#blwdghfour

[punkdaddylouis]

quatre: you fit me better than my favorite sweater ♡♡

here comes chapter four :D for whoever cares to read...

♡♡♡♡

"See you tomorrow, Hazza!" Jade, his colleague at Velvety Roses, waves goodbye to Harry as she and her other friend Leigh-Anne descend from the dressing room with their forearms linked, leaving Harry alone in the room, still dressed in his casual clothing.

He smiles contentedly as he sits down and shimmies his bag off of his shoulder, focusing on the mirror and his reflection on it, switching on the yellow light bulbs that are placed along its frame.

He doesn't have any circles under his eyes tonight, it seems; no trace of the tiredness and exhaustion that used to always be prevalent in his system, maybe the full-nights of sleep that he's been getting lately has finally began to pay off.

Harry smiles to himself, knowing that his improved sleeping schedule is very much a derivative of who he is spending his nights in bed with. Harry's been feeling giddy and ecstatic lately, and since he doesn't want to jinx it, he opts for keeping it to himself. The whole thing.

Yes, he hasn't told any of his friends yet about Louis; the unmarried man he's been sleeping with for over the past two months now. Gemma and his mum are the only people that he even decided to inform about this matter, and Harry thinks he'll let it stay that way for now—for as long as he can manage, really.

The only problem is, he and Louis aren't even official yet (technically). Sure, they text every day, talking about their lives and their favorites, and basically anything that crosses their minds, but other than that, neither of them have deemed to put a label on what they are. Not explicitly, anyway.

To be honest, I immensely despise marmite chicken.

Really now ? But they're brilliant ! I'd love it if you would cook me some actually, mon amour ;) xx

Ugh, Lewiiiiiiiis. But okay :) anything for DADDY

No , but seriously ?

Seriously. But you know whattttttt?

What , baby ? :)

I wanna be the Coney Island queen...

Oh , but you are !! :)

But like, I kinda wanna live there, see. I wanna build a house near that place, I wanna be able to visit it any time??

Well ... babe , again , you will :) just you wait and see ! ;)

Huh. What do you mean 'just wait and see?' :o

Louis.

LOUIS?

Daddy! :/

It has been nearly three months since they first met, like officially met—nearly three months since Harry went over to Louis' place for a proper introduction.

After Louis' returned from his trip to Paris back in mid-July, they've gone out on posh dates, well, that's what Harry calls it, and they still regularly go out whenever Louis' free. Louis has taken him to extravagant restaurants around LA, bought him flowers and offered him joyrides downtown, and whenever they got back to Louis' mansion in Beverly Hills they'd have mind blowing sex that would make Harry feel like he's walking on air for days.

They call each other when they're not together, having decided that they didn't want to limit their communication to just texting, visit the other when one is working and the other isn't, and just, they can't seem to get enough of one another—it's almost like they're over-infatuated teenagers that are undeniably in lust with their brand new crush and it's addicting. Louis has been painting different versions of Harry relentlessly, and Harry has been basking in Louis' talent and open devotion to him. It's the type of infatuation that's more like a whirlwind and Harry wants to swim in it forever.

When Louis is gone to destinations for work and Harry is unable to visit him, Louis usually brings home souvenirs or postcards when he returns.

"So, hey, I was at work tonight and I heard this song on the radio and thought of you. Just thought I'd call you up and share the news," Harry rasps over the line, grinning madly to himself, talking about an 80's love song he heard from the radio.

"That's cute, baby," Louis replies in a fond voice, sighing on the other line. "I'm actually signing some papers at the moment. Exhausting, if you ask me. I'm glad you called, just what I needed. Thank you."

Harry hums, nodding despite the fact Louis doesn't see him.

And then after a beat of comfortable silence, "God, I wanna see you, Lou," Harry confesses, groaning. "Miss you."

"I know, baby," Louis agrees softly, his tone near-cooing. "But I have to finish with this, though... Hmm. How about I take the first flight Friday morning and hop on a plane to get home to you, oui? And then before you even wake up the next day I'll be on that bed of yours, sucking you off so good you won't even know how to breathe proper. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan..."

"Mhmm. Glad we agree."

