Chapter Text
„Oh God, you're so tight“, Harry groaned, slowly penetrating Louis beneath him. He gave the older man only a moment to get used to his penis before pulling back again – only to thrust immediately and deeper, as if he wanted to feel every movement, every tremor of Louis. Louis moaned softly, burying his hands in Harry's long hair and pulling him closer, as if he could hold him there for this one moment.
They quickly found a rhythm together. Harry thrust, Louis moved towards him, and each coming together was a silent conversation between their bodies: a mixture of desire, familiarity and the bittersweet knowledge that it would be a farewell. Their breaths mingled, their skin burned against each other as soft, throaty sounds filled the room.
“Deeper, please, Harry... more”, Louis whispered, wrapping his legs around Harry's hips and pulling him gently closer, as if he wanted to draw him even deeper inside him. Harry felt the warmth, the yielding, the urgency of the older man, and let himself be guided by Louis's body as their eyes met – fleetingly, charged, full of unspoken words. Every thrust, every movement, every moment was an echo of their closeness, a quiet dance between desire, pain and intimacy.
When Louis finally sat up slightly, Harry felt everything intensify: deeper, tighter, uncontrolled, and yet strangely complete. Their hands clasped together, their lips found each other in a kiss that whispered more than it spoke, and every breath was filled with a longing for support, for closeness – and the painful realisation that it was all over.
With a sudden jerk, Louis turned them both around, sat down on Harry's lap and took control. Harry felt everything become even tighter and more intense, his heart beating faster as Louis' body moulded itself perfectly to his. Each thrust became deeper, each movement more intense, and yet there was an almost tender urgency to it, a silent plea for closeness.
Harry's hands sought support: he placed one on Louis's hip to guide him, the other slid into the older man's neck, pulling him closer into a kiss that blocked out everything around them. Louis' fingers dug deeper into his hair, pulling him in with a mixture of desire and possessiveness. Their movements became more uncontrolled, faster, driven by a feeling that was more than physical desire – pure intimacy, longing, fear of loss, and the awareness that this could be their last moment together.
Louis pulled rhythmically against Harry, pressing him closer, as if he wanted to hold on to every second. Harry felt how they responded to each other, how every thrust, every little pull of her body was a silent conversation. A deep moan, a breath, a brief press of the lips – and everything was intimacy, everything was intensity. They lost themselves and found each other at the same time, in every glance, every tremor, every little sound they exchanged.
A little later, Harry felt Louis repeatedly pull himself closer to him, each movement like a whisper of desire and release at the same time. Then, suddenly, it became even tighter, more intense, as if their bodies wanted to release everything unspoken, everything pent up at once. Harry's heart raced, his breath came in gasps as he felt Louis take everything in, and at the same time he felt himself letting go, almost overwhelmed by the intensity that exploded between them.
Their bodies moved in perfect, wild harmony, every thrust, every pull a silent dialogue full of longing, desire and intimacy. Louis pressed himself against him, sliding deeper, pushing gently, demanding, and Harry couldn't help but hold him tight, feeling every reaction, responding to every movement. Their lips found each other in a kiss that was demanding and protective at the same time, a final expression of closeness that was more than lust.
And then it happened: everything came crashing down on them at once. They lost themselves, found each other again, and Harry felt them explode together in a moment of complete surrender. Every breath, every heartbeat was pure connection, pure intensity. Louis's body trembled beneath him, and Harry felt as if the world around them had ceased to exist for a brief moment.
As the waves slowly subsided, they sank exhausted into each other, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. Harry felt Louis' skin against his, his fingers still in his hair, and for a moment there was only silence, only closeness, only the afterglow of a moment that had said everything words could not express.
After the shock waves of orgasm had slowly subsided, Louis climbed off Harry's lap, exhausted. Harry's now flaccid penis slipped out of him, and Louis wrinkled his nose slightly, a fleeting expression of physical after-effects. Breathing heavily, they lay next to each other for a few more minutes, their skin still warm, their fingers occasionally intertwined as they felt the aftershocks of their bodies. The air was heavy with the scent of their skin, the lingering echo of desire, and Harry couldn't help but think: This was surely some of the best sex they'd ever had together — not just because of the pleasure, but because of the closeness, the intensity, the intimacy that reverberated in every glance and every touch.
