nearly collapsing back onto Harry on a rough thrust. Louis straightens back up and peers down at Harry with sultry eyes, undulating his hips and shuddering out a gasp when Harry’s thick girth stirs inside him. Louis places a hand on his stomach where he can feel Harry pounding into him. “Fill me up here.

Throwing his head back against the pillow, Harry lets out an animalistic grunt and tightens his fingers on his skin, hard enough to bruise. He loves Harry’s possessive nature and loves it even more when it’s heightened now that they can’t be seen together. Louis loves wearing his bruises and marks, flaunting them like a trophy in class while Harry stares at him with a smirk on his lips.

Louis’ knees and thighs start to give out, but Harry slides his hands to his ass and pulls him apart to ram his cock inside him, his balls slapping up against Louis’ skin.

“Yeah, baby,” Harry moans, kissing his cheek and reaching down to fist Louis’ small, leaking prick. “Gonna get you wet and messy, just how you like it.”

“Oh, fuck,” Louis whines, eyes fluttering close as Harry fucks into him deeply. “Uh, uh—yes!”

Harry’s rhythm gets sloppy, his breathing getting harsh, so Louis tenses around him tightly. Stroking in time with his thrusts, Harry cries out with a loud and shameless moan as he spills into Louis’ hole. His cock jerks as he comes in wet, hot spurts and being filled up is enough to tip Louis over the edge. His toes curl and he lets out a silent moan, mouth dropping open as he shoots all over Harry’s hand and stomach, all the way up to his chest.

Louis drops onto Harry’s torso with sore legs, his warm come sticking between their sweaty chests. Like on instinct, Harry wraps his arms around Louis with a soft hum, his chest slowly rising and falling as he tries to steady his breathing. He feels Harry’s cock blurt out even more come and Louis presses his smile into Harry’s shoulder.

It’s so surreal to have Harry here in his dorm, lying tangled together on Louis’ bed. Seeing Harry sprawled out on his narrow bed, naked with his long legs nearly hanging off the end of the mattress, the sight almost seems like something Louis should make permanent. Propping his chin on Harry’s chest, Louis peers up at him where his mussed hair lays haphazardly, his flushed cheeks, and the dimple that pops when Harry returns his gaze and smiles down at him. Louis nearly grabs his phone right then and there to snap a picture, but instead he kisses Harry’s jaw. He supposes feeling his rough stubble, warm skin, and the way he can feel Harry’s smile grow under his lips serves as a better memory than a picture.

“Do you have to go?” Harry asks with a rough voice. His finger draws absent patterns on Louis’ damp back.

As much as Louis hates it, he slowly lifts off Harry’s softening cock and winces when he feels come dripping out his loose hole. “We both have parties to go to,” Louis says with a soft smile, brushing Harry’s sweaty hair off his forehead.

“You could come with me,” Harry offers with a hopeful smile, even though he already knows the answer. “You know my friends don’t mind us."

The constant need to compromise gets tiring after a while. Louis hates being pulled in two separate directions and having to make the choice of where he wants to go, only to inevitably disappoint the other. He wishes more than anything that they can go to parties together with both of their groups of friends or even go to a restaurant together.

His thoughts must be written in the lines of his face, a frown tugging at his lips, because Harry pushes himself up and leans against the headboard, pulling Louis into him. Louis falls easily, leaning his head against Harry’s bare chest.

“One and a half more months,” Harry whispers, stroking his back gently.

Louis buries his head into his shoulder with a heavy sigh, feeling like one and a half more months is a century long.

October carries into November, the mark of finals looming around the corner. The sky blankets the campus in its gray gloom, students wearing looks of exhaustion from late night studying. The once bright and lively commotion that filled up the hallways now replaced with fingers flying over keyboards, pages turning in books, and pens scratching against paper.

Louis hates this part of the semester where everyone seems to be going through the same slump because professors decided to cram every paper and assignment at the exact same time. He finds himself studying in the smallest windows of time: reading notes on his phone while he brushes his teeth, being quizzed by his classmates while they wait for class to start, quiet moments during work.

It’s gotten to that point in the evening where he’s studied for so long, so hard, that his vision starts to blur and words begin to muddle together. Groaning to himself, he rubs his eyes with his knuckles, blinks a few times, and reads the same quote for the tenth time: negative capability, coined by John Keats, is to accept uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.

“Louis.”

Harry’s sharp voice cuts through his studying and Louis snaps his head up to look at him over in the middle of the kitchen. His hair flops to the side, brushing over the shell of his ear, his stubble grown out to just shy of a beard, darker than it was just a couple of days ago. The dark circles under his eyes stand out under the kitchen's fluorescent light, fatigue and exhaustion written all over his face.

Louis cocks an eyebrow at him. “What?” he asks.

Heaving a deep sigh, Harry steps toward the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I asked what you wanted for dinner,” he replies.

Louis waves a hand in the air, eyes dropping back down to his textbook. “Anything, I don’t care,” he says.

“I’ve chosen dinner the past three times,” Harry states firmly. “Help me out here.”

“I’m studying,” Louis gestures to his textbooks and sprawled paper filled with his chicken scratch notes. “Harry, you could make your soy burgers and I’d eat it.”

