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randominityTitle: A Vicarious Occasion
Pairing: Threesome! Harry/Louis, Louis/Eleanor, very blink-and-you'll-miss-it Harry/Eleanor
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As real as a not real thing. I make no claim to knowledge or insight into the respective sexualities of any members of One Direction. I just know what I find hot.
Word Count: 5300
Summary: It's not that Eleanor's new to this kind of relationship.
Author's Note: Okay, if I write a ton of porn and it's mostly het, would you forgive me/believe me if I said it was actually just Louis body worship? Because everything I write forever is going to be poorly-disguised Louis body worship, okay? Okay.
Read at AO3.
It's not that Eleanor's new to this kind of relationship. She likes to think of herself as low-maintenance, the kind of girl who likes her own space, but with too many lads she finds that independence interpreted as a license to cheat, and that's not the kind of relationship she's into. She laughs when she breaks it off with them, because, really. If only they'd known how to ask.
There'd been the new girl at Hollister, who talked openly about her bisexuality, and maybe that should have been a tip right there, but when she hinted slyly that she and her boyfriend were looking for a third, Eleanor thought, hell, why not? She'd made them dinner, gone the whole date route and everything, and it had been a lovely night, but back at work the subject never came up again.
There had been the time with the bloke visiting from Leeds, who'd been upfront about having a girlfriend and perpetual stubble both; he'd been charming and intellectual and had straight white teeth and big hands and a big dick, too, but then his girlfriend had gotten jealous, end of. She'd barely even made the drive to Leeds that often, either, didn't see how her vagina could be that threatening, frankly.
Still, she has no need for lads who'll go all moony-eyed over her, writing bad songs or poetry with her name in, so if Louis Tomlinson is the kind of lad who just needs more at the end of the day, too much love and too much intensity in him to burn it out on just one person, well, he's good for a laugh, and she has no problem sharing. And then in time, it's more than just a laugh, and they're saying "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" and she tells Harry one evening when they're up drinking together, okay, we're properly sharing now, so I get custody on Christmas and other hols and you get him during the school year, yeah?
And Harry's just Harry, a friend of a friend, and something very close to the center of Louis' world. And then she is, too.
**
It's a long tour, this tour, a long time away from home, and she says, "I have to sit my exams," and Louis says,
"I'll be there." He says, "fly out and see me, after."
They shop and see all the local sights and dine out all day, and at night they sequester themselves in hotel room after hotel room, fucking and making love and cuddling and ordering room service in, and Eleanor wonders if this is what the rest of the tour is like for Louis, when she's not around. She wonders if it's like this when it's just him and Harry, and when she asks, Louis shrugs bodily.
"It's not just like that," he says, then pulls a tragic face. "Harry won't go shopping with me at all, anymore."
They finally venture out once they've grown accustomed enough to one anothers' skin to stay clothed, sunbathing or taking tea on the hotel balcony. They chat with Harry while he waves to fans and poses for pictures, keeping him company, and Louis spies Eleanor staring up at his profile while he talks; he pauses, mid-sentence, to dip his head for a sudden kiss.
When they separate, Eleanor can see Harry watching them out of the corner of her eye, gaze fixed from over his shoulder. She smiles into the nuzzle Louis is giving her, nose to nose, and murmurs, "it looks like Harry's missing you."
"Is he watching," Louis says softly, and lifts his head enough that their lips brush against each other, not kissing exactly, merely teasing. She nods, licks her lips and his with them via proximity. "Well, he can see me whenever he wants me," Louis goes on.
"You might have to make it up to him later," she says, and is surprised by the giddy rush she feels in her belly at this, the idea of teasing and talking about Harry at the same time.
"I will," Louis tells her. "I always do," he says, and when Eleanor flickers her eyes in Harry's direction again, he turns away abruptly at the prospect of being caught. She feels a pang of guilt at making him feel he needs to turn away, and then a spark of realisation comes over her at the fact that he was watching. He was watching, and that, Eleanor thinks, is something new.
"Do you think he'd," she starts, pulling back from Louis to regard him carefully. "Would you ever want... both of us? Together, I mean. Or, him watching, or me?"
He raises his eyebrows at her, opens his mouth, then closes it. "We're having this conversation now?" he says, whispering properly.
She smiles to hide the fact that her heart is thumping hard in her chest. "Do you want to?"
"Well, I can't say it's not something I've fantasized about in my life, if I'm honest," Louis says. "Are you serious?"
"He looks lonely," Eleanor insists.
Louis sighs. "I don't even know if he'd--" he starts. "If you're even a little uncomfortable with this," he continues, warning.
"I've never minded sharing you all this time, have I?" she points out, and he purses his lips in response. "Ask him," she goes on. "He'll say yes. He'll love it."
"Tonight?" Louis suggests, bringing up a hand to cup her cheek.
She nods. "Yeah, that's good," she says, and captures his lips in hers again, eyes closed and hands brought up against his chest.
**
Harry did say yes, as Louis tells her, his voice a little manic when they take the stairs the first couple of flights to their room. He meets her and Louis at their door and they all grin a little awkwardly at each other before Louis gets the keycard in, and then Louis' fiddling with the remote to the telly and Harry's got his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly; he jumps a little when Eleanor places a hand on his back, rubs him from shoulderblade to tailbone in an attempt to calm him. "Um, where do you want me?" he asks, and Eleanor shakes her head.
"Louis, what'd you tell him?" she asks, incredulous. "He looks like he thinks we're gonna eat him. We're not going to eat you, Harry," she assures him, and he ducks his head.
Louis shrugs, tosses the remote onto the sofa and leaves the telly on the channel guide. "Speak for yourself," he says. "I had plans for--"
"No, it's all right," Harry insists. "I just haven't," he gestures vaguely with one hand. "I mean, you're lovely, but."
"Oh, just kiss him," Eleanor says, giving Harry a little push with the hand on his back. "I know you've been wanting to."
Harry starts off toward Louis, walking slowly and turning his head to look back at Eleanor as though she'll stop him at any moment, and she meets Louis' gaze over Harry's shoulder. Louis spares her a fond smirk, then turns his attention to Harry and leans in, tilting his head up so that their lips meet. She sees his hands slide round Harry's waist, fingertips pressing into the material of Harry's t-shirt, and quickly determines that this isn't enough, pads softly across the room to get a better angle. When she's finally stood in front of the telly she can see, now, how they fit together, hips flush with one another.
