Chapter Text
“We're celebrating our first anniversary,” Harry brags to the waiter, who gives them polite congratulations as he sets down their cocktails.
Louis hides a smile against Harry’s shoulder. “Are you going to tell everyone?”
Harry cups his jaw and presses their lips together. “Probably. If that’s OK with you.”
Louis leans in to kiss him again, a quick peck. “Keep the cocktails coming and we’re good.”
Harry laughs, accidentally spilling some of his drink on Louis’ chest; he leans in to lick the droplets off his collarbones automatically.
Louis half-heartedly pushes him off, tugging at his hair, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “At least if people know we’re celebrating our anniversary the matching turtle shorts make a bit more sense.”
Harry cackles. “It was your idea!”
Louis tilts his head back lazily against the beach lounger they’re sharing, his smile soft. “Definitely not,” he teases.
Harry makes a show of his mock indignation, even puts down his drink so he can tickle Louis’ sides, smooth and warm from the sun.
Louis squirms, giggling. “And somehow you managed to sneak in matching flipflops and towels too!”
Harry pulls him into a tight hug, holding him close. Louis squeaks out a breathless protest, but doesn’t pull away. Instead he buries his nose against Harry’s neck and slips a hand free from between their bodies to clutch at Harry’s back.
Harry’s been working on stuff in the three months since Teague, but this—his sudden, overwhelming impulse to hold Louis close sometimes—isn’t one of his priorities. And his therapist agrees.
Harry had bounced back quickly after his abduction, because it was his job and his training. But his talk with Azoff and his mother’s concern had convinced him to give therapy a real chance, to actually work with his therapist instead of just saying what he was supposed to to get him off his back. And it helped.
If nothing else, at least, it helped him help Louis, who refused to see anyone because he claimed he wouldn’t get anything out of it if he couldn’t talk about the cause of his issues. Harry couldn’t refute that logic, but he still tried, every once in a while, to coax him into talking to a professional, at least to help him manage his anxiety and the associated disordered eating habits he had.
Because Harry worried. Even though Louis was still working at the store, and taking on some new students; even though he went out and hung out with other people besides Harry; even though there had been a respite in the dreams and disassociative episodes. Harry worried because Louis was fine... except when he wasn’t.
He was more nervous around people—as bad as when they had first met. He was tense and jumpy whenever they went out at night, clinging to Harry. And he frequently went mute around service workers, so that he couldn't do the shopping or order out. He also refused to step foot into BAU headquarters. And more than once Harry had caught him crying in the shower; had heard him as he walked down the hall: wracking sobs over the rush of water.
Harry’s therapist insisted there was little he could do except be patient and show Louis love. So that’s what he did.
“Want to go for a quick dip?” Harry murmurs into Louis’ ear.
Louis brings him in for a quick kiss after they untangle themselves. Then he studies the area, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against Harry’s chest. The beach is practically empty, though, a picture of gold and purple in the sunset.
“You’ll try out if the water is warm before?” Louis asks with a winning grin.
Harry gets to his feet, laughing, and pulls Louis up with him. “Yes. But I can’t promise I won’t lie!”
***
Louis knew Harry indulged him: when Louis sidled up to his side, bundled up in his towel against the slight evening chill, Harry pulled him closer and kept his hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles, the whole time as they walked back to their cabin. They had also done their research on the location for their vacation, making sure it was a quiet spot close to the beach, with individual cottages instead of a hotel.
Louis didn’t need Liam to tell him he was being ‘needy’.
The events of the year before with Turner had been frightening, but in the end it had felt somehow purposeful. It had allowed Barbara to escape Turner, after all. And it had led him to Harry.
What had happened in January, however, was just painful. A painful reminder of how he was useless to protect anyone, and how easily he could be rendered helpless: when he had arrived at the airport, Collins had flashed his badge at him and gripped his arm and Louis had been powerless to resist him, incapacitated by his abnormal perception. It had also been a reminder of the ugliness in the world. Louis was no stranger to it, but he had fooled himself into an illusion of safety surrounding Virginia and the FBI… and that illusion had been shattered.
All Louis wanted after this relearning was to hide from the world. But even as he forced himself not to give in to that impulse and continue on with his life, he couldn’t control the instinctual recoiling from anything that might be painful. It wasn’t a conscious avoidance, his body betrayed him: he shrank away from people and found himself unable to speak at times.
And now, on the third night of their vacation, with Harry slipping his hands under Louis’ towel the moment they step inside their cottage, and kissing his neck with obvious intent, Louis’ body is betraying him too, making his heart race and his mouth go dry from nerves.
Sex at home wasn’t a problem, and Harry’s childhood home was an extension of Harry. But their handful of weekend escapades throughout the year hadn’t included sex. And the cottage was no different to a hotel or motel room. It was an unknown place and a risk.
“Is this OK?” Harry asks, pulling back to look at Louis in the face, running his hands up and down Louis’ naked back.
Louis thinks Harry’s attempts to relax and comfort him are unconscious by now. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Harry’s swimming shorts. “Yeah. Definitely.”
A wide smile spreads across Harry’s face. “Definitely?” he asks playfully before leaning in to capture Louis’ mouth in a long kiss.