Harry rubs his fingers through his hair and pads across the tiled floor with heavy steps. When he reaches Louis, he cups the side of his face and tilts his head up, thumbing across his cheekbone gently. “Baby, why don’t you take a break? You’ve been studying for three hours.”

Feeling Harry’s skin against him makes Louis’ resolve crumble and he nuzzles into his hand. Saying no to Harry is hard on a normal day; it’s even harder when he feels so weighed down that he just wants to fall into him. They haven’t said much to each other since Louis got to his place, leaving it to just small comments about each other’s day. Louis immediately set out his books and notebooks across the kitchen table and dived into studying, his hand eventually cramping up from how many notes he was taking.

Louis gives a tired smile, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of his palm. “I have one last test before finals and I really want to do well—so I don’t have to rely on doing well on my finals,” he explains.

A frown pulls at the corner of Harry’s lips as he lets his hand fall back against his side. “We both know you’re gonna study hard for your finals anyway,” Harry mutters.

He furrows his eyebrows at that, watching Harry turn around and walk back into the kitchen. “Sorry for trying to be a good student,” he says with a hint of sarcasm.

Harry pulls the drawers open with too much force, the contents rattling inside. “I know you’re studying, don’t act like I wasn’t a student too,” Harry replies, rummaging his hand inside the drawer as if he doesn’t have it organized already.

“Still are, last time I checked,” Louis murmurs under his breath.

Harry must’ve caught it anyway as he freezes in his spot, eyes narrowing at him from across the kitchen. He scoffs loudly and slams the drawer shut so loud that Louis jumps in his seat. “Again?” Harry laughs bitterly and shakes his head, running his hand through his tousled hair. “Jesus, Lou. I—I don’t work my ass off for you to sit there and constantly undermine me. Why don’t you just call me professor?”

“Because—“ that makes it real and that makes what we’re doing really prohibited, “because you’re not.” He settles for the half-truth instead because the full truth runs a shiver down his spine as if a bucket of ice has been thrown on him. Sighing deeply, Louis taps his pen against his notebook and hunches his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. You’re the smartest person I know, Haz.”

Pushing his chair out, Louis takes slow steps toward the opposite side of the counter from where Harry stands. “It’s just—I’m so tired and it’s just dinner, so—“

“If it’s just dinner, then just choose,” Harry cuts in sharply.

Louis jerks his head back, caught off guard by Harry’s tone. “What, because we have so many grand choices?” He throws a hand out to where various take-out menus hang on the fridge. A bitter laugh escapes his lips and his hand falls back on the counter as he flicks his gaze back to Harry. “You know, because we can’t go out and all, so we have to stay here, in this bubble of your apartment.”

“I could cook,” Harry argues. “We could go to my parent’s house or we could drive out far enough where it’s less likely we’d be seen.”

“I wanna go out,” Louis’ voice cracks and he takes in a shaky breath, lips gone twitchy. “I wanna go out without walking on—on fucking eggshells or looking over our shoulders because we’re scared someone we know might see us.” Once he feels his tears threatening to brim over, he pushes himself away from the counter and heads back towards the table to clean up. “You know what, if I knew we were going to fight, then I would've rather just gone back to the dorm where I could study.”

With shaking hands, he slams his textbooks shut, stocking them on top of each other and tosses his pen into his bag along with his notebooks. Louis’ eyes are glassed over, like he’s looking through a foggy window; stray tears falling down cheeks that he wipes a hand over, stuffing his bag with his notebooks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry rounds the counter and crowds behind him, circling his arms around Louis’ waist and nuzzling into his shoulder. He falls into it easily, it’s always been hard to say no to Harry, even harder when Louis doesn’t have any energy left to put up a fight. He lets Harry pry his bag out of his hand, lets it fall to the kitchen floor.

Turning Louis around, Harry backs him up against the wall and leans their foreheads together. “Don’t go. We’re both tired and stressed,” he mutters, thumbing over Louis’ cheek softly.

Louis wants to go as much as he wants to stay. It’s that endless cycle of compromising that Louis can’t seem to keep up anymore. The air in the apartment feels tight all of a sudden, like even taking a deep breath isn’t enough for his lungs. It’s like desperately trying to keep your head above water, only for a wave to crash over you and sink you under its depth again.

They both get it now, maybe more than ever in the past couple of weeks. Standing in the quiet apartment, they let their ragged breathing fill the room as they fall on the same page for the first time that night. They get how tiring it can be to try to outrun something until your legs give out. Harry and Louis understand how it’s fun having a secret, until it feels suffocating.

Taking in a deep breath, Louis exhales slowly and lets out a shaky laugh, his warm breath fanning across their faces between them. “That’s a fucking understatement,” he mumbles.

“I’ll pop open the nice bottle of wine, yeah?” Harry looks down at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Nice? Don’t spoil me, I might get used to it, ” Louis laughs, standing on his toes to press their lips together in a chaste kiss. “I didn’t know that a professor’s income is that nice.”

“You’re funny if you think professors make good money,” Harry replies.

Jutting out his bottom lip, Louis drops his head onto Harry’s chest and groans. “There goes my plans for a sugar daddy,” he mutters.

“Heyyy,” Harry drawls, nudging Louis’ hair with his nose to get him to tip his head back. When Louis does, Harry glides his hands down Louis’ narrow waist and squeezes him tightly, pulling him impossibly closer.

