Archive of Our Own ^beta

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The idea came when Harry was sitting at the pub downtown with some work colleagues who were known to be shit disturbers, but Megan, the one female flagger in their construction crew, convinced him to go for some reason. He knew it wouldn't hurt because Louis was staying late to grade more tests, as summer was approaching, his teaching job was consuming the majority of his fiancée's life. 

When Harry met Louis Tomlinson, it was honestly super cliche. They met at a mutual friend's birthday party, where Harry accidentally bumped into him and spilled a drink down the front of his frilly white blouse, and of course, dropped the cup on his toe. Harry only remembers Louis bending down to pick it up for him and looking at Harry with wide blue eyes through thick lashes, paired with the sweetest smile and the softest voice, saying, “I don't get on my knees for just anybody, you know.”

  And the rest was history. 

Six years and one engagement later, Harry would say he’s pretty happy with his life. He has a steady job, a cat that loves him more than his own mother does, home-cooked meals every other night, sex daily, and well… he’s a simple man. 

“Harry is honestly the worst when it comes to being late, I swear he’s always rushing in with a different excuse every morning.” Niall snorts, shoving Harry’s shoulder a little harder than necessary, but he’ll let it go this time.

“Do you guys have anything better to do than to talk about me? I’m starting to think you’re obsessed or something...” Harry takes a swig of his beer, slamming it down once the last bit of liquid slides down his throat. 

“It’s probably all the time he spends trimming his mustache, so it’s perfect, ” Megan teases, sipping the straw of her margarita and eyeing him knowingly. 

Unfortunately, it is a well-known fact that his mustache is part of him, he’s weirdly attached to it, and he can’t explain it. Maybe because it holds so many memories, or the fact that his fiancée loves his mustache, and it's not a secret.

The bride-to-be quite literally had a mustache-themed bachelorette party just a week ago, and the Instagram pictures of Louis and his bridesmaid holding cutouts of Harry’s face on popsicle sticks will never leave his mind (as well as the selfie Louis took with Franklin in a mini cowboy hat, squinty-eyed and drunk). Not to mention the banner that read, ‘Save a horse, ride a mustache.”

Unfortunately, his coworkers never let him live it down.

“You’re just jealous,” Harry admits, leaning back into the booth and eyeing all his coworkers who are snickering. He sits up quickly and points his finger while still holding the beer bottle in his hand, “especially you, babyface Niall. I don't even think I’ve seen you grow one chin hair since your apprenticeship.”

Niall's face coils in offence. He covers his chin and gives Harry the middle finger. “Sorry, not all of us are graced with sasquatch genetics…” 

“I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you without facial hair, H. You’ve always had it ever since I can remember.” Megan backpeddles this time, as the others nod with her. Harry's convinced the last person to see him clean-shaven was his mother when he was probably sixteen, since then, he’s always had facial hair. 

“He definitely looks too baby-faced without it. He’d be offended if he got carded at the ripe age of thirty for cigs.” Megan chimes in again, a mock pout on her face while clanking her glass with Niall as they hoot together. 

“Well, get used to it,” he then leans his elbows on the sticky table in front of them, shifting as all the attention has fallen onto him, and he hates it. Nervously, he removes his hat and runs his fingers through his tangled curls, “I’m never shaving.” 

“We would never dream of it,” Megan replies, eyes rolling into the back of her head when Harry jumps suddenly at his phone buzzing in the back pocket of his dirt-stained khakis. He doesn't even bother to excuse himself, just gets up and heads outside to take the call, throwing his middle finger up at the group as they whistle after him.

He picks up the phone before even checking who it is, knowing– “Baby.”

“Hey, H.” Louis’s tentative voice spills out of the speaker pressed to his ear. Harry relaxes just hearing his voice and leans against the cool brick wall behind him as people briskly walk by him on the sidewalk. Louis’s voice is calming, familiar, and Harry may miss him a little bit. “How's the night going?”

“It’s good, everyone's annoying me like I knew they would.” Louis laughs. It's light, and Harry can already see him twirling his pencil around on his desk while he listens. “I’m gonna head out soon, though. Are you almost finished?”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, tired mostly. “I have two more papers to grade, but I’m thinking they can wait until Monday…”

“Hm, why's that?” Harry hums, biting his lip at the teasing tone coming from Louis.

“I don't know…” Louis ponders for a second on the line, and Harry smirks, “Just sitting here thinking of riding someone's face right about now… specifically someone with a mustache to give me beard burn that I'll feel for days… but it’s just a thought I had.” 

Harry scoffs because it’s not just a thought; it's his reality every night since they started dating. The mustache has been a thing, honestly, since Harry can remember. He had it when they started dating, long before that, which means Louis has never seen him clean-shaven– but Harry plays along.

