author // teapirate (theteapirate on tumblr)
rating // nc-17
word-count // 6.8k
pairing // harry/louis/zayn (also just louis/zayn and just louis/harry and some serious harry/zayn sexual tension)
summary // louis is a go-go dancer at a gay bar. zayn is a DJ, and louis's roommate. harry is a hot stranger. naturally, a threesome ensues. guest starring nick grimshaw as a sassy bartender.
warnings // spitroasting, overstimulation, threesomes, coming without being touched, a bit of restraint play?, also just lots of plotless dirty sex, idk
disclaimer // i own nothing
author's note // hahahhahahah why is this is my life??????? will be f-locked in like a week or so.
“Zayn, let’s have sex.”
“Because I want to.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Louis scowls, kicking Zayn in the shin under the table. He puts on his best pout.
“You never want to. You’re horrible. You’re so rotten to me. Do you know how many people would kill for a piece of this arse? It’s got to be somewhere in the millions. I’m a national treasure, and you practically have me all to yourself. Think seriously about your choices right now, mate.”
“I don’t have you all to myself, you dirty slag, you fuck whoever you want to.”
Louis doesn’t even bother to consider him. “Whatever,” he dismisses. “Don’t insult me. You’re terribly abusive to me. I’m going to find another fuck-buddy.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am!”
“No, you’re not,” Zayn says, voice lowering. Louis takes a deep breath.
They’re standing in Louis’s kitchen. It’s a hot Thursday night. Neither boy has work for another hour or so. The sequence of events seems obvious.
Zayn yanks Louis forward by his belt loops. Louis cants his hips forward instinctively, trying to hide his triumphant smirk.
“Oh shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Louis says innocently.
“You look so goddamn pleased with yourself.”
“Well if you’re not going to please me, then someone has to--”
“Thought I told you to shut up,” Zayn growls, tilting Louis’s jaw up to press their mouths together. He leans back against the counter lazily and lets Louis slip between his legs, leaning up on his tip-toes to get a better angle at Zayn’s mouth. Zayn makes Louis to most of the work, settling back against the cabinets so that Louis nearly has to climb on top of him to get at his mouth.
“Are we having kitchen sex, then?” Louis whispers, snaking a hand down to squeeze at Zayn’s bulge.
“No, Liam will kill me.”
“You can’t honestly be scared of Liam,” Louis returns, dragging his lips down the column of Zayn’s throat, nipping gently at his adam’s apple.
“I’m not scared, I’m just a considerate roommate--"
Louis cuts him off with a bite to his shoulder, taking Zayn’s hand and shoving it down the front of his pants.
“Be quiet and fuck me over the counter. I’ll clean up. Pinky promise.” Louis offers Zayn his pinky, but it’s slapped away.
“Not true. You’ll distract me afterwards, disappear conveniently, and I’ll have to clean it up, and in the middle of it Liam’ll show up, and he’ll whine, and then I’ll be moody again ‘cos I hate his bloody whining, and then--”
“And then I’ll fuck away your moodiness, and the process will start all over again, won’t it?” Louis rasps, biting at Zayn’s chin before slipping down to his knees and tugging Zayn’s pants down just under his arse, just far enough to get his dick out.
Louis hides his happy grin in the inside of Zayn’s thigh, because he’s used to getting his way but that doesn’t take away from the ecstasy of it. Zayn cards his fingers through Louis’s hair, pulling him in gently, and Louis brushes his lips over the head of his cock in response, light and teasing.
He doesn’t start sucking until he feels Zayn’s nails in his scalp, erection jumping in his jeans at being hauled around like this. He takes him into his mouth, one hand on his cock and the other at the base of Zayn’s, tightening his fist the more his throat gets stuffed with cock, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks.