“I love you,” Louis whispers.

“I love you too,” Harry replies quickly, pecking him once more before pulling away and padding back into the kitchen. “I’ll love you even more if you choose what you want to eat.”

Louis collapses back onto the kitchen chair and groans dramatically. “I lied about your soy burgers,” he announces. He runs a hand over his belly, watches the way Harry’s eyes track the movement and smiles to himself. “I need carbs—a lot of it. Can you make pasta? That’ll go well with your nice bottle of wine.”

“Not making it with angel hair,” Harry says. He crouches down, disappearing for a second before standing up with a pot in his hands. He shoots Louis a firm look that says don’t argue. “That’s not real pasta.”

The apartment becomes lively with sound as Harry floats around the kitchen, pulling drawers open, rummaging through cabinets, pots clanging together. The tight knot in the pit of Louis’ stomach dissolves as he watches Harry fill the pot with water and pour salt inside, whistling a random tune to himself.

“It’s real food that you’re gonna feed me,” Louis arches an eyebrow.

Tapping a pair of tongs against the counter, Harry purses his lips in contemplation and flicks his eyes back to Louis. “I’ll make you angel hair pasta if you let me fuck you over the counter.”

A scoff drops from Louis’ lips as he swivels on the chair to face the table, leaning down to pull his notebooks out of his bag. “You say that as if I wasn’t already planning it,” Louis quips, twirling the pen in his hand.

Undeterred, Harry leans his elbows on the counter with a determined look. “Let me rephrase that,” Harry says slowly, firm eyes on Louis. “I’ll fuck you over the counter if you let me make you real pasta.”

Louis lets the pen fall from his hand as he turns in his seat once again to face Harry. He lets a smile slowly stretch over his face in amusement, letting seconds tick by before he speaks. “You’re gonna make me angel hair pasta and you’re gonna fuck me over the counter,” Louis states slowly like honey dripping from his voice, “because we both know you can’t say no to me.”

“Watch me,” Harry replies, a smile pushing at his own lips.

They work in their own silences, Louis’ pen scratching against the paper and pages flipping with every turn while Harry bustles around in the kitchen. When Harry goes to the bathroom, Louis finally gets up to stretch his legs and refill his glass of water. Peering at the counter, he sees a box of angel hair next to the pot of boiling water.

So Louis allows himself this happiness of having homemade dinner with Harry at the kitchen table. They finish an entire bottle of wine and Louis stuffs himself with pasta, bread, salad, everything Harry made, just to get his fill. He enjoys it selfishly, stuffs himself full until he feels like his stomach might burst. It’s eating the food that Harry made at this table, where they’ve fucked, kissed, shared their mornings, had their first fight, that makes Louis a bit overwhelmed. With lips stained red, they can’t even kiss each other properly, their lips stretching out into full smiles, swallowing each other’s laughs while their teeth clank together and their noses bump one another.

Love, Louis thinks, tastes different at a kitchen table.

Appreciation of Literature almost seems like a passing activity for the sake of Harry until Louis’ painfully reminded that it’s an actual class with work. Work that he’s running a little behind on since his Saturday is already loaded with work from his other classes.

“What if I paid you to do my essay?” Louis asks, hands together in a plea while he watches Zayn pace the short length of their dorm, throwing clothes into his laundry basket.

Zayn scoffs and throws a pair of socks at his face. “You really want to risk that with Egan?”

Louis groans, falling back on his bed as he rubs his face in frustration. “Fuck, I don’t know how I forgot,” he sighs. It seems nearly impossible that he could have forgotten with Harry being in the class, but Harry’s been absorbed in his own mountain of work. “I can’t fucking write eight pages in two days, Zayn. I have work after class.”

“Just skip class,” Zayn offers and raises a questioning eyebrow when Louis gives him an affronted look. “What? You already have an A, it won’t kill you to skip one class.”

Louis’ no stranger to skipping classes, but it seems pointless when he hasn’t started on the paper at all, much less even picked a topic. "I don't think skipping one class will do much," he sighs.

“Jesus, just ask Professor Styles for help. I bet he’d do something for you,” Zayn sighs heavily, throwing a pair of jeans inside the basket.

Louis sits up quickly with wide eyes, hands tight on his bed sheets as fear sinks into the pit of his stomach. “What?” Louis asks quietly, voice suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”

Zayn gives him a look that says really? and laughs when Louis doesn’t react. “You don’t notice how he favors you?”

“He helps everyone out when Egan calls them out,” Louis argues quietly.

“He does help everyone out,” Zayn affirms with a nod of his head. “But he doesn’t smile just from hearing anyone talk.”

Louis shifts on his bed now, suddenly itching with the urge to move. “Harry smiles at a fucking butterfly passing the window.”

Rolling his eyes, Zayn falls on to the edge of his bed across from Louis. Kicking his foot against the carpet, he gnaws on his bottom lip and peers up at Louis with his brown eyes. “You think I don’t notice, Lou?” he asks quietly.

The question sounds loud in the still room, echoing off the walls. Louis would be a little naive not to think Zayn would catch onto something, but he didn’t think it’d be enough for Zayn to make a conclusion out of. He thinks of what other people might have picked up, what they’ve seen or heard and Louis pushes up from his bed in a rush.

