home is wherever i’m with you; chapter 5.

[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4]

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.

words: 3877

rating: mature

Harry wakes up Saturday morning, aching and drowsy and cursing at his ‘stupid fucking alarm clock’ to shut the hell up. His eyes are blurry and feel constricted, like there’s saran wrap around them. He blinks against the light glaring at him through his blinds, attempting to move, but gives up quickly, opting to just lay there for a while instead. 

He thinks that to himself maybe he could use another hour of sleep anyways. It’s not like he has to go anywhere. But then, oh, he’s definitely about to throw up and yeah - he should probably get up like now.

He throws his duvet over his bare legs and scrambles out of bed, nearly falling on his arse as he slips on a pair of discarded jeans. His room is small, the bathroom is much smaller, but it’s convenient at the moment because he doesn’t have to run much further before he’s clutching onto the toilet, retching up anything left in his stomach (which is basically just alcohol and maybe the bagel he had for lunch yesterday). 

He leans back against the glass door of his shower, covers his face in an attempt to block out any light peaking at him from under his door.

“Never drinking that much again,” he mutters to himself, knowing full well it was a lie.

From his spot on the cool tile floor, huddled in the corner like he’s some sort of fugitive, he can hear his cell phone vibrating loudly against the hard surface of his wood floor. He sighs heavily. The last thing he wants to do is actually move, but he does it anyways because he knows it’s probably Liam, and he wouldn’t stop calling until he gets an answer. Something stops him though, when he gets up to leave.

He does a double take at the mirror, eyes widening, and flicks on the light switch. His reflection is something, well, gross. His skin is sickly pale, his eyes are bloodshot with heavy bags beneath them, his curls are matted and dirty looking - like they literally have dirt in them (did he fall?), and his lips are chapped and dry and just ew.

But that’s not what stops him in his tracks. What stops him is high on his throat, angry and dark and unmistakable. He lifts his fingers to lightly brush the mark, wincing at the sensitivity of it. He runs one finger down the purpley-pink edge, distinctly remembering what it felt like when Louis’ hot tongue ran over it, laving and sucking at the spot like he was a piece of candy. The memory makes it hard to remember what he’d been doing before hand, only snapping back to reality when his phone goes off again.

It’s Liam, of course, but he chooses to ignore it this time because he needs to think. About…things.

One, Louis is gay.

Two, they had kissed.

And three, he had really, really liked it.

He wonders vaguely what Louis thought of the kiss, if he even remembered it at all. Louis had been out of the closet since grade nine, nearly four years now. What if kissing him had been like, well—just a kiss? What if he didn’t share every overwhelming, confusing emotion that Harry was experiencing now? What if the kiss was just another dare, like trying to drunkenly cartwheel or eating a fucking mushroom? He thinks it might actually break him if Louis didn’t feel anything from the kiss; because Harry did and it was amazing. He’d never felt that way with anyone, not a girl, not a boy, and especially not with one of his friends.

His phone buzzes, but only once, and it’s a text from Liam. meet us in the caf. (Us?)

Who else is there? Harry asks, making about 10 typos as his thumbs clumsily try to reply.

lou, Liam replies simply. Harry’s heart flutters, embarrassingly enough. His phone goes off in his hand. Come quick, curly. I miss you. xx It says, and even though he doesn’t sign it, he knows who sent that one. that was lou, not me.

Be there soon… Harry shucks off his boxers and showers with thoughts of Lou still fresh in his mind. 


Harry manages to shower in 10 minutes (would’ve been shorter if not for the much needed wank) and dresses in a thick grey jumper, jeans, and his worn out white Converse. His breath is minty fresh, he brushed, flossed, and nearly choked from so much mouthwash.

Mates from his classes wave at him, punch his arm playfully. ‘No fuckin’ way, Styles. I can hardly believe it.’

Harry would blush, tell them to bugger off, and continue on his way, until he’d reach the wide cafeteria at the opposite end of the building. It must’ve been noticeable, his hickey. Everyone was doing double takes at his neck, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise.

