"How many more times are you gonna to make me come tonight?" Harry asked later, as they lay on their backs, side by side, sweating and panting.
"Oh, at least three more. Once or twice is never enough."
Louis was considerate enough to give Harry ten minutes before he started again. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Harry's cock almost choking him as Harry thrust deeply into his mouth. He wanted it without anything held back—he wanted it raw and feral. He knew Harry would want it just as much. He always did. Underneath all that apparent innocence, Harry had a hidden, insanely wild side. Louis had seen it a little bit at a time, here and there, shaping into something that happened more and more often. What he keenly desired though, was for Harry to cut loose completely. He trusted Harry with it. He knew there was more that was possible between them. And he wanted to do it all. The thing was, he also had to be sure Harry trusted him enough. He was ninety-nine percent sure, but nudging Harry over the line to thoroughly unbridled passion – well, he had to be sure it wouldn't trip Harry out.
Licking into Harry's slit, the tang of his pre-come on his tongue, Louis realized that even though they'd sucked each other a few times already tonight, that pre-come was the proof that he was breaking through the barrier. It told him all he needed to know. It told him Harry was still horny as hell when Louis approached him sexually. You didn't still leak pre-come after climaxing a few times unless you were really into it.
Earlier, there had been a deafening clap of thunder directly after lightning had lit up the cabin as if it were daylight, and Harry had grabbed the binoculars. He was worried, Louis knew, that the horses could have been struck by the lightning. It was completely dark out there now, and of course he couldn't see a thing. Regardless, Harry had thrown on his jeans that were crumpled in a heap on the floor, and had scampered out the door before Louis had a chance to even ask him what he thought he was doing in the pitch dark, in the middle of a storm.
Damn! Always chasing after Harry!
Of course Louis threw on his own jeans and followed. When Louis caught up with him, Harry looked just about stricken, his expression desperate as he swung around to face Louis.
"The horses! Joaquin and Saber! Mystic Thunder and the others!"
"Harry, chances are they didn't get hit. It does happen—I won't say it doesn't, but it's rare. I'm sure they're fine."
Harry buried his face in Louis' shoulder. "I'm worried." Louis smoothed his hand over Harry's hair, threading his fingers into the thick waves, closing his eyes to enjoy the silkiness.
"I know. But there's nothin' we can do. You'll see in the mornin' that they're fine. I know Joaquin and Saber are under rock ledges or sommat, and the mustangs deal with this on a regular basis. Come on, it's too dark to see anythin' anyway. Let's go back inside."
The rain was beginning to come down harder, and Louis encouraged Harry back into the cabin, nudging him along.
Harry apparently had realized Louis was right, and there was nothing they could do, so, once inside, he had surrendered and let Louis hold him close. It had taken a while for Harry to settle, but Louis watched his face in the weakly flickering firelight, and he saw the precise moment it dawned on the younger man that they might as well enjoy each other instead of stumbling around blindly in the dark out there when it would do no good anyway.
The affection was sweet and undemanding. Louis resolved himself to letting Harry decide if and when they would take it further. It became clear that Harry's ardor hadn't diminished when he resumed his incessant, coquettish flirting. They hadn't done anything sexual yet, aside from earlier, and Louis made certain he didn't bulldoze Harry by being dominating. Most of the time, Harry seemed to require a certain amount of affection before they got into the sex part.
Harry's hand had begun to rub Louis' thigh that was nearest him. It began to creep higher and higher, and Louis raised his eyebrows when their eyes met. Harry knew that the raised-eyebrow thing meant something like, "Well, well, how about that?" Louis returned the gesture and began to stroke the inside of Harry's thigh now, still clad in jeans, and Louis tried to maintain a low profile, hold himself back, and not jump on him right away. It wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done. Harry's hand continued to inch up until Harry had found his sex and began rubbing circles over the tip until Louis began to leak, desperate to grab his own cock and jerk himself off right then and there.