Zayn sighs at Louis’ silence, leaning on his knees with his elbows. “Why do you think I called out to him when you were on break? Because I wanted to say hi to him?” Zayn follows Louis with his eyes, watching him pace along the short length of their dorm. “Or why do you think I wanted to stay in the cafe that one day? I wanted you guys to be around each other without…” Zayn trails off, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging sheepishly. “I guess without having to come up with a lie to be around each other, you know?”

“It’s not—“ Louis chokes out and rakes his fingers through his hair, eyes frantically looking everywhere but him. “I mean, Harry’s always been—“

“Lou,” Zayn cuts in, firm enough to get Louis to look at him. “Relax, it’s just me. If you guys are together, then—“

Louis suddenly feels like he can’t fucking breathe, like the floor is about to swallow him whole. The thought of their secret being found out feels like a reality now, sinking its claws into deep Louis’ skin. His breath comes in short and shallow as he thunders around the room, kicking dirty clothes or forgotten pens in his path. They thought they were hiding it so well when they must have been obvious all along. They’ve been careless, having too much fun in the secrecy of it all to actually keep it a secret.

“Zayn, if you noticed then other people probably have too,” Louis knocks his knee into a desk, but barely feels anything as he turns to face Zayn with a frantic expression. “Jesus, I’ve been so fucking dumb.”

Quickly standing up, Zayn crosses the room and places his hands on Louis’ shaking shoulders. “He’s not a professor yet,” he reassures, tightening his hands. “You guys haven’t actually done anything wrong.”

“I’m a student in a class he shadows for,” Louis nearly exclaims. He feels his eyes well up with tears and bites his bottom lip to keep them from brimming over. “That—that’s still wrong. Fuck, I can’t believe I took this class, Zayn.”

Zayn gives him a light shake and an encouraging smile. “Hey, if someone else noticed anything, then they would’ve said something,” he says softly. He gives a light chuckle, his brown eyes spreading warmth over his face. “Christ, Lou, we’re in college. We have bigger shit to worry about than whether or not you’re with the student-teacher. Don’t blow this up, yeah?”

“Has anyone said anything?” Louis asks, chest panting heavily. “Tom? Paula?”

“No,” Zayn quickly reassures with a shake of his head. “Not a word. Even if they did, I’d say it was all in their heads.”

It does little to soothe Louis, like placing a bandaid over a bleeding wound. Still, it’s the best he can get right now, so he inhales slowly and releases it even slower. Wiping his eyes with the back of his palm, he shoots a quivering smile to Zayn and sinks down onto his bed. Zayn mirrors him, watching him heavily with a wrinkle between his brows, his leg bouncing in place.

Louis lays back on his bed, staring at the white ceiling as he gets his breathing to steady and mulls over on what to do next. Telling Harry would only lead to him trying to pacify Louis and his worries, but Louis finds that the better option than keeping it to himself.

With three weeks left until the semester is over, Louis contemplates his final option. The idea of going three weeks with no contact on campus doesn’t fill him with dread as much as he had anticipated. They’d still have each other in the morning and nights, more than enough to get their fill of each other until they see each other again. They’re not going off to fucking war—just acting like they don’t mean much to each other outside of Appreciation of Literature.

No, they can do this. They can do this and survive in the end.

The question of if he should tell Harry turns to when he should tell him. After Zayn left to go to class, Louis stayed on his bed for hours staring at that white ceiling with his hands crossed over his stomach. If Louis were smarter, he’d do it when he got some studying out of the way. If he were smarter, he’d maybe try to think of another plan for them to survive the next three weeks while juggling finals. What he should really do is, at the very least, get his paper out of the way.

Apparently, he’s stupid, because Louis decides to tell Harry that same night, just to rip the fucking bandaid off.

Harry not being home when Louis pops over adds to the convenience, buying him some time to think of what he’ll say, chugging down beer. Louis really only has to wait about an hour until Harry’s off, but the hour seems to stretch out painfully. He turns on the television, just to kill the nerving silence and lets an episode of Friends fill the empty space. Louis pads around the apartment looking for things to do only to come up short because Harry keeps everything so virtually spotless and clean that even his books are organized alphabetically.

Accepting defeat, Louis eventually sits at the kitchen table with his laptop open and picks a random topic for his essay, figuring now is the best time to both distract his mind and be somewhat productive. It’s hard to concentrate when his leg won’t stop bouncing in place and his eyes flick to the clock every few minutes, but he’s able to get two pages of shitty work done when his phone buzzes.

harry - babe what are you doing? :)

louis - writing the stupid appreciation of lit paper can i just blow u and u give me an a instead

harry - i’ll take the blow job and pass on the other, but can u swing by my place?

louis - already here

louis - and don’t expect a blow job <3

It’s rare that Harry has to ask Louis to come over given that sometimes Louis feels like he’s at Harry’s more often than his own dorm. The thought sinks heavy in his stomach as he looks back on it now, all the times he’s spent the night and thrown shitty excuses to Zayn or anyone else. It makes it worse when Louis thinks that he could have actually gotten away with all of it. Louis wonders when he stopped trying to even make up a good lie or how he could have possibly missed any other warning sign that led up to now.