Zayn presses his thumb into the deep shadow his cheek makes, watching his cock disappear into Louis’s mouth. He tightens his fingers in Louis’s hair, makes him take it, and Louis lets his mouth go slack so Zayn can really give it to him, make him choke on it. His hand works furiously at his own dick, knees sliding open on the linoleum, jeans tight and constricting around his thighs as he ruts furiously into his hand. Zayn’s got two hands in his hair now, fucking his face so hard that his throat feels raw already, and he can anticipate the hoarse, raspy whisper his voice will be tomorrow.
He drags his fingernails lightly under Zayn’s balls then returns his fist to squeeze at his base, and Zayn’s muscles seize up, knuckles clenching in Louis’s hair as he comes down his throat, thighs shaking at the intense, jolting release of it.
Louis gasps, loosening his throat so he doesn’t gag on it, though judging by Zayn’s tight grip on him, it would seem that gagging is exactly what Zayn wants from him. Louis gives his own cock a squeeze and releases into his hand, hips stuttering messily because Zayn still hasn’t let him go, forcing his face against his dick until he’s finished coming.
He exhales loudly when he’s finally let go, red-cheeked and sweaty at his temples. There’s come on his chin. Zayn laughs at him, thumb sweeping proudly over Louis’s pretty face, admiring the mess he’s made of him.
“I’m the best you’ve got,” Louis rasps. Zayn smiles at how wrecked his voice sounds.
“I know, babe,” Zayn says, hauling Louis up off the ground. He’s shaky when he stands. Zayn takes a rag and runs it under the sink, licking gently at Louis’s chin before cleaning him up.
“Come on,” he says, throwing the rag back into the sink. “We got to get you all pretty."
“I’m always pretty,” Louis grumbles.
But never prettier than when he’s onstage.
Zayn slings his headphones around his neck and sits back at the stool behind his turntables, watching Louis dance.
It’s busy for a Thursday. The club is bursting at the seams with students looking to get shitfaced because they don’t have class on Friday, beautiful boys in low-riding jeans and a few gaggles of girls, crowded around Louis at the bar while they down their shots. It’s the most popular gay club in their town, made even more popular by word-of-mouth whispers about the “drop-dead gorgeous” DJ and the collection of pretty male go-go dancers.
It’s a silly job. Louis knows it’s a silly job. But it’s a pretty phenomenal source of income for a student and he has a steady wheel of boys to lay whenever he wants them. He always has cash on him, he’s never lonely if he doesn’t want to be, and he gets to work at the same club as his best friend. He tends bar on the weekdays sometimes, but those gigs don’t tip as well as dancing and deep down, there’s a part of him that absolutely revels in the attention. That sick nervous part of him that’s always gnawing at the pit of his stomach, shriveling up with insecurities, disappears the moment he climbs onstage in his stupid tiny shorts and his silly glittery braces, sweat slick at his temples from dancing, a streak of neon paint and glitter on his cheeks still wet from Zayn’s thumb.
He mouths “Ke$ha” at Zayn, who rolls his eyes but queues it up nonetheless. Louis always wants to dance to Ke$ha. Zayn plays “Blow” and is sure to catch Louis’s eye when he suggestively pokes his tongue in his cheek. Louis returns it with a filthy wink, teeth dragging over his lip when a boy sticks a bill in the back of his shorts. Louis rolls his hips with the beat, and Zayn can’t help but lick his lips, mesmerized by the round, obscene curve of Louis’s arse in his tiny shorts, the criss-cross of his braces over the strong, lean muscles rippling in his shoulders, the exaggerated tininess of his waist, and the smooth golden lines of his biceps as Louis twists his arms over his head to grab onto to an overarching beam. He does his signature thrust, earning him a wad of bills from the crowd that’s gathered around the bar.
As soon as they dissipate, he catches the eye of a boy leaning against a nearby pillar, sipping casually at his beer with eyes locked on Louis. He’s beautiful. He looks like every expensive boarding school kid Louis’s ever pined after, like every reluctantly popular class president who smoked behind the cafeteria and nailed all the hottest birds without being a dick about it, like every charming arsehole who’s never had to work for it. He’s that kind of beautiful, wearing tight dark jeans and a blazer and a lazy, effortlessly sexy grin. He tousles his brown curls and smiles charming and apple-cheeked at something his friend says, then looks dark-eyed back to Louis. Louis could swear he winks.