It's been set in stone that Louis will be painting every version of Harry that he can possibly dream up—which Harry feels so special and beautiful—and so he dresses up for the older lad to have his figure translated on the canvases, articulately painted on by various paintbrushes and oil paints.

They do this a lot, even though it's only possible for them to do it when Freya's not around. The lass parties a lot, and it has only made more sense to Harry that she and Louis didn't really share a lot of things in common because, apparently, she was adopted when she was a teenager and had a difficult time throughout her past. Now she's rebelling, and her actions only worsened when her dads parted ways years prior. She's more fond of Phil, Harry now understands—that guy who broke Louis' heart by cheating. Harry isn't really that bothered by any of this, now that he knows...a little.

Taking out his outfit for his tonight's performance, Harry immediately strips off his casual clothing and then slips on a new pair of tight women's jeans and his new pink floral sheer shirt he bought from YSL. He fixes his hair as he looks at the mirror, ruffles it a few notches, and then slips on his trademark headscarf, some of his curls sticking out. He decides to leave them be. For the final touch, Harry puts the clip-on earring (a cross design, because he and his sister have got an affinity for cross and it's their thing now), the one Gemma got him last week, and he's finally done by wearing his sparkly boots.

Harry slips out of the dressing room to see if his mate, Ed, has already finished with his own performance on stage, but when he sees he is only halfway through his last set, it gives Harry a few more spare minutes to relax in the dressing room.

He sits yet again on his stool, tapping his fingers against the chipped wood of his vanity. He didn't have an incoming text from Louis when Harry checked it early on, and he wonders if there is one now. He isn't unlocking his phone to find out though, he's too anxious to do so. In the end, Harry just picks up the lipstick straying in his reach and applies some on his lips, completing it by pursing his plump lips together. And Harry wants to giggle as he stares back at his own reflection, because fuck if he doesn't look great. Louis will totally bend him over his desk later on tonight, he's sure of it. Harry grins wickedly at the thought, feeling himself blush at the image entertaining his mind.

~*~

Harry's got five songs in his set list for the night, all will be played by Ed, who is his backup guitarist, and he's ready to perform as soon as he steps on the stage, the spotlight focused solely on his figure, playing glorious shadows with the contours of his body.

This is what Harry loves doing, he has always loved it, but now he's loving it even more—especially now he's got inspiration. Harry puts on his most charming smile, knowing Louis has promised to be in the audience tonight, wanting to give his best. He's picked out his most favorite songs he has spent days rehearsing over and over again, and he's determined to show his daddy what he's worthy of.

The room is dimmed, Velvety Roses once again filled with men and queer folks, the majority of the crowd being bikers and drunken travelers from either the south or up north.

Harry grips his personal microphone, the green taped below visible to the audience, his gaze searching the crowd for a certain man with the fiercest persona he's ever been acquainted with in his entire entity. The one man that's actually made him feel sexy and fuckable by just being stared down by him. The one man that can give him one piercing, icy gaze racking over his body and make him feel weak in the knees. The one man that can make him either bend over a table and beg to be fucked or drop down to his knees in a millisecond flat, mouth wide open so his throat will get gagged, mouthful of thick, hard cock. Louis fucking Tomlinson. His man, his painter, his Frenchman fresh from Paris, who always smells of expensive perfume, always is adorning Rolex watches on his wrist and loves driving him places with his black Mercedes Benz.

Harry licks his lips just as his eyes stop directly on him, finally; there, right there. Louis is seated on a stool by the bar, wearing what Harry can make out to be some royal blue blazer and trousers that match, his soft fringe brushed up, revealing his forehead, aviators perched over his nose and covering his dominating blue eyes, a flower pinned to his suit's breast pocket, probably an indication he's just gone to some event and went straight from there to see Harry without bothering to change. And fuck—fuck he looks good, is the thing. Daddy looks so fucking god-like, a fucking modern-day James Dean. And Harry's so weak for him; so, so weak for him.

Has seemingly noticed he's been looking, Louis raises his hand holding a pint and commemorates a toast to Harry. Harry just nods, face instantly numbing with heat, shoulders sagging into submission. Yep, Harry the usually confident and notorious harlot is a downright submissive when it comes to Louis, and yes, it's insanely ridiculous.