Maybe he saw them and ignored them anyway.

Louis takes another gulp of his beer to calm down, telling himself it’s not a fucking breakup or even a break, much like Ross yells over the television screen. He laughs to himself in the empty apartment, letting it ring off the walls. He gets dramatic at the worst of times and needs Harry to reel him back.

As if Harry somehow sensed him, the door swings open beside him and he jolts in his seat. Louis barely has time to set his beer down before keys jingle and Harry’s bag falls from his shoulder with a loud thump. Harry grabs him, hoisting him in his arms and leaving Louis no choice but to wrap his legs around him tightly to keep him from falling off.

With no words spoken, Harry surges their lips together, messy and off-center. They laugh into each other’s mouths before getting it right, slotting their lips together between the kitchen and the table. Harry’s got a firm grip under his thighs as he fervently kisses Louis, delving his tongue inside Louis’ waiting mouth. Carding his fingers through Harry’s hair, their teeth clink together in the mess of their hurried kiss.

When Louis feels Harry’s arm start to tremble under his weight, he pulls back his head and laughs when that earns him a whine from Harry. “Jesus, Haz,” Louis laughs breathily, red lips swollen from their fervent kiss. “Mind clueing me in before you drop me?”

Harry’s got a smile gracing his face, so wide that his dimples carve into his cheek and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the way Louis loves. Harry tightens his hands on his thighs, licking over his own bruised lips.

Louis feels his own lips stretching across his face and that's when Louis knows how gone he is for Harry. When his whole body feels like it’s tingling with happiness, just from seeing Harry’s own beaming smile. When Louis doesn’t even know why Harry’s whole body bounces with excitement, but he plays along anyway because his happiness is just that infectious. He thinks he’d do just about anything to keep Harry likes this—crinkly-eyed coupled with a face-splitting smile, his hands gripping onto his waist so tightly they might just leave a bruise. It sounds so awfully cheesy, like something right out of those Lifetime movies Harry cries at, using Louis’ shirt as a tissue while Louis watches Harry more than the actual movie because he’s so gone for him.

He loves how animated Harry gets when they watch one of his romance movies. The way he lets out these little gasps or coos, his fingers clutching Louis’ shirt. The way he lets his mouth ramble with his commentary of >aren’t they so cute or they remind me of us or love is the best goddamn thing in the worldI The way Harry’s eyes are glued to the screen while Louis’ eyes are glued to him because he’s just so in love with him that all he wants to do is kiss him—so he does.

Louis surges forward, fervently pressing their lips together once, twice, three times because they can’t go long without their smiles breaking their kisses. He settles for peppering Harry’s face with kisses instead: the corner of his lips, the tip of his nose, his eyelids.

Harry slowly settles them down on the couch so they’re sitting side by side. “Here,” Harry pulls out his phone and hands it to Louis.

It’s an email with the subject Congratulations! Louis skims through the email, eyes picking up the words interview and it was a pleasure and open position before his breath catches at—

“Oregon?” Louis asks quietly, letting his eyes linger on the word as if he’s not reading it correctly. He glances to the side at Harry who watches him with intent, a faint smile still ghosting his lips. “Haz, what is this?”

“University of Portland has an open position for a Literature class,” Harry explains with a soft smile, reaching up to fix Louis’ fringe. “The department, the campus, everything is so nice. It’s not—they haven’t offered me the position, but they really liked me from the interview and—”

“You had an interview?” Louis cuts in, trying to keep the hurt from spreading across his face the way it’s spreading through his chest like wildfire.

Harry scoots in closer, their thighs pressed tightly together. “It was through Zoom,” he says softly. “Once I get my certification, they want to fly me in during break before offering anything, but—” his eyes go soft, hopeful, “I think I have a really good shot at getting in.”

Despite sitting together like this, so close that Louis can feel Harry’s warmth through his clothes, Harry’s words still sound miles away. Louis has to let them linger in the air to grasp onto whatever he can to try to make sense of anything. It’s a lot to take in at once and Louis can’t settle on whether to be happy for Harry, just like how he was a second ago, or allow himself to be upset.

Because as much as he understands this is Harry’s career, he can’t help but let the bitterness creep in. The way Harry seems almost eager to move and talks about Oregon like he’s already been offered the job makes Louis feel that much more shitty. Harry talks with such confidence about it all that Louis gets a sinking feeling that Harry’s somehow forgotten about California and him already. It’s almost funny how hard it is for him to fake a smile when just a few moments ago, Louis’ lips were moving on its own accord, stretching over his face so wide his cheekbones hurt with it.

This is just a whole different kind of hurt now.

“But—” Louis swallows down a dry lump in his throat, “but what about Berkeley or San Diego? Or even San Francisco?”

“I applied to them all,” Harry quickly reassures like he’s catching onto Louis’ feelings now. “Baby, I did but they just haven’t gotten back to me. Portland did, but I just didn’t want to say anything too soon.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Louis begins to play with the hem of his sweater. “You don’t even want to wait to hear back from the others?”

There’s a beat of silence and Louis finds the answer in the unbearable stillness before even looking up at him. Harry clears his throat and answers, “I think I like the idea of going out of state.”

