Work Text:
It’s a bit odd, losing your virginity twice in one night. First to your closest friend in the world, and then to a B-list celebrity you hardly know.
It’s late summer and Princess Park is blooming. Flowers crawl up around the windows and scent the air inside if you ever leave them open. It’s part of why Louis and I chose the location: beautiful while also private, the perfect balance for two teenage boys on the cusp of superstardom.
It only cost us a modest £5,000 per month.
We’ve spent the last few weeks setting up shop, moving about furniture and bickering like an old couple over which paintings should go where. Amidst the chaos, something must have sprouted alongside the flowers, because suddenly Louis wasn’t looking at me the same way. In fact, he looked a great deal like I did whenever I looked at him: wonderstruck, bewildered, and completely, totally in love.
Over dinners of bad takeaway, I’ve waited for him to make his move. My eyes forever watching him, my mouth forever itching to say the things I just need to air out. Things like I love you and please, would you like me back?
It’s pathetic, of course, but I’m barely seventeen. The fact that I’m in this situation in the first place - suddenly thrusted into a famous boy band only to become completely enamoured with a fellow member - is honestly bizarre. I’m not equipped to handle it. Would anyone be, in a thousand lifetimes?
Finally, this morning, it happened. We’d both been reaching for the teabags at the same time when our arms, both bare in our short-sleeved T-shirts, brushed. Our skin was like LA after a drought, catching fire and throwing sparks. In the same instant, our heads had turned to face one another. Both of our gazes were quizzical. Both of us began to laugh hysterically.
And then, just as I’d been about to shift away, Louis’ hand had migrated from the teabag and to my waist. He’d held me there, his eyes boring into mine. Carefully, he used his free hand to tear the teabag from my grasp and place it lightly on the counter. Then he’d lurched forward, more animal than human, and kissed me hard on the mouth.
Things had gone from one thing to the next. The first moment I’d been shocked stiff, unable to respond, and the next he’d gotten me on the kitchen island, his hands diving beneath my shirt and feeling the skin beneath. He was slotted nicely between my legs, his sides brushing along the inside of my thighs. Every time they touched, it made me shiver. My whole body was buzzing with teenage want.
Soon Louis had my pants off, and his own were in a pool around his ankles. He didn’t feel like getting his lube from upstairs so he just used spit instead, and I was too far gone to propose any logical alternative. In that moment, I needed the feel of Louis inside of me more than I needed air. And more than that… I’d never done this before.
I knew Louis had. Maybe not with a boy, but he’d had a girlfriend while we were on the X Factor and he used to brag about all the things they got up to when his mum was looking the other way. Trysts in the school bathrooms fueled by adolescent lust. Blowjobs in the bedroom right next to his baby sister’s, his hand over his girlfriend’s mouth to keep her quiet.
He did the same thing with me, his hand naturally migrating to my face to shut me up. It threw me, given the fact that there was quite a good amount of space between our flat and the neighbour’s so no one should’ve been able to hear us. Too wrapped up in the feel of Louis’ cock pushing into my arse, though, I’d been just about ready to accept anything he put in front of me. Whatever he wanted - exhibitionism, bondage, the things I hadn’t even gleaned from the days of watching porn on the shared family computer back in Cheshire - I would give to him. I just loved him too much.
It didn’t take me long to come. I was a shuddering, sobbing mess, my whole body going loose and numb. I fell forward and braced all my weight on Louis’ shoulders, who was still pounding into me with desperation, chasing his own orgasm. Then he too was coming with a moan he tried to bite back but didn’t quite succeed in, and the sound had me making a double take. It was so unfiltered, so glorious, and immediately I committed it to memory for use later to get off to. I was certain then, as Louis pulled out and turned his back to me so that he was leaning against the cold counter, that I would experience it again at some point. That our separate rooms would naturally mould into one over time, and we would share a bed and make love in it and wake up in each other’s arms. It was the culmination of all of the fantasies I’d had regarding Louis, regarding us, since the moment I first encountered him at the urinal.