He’s the only one who hasn’t tried to offer Louis a tip. Louis glances at Zayn, hoping to catch his eye so he can suggest the next song, but Zayn is also looking at the boy. It’s almost as if he senses Zayn and Louis’s eyes on him, because he shakes off his slouch, stands to his full height and gulps down the rest of his beer, hand huge on the bottle. Louis falters in his dance.
The song ends and the boy steps closer to the bar. He’s not looking at Louis. He orders himself another beer and turns around to laugh at something his friend says. Louis glances back at Zayn, who is busy fiddling with his music. He plays Major Lazer and sits back, smiling up at Louis.
Louis starts to dance again, eyes fixed determinedly on the beautiful boy. He pulls all of his best moves -- grinding his hips and showing off his arse, even sliding down to his knees and spreading his thighs suggestively, shorts tight on his bulge. Finally, the boy looks, tongue darting out to lick at his lips. Louis winks when they make eye contact, flashing his most charming, squinty-eyed smile.
The boy keeps his eyes on Louis, even as he digs his giant hands in his pocket for cash. He steps right up to the bar between Louis’s knees and slips the bills into the front of his shorts.
“Thanks, mate. I was wondering when you’d finally cave in to my charms,” Louis says flirtatiously.
The boy quirks an eyebrow, surprised. “Were you now? Bit cocky of you, innate?”
He hooks a finger in one of Louis’s braces, letting it snap against his chest.
“Hey now! Don’t touch the merchandise!” Louis protests, rubbing at his nipple.
“So we can only touch if you if we’re giving you money?”
“I’m a broke college student, so yes, that’s the general idea, babe.”
The boy smiles, sipping at his beer. “Do you have a name?”
“You know something, I don’t. Parents didn’t think I needed one. I usually just go by titles of royalty. Your Highness. Your Majesty. Jesus, if you’re feeling blasphemous.”
He rolls his eyes, grinning in spite of himself. “Ey, what’s Cheeky Boy here’s name?” He calls out to one of the bartenders.
The bartender, Nick, a tall snarky thing who’s relationship with Louis is mostly built on quick-witted insults and fake antagonism, steps over to flick Louis on the thigh with a towel hanging by his belt loops. “This sparkly little twink is called Louis, and he needs to stop flirting with customers and get back to dancing.”
“Oh sod off, Nicholas. My set’s almost done anyways.” Louis nods to Zayn, who is staring at him intensely, but concedes to let Louis off the bar anyways. He slips down onto the floor the moment he’s given the go-ahead, pleased to find that on level ground, the boy is nearly a head taller than him.
“Are you allowed to do that?” He asks.
“No,” Nick says, at the same time that Louis quips, “I give the DJ head. In exchange, I do whatever I want.”
“Slut,” Nick says lightly.
“A little bit,” Nick admits, eyeing Zayn. “He’s kind of stupidly good-looking. What kind of satanic rituals did he have to perform to get a face like that anyways?”
“Fuck off, Grimshaw.” Louis takes the boy by the hand and drags him away from the bar, snatching up an extra beer for good measure.
“You’re paying for that!” Nick calls after him.
Louis ignores him, waving away a gaggle of boys to snag them a high-top in the corner. The boy pulls out his chair like a proper gentleman.
“So the DJ, then, huh?” He asks cheekily, gazing darkly at Zayn over Louis’s shoulder. “He your boyfriend or something?”
“Why, would you rather have him for yourself?”
The boy licks his lips, meeting Zayn’s eyes. Zayn watches them both carefully. “Dunno. He’s really fucking fit.”
Louis flicks his arm. “Thought you were hitting on me!” He pouts.