Harry was well known, though quiet. Cheeky, but altogether very innocent. Good looking, but not conceitedly so. Harry walking around with a noticeable hangover and a matching love bite wasn’t something to be expected.

He sees Liam wave at him across the room, sitting against the wall with his cell phone in hand, like usual. 

Louis turns to look at him from over his shoulder, a wide grin forming on his face. He’s got on a blue beanie, which covers most of his hair besides the feathery strands splayed on his forehead. He’s wearing an unzipped sweatshirt with only the strings tied, Toms (of course) and plain black joggers, which looked as if they were made for mornings like this.

Louis waves (more like a wiggle of his fingers) and Harry gives a tight smile that says, ‘hangovers fucking suck, I need coffee.’

Well. That’s what he meant for it to say.

“Morning, Hazza,” Louis’ eyes move from his green ones to the bruise on his neck, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That looks pretty painful, mate.”

Louis’ eating strawberries with sugar, popping them into his mouth and chewing them slowly, cheeky smirk still evident on his face. Harry sits in the seat beside the older lad, nodding. “Believe me, it is.”

“You should tell whoever gave it to you to be a bit more considerate next time,” he licks his lips (his tongue looks so pink). “It’s pretty fucking flashy, if you ask me.”

“I would if I could remember the girls name,” Harry says seriously. “Can hardly remember anything about last night, to be honest.” Louis’ head turns quickly to look at him, his confusion clearly evident on his face. “She was hot, though.”

“Ah, yes,” Louis says, biting his lip to suppress a smile. “There were so many girls there, last night. Weren’t there?”

The rest of breakfast is spent with mindless chatter and bad jokes, Harry occasionally picking fruit off of Louis’ plate and Louis sharing sips of coffee with Harry (even though he doesn’t really like coffee). Harry decides that the fact Louis doesn’t mind sharing his food is a definite bonus, because the other boys were so touchy about it.

The kitchen will be closing soon, and most people have left, including Liam who’d gone to meet Danielle. They’re about to leave too, maybe go wander around, when Zayn and Niall came trudging into the nearly empty room.

“Shit, Zayn,” Niall mutters angrily. “I told you—I told you, kitchen closes at 11, and what did you say? ’Mate, that’s a myth, they’ll stay open all day, I need to brush my teeth, and shower, and gel my hair, and try on sixty different outfts!’” 

Zayn walks slowly behind the blonde boy, listening to his rambling with a calm expression. He notices Louis and Harry sitting the corner watching him and rolls his eyes.

Niall has disappeared, probably begging the chefs to make him something, and Zayn joins them. “Jesus, he’s feisty when he’s hungry.”

Harry nods in agreement. “It’s true.”

“So, what are we up to today?” Zayn asks.

“I was thinking…nothing?” Harry replies, eyebrows raising like his suggestion is a great one. “Maybe just like…lay around and watch a movie, perhaps? We all know you’ve got that new flat screen, Zayn. Haven’t the shut up the fuck about it.”  

Zayn raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t respond to the curly haired boys quip. “Sounds perfect, mate.”

Niall noisily opens the metal door of the kitchen, holding a plate of French toast and bacon like it was a fucking trophy. “Yeah buddy!” He exclaims, holding out his arms, orange juice sloshing out over the sides.

“Oi, Harry…” Louis says quietly, fingers grazing his arm. “I’ve got your jumper, in my room, if you want it back.” And really, it could wait ‘til later, but any chance to be with Louis was one Harry would take.

“’Course,” Harry says, nodding. They get up from their chairs the moment Niall sits down. “We’re gonna go do something real quick, we’ll meet in your dorm, yeah?” 

Zayn nods slowly, and just as he’s about to turn around and leave, his eyes drift to Harry’s neck and he’s smirking, no - beaming, throwing his head back in laughter.

Harry ignores it, dragging Louis by the wrist so he stumbles behind him. He knows Louis is smiling too.


Harry likes Louis’ dorm.

It’s warm, and smells like him, with pictures lining the walls in unorganized patterns. His bed hasn’t been made since he got there, and he still has open suitcases on his floor. He thinks to himself, one day, he should help him unpack. 