Harry backed off and laid back on the bed, his hair a dark halo around his head. Shirtless, with his jeans still on, he was an advertisement for sex. Hot, sweaty, sultry sex. The kind of sex that lasts all night, and did he realize it? No, Harry still didn't have any concept of how appealing he was- how he made Louis' blood run unbearably hot, until it burned, how he teased Louis with only a smile or a slight shift of his body that Louis ate up with his eyes, hoping Harry would touch him, kiss him, ease the ache.
Harry held out his arms to Louis, and there was so much sweetness in it that Louis could hardly fucking stand it. Harry had him—in all ways, and there was no way in hell he'd escape it now. How many times had just looking at Harry almost broken him?
Louis eased himself on top of Harry, moving carefully and slowly, aligning their erections inside their jeans, until they were brushing against each other, then rubbing their pelvises, and finally, rutting against each other. It felt so damn good. Harry was all gasps and tiny noises. The noises that made Louis feel like Harry had his life in his hands. And actually he did, because, surely, Harry could kill him with desire. The little things Harry did . . . Louis felt like he'd never get used to any of it. He cherished it all. Harry kissing and nibbling his neck, sucking at it, caressing his skin, leaving an itching hunger everywhere he touched, gazing at Louis, his eyes pleading and unimpeachable.
Harry's hair was a spill of dark ink on the white sheets and Louis had to bury his hands in it, couldn't keep from it, running his fingers to the ends, remembering how it felt against his naked skin.
"Get on your back and take off your clothes," ordered Harry. The quiet demand startled Louis, putting him on high alert. Now, how often did you hear Harry give orders in that low, rumbly voice of his? It sent shocks of desire skipping up and down Louis' spine. Harry, being assertive, again. And Louis wasn't going to put up any kind of struggle. He obeyed instantly.
Harry, in the meantime, removed his clothes as well, then arranged himself on top of Louis, his hair framing Louis' face as Harry kissed him thoroughly. Just a brush of his lips, and Louis was putty. The rest of it was a wet dream. Their lips becoming moister, then wet. Harry licked and bit at Louis' lips, then delved into his mouth, probed with an eager, seeking tongue. Harry was devouring him whole, and Louis was, for maybe the first time in his life, yielding to another person fully. Letting Harry take charge felt so foreign, yet so delicious and so . . . right.
There was a particular brand of desperation to Harry tonight. Louis wondered idly what it was all about, but he was enjoying the attention too much to ask questions.
"I love your butt," Harry said in a barely-there whisper directed at Louis' ear. Well, okay. Harry seemed to be on a mission, and Louis was really getting curious, and amid all the drugging desire, he wanted to find out what it was.
"It's so plump, firm, and . . .yummy." Evidently Harry had run out of descriptive words for his ass, thought Louis with a smile. Well, on second thought, Harry was rather fond of the word yummy, so he'd let him slide this time, and not laugh about it.
"I wanna taste you . . . all over." Louis had no argument for that. None at all. Next thing he knew, Harry was lifting his legs nearly up to his chin, and then spreading them wide. Louis didn't resist—he let his imagination rule, even though he came up with no ideas of what Harry might be up to. One thing remained static though-nothing would shake his trust in Harry, now or ever. So he just went along with it, his eyes searching Harry's, looking for clues. All he saw was how dark, mossy green they were, how single-minded he looked.
With Louis' legs spread wide open, Harry lowered his head, his hands spreading Louis' butt cheeks. Now Louis tensed up a bit. Harry's actions along with the air of desperation in the younger man made Louis take notice. Not unlike Louis' prick, which was definitely standing up and taking notice.
As Harry's head lowered even more, Louis had to fight the urge to ask what he was doing. Then, the sensation of Harry's mouth between his cheeks caused Louis' breath to catch in his throat, and, rather aghast, he thought faintly about protesting, but the wetness of Harry's lips down there stopped him cold. Or rather, HOT. He'd never felt anything like this before, and he changed his mind about objecting in a split second. It was incredible.
Lips were replaced by tongue, and Harry licked at him with long, lazy strokes. Louis wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he just laid there, frozen, and a little bit stunned. Harry kept licking, making those lusty, satisfied noises he was so good at.
"Relax, love," Harry pulled away just long enough to say a few words. "Relax so I can better get at you. Let me in."
Holy shit!