“I am!” He assures him, wide-eyed. “But I mean,” he continues, eyes glinting, “If you’re some sort of package deal, I wouldn’t mind taking the both of you...”
“Excuse you, sir, I am honorable man.”
The boy’s eyes flick up and down Louis’s body cheekily, drinking in beautiful thighs dressed in tiny shorts, strong tan shoulders, razor-sharp cheekbones. “Are you now?”
“Yes!” Louis says defiantly. “I have standards. Morals, even. Besides, who are you to talk, random pretty stranger seducing vulnerable male go-go dancers in bars? I don’t even know your name!”
Harry takes a sip of his beer, ducking his head a bit shyly. He seems to always be smiling. “Harry Styles.”
Harry nods, blushing. “You have to tell me your last name now.”
“No I don’t.”
Louis bites his lip. Harry’s curls hang in his eyes - which are big and green and pleading and altogether ridiculous. “Louis Tomlinson.”
“Alright,” Harry smiles. Then he coughs into his hand, grinning bashfully like he already knows that what he’s about to say is ridiculous. “So Louis Tomlinson, you uh...come here often?”
“Oh my god,” Louis shakes his head, flicking Harry’s wrist. “It’s good thing you have these,” Louis leans over, fluffing Harry’s curls. Harry smiles prettily, allowing himself to be pet.
“But really, how’s uh...you know.” Harry gestures to Louis’s body, which is still just clad in tiny shorts and glittery braces. “All of this.”
“Fine. Pays the tuition and all,” Louis winks. “Have you been here before?”
“So now you get the cheesy lines.”
“Yes, but I actually want a response! I like to know if the strangers who talk to me are just strangers or you know...stalkers.”
“You get stalkers?”
“Yes!” Louis says defiantly. “Why do you sound so surprised? I am perfectly stalker-worthy.”
Harry whistles his agreement, gaze lingering unapologetically on the fine lines of Louis’s body.
“You ask too much of me,” Harry says charmingly. Louis blinks. Harry’s so attractive it nearly hurts to look at him for long stretches of time.
Louis feels a heavy hand clap down on his shoulder before he notices that Zayn’s weird remixes have stopped in favor of Lady Gaga.
“You’re still wearing this?” Zayn asks in lieu of introducing himself, snapping Louis’s braces against his nipple.
“Ow!” Louis pouts. “Why do I even wear these if all anyone wants to do is abuse me?”
“Because you like it!” Nick shouts from behind the bar. Louis gives him the middle finger.
“Anyways, you ready to get out here?” Zayn asks, bearing over Louis closely, voice low and intimate but loud enough that he’s sure Harry will hear him. Zayn avoids looking at Harry, who watches the exchange, eyes wide and guileless.
“Er, I mean, like--” Louis shifts uncomfortably, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I was sort of having a nice chat.”
“Oh,” Zayn says stiffly, standing up. “Well in that case I’ll just fuck off then--”
“Zayn!” Louis rolls his eyes in exasperation, grabbing Zayn’s wrist when he tries to stalk away. “I really hate when you pretend to be a moody little bitch.”
“Oh, so I’m just pretending, am I? I don’t even have the right to actually be a moody little bitch, is that it?”
“So you admit that you’re a moody little bitch?”
“Fuck off, Louis,” Zayn grumbles, snatching his wrist away from Louis, who immediately grabs for his forearm.
“Oh, come on!” Louis begs. “Please don’t.”
“I’m just gonna go...” Harry interjects awkwardly. “I’m sorry, for like...”
“No, no, no!” Louis protests, grabbing for Harry’s arm. “Stay. Please. Don’t mind Zayn. He does this. He just likes to make me beg. It’s an obnoxious character quirk that I’m trying to shake him out of.”
He realizes he’s holding both Zayn and Harry hostage, both of whom stare at each other intensely.
“I mean, if he’s like your boyfriend or whatever, I really don’t want to--”
“I’m not his boyfriend,” Zayn cuts him off quietly, looking directly at Harry.