Louis nearly chews through his skin from how hard he gnaws on his lip. His fingers tighten in his sweater as he falls back against the cushions and closes his eyes before they get too wet. It’s Harry’s decision, but Louis suddenly feels so fucking selfish that he wants to rewind and never have this conversation. He wants to keep Harry here, with him, under the warm California sun.

A hand cups the side of his face to turn him to the side and when Louis opens his eyes again, Harry’s staring back at him softly. “Lou, if you come with me then we have a weekend trip. Get out of here for a bit.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Louis sits up against the cushions. “Come with you?”

Harry mirrors his confused expression, except he’s got a frown playing at the corner of his lips. “Of course I want you to come with me,” Harry replies and continues when Louis’ expression doesn’t change. “Lou, wouldn’t it be nice to get out of here? I want to go shopping with you, go on coffee dates and do our grocery shopping without always being scared of someone catching us. I want to hold your fucking hand. We could do that if we move to Portland.”

A laugh threatens to bubble out of his throat, but he fights against it and looks at Harry incredulously instead. When Harry doesn’t let on that he’s telling some kind of joke, Louis raises his eyebrows at him. “Move to Portland? Harry—” Louis scoffs and runs a shaky hand through his fringe. His voice gets more frantic and loud as he goes on. “I’ve got another year left to graduate and—and what if I want to get my masters? What if I get a job here?”

He feels antsy now, like he can’t keep still from the way his hands shake and his leg bounces in place. He shifts on the couch until he’s backed up to the other end so he can fully face Harry, his stomach dropping when Harry looks hurt from the distance between them.

“Then it’ll be fine,” Harry reaches across the couch and wraps his hand around Louis’ ankle, letting his thumb rub circles into his ankle bone. “We’ll work it out like we always do.”

“Harry, we spent the summer six hours away from each other and that was shitty enough,” Louis tries to steady his voice, but that only makes it more wobbly and he keeps his eyes on Harry’s hand around his ankle to keep from letting them do something worse. “Now you want to go and live out of state? You haven’t even been to Portland yet and—” his cuts off, voice dry and weak,”you’re already asking me to move there?”

Louis hates himself, hates how selfish he’s being, hates Harry for making him this way. He feels fucking sick to his stomach at the idea of Harry being so far away from him without the promise that they’d be together soon. He doesn’t think he could stand monthly visits only to fly back home, flying away from Harry. The packing, the airport goodbyes, the time apart—everything about it seems so foreign when Louis never, not even once, entertained the idea of Harry moving out of state.

He never thought of Harry being away from him, really.

So maybe that’s what makes Louis a bit sick when he sees Harry’s hand still wrapped around his ankle—how close they are now, yet somehow Louis feels miles away from him. Harry seems so perfectly content with living apart from each other that Louis lets the frustration sink in his stomach because suddenly it all just seems unfair that Harry’s had time to mull this over while Louis’ cornered into the couch and expected to look happy when really he feels sick and—

Fuck, he’s so selfish.

“At least we went out and did things in the summer,” Harry argues with a frown. “We weren’t holed up in my flat all the time.”

With glassy eyes, Louis drops his gaze down to his lap and sucks in a deep breath. “This isn’t permanent and you know that. We’ve got three weeks left until you get certified and you’re done.”

“And if I still want to go to Portland?” Harry presses his thumb into Louis’ ankle, but he still doesn’t look up. He hears Harry sigh heavily and that just makes Louis’ chest tighten even more. “Lou, I’m not asking you to uproot your life right now,” Harry murmurs with a steady voice, his hand tightening around his ankle. “All I’m asking is for you to come with me. I want to know what you think of it.”

“This is your decision,” Louis mutters slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. He finally meets Harry’s gaze with wet eyes and trembling lips. “This is what you’ve been working towards, long before you met me. If you think Portland is right for you, then that’s what you should do. You shouldn’t make a decision based on us, Harry.”

Harry hardens his gaze on him and shakes his head slightly, letting his lips fully take shape into a frown. Allowing his hand to fall from Louis' ankle, he drops his eyes to the floor and twists the rings on his long fingers. “No, this is my future and—” he lets out a choked noise, attempting to cover it with a cough but Louis doesn’t miss the waver in his lips, “and what the fuck would that be if you weren’t in it?”

“Don’t corner me like that,” Louis croaks out, quickly wiping at the wetness on his cheeks when Harry whips his head up to look at him. Bending his knees, Louis wraps an arm around his legs and keeps his gaze pinned to the hole in his leggings, right at the knee. His throat feels tight and dry, even hurts a little whenever he tries to swallow down the lump that seems to have taken permanent residence there. “Don’t… you can’t ask me to make a decision like this.”

Harry sucks in a sharp breath. “So you won’t even think about it?”

Louis feels like all he does is think—think about the choices he has to make and then somehow, always, without fucking fail, disappoint the other. And that—that gets a little tiring. He feels drained from constantly having to juggle decisions between this secret with Harry and the rest of his life. It’s really fucking tiring putting on a brave face when one slip up can cost Harry’s career.

What’s even more tiring is being selfish, the way Louis thought he could have his cake and eat it, too. All the times he indulged in their secret game only served to deepen the cracks. He hoped their moments of recklessness would survive, that they would come out winning.

In the end, it’s just fucking exhausting, loving someone so much that it almost feels impossible to do the right thing.