"Good evening, boys," Harry greets over the crowd, his voice echoing all over the dingy ole bar. Wolf whistles and loud whooping erupt from the audience, men of different sizes and colors clapping enthusiastically. Harry smiles his best, batting his eyelashes in a flirtatious manner. "How's everyone's night so far? If there's any newcomers here, please kindly stand so the veterans can welcome y'all."

There are four or five newcomers who stand, earning greetings from others, and Harry spends that chance to look at Louis across the bar yet again, catching Louis watching him intently while sipping on his beer. Harry winks at the older man, before proceeding to speak over the mic. "So, tonight folks, Ed here, you guys know him. He is gonna be my guitarist. And of course, as per usual I'll be singing five different songs for you all."

There's another round of bustling and applause, but when it dies down, Harry takes that as his cue. Ed starts plucking, strumming the first notes.

And so Harry closes his eyes and starts with the first verse, already quite into the moment. "Blue jeans, white shirt. Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn. It was like, James Dean, for sure... You're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer..."

~*~

Harry tries not to squirm as Louis nibbles on his left ear. He fails anyway, giggling madly as he scoots away from Louis' reach. "Look so beautiful tonight, baby," Louis murmurs softly, smiling from the driver's seat. "Earring looks perfect on you, too, maybe I should buy you a whole set."

"Really now," Harry challenges, cocking a brow at Louis mischievously. He's lighting a cigar, putting it in between his lips.

"Oui, chéri. You look pretty in them," Louis insists as he nods vigorously to get his point across, turning onto a street and honking at another car. They're on their way back to Louis', with Louis driving them both in his car number three, as Harry marks it. He's got six of them, so it's best to just be naming them by numbers. Harry sometimes goes to work without bringing his own car, knowing Louis will fetch him in one of his exuberant vehicles.

"Fine, fine. Thank you, babe, but that's a no," Harry responds after his giggling fit, blushing red. He thinks nice try with Louis even suggesting buying him things. Don't get Harry wrong—he believes Louis' only being sweet and nice at the same time for spoiling him, but. Really. Louis spends ridiculous amounts of money on him, despite the money usually going towards dates and free rides, free food. Perhaps buying him something every once in a while is good, but not this soon though. Louis has literally just bought Harry a new cellphone, he doesn't need anything else.

Shaking his head at the thought, Harry exhales the grey smoke and makes a face after realizing they're suffocated inside the car.

"Are you sure? But you'll definitely look wonderful in other designs, Harry," Louis presses on. Harry shuts him up by leaning over and kissing his open mouth. Louis moans in response, and before he can even kiss back, Harry pulls away and sticks his tongue out, teasing Louis and making him make that gaping, surprised look he's giving Harry, and then takes another drag from his cigar. "Tease you are, doll. Keep it up and daddy won't fuck you tonight," Louis tells him.

Laying back, Harry puts his legs up and rolls down the window next to him, letting the brisk evening air swell against his face, grabbing a stick of gum and starting chewing. He lets his smoke join the fluttering wisps of wind as he ignores Louis' threat altogether; knowing full well, not he nor Louis actually believes that bullshit. "So, where were you before you went to VR? You look pretty fancy to me, wearing that suit and everything." He gestures with his hand to give emphasis to what he's pertaining to.

Humming, Louis stops at a red light and thrums his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at Harry. "Was called in to have a meeting with the rest of the gallery insulators just this afternoon; discussed a few things, mostly about the blueprinting of the place... They needed me in a tux, I gave them matching suits." Louis smiles again, removing his aviators and wearing them to Harry, catching Harry off guard a bit. "Did you like it?"

Harry bites his lip, keeping himself from breaking into a fully wide grin at that. "Like?" He breathes out, fixing the glasses over his nose and pecking Louis' hand. "I love it, Lou. Truly," he says honestly. "How was the meeting, though?"

Louis shrugs. "Alright."

Harry nods.

The ride doesn't take long now, the two of them laughing about absolutely nothing and every little thing mentioned, and before Harry can even finish his third cigarette, Louis' pulling him inside the house and is backing him up against the wall, hungrily going for his jaw and nipping at his skin, the chance that Valeria could be lingering by the kitchen doorway be damned. Harry laughs as he has the need to drop his cigarette stick on the floor's tiles, hugging Louis with his right leg and letting their groins grind.