It's a sight she immediately loves, the sight of Harry's large hands spread out low on Louis' back, the contrast of Louis' smaller form with Harry's. If she's honest, she loves that she has a boyfriend who knows what it's like to be with someone larger, to kiss someone with the beginnings of stubble, to be intimate with the heady scent of male arousal that isn't his own. As she watches, Louis's hands come up to cup Harry's face and his mouth opens wide, moving over Harry's, sucking Harry's lower lip, his tongue. It's the sort of kiss she'd look away from, were it anyone else, and she takes her sunglasses off the top of her head and sets them down behind her on the telly stand. She undoes the buttons of her shirt down to below her breasts, lets her hand slide in to cup one idly, closes her eyes to the wet, breathy sounds of their kissing and flicks a finger over her nipple, feeling the sensation send a spark of arousal directly between her legs. She must have moaned, then, because when she opens her eyes Louis is half-turned in Harry's arms, both watching her with slight amusement.
"Getting started without us, darling?" Louis says lightly, but he's not fooling anyone when his breath is noticeably coming harder, fingers flexing in Harry's belt loops. "I haven't even got my shirt off."
"Well, then, let's," Eleanor says, and unfastens the rest of her buttons, letting the sides fall away so that both Louis and Harry can see her bra, her nipples standing up hard and puckered against the fabric. Harry tugs at Louis until he turns back and the two of them pull his t-shirt over his head, kissing once more before Louis pulls away, returning to Eleanor to fit his hands to her breasts. She pulls him in with her arms around his shoulders and takes his upper lip in hers, sucking, lapping at him with her tongue. She imagines she can taste Harry now, can definitely smell Harry's cologne mingled with Louis' and she shudders against him, gasping a bit against his mouth when he rolls her nipples between his fingers. Louis's hands slide round to the back of her bra to unfasten it, and it's sweet, the release of the weight of her breasts, the cool air when he pushes her shirt and the straps down over her shoulders.
The light above them dims; Louis' mouth leaves hers with a sigh, and Eleanor knows before she opens her eyes that Harry's come up behind him, is probably pressing forward against him by the way he's now squeezing her breasts rhythmically in his hands. "So, how are we doing this?" she hears Harry ask, voice low, and she reaches up to take Louis' hands in hers.
"First, my mouth on you," she says to him, watching Louis' eyes go soft and heavy-lidded, returning his fond half-smile.
"Lead the way," he says, raising his eyebrows at her, and she grins fully, tugging him out of Harry's grasp, guiding him back toward the bed, until the back of his legs hit. Harry sits next to them, taking off his shirt, then rolls backward, seeking a vantage point that is both easy for view and access. She makes quick work of Louis' belt, button and fly, shimmying his trousers and pants down in one go and pushing him back to sit once they're at his knees; the two of them work them down off his feet and she kneels before him, hands on his waist and thumbs skimming his sides.
She nips at his stomach first, taking care to sweep her tongue across and into his navel and nuzzling through the patch of hair that trails down below it. She knows he loves it when her hair falls forward over his cock and balls, drapes over his thighs, and so she makes sure it does, moves one hand to his stomach as she kisses down to feel it cave in with each breath. Her chin bumps his erection and Louis goes still, anticipating either tease or release; she glances up at him, not yet sure which she'll do either. She can see Harry behind them on the bed, legs folded up at the headboard as he leans back on one elbow, watching her, but at her glance he gets back onto his hands and knees and crawls forward so that he can see both of them. "Go on," he prods her, straightening out so that he's prone on his stomach. "I want to see how you do it," he says, lips turned up at the corners.
Eleanor dips her head at that, parts her lips over the tip of Louis' cock and cups his balls with her free hand. There's a hissed intake of air from above her and she knows from experience that Louis has closed his eyes on the sight, tilting his head back as his legs unconsciously spread wider. She can take over half of him comfortably, and does so, sliding down and moving her hand from his balls to squeezing at the base of his cock and back again, letting her saliva wet the rest of his length as she bobs her head over him.
"Louis, tell me how it is," she hears Harry say suddenly, and Louis chokes on a gasp.
"You must be joking," he says with a hitch in his voice, and she moves the hand she has pressed against his stomach up to his nipple, pinching to get a strained "ah!" from him, before bringing it back down to focus on the part of his cock her mouth can't reach, his taint, his thighs.
"I'm not," Harry insists, his voice still pitched low, and Eleanor is amazed that merely kissing Louis seems to have given Harry all the confidence in the world. "Tell me what she does differently, tell me how you like it."
Louis' thighs are suddenly taut against her, as though he's closer to coming than he would ordinarily be, and Eleanor's surprised by the arousal she feels in response, that Harry's command could have such an immediate effect on Louis. She isn't sure if Harry and Louis do this sort of thing ordinarily - contrast and comparison - but it makes sense that they would; she just hadn't thought they could use it like this, together and in bed, fueling and driving each other on. "Uhhhhm," Louis says, fingers coming up to skim against Eleanor's cheekbone, then back to thread through her hair, "I like," she hears him swallow, "I like how she... god... touches me, everywhere, while she sucks me," and she squeezes his thigh beneath one hand, pulls off a bit to stroke more of his saliva-slick cock with the other. His hand fists in her hair, just for a moment, before releasing and withdrawing, letting it drape forward again. "I love her hair," Louis says, voice breaking. "Fuck, I love it, and the way her hand looks around me, and--"
"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmurs, while Eleanor twists her hand, pulling her mouth off of Louis entirely. She wanks him a couple of times, pulling the foreskin up and over with each upstroke, now that she can watch his face, flushed with lips parted. When she breaks gaze with him she sees that Harry's got his attention on her hand now, too, eyes dark and flitting between that and Louis' expression. He licks his lips and squirms slightly and Eleanor realises he's slowly pushing his hips into the mattress; she feels an echoing throb of desire. "Keep going," he urges, and she's not sure whether he's referring to her or Louis, but she bows her head over Louis again anyway, licks a droplet of pre-come from his slit and is rewarded with a shudder.
She licks a circle around the head, paints a stripe down the side and then back up the vein underneath before letting her mouth close over him, sucking harder now, not really willing to tease because she's pretty sure Harry's got that handled for the moment. She presses the flat of her tongue to the underside of Louis' cock, one hand moving faster against the base of him, and with the other, she continues palming his balls, only pausing to press her knuckles to his taint, pushing against him each time he rocks his hips up. "You're killing me, Harry," Louis breathes, "she's fucking amazing, you wouldn't even believe."