“Yeah?” Harry almost growls, and it's sort of humbling standing in the street outside a dingy pub late at night, flirting over the phone with the love of your life, but Harry’s seen worse. “Your throne will be waiting when you get home, brat.”

“That's what I like to hear.” Louis perks up over the phone; he’s giggling, and Harry can hear papers shuffling around like he’s packing up his things quickly but not fast enough. Lifting his wrist, Harry checks the time on his watch. 

“See you at home in twenty?” 

“Kiss you in twenty-one,” Louis makes a quick ‘kissy’ noise and hangs up. Harry rushes inside to grab his hard helmet, reflective vest laying across the booth and to pay his tab. Realizing he had almost left without his belongings and his first criminal charge. 

“You’re leaving? It’s only eight.” Oscar, who runs the forklift, boos at him with a huge thumbs down, and Harry couldn't care less.

“Sorry, fiancée duty awaits.” Harry shrugs, reaching into his pocket and fanning out some five-dollar bills onto the table, and quickly salutes. “See ya Monday.”

“See ya, Mario.”

“Bye, Ted Lasso.”

“Peace, Monopoly Man.”

Harry leaves the pub with a shake of his head and a small idea that’ll make his co-workers eat their words– because, all in all, it is just hair.

Right?

₊˚🪒₊˚

It’s Wednesday when Harry wakes up early, earlier than normal. Louis is snoring peacefully beside him, curled around Harry’s pillow he stole during the night, while drool seeps out of the corner of his mouth. Harry’s so in love with him, and he can't wait to marry him in just twenty-eight days.

Slipping into the small bathroom of their one-bedroom apartment that costs way too much money for the part of Washington they live in, but it's perfect for them. Harry wants to someday build a house for him and Louis. A nice blue suburban home with a white picket fence, where they can raise their family on the outskirts. However, in this economy, it's been a journey of saving and trying to plan a wedding in the middle of it, which is actually terrifying. 

“ Meow .” 

Harry jumps when he hears their entirely overweight, orange tabby cat, Franklin. The feline meows sharply at him, sitting at his feet while staring up at Harry with big green eyes. Frank is actually Louis’s baby, after Louis rescued him from across the street. Cold and shivering, alone in an alleyway while Louis was on an emergency ‘no condoms or lube’ trip to the store. They lucked out with him, that's for sure. 

“Meow.” 

“Alright, dude, just give me a sec.” Harry talks to himself as he washes his face, the light shining from above temporarily blinding him when he flicks it on. Staring at his reflection in the mirror has become a regular occurrence over the past week. Since his co-workers' comments about his mustache and how they'd never seen him clean-shaven before, he's been wondering what he looks like underneath that furry lip. 

The next thing he knows, he’s pulling out a fresh razor and his expensive shaving cream his sister got him for Christmas last year.

The bathroom remains quiet, save for the low hum of a flickering light and the faint drip of the tap below him, reminding him he needs to tighten the faucet. 

He stared at his reflection, and the mustache stared back. 

It had been with him through it all. Late nights during crew training, his first heartbreak, bourbon-soaked confessions. He remembered the first time he’d grown it, trying to look older or maybe to feel hidden. Over time, it became his trademark.

Harry reached for the razor, fingers trembling just enough to betray the weight of the moment as he ran a calloused hand down his face. The blade reflected off the light above while he turned it in his grip.

The first stroke was quiet.

A swipe across his upper lip, delicate, but precise. A clean line sliced through years of identity. The thick hairs fell like ash into the sink as he swiped down the middle, so there was no going back, it was already half gone.

He exhaled, fogging the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t look like him anymore, and it felt almost freeing. He paused, blade hovering. "Frank?" he muttered, as though the cat might answer. He doesn't, of course. Still circling his feet, waiting for his food bowl to be filled, not caring that his dad is going through a midlife crisis. “Do you think your mother has a clue what's going on in here?” He jokes, while the second stroke came faster. He was confident this time as he finished shaving the last bit of hair off his lip. He rinsed the blade, wiped his face, and leaned in. 

No mustache.

He felt naked, and now he’s realizing he does have a baby face. But he has to prove to his coworkers that he’s still him without a mustache. 

It’s silly, but he's satisfied.

Continuing his morning routine with ease, he finally feeds the starving cat, makes a cup of black coffee, and tiptoes into their bedroom while Louis still sleeps. His alarm is not set to go off for another thirty minutes. 

Harry quietly slips on a pair of grass-stained blue jeans and a white shirt with many holes. He leans over the bed, kisses Louis on the cheek as he does every morning before leaving for work, whispers, ‘ I love you, have a good day,’ and heads out the door with his lunch, packed the night before by Louis, in one hand and his thermos full of coffee in the other. 

For a Wednesday, Harry's day could've gone worse.