Licking over his teeth, Louis bites his lips before looking up at Harry with a red nose and even redder eyes. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

They both know it’s a lie, but they let it linger in the tense air around them, too exhausted to think or do much else. Louis knows it as he drives back to the dorm later that night with the excuse of having too much work to do. Harry knows it when he doesn’t even try to get him to stay, just lets him walk right out the door with a kiss to his forehead.

They both know that the only thing they’ll think about is how they will possibly survive the next three weeks.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” Silence. “But are you sure—”

Louis jolts up from his bed, swinging his legs over the side to stare at Zayn across him. He’s sporting the same look as yesterday and the day before and—well, the past week. At least Louis thinks it’s been a week since he last spoke to Harry, the night he left his apartment. Time is hard to keep track of when Louis can’t even care enough to fucking pull himself out of bed, much less check his phone. Louis doesn’t think he’s checked his phone for the past couple days, not since he got tired of seeing text messages and phone calls that weren’t from Harry.

Which might be because Louis hasn’t answered any of Harry’s other text messages or phone calls.

After coming back from Harry’s apartment, Louis all but launched himself in bed and buried himself in his bedsheets, trying not to think about how he should be buried in Harry’s arms instead. On Sunday, Louis threw himself into his essay, continuously ignoring his phone until he turned it off all together. He didn’t need to look at his phone to know who the messages and phone calls were from. Louis’ phone wouldn’t have been going off if he spent his Sunday like he usually did—cuddled up on the couch with Harry, bickering about what to watch until Harry gave in, getting fucked into the mattress, and then falling asleep pressed closely together.

The whole week goes by in the exact same way—thinking how he should be with Harry. After his first class on Monday, Louis’ feet led him to his regular route towards the English building. He made it a third of the way there before he realized where he was going and abruptly turned around. It was then when Louis was lost on where to go next because he always spent his break on the grass, just waiting for a pair of green eyes and a hint of a dimple.

The only sign of life that Louis offered Harry was showing up to class on Tuesday. His stare only burned into Louis for the first couple of minutes, watching him as he sat down in his seat and set out his notebook and pen before he glanced down at his own stack of papers. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis could see that Harry fought to deny himself, from the way Harry’s leg bounced in place or how his hand gripped his pen too tight, turning his knuckles white. Louis kept his eyes pinned on Professor Egan, his notebook, the clock, everywhere but the corner of the room. Last week, stealing glances from each other felt like silence conversations from how well they knew each other and now—well, now it feels like being in the same room is fucking suffocating.

It’s funny how Louis got exactly what he wanted and he still comes out feeling like the loser.

Thursday brings a new kind of misery, the kind where Louis’ exhausted every possible thing he could do, like catching up with his family or scrolling aimlessly on social media for hours. As a result, missing Harry comes into full effect, violently kicking its way into Louis’ chest and making a home there. He contemplates skipping class, doesn’t think he can stand being around Harry, but doesn’t know if staying in his room is any better. It all leads back to Harry, anyway. So he ends up going to class because he can never say no when it comes to hin, even when he feels fucking miserable.

The one thing Louis doesn’t do is think about Portland. It’s an ominous thought that hangs in the back of his mind that he quickly pushes aside whenever it wants to announce itself. Louis should, needs, to give Harry some semblance of an answer, but whenever he sees an Oregon license plate or overhears a conversation about the fucking Oregon Trail, he just feels—sick.

So they go on, acting like they don’t exist to each other, like they don’t mean anything to each other, even outside the class. The gray area they walk around now feels all-encompassing, but this time it feels a thousand times worse now that Louis’ alone. At times it’s fine; Louis manages not to cry at the thought of being just within reach of each other. He resorts to hearing Zayn talk about Harry, how he looked like he couldn’t concentrate, lips bitten red and hair unruly. Louis can only stomach about thirty seconds of it before he stops Zayn.

Mostly, it feels a bit like dying.

Louis doesn’t even attempt to fake a smile at Zayn. “I love you, but I’m fine,” he rasps.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do much of anything except for a single cock of his eyebrow that says try again.

“I’ll be fine,” Louis sighs and digs his toes into the carpet.

“Have you—” Zayn winces and treads carefully, “made a decision yet?”

Falling back on his bed, Louis rubs his face and stares at the ceiling. “Not even close.”

Friday night, when Louis’ not at Harry’s like he should be, he tries to study but ends up staring at negative capability, coined by John Keats, is to accept uncertain—

A fist pounds on the door loudly and Louis barely has time to react when the door swings open. Harry steps in, black hood pulled up with oversized sunglasses in fucking December, and his pink lips set in a firm line.

Louis stands up from his chair and furrows his eyebrows, chest tight and throat dry. “Harry—” He stumbles over his pile of dirty clothes when he takes a step forward and catches himself on the desk, “what the fuck are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

Harry doesn’t answer him and stands there quietly, right in his dorm for the fourth time in the entire relationship and there’s something that’s just so fucked up about it, so depressing, that it makes his stomach curl.

Pulling the sunglasses off his face, Harry pulls down his hoodie and perches them on his hair. His eyes are dark and empty, nothing like Louis’ seen before, with his jaw clenched tight. Harry clenches his fists tightly on either side of him and takes a step forward, then a step back, then hovers there like he doesn’t know what he wants to do.