"Then why am I killing you?" Harry smiles. "Tell me," he repeats. "You like how her small hands are squeezing you, yeah? Like you think they'd be all gentle, and then she's just got this grip?"
"Oh, god, yeah," Louis agrees, thighs flexing beneath Eleanor's arms, as though he's trying to spread wider and hold her in at the same time. His hand finds its way into her hair again and this time he keeps the fist in, not tightly and not forcing her in any way, just doing it to feel it.
"Is she pushing a finger in the way I do? I can't tell from here," Harry wants to know, and Louis lets out a low groan, bucking slightly.
"No," he gasps, "she's just... rubbing, like,"
and Harry says, knowingly, "oh, yeah, you're so sensitive there, it's practically like getting at your prostate, isn't it, I know you love that,"
and Louis' fingernails scrape lightly over the top of Eleanor's head as he says, "yes, yes, oh," in a small, familiar voice, and Eleanor holds her head still, lets him thrust up into her mouth a few times with irregular rhythm as he comes, panting and then grunting and pulsing warm and bitter into the back of her mouth. She swallows quickly and draws her mouth off of him, letting him fall out with a small 'pop' sound as she sits back on her haunches and revels in the dazed look he gives her before letting himself fall backwards onto the bed.
"That was nice," Harry tells her, looking as aroused as she feels, and she was the one who'd just had Louis' cock in her mouth. "That was really nice," he says again, smiling as he licks his lips. "I want him now."
"I want her," Louis mumbles, still flat on his back.
"Right," Harry says, getting back up onto all fours. "So, you on the bed," he points at Eleanor, "I want Louis from behind, and," he reaches over and smacks Louis on the arm, "his mouth on you, El."
"I agree," Louis yells, and raises his arm clumsily in an approximation of a thumbs up.
Eleanor and Harry exchange grins as she rises, unzipping her skirt and pushing it and her pants off her hips. She's wet already, can smell it on herself and feels it in the looseness of her limbs as she steps out of the rest of her clothes and kicks them gently aside. Harry's less careful with his own trousers and pants, tossing them off the side of the bed before he coaxes Louis up and over, making room for Eleanor to climb onto the bed and shift over beneath Louis and between his arms.
"I'll get everything ready," Harry tells them, getting off the bed to reach for the nightstand where they keep condoms and lube, and Louis lowers his head to kiss Eleanor, "hmmm"s in a low voice into her mouth when he tastes himself on her tongue. He pulls back, dropping kisses to her jaw, nibbling her neck, then moving down to her breasts, his arse hitching higher into the air when he feels the bed sink again under Harry's weight. He's got his mouth around her nipple, suckling, when he jolts slightly.
He unlatches his mouth to say, "warn a guy, Styles," and Eleanor's eyes open to Harry pulling a face at her, tongue out and rolling his eyes. She giggles at him, covers her mouth with her hand.
"You knew it was coming," Harry reasons, waggling his lubed fingers in the air, then says, "budge up again," so Louis tilts his hips some more and goes back to Eleanor's breast. It's not long before Eleanor senses the shift between Louis playing idly with her and Louis' aroused attention; he huffs contented noises into her stomach as he trails kisses down from her breasts, slides his hands under the small of her back and hoists her up higher on the bed so that he can fit more comfortably between her thighs. She can't see what, exactly, Harry does then; whether he's got a finger pushed into Louis, or more, or anything, but whatever it is, Louis' head jerks up and a glassy look comes into his eyes, and he cants slightly to the side, mouth falling silently open for a moment.
She leans to follow him, tracking his gaze until it returns to her, then gives him a small smile, prompting him to chuckle at himself. "S'good?" she asks, and he nods, bites his lip a little.
"Yeah, s'good." He dips his head, then, and she can't help it; she holds her breath in anticipation, loves this, loves when he does this. Louis separates her with his fingers and traces his tongue up her folds, circles her clit with it, gently sucks her into his mouth and slides a finger inside of her as he does. Her eyes close on the sight and she breathes out, clenches her muscles around his finger.
"He's so tight, you know, El," Harry says, almost conversationally, and when she opens her eyes to glance up at him, his eyes are still focused on Louis' arse. "Have you ever done this to him? You really should, you should feel what it's like, he's so hot inside."
Louis' breath stutters against her as he adds another finger, curling them inside as he begins to thrust them, and she nods, "hmmm"s, licks her lips. Her hips tilt up to him and he goes back to licking her clit, broad strokes from lips to hood. When he makes a muffled sound against her, bumping her mound with his nose, Eleanor figures that's when Harry's adding another finger of his own. She's thought about doing it sometimes, about pushing in with her finger to see how Louis likes it - because of course she knows he likes it - but they've not talked about it and she wants him to still have special things with Harry, things he doesn't have with her. She's not sure the time to discuss it is now, when Louis' opinion just might be compromised and his fingers are curled inside her and his tongue, god, his tongue is pushing rhythmically against her clit. She'll ask about it later.
She grips his shoulder, squeezing, and bites back a moan when he adds a third finger. She can hear the wet sounds they're both making now, so heady with arousal, and when Louis flicks her clit with the tip of his tongue she doesn't hold back her cry of pleasure. She bucks into him as he licks her in earnest, and she is burning up all over. He anchors her, fingers beckoning and chin pushing against her and he moans, his rhythm slowing; she looks up to see Harry biting his lip over them, hands on Louis' hips as he sinks into him. Louis keeps his fingers inside, keeps thrusting them into her, and Eleanor's so close, but she can feel the tension in his shoulders now as he pushes back against Harry. He sucks her clit into his mouth, pistoning his fingers without much semblance of a rhythm, and the overstimulation does it for her, snaps a cable too-tightly wrought and she quivers, half gasping, half sobbing as she comes.
Louis moans and turns his head to rest his cheek on her hip, withdrawing his hand and helplessly mouthing at the sweat-damp skin of her thigh. She feels his breath stuttering out and now that he's not deliberately moving to pleasure her, Eleanor recognises how he's being shifted up against her with every one of Harry's thrusts. She cards her fingers through his hair, meeting Harry's gaze above him, and says, "tell me."
Harry still has his lower lip caught between his teeth, pupils blown, but he furrows his brow at her for a moment and his lips part in a questioning smile. He raises his eyebrows, then, and she gives him a small smile back. "Go on, what's he like inside?" she urges, and against her thigh, Louis groans.