Louis was so turned on that he could feel himself shaking, trembling. He made a conscious effort though, to relax where Harry needed him to relax, although it took him a while to get past the natural urge to tense up. But Harry was patient and forbearing, accommodating, gradually licking him open, beyond the tension, slowly, sensually and sweetly. When he did, the electric sensations knifed through Louis, never having experienced this before. It was past incredible now. It was exquisite. Glorious tingles seized him, snaking around his backbone, his balls, everywhere. Harry licked into him, and before long, his tongue was actually inside.
Louis half writhed and half squirmed, feeling like if Harry kept this up, he was going to blow, even without laying a finger on his cock.
"Oh! Oh my God," groaned Louis, loving the feel of it, and hearing Harry's ragged breathing just egged him on. Harry's mouth and tongue coaxed, lapped at him, sucked, and reduced him to a hot mess, hanging on the precipice of a massive climax.
"What are you doin?'" Louis asked in a tremulous voice, knowing vaguely how lame that sounded, but feeling bashful, like he should say or do something to cover up his embarrassment and the overwhelming lust that was threatening to take him over.
"What does it feel like?" said Harry, just a little on the cheeky side, pausing only briefly, and then returning to continue fiercely, so raw and intense that it was almost unbearable, his head buried between Louis' legs. Nonplussed, Louis surrendered and gave himself over to the feeling. Then Harry did something Louis would never have expected. He flipped his tongue up, and it must have hit Louis' prostate, causing him to have an instant, explosive orgasm. It floored him because it hit so suddenly.
Harry reached up and grabbed Louis' erection as Louis' hole contracted around his tongue, loosening and tightening by turns. Louis felt like a volcano. He just couldn't stop coming. It was long, drawn out, endless and intoxicating. It left him gasping, and while still in the midst of his climax, Harry's tongue continued to work, and his hand still pumped on his cock. Stroking from root to tip, and back again. Harry's hand was slick with Louis' come, the combination of his sloppy wet mouth and slippery hand making Louis' head roll back on the pillow, wondering how he would survive this.
Out of breath, and helplessly out of words, Louis at long last put his legs back down, hauling Harry up his body to cuddle him. He really couldn't express himself properly at the moment. He was still flying high, and not having had that kind of complete sensual fulfillment before left him boneless. Fuck, if he'd had it a million times before, he'd still be boneless.
Finally, after at least five minutes of snuggling close, Louis' voice cut through the night.
"Good God, Harold. Where the fuck did you learn that?" There was a pinprick of jealousy, but not much more. He knew Harry was honest, and wouldn't lie to him about it.
"I didn't learn . . . I just heard."
"But where did you hear it?"
"In the bunkhouse."
Louis' desire was too quenched to express surprise—he was bone tired. "Is sex all the guys talk about in the bunkhouse?"
"Pretty much. I'd say about seventy-five percent of the time. I heard 'em say stuff about it, and I was . . . curious."
"So you decided to try it with me ?"
"Yeah, sort of. If you don't like it—"
"No, no! I like it alright. I love it. I was just wonderin'. Wouldn't you be?"
Harry thought about it for a few seconds. "Yeah. I get what you mean. I'd be curious too."
"You know, Styles, you're full of surprises."
"Thanks, man. I want you to find me, like, exciting."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that! You're a laugh a minute, fun to be with, sweet, and sexy as hell in and out of bed. You're the best kind of excitement. The best kind of distraction too; even when Niall's around." He shrugged. "Can't help meself, really. I don't even seem to care who sees." Louis really did astonish himself at his own actions.
"I guess that's a compliment?" Harry was wearing his coy look again, those eyelashes fluttering.
"You better fuckin' believe it!"
A little later, Harry shuddered at the drag of Louis' mouth on his cock as the rancher pulled off just long enough to prolong the sweetest torment, making Harry weak, trembling, longing to beg for more. The more noise Harry made, the more moans he emitted, the more it spurred Louis on, the wet sound of Louis' mouth on his cock was filthy hot. Both of them were building toward orgasm again. Louis' hand was under Harry's balls, caressing and massaging, tugging. Harry froze, crying out, his come filling Louis' mouth, squirting with almost a violence as he grunted and shivered. At the same time, Louis stroked his own cock. Only five strokes of his hand, and he was also coming within seconds of Harry's release.