Harry furrows his brow, looking to Louis for a hurt reaction, but he just shrugs.
“He’s not. He’s honestly just my human sex toy and roommate.”
“And sort-of boss.”
“And sort-of boss,” Louis amends.
“Both in and out of the bedroom,” Zayn adds cheekily. Louis reaches behind himself to slap Zayn’s thigh.
“Right,” Harry says, still awkwardly sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for Louis to let him go. He looks up to find Zayn watching him. The two of them next to each other are almost unnaturally pretty. Harry looks away. Privately he fears they’re trying to bewitch him or something.
It makes sense at the time.
“So uh...can I stay, or...”
“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Louis says. He lets go of Harry’s wrist, flashing a warning look at Zayn, who shrugs innocently, sliding into the chair between them.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Zayn says, fluttering his eyelashes. It’s all rather camp. Harry looks confused.
“So er...what’s your name then?” Harry coughs.
“DJ Malik,” He says seriously.
Louis slaps his arm. “Zayn. His name’s Zayn. But you can just call him ‘Cunt’ if you like.”
Harry just looks more uncomfortable. “Okay...”
“And this is Harry!” Louis adds.
Harry holds out his hand for Zayn to shake, which Zayn accepts somewhat aggressively.
“Well uh...I’ll let you guys go back to your nice chat then,” Zayn says, offering a wide sarcastic smile before slipping out of his chair.
Louis gives Harry a guilty look under his lashes as soon Zayn’s out of earshot.
“I’m um...really really sorry for that strange territorial interlude by my bizarre sex toy-DJ roommate?”
“It’s fine,” Harry waves him off, watching Zayn exchange words with Bartender Nick.
“Would you believe me if I said his personality is usually just as beautiful as his face?”
Harry laughs. “Um. I mean. Sure? He is rather intimidating to look at, I will admit.”
“Aw, don’t feel adequate, Harry!”
“What?” Harry’s mouth gapes open. “I never said anything about feeling inadequate!”
“Are you insinuating that he’s better-looking?”
“No, no, never, I wouldn’t dare,” Louis says quickly, patting Harry on the hand. He looks only mildly appeased. “So you’re ready to get out of here, or what?”
“Oh. I mean.” Louis scratches the back of his head. “I have to like...get dressed and stuff. Can’t really go out on the streets like this. But er, after that I was thinking we could like...go to mine?”
“Presumptuous of you,” Harry says, but the wink betrays him.
“Excellent then. Er...wait here? I swear I’ll be quick.”
“Yeah, yeah, go on...bring that outfit back to yours though?”
Louis laughs. “Kinky boy.”
“You’ve no idea,” Harry says lowly, eyes flicking down to Louis’s bum. Louis throws him a look over his shoulder before ducking back to the employee room behind the bar, barely dodging the flick of Nick’s towel at his arse or the strange, intense stare from Zayn behind his turntables.
Harry calls for a cab, trying to ignore Zayn’s glare while he waits for Louis to change. Thankfully he actually is quick, emerging in a pair of tight red pants and a scoop-neck white t-shirt, showing off the inviting bow of his collarbone.
“You ready then?” Louis chirps.
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says distractedly, giving Zayn one last bemused look over his shoulder before ushering Louis out the door and into the cab.
“You’re uh...your DJ-sextoy roommate was giving me quite the stink eye when I was waiting for you.”
Louis scrunches his nose. “Yeah. I really am sorry about him. I dunno why he’s being such a little bitch today. I gave him head! In our kitchen! I put out a lot for that boy.”
“I mean, it’s normal to be a bit possessive I guess? Especially for a boy like you,” Harry winks, visibly appreciating the tightness of Louis’s pants. Louis spreads his legs instinctively.
“Yeah, I dunno,” Louis mumbles. The cab pulls up to his flat and Louis climbs out first. Harry blatantly stares at his arse all the way up the stairs to his door.