"God, El, I'm gonna get hard again just from that," he mumbles.
"You'll wait," Harry says, just as she tells him, "you'll get your turn," and they glance at each other again and share a laugh. Harry licks his lips and looks down at himself; his eyes flicker over Louis' arse as he pushes in again, and says,
"He's so tight, I never think he can take me." Harry's voice is husky, practically breaking. "And he's always clenching," he adds, through his teeth, "because he likes to tease."
"You're describing how my arse feels to my girlfriend," Louis slurs, "and I'm the tease?" and Eleanor laughs, almost giddy with arousal and fondness, that they can carry on joking even like this. She's also enjoying this layer to Louis, who normally is only ever rendered speechless in sex, but with Harry prodding and pushing, Eleanor can hear the lust heavy in his voice, can hear him begin to unravel.
"He doesn't even really... like it like this," Harry adds, almost conversational but for the pauses between slow, steady thrusts. "I wanted it to last," he says, "but, the way he really likes it," and Harry lets go of Louis' hip to rub a thumb over his forehead, where a sheen of sweat is making his hairline frizz beneath his fringe, "is hard, and fast."
"Do it, yeah," Eleanor breathes before she can think about it, warmth spreading out from her belly at the thought. Louis makes a pained sound from deep in his chest, and she prods at him, petting his hair so that he raises his head to look at her. A flush is already spreading down his neck, his pupils huge and dark. "Is that what you want? You'd like Harry to fuck you," she catches her breath, "hard and fast? It's all right," she assures him quickly, because he seems to be searching her face for approval. "I want to see."
"Go on," she tells Harry, and he nods, bites his lip hard as he pulls out on a long stroke, then drives himself deeply into Louis in a quick motion. Louis groans like the sound has been torn from him, and his head drops back to Eleanor's thigh. Harry repeats the motion once more, then stays deep, snapping his hips shallowly, pistoning in a pace Eleanor knows well is driving for a quick orgasm, though whether for Louis or Harry, she's not sure. Louis' hands scrabble on the bedspread, questing for something to grab, and Eleanor curls the fingers of one hand into his, letting him squeeze; his elbows look close to buckling. He's moaning with nearly every one of Harry's rapid thrusts, a staccatto mewling sound, and she knows this feeling, this experience of being well and truly fucked.
"Harry," Louis whimpers, and the sound of it, the brokenness of his voice, sends an ache directly into the core of her. "Harry, please, I'm not gonna last--"
"'m close," Harry mutters, his fringe coming untucked from behind his ear, droplets of sweat dangling from a small cluster of hair. "El, I hope you're ready for this, he's so done," he says, gritting his teeth, shoulders hunching as his rhythm wavers. And she is ready, bewildered and throbbing and overwhelmed with fondness. She dips the fingers of her free hand into herself, slicking them, and circles her clit fast, already aroused enough to apply firm pressure.
"Yeah," she says, trying not to buck her hips and dislodge Louis' head. "Come for him, Harry," she breathes, and Harry stifles a moan from behind pursed lips, breathes out once, twice through his nose, pushing into Louis one last time. He tosses his head back, sweat beads sparkling as they fly through the air, and blows out a gust of air, composing himself for a moment before withdrawing.
It all happens quickly after that; Louis clambers up Eleanor's body, whispering, "fuck, fuck, I'm gonna be rubbish at this, I'm so sorry," accepting a condom from Harry, then clumsily tring to unwrap it with shaking hands. He tosses his head in frustration when Eleanor takes it gently from him.
"It's all right, darling," she tells him soothingly, and he clenches his hands into fists, breathing deeply as she unrolls the condom over him; then he's kissing her, bruising her lips against her teeth while she feels him guide himself into her. She can smell herself on him, taste herself, and they both groan when he's buried deep inside, because despite the intensity of tonight, it's like this every time, like coming home.
Louis breaks their kiss to press his mouth to her jaw, her temple, her eyelids, her jugular, panting as he rocks into her like he would climb inside if he could. The pace of her hand on her clit is just as frantic as his thrusts, and she can feel herself pulling taut, so close that if she could just get him to put his hands on her, she could get off in an instant. "I'm almost there," she whispers in his ear, turning her head to nip at the lobe. He nods, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, and his hands drop to grip her hips, bringing them up to meet his.
"Can I?" Harry's voice is quiet, but nearby, and Eleanor turns her head to see him sitting on the edge of the bed by her arm. He's still nude, still looks wrecked and sweaty from the sex with Louis. He reaches a hand out, uncertain, and Eleanor sees that he has it poised over her breast. She closes her eyes, almost embarrassed at the generosity of his gesture, and gives a short nod, already on her way to spiraling up when his hand closes over her, large and warm. He draws a finger over her nipple and she keens, tremors spreading, feels herself clenching around Louis, her back arching. Her thighs come closer together, wanting to hold Louis there forever. She hears him cry out, but for a moment she feels like she's underwater, sound all muffled, deprived of sensation because this once, it was almost too much.
Her eyes flutter open to meet Louis' and they stare at each other, wearing, she's sure, matching expressions of wonder, before Louis gives a massive shudder. He bursts into a giggle. "That," he says, eyes gone wide, "was one hell of an aftershock," and rolls off of her, still breathing hard.
She smiles over at him, then turns to face Harry. "Thanks," she says, and he shrugs a shoulder, giving her a half smile as if that was just something you do for a mate. She puts a questioning hand on his upper arm, trails it down gently to where his hand props himself up on the bed. He follows the path of her hand, then glances back up at her.
"I'm good," he says, nodding, and he seems it; he's not hard, though she reasons he wouldn't necessarily be, so soon, but he seems relaxed at any rate, comfortable.
"Come here, you," Louis says sleepily from her other side, and Harry gets on all fours, climbing over them to lay on Louis' other outstretched arm. Harry scoots down the bed enough to rest his head on Louis' chest, hair tucked under Louis' chin, and Louis strokes his fingers through both Harry's hair and Eleanor's, as though to calm himself as much as anything else.
He's dozing before long, fingers still entangled in their hair, and then Harry's asleep too, slack-jawed and snuffling into Louis' chest. Eleanor closes her eyes on the image of them and the irony that Harry'd started off as the one feeling excluded in all this, when she's the one who feels lucky right now. She's going to owe Harry one, she thinks, as she slowly slips into slumber.
Maybe tomorrow night.
