based off of this prompt: Louis gives a teacher a blow job at his school, his parents find out and decide to ship him off to a conservative Private School far away. There he meets Harry, who is incredibly innocent and doesn’t really understand the concept of sex. Louis makes it his mission to pop Harry’s cherry, and turn him into a cock!slut. He falls for Harry in the process. (last part is optional.) Louis is 17 and Harry has just turned 15.
rating: mature [future chapters]
The alarm on Louis’ phone rings uselessly on the side table next to his bed. He’s been awake for nearly an hour, too anxious to sleep, too nervous to get out of his warm bed.
He’s excited for today, though, it might not be for the reason he’s supposed to be. He’s not eager to practice his writing skills in AP English, or run around in circles for phys ed, or even - surprisingly - sit through an entire hour of trig. His reason was simple. Curly hair, dark lips, long torso. Like some sort of fucking fantasy.
He showers and gets ready as fast as he can, rushing to put on his uniform so he has the rest of the time to perfect his hair. It’s a routine he’s been used to for the past few years, though it’s different now because after he’s done, he’s not going downstairs to eat his mum’s home cooked breakfast.
His newfound group of friends meet up in the cafeteria at about 6:45, and despite the fact he’d gotten up at an ungodly hour, he still ends up being the last one there. All four are squished into a small table near the back corner, Harry pressed against the wall, head pillowed on his hair as he blindly sips on his coffee.
“Morning, Lou!” Niall greets him through a mouthful of food. Louis makes a disgusted face but smiles anyways, waving back.
“Morning,” he says gingerly.
“Nice braces,” Zayn comments apathetically.
Louis pulls on his navy blue braces playfully, grinning widely. “Thanks,” he says setting his tray down on the table. “Didn’t even know these were an option until I opened up my bags this morning. Mum must’ve figured.”
Harry sits up suddenly, like he’s just been woken up from a dream. He blinks lazily at them until his eyes focus on Louis. “Hi,” he croaks, eyes suddenly wide, more alert.
“Hi,” he bites into his toast, still watching the younger lad as he sits up, nearly choking on his food when he notices his uniform. “I like your bowtie.”
Harry stares at him, says nothing. “We all try and keep our uniforms as diverse as possible. Harry goes with the classic bowtie and blazer combo,” Liam tells him, observing his friend quickly.
“I think it suits him,” Niall says behind his copy of Dracula. A page of messy, half-assed notes are laid next to his plate, a few drops of something pink and sticky splattered on them.
“It doesn’t matter to him if it suits him. Girls just about drool over it, for Christ’s sake,” Zayn argues, flicking the bowtie and pulling lazily at it.
Harry rolls his eyes, sweeping his curls to the side. “Fuck off,” he mutters in a scratchy voice, swallowing more coffee. The topic ends abruptly after that, but Louis is left wondering if Harry really cares what the girls think.
When they leave for homeroom Harry’s hand brushes against his and he feels an overpowering need to curl his fingers around his. Harry looks at him, stares at his mouth and bites his lip briefly. Louis can’t get it off his mind.
It’s hardly noon and Louis has already decided that he hates every person at his fucking school. Niall was not kidding when he said they had classes together; in fact, they shared just about every one. By fifth period, Louis is actually proud of himself knowing he hadn’t strangled the Irish lad.
“Have you read Dracula before? Mind telling me how it ends?”
“Louis, what does this word mean?”
“Louis, have you got anythin’ to eat?”
His eyes scan the slightly ripped schedule in his hands, avoiding being knocked over by forcefully pushing his way through the tight crowds of people. He’s got sociology now, room 235, which - because he’s just that lucky - is on the opposite side of the school.
He picks up his pace, already planning out his “I’m new and didn’t know where to go” spiel he’d pulled in almost every class that day, even though he did. He’s headed down a familiar hallway when the bell rings, loud and unusually long like it’s mocking him.
Louis groans, continuing further into the nearly deserted hallway and adjusting the elastic fabric of one of his suspenders. He finds it quickly, the last room to the left, and opens the door to immediately notice about twenty pairs of eyes on him, looking at him questioningly. New meat, and all that. He only notices one pair though, large and green and staring at him like maybe he’s just a figment of his imagination.
Louis shifts his eyes, blinking stupidly before noticing the looming presence standing beside him. “I take it you’re the new student,” The man next to him is tall and skinny, with puffy white hair and rounded glasses far too big for his face.
“That’s me,” Louis says, hooking a thumb around the strap of his bag.
“Last name?” he asks, holding up his clipboard and flipping through various sheets before finding his seating chart.
He marks something with a thin black Sharpie, glances somewhere ahead of him. “Back left corner, next to Styles,” he murmurs, looking up at him over his thin wired glasses. “Curly haired lad. He’s a quiet boy, don’t take it personally.”
Louis’ mouth quirks up into a smile. Styles, like - Harry Styles.
Harry looks small in his seat, his eyes warily watching him as he walks towards his table. Louis takes him in, his dark loose curls framing his face perfectly, a wonderously pouty red lip sucked concentratedly into his mouth. The older boy smiles fleetingly before fitting snugly in the seat next to him. Harry barely manages to grin before turning forward and keeping his head pointed toward the chalk board.
For a moment Louis feels as though he’s gone crazy. The boy is ignoring him completely, either completely having forgotten who he was in a matter of hours, or for some unknown reason, has already started disliking him. Which is - really, quite hard to think about.