Finally, Louis turned his face to Harry and broke the silence. “I suppose that’s it, then.”
Harry turned to him, a sigh escaping his chest, heavy and laden with everything that lay between them. “Yes… I’m sorry it came to this.”
“Me too,” Louis whispered, his eyes dark and soft, “but we both agree it’s better this way, don’t we?”
“It is,” Harry replied, pulling him into a brief, intense kiss, the lips fleeting but full of meaning. “I should go now.”
Harry carefully pulled away from Louis, his hand brushing over his arm once more, as if to hold onto the moment one last time before he truly had to get up. Breathing heavily, he gathered the scattered clothes from the floor. Every grasp, every movement felt strangely weighty, as if he were picking up not just clothing but a piece of the closeness they had just shared.
Louis remained on the bed, eyes fixed on Harry. Not a word was spoken; only the soft rustle of fabric filled the room. Harry could feel the older man’s gaze on him – a mixture of longing, sadness and unspoken desire that hurt and warmed him all at once. It was as if Louis were holding onto every step he took, every small movement of his body, to keep it for himself.
He slowly pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the lingering warmth of Louis’ skin he had just sensed on his own. The memory of their intimate connection, the intensity of every movement, made his heart heavy. For a moment he paused, looking over at Louis – the eyes that had always seen him so deeply still sparkled with emotion, and Harry had to force himself to look away again, to avoid plunging back into what they had just experienced.
Gradually he put on the rest of his clothes, his movements automatic, almost mechanical, but every gesture carried the echo of the moment. Louis did the same, quiet and deliberate, and both avoided any direct contact, knowing well that a last touch or embrace would make everything even harder.
As Harry put on the last pieces of clothing, he noticed the way Louis watched him – attentive, silent, almost reverent. It wasn’t a farewell filled with words, no dramatic gesture, but a silent agreement: they would now go their separate ways, even if the bond between them hadn’t been broken.
Harry picked up the first box and carried it carefully to the driveway. Every step felt heavy, as if he were carrying not just the box but also the memory of the past hours. Louis stood still in the hallway, eyes on Harry. It was as if he were holding every breath, every movement, every small gesture in memory.
Harry placed the box carefully in the boot. His gaze flicked to Louis, who watched silently, lips slightly parted, eyes shining with unspoken pain. A stab went through Harry’s heart – seeing Louis wanting to hold him and let him go at the same time stirred him deeply.
He took the next box to the car, feeling the tension in the air, the words they both could not say. Louis made no movement, no gesture, no parting smile, yet his gaze alone spoke volumes. Every motion, every small crease in his face told of loss, longing, love and the bitter awareness that they now had to part.
Harry placed the last box in the car, breathing heavily, hands slightly trembling. He turned to Louis briefly, perhaps wanting to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, their eyes met in a silent farewell.
Then Harry turned, closed the boot and stood for a moment, hand still on the handle, gaze fixed on Louis. Louis only nodded slightly, a barely perceptible sign of recognition, of farewell, of what remained between them. No hug, no kiss, just this wordless moment, full of everything they felt for each other – longing, love, pain.
Then Harry opened the driver’s door and looked once more at Louis. They both wanted to avoid an overly emotional farewell. Besides, they would see each other again next week for the North American leg of their On the Road Again-Tour.
Finally, Harry slowly got into the car, quietly closed the door behind him, and for a moment hung motionless over the steering wheel, hands still slightly trembling, while the silence of the empty house echoed around him. Then he started the engine and drove out of the driveway, tyres rolling over the asphalt, yet driving felt heavy, as if every movement pulled him deeper into the memory of Louis.
He didn’t get far. After just a few streets, the weight of his emotions became overwhelming. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and he could no longer hold back the tears. Harry pulled over, buried his head in his hands and let the tears flow freely over his face. Each one seemed a mixture of sadness, longing and the echo of their last hours – the closeness, the heat, the desire they had shared, and yet the pain of parting.