**
END
Pairing: Threesome! Harry/Louis, Louis/Eleanor, very blink-and-you'll-miss-it Harry/Eleanor
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: As real as a not real thing. I make no claim to knowledge or insight into the respective sexualities of any members of One Direction. I just know what I find hot.
Word Count: 5300
Summary: It's not that Eleanor's new to this kind of relationship.
Author's Note: Okay, if I write a ton of porn and it's mostly het, would you forgive me/believe me if I said it was actually just Louis body worship? Because everything I write forever is going to be poorly-disguised Louis body worship, okay? Okay.
Read at AO3.
It's not that Eleanor's new to this kind of relationship. She likes to think of herself as low-maintenance, the kind of girl who likes her own space, but with too many lads she finds that independence interpreted as a license to cheat, and that's not the kind of relationship she's into. She laughs when she breaks it off with them, because, really. If only they'd known how to ask.
There'd been the new girl at Hollister, who talked openly about her bisexuality, and maybe that should have been a tip right there, but when she hinted slyly that she and her boyfriend were looking for a third, Eleanor thought, hell, why not? She'd made them dinner, gone the whole date route and everything, and it had been a lovely night, but back at work the subject never came up again.
There had been the time with the bloke visiting from Leeds, who'd been upfront about having a girlfriend and perpetual stubble both; he'd been charming and intellectual and had straight white teeth and big hands and a big dick, too, but then his girlfriend had gotten jealous, end of. She'd barely even made the drive to Leeds that often, either, didn't see how her vagina could be that threatening, frankly.
Still, she has no need for lads who'll go all moony-eyed over her, writing bad songs or poetry with her name in, so if Louis Tomlinson is the kind of lad who just needs more at the end of the day, too much love and too much intensity in him to burn it out on just one person, well, he's good for a laugh, and she has no problem sharing. And then in time, it's more than just a laugh, and they're saying "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" and she tells Harry one evening when they're up drinking together, okay, we're properly sharing now, so I get custody on Christmas and other hols and you get him during the school year, yeah?
And Harry's just Harry, a friend of a friend, and something very close to the center of Louis' world. And then she is, too.
**
It's a long tour, this tour, a long time away from home, and she says, "I have to sit my exams," and Louis says,
"I'll be there." He says, "fly out and see me, after."
They shop and see all the local sights and dine out all day, and at night they sequester themselves in hotel room after hotel room, fucking and making love and cuddling and ordering room service in, and Eleanor wonders if this is what the rest of the tour is like for Louis, when she's not around. She wonders if it's like this when it's just him and Harry, and when she asks, Louis shrugs bodily.
"It's not just like that," he says, then pulls a tragic face. "Harry won't go shopping with me at all, anymore."
They finally venture out once they've grown accustomed enough to one anothers' skin to stay clothed, sunbathing or taking tea on the hotel balcony. They chat with Harry while he waves to fans and poses for pictures, keeping him company, and Louis spies Eleanor staring up at his profile while he talks; he pauses, mid-sentence, to dip his head for a sudden kiss.
When they separate, Eleanor can see Harry watching them out of the corner of her eye, gaze fixed from over his shoulder. She smiles into the nuzzle Louis is giving her, nose to nose, and murmurs, "it looks like Harry's missing you."
"Is he watching," Louis says softly, and lifts his head enough that their lips brush against each other, not kissing exactly, merely teasing. She nods, licks her lips and his with them via proximity. "Well, he can see me whenever he wants me," Louis goes on.
"You might have to make it up to him later," she says, and is surprised by the giddy rush she feels in her belly at this, the idea of teasing and talking about Harry at the same time.
"I will," Louis tells her. "I always do," he says, and when Eleanor flickers her eyes in Harry's direction again, he turns away abruptly at the prospect of being caught. She feels a pang of guilt at making him feel he needs to turn away, and then a spark of realisation comes over her at the fact that he was watching. He was watching, and that, Eleanor thinks, is something new.
"Do you think he'd," she starts, pulling back from Louis to regard him carefully. "Would you ever want... both of us? Together, I mean. Or, him watching, or me?"
He raises his eyebrows at her, opens his mouth, then closes it. "We're having this conversation now?" he says, whispering properly.
She smiles to hide the fact that her heart is thumping hard in her chest. "Do you want to?"
"Well, I can't say it's not something I've fantasized about in my life, if I'm honest," Louis says. "Are you serious?"
"He looks lonely," Eleanor insists.
Louis sighs. "I don't even know if he'd--" he starts. "If you're even a little uncomfortable with this," he continues, warning.
"I've never minded sharing you all this time, have I?" she points out, and he purses his lips in response. "Ask him," she goes on. "He'll say yes. He'll love it."
"Tonight?" Louis suggests, bringing up a hand to cup her cheek.
She nods. "Yeah, that's good," she says, and captures his lips in hers again, eyes closed and hands brought up against his chest.
**
Harry did say yes, as Louis tells her, his voice a little manic when they take the stairs the first couple of flights to their room. He meets her and Louis at their door and they all grin a little awkwardly at each other before Louis gets the keycard in, and then Louis' fiddling with the remote to the telly and Harry's got his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly; he jumps a little when Eleanor places a hand on his back, rubs him from shoulderblade to tailbone in an attempt to calm him. "Um, where do you want me?" he asks, and Eleanor shakes her head.
"Louis, what'd you tell him?" she asks, incredulous. "He looks like he thinks we're gonna eat him. We're not going to eat you, Harry," she assures him, and he ducks his head.
Louis shrugs, tosses the remote onto the sofa and leaves the telly on the channel guide. "Speak for yourself," he says. "I had plans for--"
"No, it's all right," Harry insists. "I just haven't," he gestures vaguely with one hand. "I mean, you're lovely, but."
"Oh, just kiss him," Eleanor says, giving Harry a little push with the hand on his back. "I know you've been wanting to."
Harry starts off toward Louis, walking slowly and turning his head to look back at Eleanor as though she'll stop him at any moment, and she meets Louis' gaze over Harry's shoulder. Louis spares her a fond smirk, then turns his attention to Harry and leans in, tilting his head up so that their lips meet. She sees his hands slide round Harry's waist, fingertips pressing into the material of Harry's t-shirt, and quickly determines that this isn't enough, pads softly across the room to get a better angle. When she's finally stood in front of the telly she can see, now, how they fit together, hips flush with one another.