Harry’s writing his notes, eyebrows furrowed like he’s focusing but eyes looking like his mind is elsewhere. Louis’ eyes flicker up when a small crack sounds and the younger boy frowns, turning and pausing for a moment, like he’s debating whether or not to speak.
“Louis,” He whispers finally. Louis looks at him, tries to avoid his lips. “You don’t happen to have another pencil, do you?”
“No,” the older boy whispers back. “It’s my first day so naturally I’ve come completely unprepared.”
He’s already reaching into his bag though, ruining his joke, and fishes out an array of pencils (regular and mechanical, because he decided to go all out this year).
Harry smiles at him and it’s the prettiest thing Louis’ ever seen. “Got anything else in there?”
Louis laughs, happy that he’s talking to him. “For a price.” He replies.
“How much for, uhm (though it sounds more like, oohm), just one pencil?” The younger lad asks, aiming a long finger to an unused orange one.
Louis makes a face like he’s thinking it over. “Well, normally, it’d cost you a tiny piece of your soul - these things sell fast, you know,” Harry laughs, trying to stay quiet. “But I guess ‘cause you’ve been nice and all I’ll give you one for free.”
Harry smiles, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m a giver.”
Tuesday, Harry’s all out of notebook paper. When Louis gives him a piece, their fingers brush noticeably, clumsily. He acts casual about it, like it doesn’t give him butterflies.
On Wednesday there are still only four seats around the bonfire and Louis pulls Harry into his lap when he gets there last. He smells amazing, his curls fresh and bouncy against his cheek, and Louis hopes he comes off as friendly rather than overbearing. Harry ignores the voice in his head telling him how perfect Louis and him fit together.
Thursday, the t-shirt under Harry’s blazer is incredibly tight and it leaves Louis’ mouth dry, trying hopelessly to ignore the deep V. Harry notices the way his eyes linger and he counts it payback for his incredibly tight trousers.
Friday afternoon, Louis jolts abruptly when the teacher calls on him, not realizing until that moment that he’d been staring blatantly at Harry, obsessing over the curve of his jaw.
“- a simple question, really, Mr. Tomlinson.”
“Sorry?” Louis asks, blinking.
“What was Durkheim’s theory of social organization?” The teacher asks again. People have turned in their seats to look at him, sniggering.
Louis swallows, seemingly frozen. “I - uh, just. Hold on, would you?” He goes to look through his notes, noticing grimly that it was all just chicken scratch, lots of doodles of kittens and aliens and tic-tac-toe matches between him and Harry. “Well,” he glances up to see the older man staring impatiently at him. Harry smirks evilly and Louis notices, pinching his thigh through his trousers, causing the younger boy to squirm (his face reddens madly, only Louis can’t see it).
“Don’t bother,” the older man says. “Pay attention next time, won’t you?”
“Right.” Louis is embarrassed, less because he’d just been scolded by his (very possibly pedophile of a professor) and more because of the possibility he’d been caught staring. At Harry.
The curly haired boy smiles cheekily at him, nudging Louis’ side teasingly. “He got you well, didn’t he?” He says in a hushed tone, his voice raspy as usual. Louis shivers. “Better get out of class quick or he might make you stay behind, give you a spanking.”
Louis makes a face, the thought of it actually settling into his brain before he quickly reaches out and grabs Harry’s nipple, twisting it through the fabric of his shirt.
Louis turns in his seat, ducking down like he’d been focused on his notes. The professor turns around, glaring harshly at the sophomore and holding a finger over his lips and quickly shushing him.
When he turns back to the board, Louis turns to face Harry. “So, we’re all going out to the bonfire tonight, right?”
“Of course we are. We meet their nearly every day, idiot.”
“I was just checking. Didn’t want to leave my liquor sitting around for too long. It’s getting dusty.” The words are whispered in Harry’s ear.
The younger boy’s fingers tighten around his pencil. “You’re serious?” he asks. Louis nods. “Thank fucking God, mate.”
Louis grins, trying to act, you know - casual. In reality, his heart is racing. He’s excited for tonight. There’ll be alcohol and noise and laughter and Harry and he was happy about it, he’d thought about the boy nearly every second of the day, including a few various daydreams he wasn’t particularly proud of, and he figured it nearly time something happened.
Being out of the closet, Louis had no problem saying Harry was hot. Actually, no—scratch that. Whatever adjective you’d use when you want to fuck someone into oblivion, is the word he’d use to describe him.
Boys like Harry didn’t exist in Doncaster. They especially didn’t exist in navy blue school blazers and tight, low-rise trousers. Harry was like an entirely different species of boy to Louis. The urge to reach out and run his fingers through his dark curls every minute he was with him physically overwhelmed him, soft and fresh smelling as they were.
Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the younger boy looking at his arse sometimes, or fixing his hair frantically when he’d see Louis entering the room. He liked it, knowing he had Harry’s attention. He liked knowing if he made a dirty comment or pinched his bum, he’d turn a shade of red he’d never seen before.
He liked knowing if he were to bend over to pick up a paper in front of him, Harry’d be left stuttering for the next five minutes. He liked his innocence and bashful personality, like you’d only get to see him smile if he really liked you (because he always smiled with Louis). Most of all, he liked knowing that he just liked Harry so much, after only five short days. It makes him wonder what else there is to come.
Yay! I redid this chapter completely and I’m glad I did, cause the first copy left feelings very vague and it was just confusing. Ok. Let me know if you guys like it!