As he sat there, face buried in his hands, thoughts flooded back relentlessly. The last few weeks, the small cracks in their relationship, the unspoken tensions, the disappointments and hurts – all came back, clearer, sharper and more painful than ever before. Every moment, every conversation, every decision that had led them here played out before his inner eye, and Harry could not help but relive it all:
About a week earlier:
“You slept with her?” Harry asked flatly, his voice hard yet cracking. The words hung in the air, heavy as lead, and Harry felt his heart race with both anger and pain.
“Harry, I –” Louis began, uncertain, searching, yet his voice sounded weak, even to himself.
“You slept with her? No, worse, you got her pregnant!” Harry suddenly shouted, hands clenched tightly. “When were you planning on telling me?”
Louis’ shoulders slumped, eyes glistening with guilt. “Harry, I… I only just found out myself. I have no idea why the press knew so quickly…”
“Oh, you think that’s what matters?” Harry cut him off, voice now louder, trembling with pain. “That the press knew immediately? Yes, that’s awful. But do you know what’s even worse? That I find out from the press and not from you. That my boyfriend… my boyfriend got a woman pregnant! Louis, you’re going to be a father! I thought we were in a relationship, but you… you sleep with a woman and make her pregnant!”
Louis sank into a chair, hands in his lap, gaze lowered. “Harry… I didn’t want this…” he began softly, uncertain, as if words could lessen the pain. “I was hurt because you were out with Kendall again… and Briana was there for me… and…”
“So it’s my fault you cheated on me?” Harry interrupted, incredulous, his voice a mix of anger and deep despair.
“No! I don’t mean that. I didn’t want to cheat on you. I didn’t want any of this…” Louis’ voice broke, tears welling in his eyes. “But it was hard seeing you with those top models all the time, keeping our relationship secret… We barely have any time together. Whenever we have free time, you have to meet some other woman… I hate it. I don’t know how much longer I can handle it. I love you, Harry. Still, it hurts. Briana understood all of it… somehow… I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I thought I could push it aside. And now I’m going to be a father. I don’t know how I’m going to manage…”
Harry sank heavily into a chair, hands in his hair, breathing in short bursts. “Do you think I enjoy going on fake dates with random women? I’d rather spend the time with my boyfriend too.”
For a few minutes, there was silence, only the soft hum of the air-conditioning filling the room.
Finally, Harry broke the silence: “Louis… can we overcome all of this?”
“I don’t know, Harry…” said Louis honestly, voice soft, vulnerable. “I really don’t know.”
Again, silence. The weight of their feelings lay between them, heavy, almost tangible. Finally, Harry sighed wearily: “I think we should consider a breakup.”
The next day, they sat together again, discussing hurt feelings, problems, the distance that had grown between them. Both felt the situation had alienated them. Harry brought up the idea of a break again – something that might do them both good. Louis, unwilling to give up on them as a couple, initially protested, but eventually conceded to Harry’s wish.
When they told Liam and Niall, both were shocked. Harry and Louis were the band’s dream couple, and their breakup struck not only them but their friends at the heart. Niall desperately tried to convince them they belonged together; Liam asked several times if perhaps they might reconsider in a few days.
But Harry, and by now also Louis, were sure.
Harry felt both sadness and a strange relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
And so today Harry had collected his things from Louis’ flat – a strange, heavy feeling that still lingered in his chest. Louis had looked so sad, so hurt while watching him pack, Harry nearly lost his breath. The tears in those deep blue eyes had always stirred something in him, something that made him weak, and today was no different.
They had hugged, long, tight, as if the other were a shelter in a storm. The warmth of Louis’ body, the familiar scent, the closeness that said more than words – all of it burned into Harry’s memory. Harry had gently stroked Louis’ cheek and then carefully pulled him into a kiss. Louis did not hesitate, reciprocated, and immediately a wild, reckless make-out erupted. Hands wandered over backs, shoulders and hips, searching, holding, wanting to hold before it was all over.
Harry had briefly pulled away from the kiss, breathed deeply and looked Louis firmly in the eyes – a silent consent, one last urgent impulse. Then he placed his hand on Louis’ waist and led him towards the bedroom, every step charged with desire and the urgency to feel everything one last time. In the bedroom, they hastily tore each other’s clothes off, hands trembling, yearning, yet tenderly stroking each other’s skin.
Harry was aware this had been their farewell sex, and when he left the house, the weight on his shoulders felt worse than ever before.