His purple jumper is folded on his bed, looking clean and new. Harry wonders the last time he actually washed the thing. 

Louis picks it up, walks closer to Harry so that it’s the only thing between them. “Doesn’t smell like you anymore…but I figured it’s better this way considering, you know, Niall threw up on me.” Harry tries not to smile at the thought, remembering the affronted look on Louis’ face as it happened.

“Oh, right.”

“Funny, you know,” says Louis, tilting his head. “That you wake up this morning with a lovebite you don’t remember getting…” he unties the strings of his sweatshirt, pulling it to the side. “And so did I.” Harry’s eyes travel to his throat, a bruise nearly identical to Harry’s planted on the bottom of his neck.

Harry feels like someone kicked him in the stomach. “Who gave you that?” He asks seriously. Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Seriously, Lou, who did you -” He doesn’t finish, though, as he’s quickly slammed against the wall. Louis’ arms are braced on either side of his head.

“You did, you dolt.” The words are whispered quietly in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. His mind feels foggy, unprepared when Louis grabs his face and bites down into the junction between his neck and his shoulder, sucking shortly. When he finishes, he doesn’t move back, just stands up straighter, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

Harry just stands there frozen, mouth hanging open dumbly, staring at the older boy. “When did I - when did that even happen?”

Louis hums. “Well, you were basically gone when it happened,” he looks up like he’s thinking, playing with his lips like he always does. “Stumbling everywhere, laughing like mad at nothing—you almost fell asleep while we were walking at one point. I was getting you back to your dorm, trying to get you in bed, and you just pinned me to your wall and started sucking on my neck like a leach.”

Harry blushes deeply. “Why didn’t you—stop me?”

“Cause I didn’t want you to stop,” the older boy says simply. “But don’t worry, we’re even now.”

Harry’s head juts back. “Er—no. Now I have two and you’ve only got one.”

“Yes but mine’s much worse than yours,” Louis says. “I did it quickly, at least. You just kept going.” Harry opens his mouth as if to protest, but stops himself. “Plus, love bites are a challenge. I couldn’t just let you give me one.”

“You make it sound like it’s some kind of game.”

Louis shrugs. “I suppose it is.”


So it becomes a game.

The entire week in one spent of waiting. Louis waits for moments where Harry is focused on something, like when he’s watching TV or concentrating on his homework. Sometimes he’ll do it if they’re walking and his eyes are focused down on his shoes or his nails.

He’ll grab onto Harry’s shoulders and bite into his neck, waiting until he hears the familiar squeak of pain to pull away, knowing it should begin bruising soon.  

Harry has to be more careful, because Louis’ reflexes are much faster than his. So, generally, he has to sneak up on him. He’ll pop out from behind a doorway, or grab him from behind so he has no way to pull away in time.

Louis’ winning the game, naturally, because he’s Louis and he wins everything. But Harry doesn’t really care that he’s winning, because every bruise he leaves is just another time Louis’ lips are pressed against him, even if it’s not the way he quite wants.

It isn’t until Friday things change.

They’ve both decide sociology is boring, so, ‘let’s just skip, yeah?

They’re meeting up on the hill out back after the bell rings, but Louis would leave first so it doesn’t look suspicious. He’s sitting cross legged with his back turned to Harry when he leaves the building, and for Harry, it looks like the perfect opportunity for him to get back at Louis for a particularly nasty bruise near his ear.

He moves quietly, trying to skip over any leaves or twigs that could give him away. When he reaches Louis’ spot on the grass, he crouches slightly, preparing to grab him by the shoulders, but Louis whips around, grabbing Harry’s wrist and yanking him to the ground. Harry yelps, taken completely by surprise, and Louis laughs as he rolls them over, pinning Harry’s arms above his head.

Jesus, Lou!” Harry nearly screams. His face is flushed and he can feel himself blushing because Louis’ face is seriously close to his, his body pressed against him in places friends shouldn’t be. “What the fuck!”

“If you were a lion, you’d fucking starve mate,” the other boy laughs.