But for the rest of the day, he wouldn’t talk to me. In fact, he wouldn’t meet my eye. It was like he blamed me for what had happened, like I’d tempted him and forced him into it. It hollowed out my chest and made me feel wayward, untethered, utterly destroyed. For more than half a year, I’d admired Louis like no other, whether or not my romantic feelings were considered. Now he was shunning me and ignoring me at every turn.
Talking to him wouldn’t work, not when he’d taken a vow of silence. So just after the takeaway arrived that evening, I deposited the food onto the counter before slipping out the front door and fishing my phone out of my pocket.
The first thing I did was dial Paul. I had no idea why, except for the fact that I knew I could trust him with my life. We’d only known each other for a few weeks, with Simon having introduced us at a meeting after signing with Syco, but he seemed like a decent bloke and not the sort to ask questions, besides. So when I ordered him to drive me to an address I’d only half-remembered from when it had been drunkenly recounted to me at a party months prior, he agreed and was at Princess Park to pick me up within the hour.
I didn’t look back at the flat as we drove away. I knew Louis wouldn’t be watching me leave out the window.
Now I’m sitting in Paul’s passenger seat, surveying London through a tinted, bullet-proof window. My fingers are drumming anxiously on my thigh, mapping out a rhythm I thought would make a good beat for a song. It’s catchy and has all the hallmarks of a hummable hit. If anything, it’s about to divert one’s attention in the middle of a crisis.
I haven’t steeled myself by the time Paul’s car comes to a shuddering halt. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, not wanting to accept that we’re actually here. When I open them, I’m met with a sight that slightly quells my fears. Judging by the grandeur of the neighbourhood, I’m guessing we must be in the right place. Maybe I didn’t fuck up the address after all.
Paul leaves the car before I do, checking the street for any possible threats. I want to tell him it’s pointless, it’s twenty o’clock and we’re in a posh part of town, but then I realize this is his job, to think of the threats that I wouldn’t even begin to imagine. I’m new to this industry and it must be painfully obvious to him.
I wonder if it’s painfully obvious to Louis, too.
Then Paul gives me the go-ahead to leave the vehicle. I step out and immediately shiver from the cold night wind slapping my skin like rubber bands. London can get cold during the winter, but it shouldn’t be this bad in the spring.
It’s all the more motivation to hustle me toward the charmingly-painted red front door just a few paces away. Paul rings the doorbell for me, because who knows, maybe it’ll set off explosives inside. Or maybe he’s just being kind. Or maybe he already sees me as this egotistical celebrity and he’s trying to get on my good side.
Jesus.
Before I can properly spiral, the door flings open and reveals a petite blonde woman behind it. She’s definitely had work done, with puffy bright pink lips and unnaturally bright hair. Her blue eyes are dulled a bit by sleep but otherwise, she’s energetic. To be honest, I can’t recall a moment with her where she hasn’t been the life of the party, even when she’s gotten so drunk that I’ve had to hold her hair back for her while she barfs into the toilet bowl.
The moment she sees my face, somehow her own manages to brighten. “Har-ry!” she cries, milking the last syllable for all it’s worth. Barely a second passes before her arms have wrapped themselves tightly around my waist and I hiss in pain. Not only is she an extraordinarily strong hugger, but I’m also still incredibly sore from having sex for the first time.
I gulp against her, thanking God as she pulls away. It’s not something I want to think about now.
Without saying a word, I throw Paul a glance which dismisses him for the time being. He retreats back to his nondescript car, where he’ll wait for me to emerge later so he can take me back to my flat. That leaves me and the woman alone on her front porch, both freezing from the night cold, though she doesn’t show it.
A bit stiffly, I offer her a smile. “Caroline, it’s nice to see you.”
”And it’s nice to see you, Harry, oh well isn’t this a surprise! You should have phoned me first, you silly boy!” And then she takes me by the wrist and drags me into her home.