"Honey, don't you think we should..." Harry starts but sooner trails off, just as Louis lets out a low mixture of growl and moan, letting go of Harry and then dashing up the stairs, looking back just to signal Harry to follow him.

Harry does as he's told, taking two steps at a time as he ties up his hair in a bun.

Once they get to Louis' room, Harry is bent over the bed with his arse poised upwards into thin air in record time, Louis lingering behind him, probably admiring his pert bum from behind, given the fact he's not even touching Harry but just breathing on his exposed hole. Harry groans and squirms, whining his protests at all of the impatience that's swirling in his abdomen. "Sshh, baby. Just... let daddy look at your beauty for a little while more," Louis whispers huskily, obviously hot but is refraining in the name of casually admiring someone's ass. Jesus.

Hot in the ears, Harry swallows as he wiggles his ass a bit, face smashed against the plush pillows on Louis' bed, hands clutching the sheets as he waits it out. He can feel his muscles retracting at each fan of breath Louis lets out that hits his cooling skin, feeling his dick already forming a semi. And fuck, Harry needs Louis to do something.

"Please..." He pleads, word muffled by the sheets.

"So, so beautiful, baby. So pink, that hole of yours. I love it. If only I can paint you looking like this. So loose, so submissive for daddy," Louis recites, tone of voice clearly enticed, and wow. He really, surely makes Harry feel so admired—treasured—and cherished. And no man has ever... not in this level of, not this way, considering he'd always been just a fuck. Harry's heart feels as though it will fucking explode, just thinking about the possibility that he may not be anymore.

Writhing on the bed, Harry untangles his legs from the duvet and spreads his thighs for Louis' sake of better access. He hears the older man hum in appreciation as he does just that. Harry thinks he's ready. Like so damn ready.

Moments to their silence, eventually so, Louis grabs on Harry's arse cheeks and slaps one of them, making Harry hiss in both pleasure and striking pain, pushing forward and sheets-clenching. Louis yet again lets out a low growl, and then he's suddenly sticking his tongue across Harry's sensitive rim, tasting him, spiky stubble against meaty flesh.

Moans and multiple incoherence escape Harry's lips just as Louis' started properly eating him, tongue lapping across his hole and nibbling, thin lips against tingling pink skin. "Oh, jesus fuck," Harry suppresses in a low voice, breathing heavily in and out. Louis rewards him with another spanking at that, making him yet again yelp and writhe responsively, consistent currents of arousal coursing through his veins and going directly to his untouched cock. He can feel himself leaking and it's driving him fucking mad.

"Tellement bon pour papa," Louis murmurs against his puckered hole, eager tongue pushing in and out, hot breath fanning and rendering goosebumps on Harry's exposed arms.

"Louis... Louis..." Harry chants in loud squeaks, "please, daddy... just... please..." Harry doesn't really know what he's begging for if he's honest, but with situations such as this one, he can't seem to help murmur words out of his mind. It's ridiculous. They are ridiculous. But Harry thinks they fit anyway.

And so it goes. Louis continues to eat him out, hand spanking his ass again and making him moan loud, before going for his completely hardened dick between his thighs, and then pumping on it fast. Harry feels wrecked quite already after that, can't stay still, pushing and pushing his ass toward Louis' face for more, more, more. Louis gives it to him, he's a non-difficult negotiator when it comes to giving anyway. He may be is born to give.

After a few more thrusts, Louis frees him for just two seconds and then quickly flips him over, spreading his legs wide. Harry's so dizzy with pleasure he can barely see straight now.

And until it all gets blurry from there, being the only thing Harry is remembering is that of Louis fucking him hard without the use of condom and only lubricant, leaving him limp and pliant in contentment afterwards, cleaning him up off come and the both of them sleeping the night off, cuddled up in heavenly soft bundles.

He also remembers Louis kissing the top of his head as he spoons him from behind.

~*~

By the time Harry stirs awake the next day, he finds himself curled up in a ball, strong, tattooed arms wrapped around his torso, soft snores being pressed against his nape. Harry allows it as Louis' still deep in his slumber.

Harry ever so slowly takes Louis' arm off his body and presses his feet on the ground, stretching his arms wide and then padding across the room. Harry gets in the bathroom with nothing on, switches the lights on, and borrowing a toothbrush from Louis. He brushes his teeth to get rid of the staleness that formed overnight, washes his face with cold water, and then takes a morning wee.