Except Louis knows. He knows that Harry wants to press in close, just the way Louis wants him to, but doesn’t know if he can quite yet, doesn’t know if he should.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer you,” Louis says quietly, hand curling over the edge of his desk. “I just—there’s been so much going on and—”

“I miss you.”

Louis’ hand tightens on the desk so hard that he feels like he might just break through the wood. Nerves gnaw at the pit of his stomach, a feeling so foreign around Harry that Louis doesn’t know what else to do except stay frozen in place.

Harry laughs, sad and tired, running a hand over his quivering mouth. “I do—miss you,” his shoulders raise in an unapologetic shrug, “and I think about you all the fucking time, even when you were sitting in front of me.” He gives a wet sniffle of his nose, making Louis’ stomach drop, and Harry flexes his fingers. “I miss you, even now.”

“I’m not—we’re fine, Haz,” Louis rasps, almost desperate. He’d push himself off the desk and take a step towards Harry to close that gap between them, but he feels frozen in place. “Did you think you’d get rid of me that easily?”

When Harry’s mouth trembles and stretches into a full smile, showcasing that dimple Louis loves so much, Louis feels the knot in his stomach untighten.

“I just, um,” Harry stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, “I guess we weren’t talking and you weren’t answering me, so…”

He trails off, raising his eyebrows at Louis because they don’t need him to finish; they both know everything has led up to now, anyway.

Louis slowly takes a deep inhale and leans back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you still set on Portland?”

Harry’s eyes never leave him, firm and steady. “I’m set on at least visiting,” he answers.

The answer isn’t as crushing as Louis was anticipating, making it easier for him to breathe. He nods his head and brushes his fringe off his forehead. “And—um, if you accept, then that means—”

His voice cracks then, can’t help it when he thinks about Harry being away from him, and Harry takes a step forward, closing the distance between them that much more.

“All I’m asking is for you to try,” Harry murmurs. He gives a little smile, sad and self-deprecating. “Because—you can’t get rid of me that easily, either. I’m too selfish when it comes to you.”

The declaration isn’t new, but that doesn’t stop the flush that colors Louis’ face. They stare at each other in the quiet, unblinking, until Louis finally takes a tentative step closer.

“I guess if you move, I can get properly sunbathe without someone interrupting me,” Louis says, nearly preening when Harry’s smile seems to take over his whole face like he’s just been rewarded. Harry moves to step forward, then rocks back on his heels again with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Louis rolls his eyes and says, “Make your long legs useful and get the fuck over here, Haz.”

Harry barks out a laugh, loud and full. He moves in close the same time as Louis, just a few inches apart and suddenly they’re tangled up together. Their limbs move on autopilot; Harry’s arms winding around his waist and Louis wrapping his around Harry’s shoulders. Their noses bump against each other, little huffs of giggles falling from their mouths, until Harry dips down to catch Louis’ lips with his own. Louis whimpers softly, standing on his toes like he wants to get impossibly closer. Harry’s hand glides up his back, up his neck, and desperately fists his hair to keep their mouths together as they kiss, wet and sloppy.

“Okay,” Louis pants out eventually, red lips glistening with spit. “When you get your certificate, we’ll go from there.”

Harry’s eyes stay pinned on Louis’ swollen mouth for another moment before meeting his gaze. He grins, young and bright, nodding enthusiastically.

Maybe John Keats was right, maybe this was a test in negative capability, just to see if they’d throw fact and reason out the window and grasp onto the uncertainties instead. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but they’ve seemed to live in a constant gray area—a little more wouldn’t hurt.

A week before Christmas, Louis shuffles through the pile of mail on the counter of Harry’s apartment while he makes cookies, his apron decorated in flour. As a last-minute shopper, Louis’ been keeping an eye out for good deals and if he doesn’t find one soon, his sisters are going to end up getting Christmas socks and maybe a mug, if they’re lucky.

His fingers quickly flick through each mail: Victoria’s Secret (no thanks), Target (last resort), McDonald’s breakfast coupons (pockets that), and—

“Haz,” Louis drops the other mail, letting it all haphazardly flutter across the counter, and holds up a white envelope, cleanly cut open at the top. His heartbeat picks up, feels like it might go into fucking overdrive, when he pulls out the letter with trembling fingers and sees Congratulations!

His hands grip the letter so hard, it crumples under the force. Harry might scold him later, probably wants to put the letter in a frame or laminate it, but Louis doesn’t care at all. His eyes flick up to Harry across the counter from him, where he’s watching Louis with a mixture of cockiness, adoration, and pure bliss. He’s got flour dusted on his cheeks and hair, chocolate smeared on the corner of his lips from practically inhaling a whole bag of chocolate chips.

Louis runs to him, nearly bumping his hip into the corner of the counter, and leaps into Harry’s arms. Wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist, Louis cups his powdered cheeks and kisses him. Harry’s dirty apron presses into Louis’ chest, but he just pulls him in closer. Their smiles stretch widely across their faces and Louis strokes his thumb along Harry's cheekbone.

He says it, finally, the words that he’s been dying to say ever since Louis met Harry because now they’re real:

“Congratulations, Professor Styles.”