It's a sight she immediately loves, the sight of Harry's large hands spread out low on Louis' back, the contrast of Louis' smaller form with Harry's. If she's honest, she loves that she has a boyfriend who knows what it's like to be with someone larger, to kiss someone with the beginnings of stubble, to be intimate with the heady scent of male arousal that isn't his own. As she watches, Louis's hands come up to cup Harry's face and his mouth opens wide, moving over Harry's, sucking Harry's lower lip, his tongue. It's the sort of kiss she'd look away from, were it anyone else, and she takes her sunglasses off the top of her head and sets them down behind her on the telly stand. She undoes the buttons of her shirt down to below her breasts, lets her hand slide in to cup one idly, closes her eyes to the wet, breathy sounds of their kissing and flicks a finger over her nipple, feeling the sensation send a spark of arousal directly between her legs. She must have moaned, then, because when she opens her eyes Louis is half-turned in Harry's arms, both watching her with slight amusement.
"Getting started without us, darling?" Louis says lightly, but he's not fooling anyone when his breath is noticeably coming harder, fingers flexing in Harry's belt loops. "I haven't even got my shirt off."
"Well, then, let's," Eleanor says, and unfastens the rest of her buttons, letting the sides fall away so that both Louis and Harry can see her bra, her nipples standing up hard and puckered against the fabric. Harry tugs at Louis until he turns back and the two of them pull his t-shirt over his head, kissing once more before Louis pulls away, returning to Eleanor to fit his hands to her breasts. She pulls him in with her arms around his shoulders and takes his upper lip in hers, sucking, lapping at him with her tongue. She imagines she can taste Harry now, can definitely smell Harry's cologne mingled with Louis' and she shudders against him, gasping a bit against his mouth when he rolls her nipples between his fingers. Louis's hands slide round to the back of her bra to unfasten it, and it's sweet, the release of the weight of her breasts, the cool air when he pushes her shirt and the straps down over her shoulders.
The light above them dims; Louis' mouth leaves hers with a sigh, and Eleanor knows before she opens her eyes that Harry's come up behind him, is probably pressing forward against him by the way he's now squeezing her breasts rhythmically in his hands. "So, how are we doing this?" she hears Harry ask, voice low, and she reaches up to take Louis' hands in hers.
"First, my mouth on you," she says to him, watching Louis' eyes go soft and heavy-lidded, returning his fond half-smile.
"Lead the way," he says, raising his eyebrows at her, and she grins fully, tugging him out of Harry's grasp, guiding him back toward the bed, until the back of his legs hit. Harry sits next to them, taking off his shirt, then rolls backward, seeking a vantage point that is both easy for view and access. She makes quick work of Louis' belt, button and fly, shimmying his trousers and pants down in one go and pushing him back to sit once they're at his knees; the two of them work them down off his feet and she kneels before him, hands on his waist and thumbs skimming his sides.
She nips at his stomach first, taking care to sweep her tongue across and into his navel and nuzzling through the patch of hair that trails down below it. She knows he loves it when her hair falls forward over his cock and balls, drapes over his thighs, and so she makes sure it does, moves one hand to his stomach as she kisses down to feel it cave in with each breath. Her chin bumps his erection and Louis goes still, anticipating either tease or release; she glances up at him, not yet sure which she'll do either. She can see Harry behind them on the bed, legs folded up at the headboard as he leans back on one elbow, watching her, but at her glance he gets back onto his hands and knees and crawls forward so that he can see both of them. "Go on," he prods her, straightening out so that he's prone on his stomach. "I want to see how you do it," he says, lips turned up at the corners.
Eleanor dips her head at that, parts her lips over the tip of Louis' cock and cups his balls with her free hand. There's a hissed intake of air from above her and she knows from experience that Louis has closed his eyes on the sight, tilting his head back as his legs unconsciously spread wider. She can take over half of him comfortably, and does so, sliding down and moving her hand from his balls to squeezing at the base of his cock and back again, letting her saliva wet the rest of his length as she bobs her head over him.
"Louis, tell me how it is," she hears Harry say suddenly, and Louis chokes on a gasp.
"You must be joking," he says with a hitch in his voice, and she moves the hand she has pressed against his stomach up to his nipple, pinching to get a strained "ah!" from him, before bringing it back down to focus on the part of his cock her mouth can't reach, his taint, his thighs.
"I'm not," Harry insists, his voice still pitched low, and Eleanor is amazed that merely kissing Louis seems to have given Harry all the confidence in the world. "Tell me what she does differently, tell me how you like it."
Louis' thighs are suddenly taut against her, as though he's closer to coming than he would ordinarily be, and Eleanor's surprised by the arousal she feels in response, that Harry's command could have such an immediate effect on Louis. She isn't sure if Harry and Louis do this sort of thing ordinarily - contrast and comparison - but it makes sense that they would; she just hadn't thought they could use it like this, together and in bed, fueling and driving each other on. "Uhhhhm," Louis says, fingers coming up to skim against Eleanor's cheekbone, then back to thread through her hair, "I like," she hears him swallow, "I like how she... god... touches me, everywhere, while she sucks me," and she squeezes his thigh beneath one hand, pulls off a bit to stroke more of his saliva-slick cock with the other. His hand fists in her hair, just for a moment, before releasing and withdrawing, letting it drape forward again. "I love her hair," Louis says, voice breaking. "Fuck, I love it, and the way her hand looks around me, and--"
"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmurs, while Eleanor twists her hand, pulling her mouth off of Louis entirely. She wanks him a couple of times, pulling the foreskin up and over with each upstroke, now that she can watch his face, flushed with lips parted. When she breaks gaze with him she sees that Harry's got his attention on her hand now, too, eyes dark and flitting between that and Louis' expression. He licks his lips and squirms slightly and Eleanor realises he's slowly pushing his hips into the mattress; she feels an echoing throb of desire. "Keep going," he urges, and she's not sure whether he's referring to her or Louis, but she bows her head over Louis again anyway, licks a droplet of pre-come from his slit and is rewarded with a shudder.
She licks a circle around the head, paints a stripe down the side and then back up the vein underneath before letting her mouth close over him, sucking harder now, not really willing to tease because she's pretty sure Harry's got that handled for the moment. She presses the flat of her tongue to the underside of Louis' cock, one hand moving faster against the base of him, and with the other, she continues palming his balls, only pausing to press her knuckles to his taint, pushing against him each time he rocks his hips up. "You're killing me, Harry," Louis breathes, "she's fucking amazing, you wouldn't even believe."