Louis can do this. “It’s our first proper vacation just the two of us. We can’t not have sex, Harold,” he says when they break apart, tweaking one of Harry’s nipples.
Harry lets out a giggle, but he settles his hands on the low of Louis’ back and makes careful eye contact. “Not having sex is always an option.”
Louis swallows thickly and nods. “OK,” he says quietly. “But I want to.”
And he does. Not just because he doesn’t want to disappoint Harry, but for himself. He wants to have sex in the bedroom with the ocean view and the king sized bed on their vacation to celebrate their anniversary. He wants that with Harry.
Louis gets on his tiptoes to kiss Harry while burying his fingers in his hair, still damp and stiff from the salt water.
“What do you want?” Harry asks, bending down a little, his hands on the backs of Louis’ thighs in clear invitation.
Louis lets Harry pick him up, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. He don’t care; all he wants at the moment is for it not to hurt. “Whatever you want,” he replies between wet, open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s neck and chest, as Harry walks them to the bedroom. “Just don’t—”
Harry lowers him onto the bed, holding himself on his hands over Louis. “Don’t what, baby?”
Louis reaches up to thumb at Harry’s plump lower lip, cradling his jaw. “Don’t stop touching me.”
Harry groans and leans down to kiss him hard, grinding their lower bodies together. “Turn around,” he says, panting.
Louis rolls onto his belly, tugging down his swimming shorts in the process, though Harry pulls them down his thighs and off when the material clings and resists.
Harry’s hands feel hot against the cool, damp skin when he palms Louis’ ass, encouraging Louis to get up on his knees. Louis rests his head on his forearms with his eyes closed, heart hammering in his chest.
“Haven’t done this in too long,” Harry says, kissing down Louis’ spine.
The fact that it’s been maybe two weeks at most since Harry last ate him out, along with the tickle of his scarce stubble on the sensitive skin of his lower back, pulls a small, shivery laugh out of Louis.
“Get on with it, then.” Louis’ voice shakes, but Harry doesn’t call him out on it. He presses a last kiss to the very bottom of Louis’ spine before spreading him open and getting his mouth on Louis’ hole.
It’s good. It’s so good Louis leaves indentations of his teeth on his fingers, biting down even as he moans high in his throat. And it’s just Harry. Harry and the smell of the ocean and wet sand. Which is why it doesn't make sense why all Louis can think about is how this feels like this is the last time they’re going to do this... like it’s all going to go to hell after.
Louis squeezes his eyes shut. His body is reacting to Harry, cock hard between his legs, but there’s a pressure in his chest that’s foreign and Louis keeps trying to push it back. That feeling isn’t about them.
Tears spring to his eyes when Harry stops. “Louis?”
“Why’d you stop?” Louis whimpers.
“You’re shaking. Not in a good way,” Harry whispers, sitting behind Louis, a grounding hand on his thigh.
Louis takes a deep breath. “Can we… face to face?” He turns onto his back, leaning on his elbows. “Need to see you. Please.”
Harry squeezes his ankle. “Of course, baby. Do you want my hand or—”
Louis shakes his head quickly. “Want you inside.” He shifts back to lie against the pillows, legs spread, and reaches down to thumb at the head of his cock before trailing down to tease his spit-slick hole with two fingers while holding’s Harry’s intent gaze.
Harry makes an inarticulate sound in his throat as he hurries to wrestle out of his shorts and fetch the bottle of lube. “Let me take care of you.”
Louis doesn’t let himself think about how all Harry does is take care of him. He lies flat on his back, and lets Harry hook his left leg over his elbow to keep his legs spread as he fingers Louis open. The room is in gloom, the last bit of daylight coming in through the windows allowing Louis to focus on Harry, to commit to memory how his front teeth dig into his bottom lip and his forehead wrinkles when he’s concentrating.
“Harry, please,” he begs when he can’t take the distance between them any more.
“OK.” Harry licks his lips as he pulls his fingers out of Louis to guide his cock in instead. “OK.”
Louis clutches at Harry’s shoulders as Harry starts moving inside him. Harry’s cock doesn’t let him feel anything but full and stretched and— “So fucking good, Harry.”
Harry’s breathing hard, eyes fixed on Louis. “So good. Fuck,” he echoes.
Harry drags it on as much as he can, Louis can tell. Louis is almost lightheaded and weak with pleasure when he comes, clenching around Harry’s cock.
“Let me feel you,” Louis slurs.
Harry pushes in again, fingers tight on Louis’ hips, and comes, gasping against Louis’ mouth.
It’s not until almost a half hour later, once they’ve cleaned up and settled for a nightcap on the veranda, that Harry asks.
Louis tugs the sleeves of his light jumper down to his fingers. “A couple must have had a bad breakup here.”
Harry takes his hands, warming up his fingertips. “Are you worrying about that, though? Us breaking up?” he asks, perceptive as usual.
Louis dips his chin to chest. “I’d never leave you.”
"But you think I'd leave you." Harry presses a kiss to the inside of his wrists, one after the other. “I must be doing something wrong, if it’s not obvious how much I love you, how in love with you I am.”