When Harry leaves the loo, he sees Louis' still peacefully sleeping, so that gives him more time to himself.

He sits on his rumpled side of the bed, and gives into the urge to look at Louis' sleeping figure next to him, and to just like, admire what he's like. He stares for a bit before the thought occurs that watching Louis sleep is weird and creepily intimate, considering they aren't even official. The realization brings a stinging feeling in Harry's stomach. For some reason that he can't define.

Speaking of, Harry should probably cook them some breakfast.

Picking up his underwear off the ground, Harry quickly slips it on, and then, seeing as his overnight clothes are all somewhat dried off of the work's worth of sweat, Harry disregards them and just goes straight to Louis' closet and plunders it for something he can fit into. He chooses an oversized jumper in the end since it's the only thing that can wrap around his bigger frame. It's a lavender colored one and is tremendously cute, and it's large enough that it stops on his thighs and leaves his underwear out of plain sight, creating sweater paws with how long each sleeve is. Harry happily sneaks out the room wearing just that, and then he travels down to the kitchen, meeting Valeria halfway there.

"Hi!" Harry greets her cheerfully, waving a hand and dimpling, leaving Valeria no choice but to swallow down her French and say Hello back, accent exceptionally thick. Giggling at the sound of it, Harry proceeds to the kitchen and drags the old woman with him, linking their arms together enthusiastically, as though they've been the best of buddies for years. It is the first time Harry hears Valeria's laughter bubble from her lips, asking how last night had went—casually too! Well, Harry's just as proud and vocal as he tells her about everything, from his performance to the ride back home, minus the awesome sex, though. Because he's kind enough to spare her those details.

When they reach the kitchen, they both help each other make pancakes and tea, Valeria willingly giving Harry the details as to where things are around the massive place, and as to how does Louis like his breakfast each morning in 'the Mademoiselle Valeria way'. Harry's just really happy he gets along with the housemaid, no matter if she's only that; a housemaid.

Two sunny side ups, a few sausages and mountains of perfectly browned pancakes later, Harry and Valeria take the trays full of food with them and soldier back up the staircase, taking their time strolling along the long quiet hallway, and then stopping at the door to Louis' room.

It's Harry who hip-checks the door open to reveal a still sleeping Louis by the bed, only now that the man has changed positions. Harry nods at Valeria as she beckons to place the tray by the bedside table, and then she leaves with a kind smile right after that. Harry, on the other hand, places the tray he's holding on the other bedside table where Louis lies near, leaning down to whisper in Louis' ear.

"Mon amour," Harry coos, attempting French. It causes him to laugh when Louis pries an eye open at hearing him say that.

"Bonjour, chéri," Louis rasps, smiling tiny at him. Harry smiles back, his heart pounding drastically in his chest at how blue, blue, blue Louis' eyes are as he looks back at him, especially when the sunlight is hitting his face like this, softly contoured eyelids and nose and cheekbones presented like magnificence at its best. Harry aches to touch him, feel the stubble that, yet again, left rashes on his pale, sensitive bum and thighs—serving as a reminder just how sensational Louis Tomlinson truly is.

"Made you breakfast, Lou. Heard pancakes with the side of eggs and sausages are your favorites..."

"Ooh," Louis muses in excitement, chuckling lightly. He sits up slowly after a while, and Harry immediately busies himself bringing the trays over to the bed, placing each in between himself and Louis, laying the food down. "This is so lovely, Haz," is what Louis says as he takes his first bite out of three layers of pancake, chewing happily. "I didn't know you can cook! I'm so used to French and Italian cuisines, but this," Louis stops to take another large bite out of a sausage with a piece of egg, before finishing his sentence with a mouthful, "this is good."

Seeing the bright smile painting Louis' lips as he eats, Harry can't help smile to himself as well as he looks down on his own food-full of plate, mentally patting his head in victory at his success of having Louis' clear as day stamp of approval at his cooking skills. He thinks perhaps he'll cook for Louis more in the future... like, just to see that wonderful, handsome smile again. Especially the part where Louis' eyes are crinkling at the sides, cheeks dented with hints of dimples and pinks. And Harry never even knew Louis has dimples. That's news. Amazing news.