"Then why am I killing you?" Harry smiles. "Tell me," he repeats. "You like how her small hands are squeezing you, yeah? Like you think they'd be all gentle, and then she's just got this grip?"
"Oh, god, yeah," Louis agrees, thighs flexing beneath Eleanor's arms, as though he's trying to spread wider and hold her in at the same time. His hand finds its way into her hair again and this time he keeps the fist in, not tightly and not forcing her in any way, just doing it to feel it.
"Is she pushing a finger in the way I do? I can't tell from here," Harry wants to know, and Louis lets out a low groan, bucking slightly.
"No," he gasps, "she's just... rubbing, like,"
and Harry says, knowingly, "oh, yeah, you're so sensitive there, it's practically like getting at your prostate, isn't it, I know you love that,"
and Louis' fingernails scrape lightly over the top of Eleanor's head as he says, "yes, yes, oh," in a small, familiar voice, and Eleanor holds her head still, lets him thrust up into her mouth a few times with irregular rhythm as he comes, panting and then grunting and pulsing warm and bitter into the back of her mouth. She swallows quickly and draws her mouth off of him, letting him fall out with a small 'pop' sound as she sits back on her haunches and revels in the dazed look he gives her before letting himself fall backwards onto the bed.
"That was nice," Harry tells her, looking as aroused as she feels, and she was the one who'd just had Louis' cock in her mouth. "That was really nice," he says again, smiling as he licks his lips. "I want him now."
"I want her," Louis mumbles, still flat on his back.
"Right," Harry says, getting back up onto all fours. "So, you on the bed," he points at Eleanor, "I want Louis from behind, and," he reaches over and smacks Louis on the arm, "his mouth on you, El."
"I agree," Louis yells, and raises his arm clumsily in an approximation of a thumbs up.
Eleanor and Harry exchange grins as she rises, unzipping her skirt and pushing it and her pants off her hips. She's wet already, can smell it on herself and feels it in the looseness of her limbs as she steps out of the rest of her clothes and kicks them gently aside. Harry's less careful with his own trousers and pants, tossing them off the side of the bed before he coaxes Louis up and over, making room for Eleanor to climb onto the bed and shift over beneath Louis and between his arms.
"I'll get everything ready," Harry tells them, getting off the bed to reach for the nightstand where they keep condoms and lube, and Louis lowers his head to kiss Eleanor, "hmmm"s in a low voice into her mouth when he tastes himself on her tongue. He pulls back, dropping kisses to her jaw, nibbling her neck, then moving down to her breasts, his arse hitching higher into the air when he feels the bed sink again under Harry's weight. He's got his mouth around her nipple, suckling, when he jolts slightly.
He unlatches his mouth to say, "warn a guy, Styles," and Eleanor's eyes open to Harry pulling a face at her, tongue out and rolling his eyes. She giggles at him, covers her mouth with her hand.
"You knew it was coming," Harry reasons, waggling his lubed fingers in the air, then says, "budge up again," so Louis tilts his hips some more and goes back to Eleanor's breast. It's not long before Eleanor senses the shift between Louis playing idly with her and Louis' aroused attention; he huffs contented noises into her stomach as he trails kisses down from her breasts, slides his hands under the small of her back and hoists her up higher on the bed so that he can fit more comfortably between her thighs. She can't see what, exactly, Harry does then; whether he's got a finger pushed into Louis, or more, or anything, but whatever it is, Louis' head jerks up and a glassy look comes into his eyes, and he cants slightly to the side, mouth falling silently open for a moment.
She leans to follow him, tracking his gaze until it returns to her, then gives him a small smile, prompting him to chuckle at himself. "S'good?" she asks, and he nods, bites his lip a little.
"Yeah, s'good." He dips his head, then, and she can't help it; she holds her breath in anticipation, loves this, loves when he does this. Louis separates her with his fingers and traces his tongue up her folds, circles her clit with it, gently sucks her into his mouth and slides a finger inside of her as he does. Her eyes close on the sight and she breathes out, clenches her muscles around his finger.
"He's so tight, you know, El," Harry says, almost conversationally, and when she opens her eyes to glance up at him, his eyes are still focused on Louis' arse. "Have you ever done this to him? You really should, you should feel what it's like, he's so hot inside."
Louis' breath stutters against her as he adds another finger, curling them inside as he begins to thrust them, and she nods, "hmmm"s, licks her lips. Her hips tilt up to him and he goes back to licking her clit, broad strokes from lips to hood. When he makes a muffled sound against her, bumping her mound with his nose, Eleanor figures that's when Harry's adding another finger of his own. She's thought about doing it sometimes, about pushing in with her finger to see how Louis likes it - because of course she knows he likes it - but they've not talked about it and she wants him to still have special things with Harry, things he doesn't have with her. She's not sure the time to discuss it is now, when Louis' opinion just might be compromised and his fingers are curled inside her and his tongue, god, his tongue is pushing rhythmically against her clit. She'll ask about it later.
She grips his shoulder, squeezing, and bites back a moan when he adds a third finger. She can hear the wet sounds they're both making now, so heady with arousal, and when Louis flicks her clit with the tip of his tongue she doesn't hold back her cry of pleasure. She bucks into him as he licks her in earnest, and she is burning up all over. He anchors her, fingers beckoning and chin pushing against her and he moans, his rhythm slowing; she looks up to see Harry biting his lip over them, hands on Louis' hips as he sinks into him. Louis keeps his fingers inside, keeps thrusting them into her, and Eleanor's so close, but she can feel the tension in his shoulders now as he pushes back against Harry. He sucks her clit into his mouth, pistoning his fingers without much semblance of a rhythm, and the overstimulation does it for her, snaps a cable too-tightly wrought and she quivers, half gasping, half sobbing as she comes.
Louis moans and turns his head to rest his cheek on her hip, withdrawing his hand and helplessly mouthing at the sweat-damp skin of her thigh. She feels his breath stuttering out and now that he's not deliberately moving to pleasure her, Eleanor recognises how he's being shifted up against her with every one of Harry's thrusts. She cards her fingers through his hair, meeting Harry's gaze above him, and says, "tell me."
Harry still has his lower lip caught between his teeth, pupils blown, but he furrows his brow at her for a moment and his lips part in a questioning smile. He raises his eyebrows, then, and she gives him a small smile back. "Go on, what's he like inside?" she urges, and against her thigh, Louis groans.