Harry scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re shit at sneaking up on people.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry says, chest heaving. Suddenly his face changes to something hurt. “Fine, whatever. Get off me, then.” He avoids Louis’ eyes as he keeps his arms cautiously by his side, like he’s paralyzed. Louis searches his face, pushing himself up when nothing else is said. He holds out a hand for Harry to take and he grabs hold, hauling him upward.

Louis looks guilty. “Sorry, I wasn’t making fun. Well…I was, but, -”

“Louis?” Harry says seriously, interrupting his poorly given apology and turning so they were facing each other.

“Yes?” Louis says after a moment, suddenly nervous.

“I…” He trails off, licking his lips. Time seems frozen. He can practically hear Louis’ heart beating in anticipation. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something important, and then he’s moving quickly; so quickly Louis is taken aback. What the fuck was he -

Ow - shit, Harry!” He shrieks, squirming out of Harry’s tight grasp, hand covering his neck protectively. It’s warm and covered in Harry’s spit and he can feel the shallow indentation of bite marks lining the already forming bruise. “Jesus, - the goal of the game is to leave a bruise, Haz, not rip the bloody tendons out of my neck!”

Harry is laughing guiltily, moving his face into the crook of Louis’ neck. “Sorry,” he chuckles, the apology muffled by his hair. Louis doesn’t reply, can’t reply, as Harry’s lips start moving again. This time though, there are no teeth.

His lips close around the mark, like he can kiss it better. Louis chokes on a breath, fingers tightening on Harry’s sleeves as his tongue presses flat against him. “Oh…”

Harry doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He just…smells so good and his skin feels so smooth. He stops, just staying there, with his face resting against Louis’ shoulder. “Sorry,” Louis moves backwards, shaking his head.

“No, I - don’t apologize.” They’re both breathing heavily, partly from having just been rolling around like animals and partly, mostly, from the lack of space between their faces. His hand cups the back of Harry’s neck and he pulls him in, pressing their lips together.

Just like the first time, Harry’s lips move willingly under Louis’. He likes the way Louis kisses him, like he’s trying to inhale him. Both of his hands are cupping his cheeks now, tilting his head back so Harry has no chance of being in control. His hands move to his chest, clutching onto the fabric of Louis’ shirt.

Louis is leading them backwards, once again the person remembering they were out in the open. Harry is tripping over his feet, holding onto to Louis like he was afraid he’d stray too far. They part once they enter the familiar circle of trees, feeling comforted by the privacy of it.

Harry’s sitting in his usual seat, Louis straddling his lap—exactly as they were last Friday. Except this time, Harry’s hands are placed securely on his lower back, and when Louis can’t help himself any longer, he starts grinding against Harry’s thigh in long, slow intervals. Louis’ fingers glide lightly against his stomach, down his thigh and back up, grazing over his crotch. Shit. Oh shit, he was hard.

“Harry,” the smaller boy breathes, moving his lips from Harry’s and over to his ear. “Is it true what Zayn said? That you’ve never done anything - you know, done anything with another person?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit

Harry clears his throat, eyes shifting so they look somewhere over Louis’ shoulder. “Yeah, ‘s true.” He mumbles, stuttering like a ten year old with stage fright.

Louis is quiet for a moment, nibbling on the lobe of his ear. “Do you want to?”

Harry thinks he might’ve misheard, though he knows he didn’t. “What?” he squeaks nervously.

Louis says nothing, not bothering to repeat himself. He palms at Harry’s extremely obvious erection, squeezing roughly. Harry gasps, toes curling as he locks eyes with the older boy.

“I don’t know—” he croaks, heart beating so insanely fast he’s worried he might do something to embarrass himself. It’s then he realizes Louis is already unbuttoning his jeans.

“Well I do know,” Louis whispers. “Neither of us are that dense. Want you.” He mutters hotly into the curly headed boys ear. He yanks harshly on Harry’s jeans so they’re around his knees, moves off his lap to the space between his legs and tugs harder so they’re around his ankles. Fuck, Louis thinks impatiently, his jeans are tight.