After they're done eating, Louis sets their trays aside and pulls Harry back in bed with him, nuzzling his face against Harry's exposed collarbone. "Glad you loved the breakfast I cooked, Lou."

"Mhmm," Louis hums in affirmation, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on Harry's throat. "Was so good, baby. I'm impressed."

"Valeria helped me a bit. She's a very nice woman," Harry says softly.

"She is, she is. Been working under me since my twenties."

"Really?" Harry drawls, grinning down at Louis because of the new information, imagination kicking in as he thinks about a young version of Louis, already posh and oh so lovely with less wrinkles and brisk skin, fringe softer and probably always kept lying against his forehead, being served by a French younger Valeria, early discovery of his talent in painting on the works. And then there's the thought of a younger Louis in French style clothing next, suspenders and tight trousers hugging his thighs and legs probably, flat vintage shoes with his ankles out, beret or potato type of hats atop his head, long and thick black eyelashes cascading shadows over the hollows of his prominent cheekbones. And damn—damn if Harry's not so fond of him; damn if Harry's not so drawn in his daydream he actually forgets just how he's literally holding the older version of the same Louis he's imagining inside his head.

Harry's just...he just really feels blessed to have met Louis amidst his laid back lifestyle.

He can still remember how things had went for him before all these. He used to sleep with different men each night, going home with them after a night spent working at VR, and then leaving first thing in the morning with not so much as a greeting, credits left unspoken despite a previously good hell of a fuck.

It's different with Louis though; it's a whole different story when it comes to the old Frenchman, it seems. This one, Harry actually enjoys spending time with, has so much fun with, has several laughing moments with. Harry never did that to any man he'd ever let either fuck or touch him from the past. Just Louis. And it's only Louis, too, that he's ever confessed how he wishes he could just forget his job and fly to New York next, make rounds in Coney Island, build a house near there and then spend the rest of his life visiting back and forth and spend time making memories at the Boardwalk.

Call Harry a child, call Harry juvenile, but it's what he's always wanted. Living nearby Coney Island will always be in his Bucket List, and he'll always be proud of that optimum. There are many things Harry likes. One of which being dressed up. And then there's the freedom of wearing lipstick, wearing head scarves, wearing earrings, prancing gracefully, having his hair grown freely, singing songs for men, painting his nails various colors and all that...

But there are more things Harry wants done, and if only he can go to Coney Island...

"You look perfect in my clothes, sweetheart, maybe I should let you wear them all the time," Louis suddenly tells Harry, breaking him from his heavy thinking.

Harry smiles down at Louis' grinning facial expression in a lieu of compensating, fireworks exploding for the first time ever since they looked at each other this close and this serene; Louis looks like the sun, Harry decides, and Harry is the moon. Louis' moon. The one running after him, but not being given a chance by the universe itself anyway. It's gonna be exhausting, it's the inevitable, but Harry the moon will do anything just to get to Louis the sun in any way he can either way, so there really is no point of discussion.

"Well, I love being in your clothes. They smell just like you. Makes me feel safe wearing them," Harry tells Louis honestly.

Louis laughs lightly, tapping Harry's chin. "I am glad, baby doll," he says, voice a bit groggy. Harry leans in and captures Louis' lips, closing his eyes at the instant bliss it gives, sucking at the man's bottom lip much longer, before letting go of it with a flourish. "Say, what do you feel about going out of town, Harry?"

Harry opens his eyes. "Mmhm, where to?"

Wiggling his eyebrows, Louis grins widely. "You know... to the city that never sleeps? I am not working for a week, so I thought maybe... you might want to ask that boss of yours for a leave of absence, so—"

"Yes!" Harry squeals, not even letting Louis finish his sentence, excitement bursting through his veins. He's so excited about going he has just lost all traces of finesse. "Yes, yes, yes, Louis! Oh, my God!"

Laughing, Louis flips them over and Harry goes along with it, laughing too. And then they're rolling uncontrollably as they hug each other, both of them ending up lying on the floor. Harry hurriedly scrambles up to his feet just as he's recovered from his excitement, straddling Louis' hips and leaning down to snog him senseless. Harry feels so ecstatic he's afraid he might just burst from it.