It’s about as bright and bubbly as she is, with kitschy sculptures and paintings covering every surface. Though hectic, it manages to come together to form something slightly consistent. I admire her creativity, at least.
She takes me into the kitchen where she starts to prepare some tea for me. It reminds me too much of the events of this morning, and I cringe as I decline the cup. Turning to face me, Caroline’s expression has fallen and is clearly confused. “Then what is it that you’re here for?”
Yeah. Right. Why did I make the trip out here in the first place?
I wish I could lie and say it was something noble. That I trusted her more than anyone and thought I would be safe spilling my guts to her. But that’s far from the truth and I’m a terrible liar. She’s dated princes, for God’s sake! She’d see right through me.
So instead of getting the words out, I stand slowly from the sofa. She watches me with narrowed eyes but otherwise does nothing as I approach her. We grow closer and closer until our chests are touching. Much like me this morning, she must sense what’s about to come and drops the teabag on the counter. At least this time, it hasn’t been done by force.
I’m the one to kiss her first, not because I find her particularly attractive - girls have never really been my thing - but because I need to get the taste of Louis off of my mouth. It’s awful and it’s cruel and it makes my guts twist up in knots, but it’s better than having to occupy my thoughts with other, worse things, like Louis’ cruel eyes and his icy silence to me all day.
What is he playing at? It’s what I ask myself as Caroline jerks back from me only to grin cattishly and guide me upstairs to her room. It’s just as bright as the rest of the house, and the bed itself is large and soft. When she pushes me down on it, I bounce a little. She begins to take off her clothes in a strip-tease fashion.
What does Louis gain from leading me on like this? I could understand if he’s in denial about his sexuality, but fucking a boy on your kitchen island is the last thing I would have done if I was trying to play it straight. And then having to be reminded of it for the rest of the day - for the rest of your life, because we’re always going to be connected in some sort of way, even if - dear God - even if One Direction disbands. It’ll be what made us famous and it’ll be the reason why our names will ever be mentioned in the same breath, and every time that will happen, Louis will be reminded of this, what he’s done with me, everything he’s trying to hide and disprove - so why do it in the first place, why take my innocence like that, why lead me on-
I’ve been spiraling so much that I haven’t even noticed that Caroline is completely naked until she’s in my lap and grinding against me. She takes one of my hands and brings it to her left breast, and she moans at the touch. As if she wasn’t the one to instigate it. As if she wasn’t the one to start all of this.
Being up close to her, I see more clearly the lines on her body, the wrinkles and the signs of a life lived. It doesn’t make her ugly by any means, but it reminds me just how much older she is than me. Fifteen years of difference. She’d been revising for her GSCE’s when I’d been swaddling.
Dear God, what am I doing?
It hits me like a truck, just how wrong this is. Not just because I instigated it but because of how different we are. Caroline will expect me to know things that my youth won’t permit me to know. She’ll be disappointed, and worse, the media will come after her if this ever gets out. They’ll call her cruel things, paint her as a monster, and I’ll never have the chance to defend her.
I try to stop her, but the hand I press on her chest must be mistaken as another touch to her breast, because she arches against me and tries to get closer. Her breathing is heavier now, her eyes darker, and suddenly she’s spinning us around so she’s sprawled out on the sheets beneath me and I’m on top of her. I straddle her not because I want to but because it steadies me a bit, and by the time I realise my error, it’s too late. She’s already reaching for my pants, trying to get my boxers down.
My whole backside is screaming at me, aggravated by the events of this morning. I’m sore all over and in no state to properly perform but she expects this of me, I’ve lead her on and I have to see it through. No matter how much it hurts.
Soon I’m completely naked, and she bites her lip to hold back her pleasure. Her eyes won’t leave my dick, how it’s curled and hardened not from arousal but from Caroline’s ministrations. I feel as if my body is betraying me, is betraying Caroline, making her believe lies I don’t even believe myself.