“Shit, oh my God,” the younger boy whispers desperately. Louis’ fingers move under the elastic of his boxers, sliding them all the way down so they pile on top of his jeans. Louis’ eyes widen noticeably, not expecting—well, that.

“Wow, you, okay -” He stutters, moving forward on his knees as if he were trying to get a better view. “You’re like - big. Quite big.” He whispers, wrapping his fingers around the length of him. His other hand moves to the inside of Harry’s thigh, pressing his fingers down in a way that makes Harry whimper pathetically.

Louis moves his thumb to the head of his cock, attempting to gather any precome so it isn’t completely terrible. He sighs like he’s frustrated.

Louis moves his hand away and Harry thinks he might burst into tears because what if he didn’t want to anymore? Louis breathes heavily into his hand, like he’s trying to heat it up, and spits, moving his hand back quickly to the where it was before. His hand moves in slow, dragging movements and fuckfuckfuckfuck he doesn’t think he can do this. Harry closes his eyes, desperately searching deep within himself for like, an ounce of self-control. His hands grip the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turn white, bracing himself as he knows this has just started.

Louis looks at the boy’s distressed state, smirking up at him even though Harry can’t see him with his eyes closed. He lowers his head, placing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the top of dick. His hand has stopped moving, not wanting this to end that quickly.

Harry’s fingers move without him realizing and thread through Louis’ soft hair. He opens his eyes, deciding he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this. Louis leans forward again, licking the flat of his tongue against the front of Harry’s cock, sucking the head completely into his mouth when he reached the top.

Oh,” he pants, hips canting forward without much thought. Louis sucks hard, cheeks hollowing beautifully, his fist moving wonderfully up and down what he can’t reach, tongue swirling around what he can. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lou, I’m, I can’t -”

Louis’ fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his thigh, incredibly turned on by the little noises he was making. His head bobs up and down generously, trying to reach as much as he can of the boy, short breaths puffing out of his nose.

“Louis—I’m, I’m gonna c-come,” his fist tightens in Louis’ hair, trying to tug him backwards. “I’m going to come,” but he doesn’t budge, sucking determinedly on the head of his cock instead. It was becoming difficult to keep anything at a certain pace when Harry’s hips were bucking crazy like they were. 

Harry’s hips stop suddenly, jut forward, stop again; he moans, eyes squeezing shut. All he can see is white, moaning brokenly as Louis withholds an incredible suction the entire way through.

When his eyes finally open, he can see Louis swallowing, licking his lips like he wants seconds. The smaller boy crawls into his lap, kissing him thoroughly, letting him taste himself. 

“How was that?” He mutters between kisses, moving roughly against his leg. Harry just nods stupidly, gripping Louis’ face to kiss him back, tongues colliding and twirling around each other. Harry’s hand moves as if to readjust his jeans and brushes against the bulge in Louis’ jeans.

“What - do I have to do?” Harry asks against the other boys lips.

“Not much, really,” Louis mutters, pecking his lips. Harry says nothing. It’s so quiet he’s afraid to even whisper. “Just…stay put, really.”

He seems to get it, lifting his leg ever so slightly. Louis moans delightedly as he grinds down on his thigh, rolling his hips. His eyes are closed, lips red and parted, panting quiet expletives.

Harry watches the boy, watches how his face changes and his eyelashes flutter and mouth opens wider in a silent moan. He’s coming, Harry can feel it through his trousers, the warmth that spreads. Louis keeps rocking until he’s done, kissing him again.

After a moment of just breathing really, Harry speaks. “You win.” He says.

Louis narrows his eyes at the younger boy. “What?” he asks breathlessly.

“You definitely win this game, the whole sneaking up on me thing. I suck.”

Louis laughs, shifts so he’s got his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist. “Well, you know. Technically I suck.” 

Harry grins, looking up at the older boy. His hair is mussed perfectly and the sun is hitting his face and it’s like he’s glowing. He ignores the voice in the back of his head, the one asking what the fuck had just happened, the one telling him that he and Louis should talk about this.

He ignores it and kisses Louis instead, deciding that seems like a way better decision, anyways.


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