"God, El, I'm gonna get hard again just from that," he mumbles.
"You'll wait," Harry says, just as she tells him, "you'll get your turn," and they glance at each other again and share a laugh. Harry licks his lips and looks down at himself; his eyes flicker over Louis' arse as he pushes in again, and says,
"He's so tight, I never think he can take me." Harry's voice is husky, practically breaking. "And he's always clenching," he adds, through his teeth, "because he likes to tease."
"You're describing how my arse feels to my girlfriend," Louis slurs, "and I'm the tease?" and Eleanor laughs, almost giddy with arousal and fondness, that they can carry on joking even like this. She's also enjoying this layer to Louis, who normally is only ever rendered speechless in sex, but with Harry prodding and pushing, Eleanor can hear the lust heavy in his voice, can hear him begin to unravel.
"He doesn't even really... like it like this," Harry adds, almost conversational but for the pauses between slow, steady thrusts. "I wanted it to last," he says, "but, the way he really likes it," and Harry lets go of Louis' hip to rub a thumb over his forehead, where a sheen of sweat is making his hairline frizz beneath his fringe, "is hard, and fast."
"Do it, yeah," Eleanor breathes before she can think about it, warmth spreading out from her belly at the thought. Louis makes a pained sound from deep in his chest, and she prods at him, petting his hair so that he raises his head to look at her. A flush is already spreading down his neck, his pupils huge and dark. "Is that what you want? You'd like Harry to fuck you," she catches her breath, "hard and fast? It's all right," she assures him quickly, because he seems to be searching her face for approval. "I want to see."
"Go on," she tells Harry, and he nods, bites his lip hard as he pulls out on a long stroke, then drives himself deeply into Louis in a quick motion. Louis groans like the sound has been torn from him, and his head drops back to Eleanor's thigh. Harry repeats the motion once more, then stays deep, snapping his hips shallowly, pistoning in a pace Eleanor knows well is driving for a quick orgasm, though whether for Louis or Harry, she's not sure. Louis' hands scrabble on the bedspread, questing for something to grab, and Eleanor curls the fingers of one hand into his, letting him squeeze; his elbows look close to buckling. He's moaning with nearly every one of Harry's rapid thrusts, a staccatto mewling sound, and she knows this feeling, this experience of being well and truly fucked.
"Harry," Louis whimpers, and the sound of it, the brokenness of his voice, sends an ache directly into the core of her. "Harry, please, I'm not gonna last--"
"'m close," Harry mutters, his fringe coming untucked from behind his ear, droplets of sweat dangling from a small cluster of hair. "El, I hope you're ready for this, he's so done," he says, gritting his teeth, shoulders hunching as his rhythm wavers. And she is ready, bewildered and throbbing and overwhelmed with fondness. She dips the fingers of her free hand into herself, slicking them, and circles her clit fast, already aroused enough to apply firm pressure.
"Yeah," she says, trying not to buck her hips and dislodge Louis' head. "Come for him, Harry," she breathes, and Harry stifles a moan from behind pursed lips, breathes out once, twice through his nose, pushing into Louis one last time. He tosses his head back, sweat beads sparkling as they fly through the air, and blows out a gust of air, composing himself for a moment before withdrawing.
It all happens quickly after that; Louis clambers up Eleanor's body, whispering, "fuck, fuck, I'm gonna be rubbish at this, I'm so sorry," accepting a condom from Harry, then clumsily tring to unwrap it with shaking hands. He tosses his head in frustration when Eleanor takes it gently from him.
"It's all right, darling," she tells him soothingly, and he clenches his hands into fists, breathing deeply as she unrolls the condom over him; then he's kissing her, bruising her lips against her teeth while she feels him guide himself into her. She can smell herself on him, taste herself, and they both groan when he's buried deep inside, because despite the intensity of tonight, it's like this every time, like coming home.
Louis breaks their kiss to press his mouth to her jaw, her temple, her eyelids, her jugular, panting as he rocks into her like he would climb inside if he could. The pace of her hand on her clit is just as frantic as his thrusts, and she can feel herself pulling taut, so close that if she could just get him to put his hands on her, she could get off in an instant. "I'm almost there," she whispers in his ear, turning her head to nip at the lobe. He nods, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, and his hands drop to grip her hips, bringing them up to meet his.
"Can I?" Harry's voice is quiet, but nearby, and Eleanor turns her head to see him sitting on the edge of the bed by her arm. He's still nude, still looks wrecked and sweaty from the sex with Louis. He reaches a hand out, uncertain, and Eleanor sees that he has it poised over her breast. She closes her eyes, almost embarrassed at the generosity of his gesture, and gives a short nod, already on her way to spiraling up when his hand closes over her, large and warm. He draws a finger over her nipple and she keens, tremors spreading, feels herself clenching around Louis, her back arching. Her thighs come closer together, wanting to hold Louis there forever. She hears him cry out, but for a moment she feels like she's underwater, sound all muffled, deprived of sensation because this once, it was almost too much.
Her eyes flutter open to meet Louis' and they stare at each other, wearing, she's sure, matching expressions of wonder, before Louis gives a massive shudder. He bursts into a giggle. "That," he says, eyes gone wide, "was one hell of an aftershock," and rolls off of her, still breathing hard.
She smiles over at him, then turns to face Harry. "Thanks," she says, and he shrugs a shoulder, giving her a half smile as if that was just something you do for a mate. She puts a questioning hand on his upper arm, trails it down gently to where his hand props himself up on the bed. He follows the path of her hand, then glances back up at her.
"I'm good," he says, nodding, and he seems it; he's not hard, though she reasons he wouldn't necessarily be, so soon, but he seems relaxed at any rate, comfortable.
"Come here, you," Louis says sleepily from her other side, and Harry gets on all fours, climbing over them to lay on Louis' other outstretched arm. Harry scoots down the bed enough to rest his head on Louis' chest, hair tucked under Louis' chin, and Louis strokes his fingers through both Harry's hair and Eleanor's, as though to calm himself as much as anything else.
He's dozing before long, fingers still entangled in their hair, and then Harry's asleep too, slack-jawed and snuffling into Louis' chest. Eleanor closes her eyes on the image of them and the irony that Harry'd started off as the one feeling excluded in all this, when she's the one who feels lucky right now. She's going to owe Harry one, she thinks, as she slowly slips into slumber.
Maybe tomorrow night.
**
END