”Have you ever done this before?” she asks breathlessly, her long nails trailing down her chest.
I swallow. The sound of Louis’ moans fill my head, making it hard to hear. Carefully, I shake my head.
I brace for ridicule but only find her laughing huskily, her skin flushing harder. “That’s so-o hot,” she says, biting her lip again. “I get to show you how it’s done - fuck…”
And when she puts it like that, like my naïveté is more of a gift to her than a handicap, I feel as if I have to give her this. Because she wants it so bad.
She guides me through it, taking hold of my wrist and navigating my hand so that it enters her silky wetness. It’s hot and slick and all loose, and she drags my fingers through each and every fold. I bite my lip, feeling a bit disgusted by the sliminess of it, but her obvious pleasure makes me shut up instantly. She’s clearly enjoying herself. At least I’m doing something right.
Then, once she feels like she’s been prepared enough, she instructs me on where to find condoms. They’re in her hot pink bedside table, and I find them easily. She shows me how to roll it onto myself, as if this wasn’t in Sex Ed 101. Then again, it’s been a while since she’s been in secondary school. Maybe she’s forgotten.
With her permission, I place my hands on her shoulders to provide myself a brace. Her skin beneath my palms is silky smooth and impossibly soft, and it feels like I’m making cracks in a porcelain doll. It only aggravates my guilt, the feeling that this is wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this. But when she bats her eyes up at me, on the verge of sobbing, I take it as a command to slowly, gently, ever so carefully push in.
Immediately, she erupts into wild pleasure. The insertion feels odd for me, almost rendering me claustrophobic, but I see how much she likes it, how she writhes and moans, and thrust experimentally a few times. I guess I must not be half-bad, because soon she’s using one hand to fist the bright blue sheets beneath us and the other to fist my curls, bringing my face close to hers and crashing our lips together in a bruising kiss. She bites my lips, hard enough to draw blood. I’m shocked by this. Even Louis didn’t bite.
Louis. The reminder of him, the things I felt while we were together, is what gets me through the next fifteen minutes of rocking and thrusting and kissing hard on open mouths. His flushed face, his furrowed brows, the sounds he made as he thrusted into me. They’re the only thing keeping me hard in this condom. They’re the only thing that makes me come when I do.
Caroline follows soon after, her eyes shut and her mouth wide. She shakes uncontrollably and I fear I’ve done something wrong, quickly pulling out of her. She goes limp against the mattress and for a few minutes, she doesn’t say a word. Then her eyes open and I find she’s staring right at me.
I ask, slightly terrified, “Did I do something wrong…?”
And then she bursts into tears.
It’s spectacular, just like the rest of her. She’s shaking and sobbing and I have no idea what to do. Cautiously, I take her into my arms and rock her, trying to coax her into some numb state. It’s better than feeling this.
After a while, she calms down a bit. I card my fingers through her bright hair, as if to remind her that I’m there in her bed, just like she wants me. I ask again, “Was everything alright?”
Though she nods enthusiastically, the swallow which accompanies it is far from certain. Her lips purse and her body stiffens, not totally melting into mine anymore. “Your gifts are wasted on me,” she says quietly, so quiet that I almost don’t hear it. But I do and it goes through me like a lightning bolt, and I’m not sure what to do with this.
Another minute of silence passes and then she peels herself off of me, sniffling into her palm. She’s relaxed somewhat and it appears like she’s ready for bed, so I start to collect my clothes from where they’d scattered around the room and signal to Paul through the window that I’m ready to leave.
As I’m standing in the doorway, something Caroline says stops me: “Maybe we’ll do this again.”
I turn to her and nod, but on the whole don’t confirm anything. The only time I see myself getting driven to her house another time is on the occasion that Louis fucks me senseless again only to avoid me for the rest of the day.
Given the way Louis treats me the rest of the night, though, I doubt that a second visit to Caroline’s place is entirely unlikely.