They held each other, lips sucking at necks, and tongues scraping sweaty flesh, relishing the salty taste.
"I know you wanna ask if that's it for the night. I can't, in all good conscience, say I won't wake you up again in the middle of the night. But for now, you're safe."
"You wouldn't have any trouble talkin' me into it, no matter what the time," admitted Harry.
Louis steeled himself with a concentrated effort. He wanted to talk to Harry about something, but he wasn't sure how to approach it. He'd been putting it off for the last couple of days, playing with words and scenarios in his head—rejecting each one for one reason or another. This was a potentially sticky subject, and had to be handled with delicacy. He'd come to the conclusion that it was best to be a straight shooter, to speak from his heart, being careful not to let Harry think sex was overly influencing him. Their closeness in this relationship was paramount, but tonight, now that Harry had introduced him to a truly lovely new feature in their sex life helped to assure him that Harry might be receptive. It bolstered his courage to venture forth with it.
"Um, Haz, we're, um, fantastic together—I think you'll agree with that. But . . . there's an . . . aspect of our relationship though, that hasn't been . . . explored," he began.
Harry surveyed Louis as the fire threw alternating light and shadow against the man's handsome tanned face, his corded arms, his flat belly and thick, muscular thighs, and he marveled at how nearly matchless his lover was. He was facing Louis, and he saw and felt the hesitation, the trepidation as if it were his own. Handsome aside, Louis was wrestling from within himself. Harry could almost see his brain dissecting something, and attempting to form words, reaching for the right balance, and there was also despair there that it didn't seem to be coming together.
Louis began to talk several times, but aborted it each time, attempting then to start over only to end up with the same results—silence and a look of pure frustration and discouragement. Harry decided to try to help him out.
"Would this, maybe, be about . . . fucking?"
Louis jerked his head toward Harry. He'd been staring at the ceiling, striving for just the right wording, so he wouldn't offend or frighten Harry, and then Harry goes and says what he'd been trying to say, so bluntly, so candidly, that all Louis could do was take a deep breath, swallow hard, and then laugh. What else could he do but laugh?
He laughed hard, trying to get air into his lungs, snorting, and his eyes watering. No one, but no one on earth could do this to him but Harry. His Haz. His wonderful, sweet, playful, sincere Haz. Meanwhile, Harry was staring at him like he thought he'd gone off the deep end. Had become a maniac. This made Louis laugh even harder. The words were enough to cause hysteria, but the look on Harry's face was the clincher. He needed to get ahold of himself and ease Harry's mind. Reassure him that everything was alright, and he hadn't, in fact, lost his mind.
"Harry, that was . . . so funny. Here I was—" Louis had to catch his breath to continue talking. "Here I was, tryin' to find just the right words so I wouldn't offend you, and you . . . you come right out with it like nobody's business!"
Harry, still confused, asked, "So that was what you wanted to bring up?"
"Yeah, yeah it was, you bloody wanker!" Louis mocked punched him in the arm. "I was afraid you'd be embarrassed, and mortified, and . . . and, tell me I was outta me mind or sommat!"
Now Harry kind of understood why Louis thought it so amusing. He had been rather frank. "I guess I was a little uncouth, yeah?" he asked.
Louis smiled. "No. Not really. I was just bein' over-cautious, and then you came out with that, and I just . . . wasn't expectin' it at all!"
All that stuff aside, Harry assumed Louis wanted to discuss it or he wouldn't have brought it up.
"Well, do you want to? Fuck, that is."
Louis tried to squelch it, but couldn't help but release a fresh round of laughter, even more robust this time, defeating Harry's attempts to talk about it. The younger man was rapidly becoming baffled and disheartened.
"Well, if all you wanna do is laugh about it, then I guess it's not that meaningful to you." Hurt dripped from Harry's words.
Louis had been so amused that he hadn't seen how discouraged and upset Harry was becoming. How hurt he looked. It was right about then that Harry yanked a sleeping bag out of a cupboard . . .