Louis reaches out to stroke Harry’s face. “No, no. It’s just—I’d understand if you did—” His voice breaks. “Leave me.”
“Louis.” Harry waits until Louis looks up at him to continue. “I was thinking of asking for a transfer. For a desk job.”
“What? Why!?” Louis straightens up with a frown.
“Because I know I have a job that puts a strain on relationships. Because I know it's difficult for a field agent's spouse.” Louis’ heart flip flops at the word ‘spouse’.
His shock must show on his face because Harry blushes. “I wouldn’t have to travel so much. And it’d be a lot less dangerous.”
Louis is tempted. A part of him wants nothing more than to beg Harry to do it. No more nights alone. No more agonizing about Harry being in mortal danger half the time. Louis is selfish, but not as much as all that. “You can’t do that. Not for me.”
Harry looks into his eyes, unwavering. “I’d do anything for you.”
Louis shakes his head, holding back tears. “You’re good at your job. It’s what you want to do. I want you to do what makes you happy.”
Harry thumbs at the tears clinging to Louis’ eyelashes. “You make me happy.”
Louis lets out a strangled combination of sob and laugh. “You can do me too.” The warmth in his chest spreads when Harry giggles. “You’re just getting started, love. You can’t throw your career out like that.”
Harry tilts Louis’ chin up to brush their lips together. “Well. We’ll see. Maybe not now, then. But in the future... I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
Louis hiccups a laugh and rolls his eyes. “You’re not the one who’s going to be thirty next year.”
Harry gives a pretend shudder, face comically horrified, and cackles when Louis elbows him in the chest. “Early retirement, though. That’s happening no matter what,” Harry says in a dreamy tone. “We’ll get a house with a private beach in California.”
Louis can’t contain his grin. “We’re going to be rich, are we?”
Harry makes a face. “All right... so we’ll get a small house by the beach in some quiet, small, seaside town.”
Before Harry, Louis had lived between the present and the past, unable to visualize any future. But now he can. Harry’s thinking about the rest of their lives together, painting a picture, a future that Louis wants... and that he can actually see. He smiles at Harry, and kisses him again. “I like that idea,” he says softly.
*
Harry parks the car under the dappled shade of a tree, still green in the late summer. They both unbuckle their seatbelts, and Harry even pushes the driver’s seat back.
“Thanks for driving me,” Louis says.
“Of course, Lou.” Harry rests a hand on Louis’ thigh and gives it a squeeze. “You still want to do this?”
Louis considers, keeping his head down as he plays with Harry’s fingers. He rubs the pad of his thumb over his ring finger, and smiles shyly when Harry catches his eye.
Harry draws Louis in with a hand on the back of his neck. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmurs against Louis’ lips.
“I’ll get proper spousal benefits, finally.” Louis giggles at Harry’s playful pout and pecks his puckered lips. “I love you.”
Harry grins and pulls him into a proper kiss. “Love you too.”
Louis checks the time when they break apart: 8:45 AM. “I should go inside.”
“Want me to go with you?”
Louis shakes his head. “I’ll be OK. I like knowing you’ll be here when I run out screaming.”
Harry pats his thigh. “I don’t think they’re going to tell you about Roswell just yet, baby.”
Louis laughs. “Of course not; that’s probably a completely different department.”
“Right. My bad.” Harry chuckles.
Louis’ smile fades as he worries hit bottom lip between his teeth. “Hug, please?” he asks after a moment.
Harry folds him into a hug, pulling Louis half on top of him with his legs over the console. He holds him until Louis feels strong enough to pull back.
“Thanks,” he whispers, opening the door and putting one leg out.
“I’ll be right here,” Harry says, serious now.
Louis nods. “And we’ll get waffles after.”
Harry finds Louis’ hand and gives it a final squeeze. “Can’t do without a second breakfast.”
Louis walks inside the FBI headquarters building twisting his fingers in the hem of jumper. When he gives his contact’s name at the front desk, the receptionist smiles at him.
“She’s expecting you,” she says. “I’ll walk you to her office.”
She takes him to the first floor, down the hall, bright with early morning sunlight. She stops at a door marked with a sign that reads Department P. Louis feels laughter bubbling in his chest, thinking about Zayn and his comment about the X-Men. Louis is not a superhero, and he doesn’t want to be. But there are people he can talk to here. Louis can’t sit down with just any counselor, but he’s been put in touch with a trained therapist who works in the FBI’s Paranormal Division. He thinks it might help him. He owes it to Harry to try. He owes it to himself.
At the end of the corridor, to the right, as the receptionist instructed him, he finds a door. It’s standing open. Louis knocks on the door frame and peeks in. The room inside looks like any therapist’s office, and the middle aged woman behind the desk smiles as she stands up to greet him.
“Welcome.” She doesn’t thrust out her hand or touch him. Instead she asks, “Are you all right with touching? Would you like to shake hands or would you prefer not to?”
Louis hesitates.
“Either way is fine here,” she says kindly. “Maybe next time?”
Louis bites his lip then holds out his hand. “No, it’s... it’s nice to meet you, Dr. Garland.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Louis.”
When their hands touch, Louis gets nothing. He feels safe.