As he arrives at the construction site early, everyone is on edge, unaware of the reason yet. He follows his usual routine of inspecting the machines they'll be using, making sure they haven't been tampered with overnight, and taking a moment to put his lunch in the break room fridge. He does this quietly, avoiding any run-ins with colleagues who might notice his clean-shaven face and comment on it. 

It's too early for those kinds of comments. 

By noon, Harry remains unscathed, and he knows it was because Wednesdays are busy days when everyone is too occupied with their own tasks. Megan flags down traffic, Niall makes sure no one's slacking off with his clipboard, which simply means, ‘I'm in charge,’ and Oscar, who operates the forklift, moves loads of cement to a section of the new parking garage they're constructing. 

Harry's sure he’ll make it to the end of his shift unnoticed. So when he enters the lunch room and five people let out audible gasps, he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was.

“What?” Harry deadpans, shoving his cold coffee into the microwave and peeling the banana from his lunch, and taking an aggressive bite.

“Are you okay?” Megan is the first to speak. She stares at him, and she doesn't even try to hide the fact that she's staring directly at his mouth. “Harry, you…”

“Shaved?!” Niall walks into the room, hard hat tucked under his arm and a mug in his hand, contents swishing when he halts in front of him. 

“What's the big deal? You guys are so dramatic.” Harry waves them off, opening the microwave before it beeps and taking a sip of his coffee to occupy his mouth, or maybe he was trying to hide it. He’s maybe feeling a little exposed without the comforting hair above his lip.

“The big deal is, I barely recognized you.” The ginger-haired girl walks over and stands a bit too close while she examines his face. “Who even are you?”

“I’m Harry,” he deadpans. “Now move, you’re freaking me out.” He steps aside, footsteps echoing as he walks towards the worn plaid couches in the corner, and swiftly slips his phone out of his pocket to check if Louis had answered his text earlier about their plans tonight for dinner. 

“Well, what did the fiancée think?” Niall teases, chewing obnoxiously on his PB&J sandwich, flopping into a chair by the lunch table. “I would’ve paid money to see Louis’ face.”

Harry pauses, not answering right away because he doesn't have an answer. The man had honestly forgotten that his fiancée had no idea what he had done, but during the impulsive decision, he hadn't been thinking. “He hasn’t seen it.”

Another gasp fills the room, and Harry is going to quit in two seconds. 

“You didn't tell him?” Megan puts a hand on her heart. The drama never ends here, it seems.

“No? He’ll see it later tonight when we have dinner,” Harry says nonchalantly, like he has no idea what he’s done. “I’m taking him to Rossano's for date night. Since he’ll be busy with the shower this weekend.”

Niall and Megan exchange looks, which Harry easily ignores. “Well, I hope to see you tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn't you?” Harry laughs, confusion fills his face as he takes the last bite of his banana, and sweat forms on his brow. 

He blames the heat. 

“Never mind…” She says, covering her mouth, and Niall snickers beside her into his hand. Harry is so sick of them and their annoying opinions on everything he does. So when he leaves the lunch room with a flick to Niall’s forehead, he doesn't feel that bad about it.

₊˚🪒₊˚

Entering the dimly lit restaurant makes Harry feel lighter. Finally, after his long, horrific shift with his annoying coworkers bothering him over his facial hair– or lack thereof– he's finally ready to sit back and enjoy a nice dinner with his stunning fiancée.

Unfortunately, he's late. Usually for Harry, anything that involves Louis, he would never be late for, but his amazing boss decided to make them lay three more flats of cement with forty minutes left of their shift, and he was stuck in traffic for longer than he hoped. 

Of course, Louis never minds…or at least he thought. 

Harry sees the back of his head sitting at a small, secluded booth in the far corner of the restaurant. The chandelier dangles above, casting shadows along the soft brown hair curling at his neck. The older man quickens his pace because the quicker he sees Louis, the quicker his day will get ten times better. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Harry whisks by, pressing a quick kiss to Louis's mouth, whose head is down in his phone. Louis smiles into it, eyes closed from the surprise gesture, while Harry slides into the booth across from him. He shrugs off his bright orange vest he forgot to leave in his truck, and then… silence. 

Harry looks up, finally settled into the plush cushions, when he pauses, meeting Louis's wide eyes. His fiancée is frozen, mouth dropped completely open wide enough to catch some flies. 

“Baby?” Harry’s eyebrows furrow at him, and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips because Louis hasn't moved an inch. “Lou?”

“What have you done?” Louis says with horror filling his voice.

“Huh?” 

“You cannot be serious right now–” Louis' mouth closes quickly, his lips fall in a straight line. Something registers in the younger boy's head, and Harry has never been more confused. But suddenly, their waiter arrives and asks for their drink orders. 

After the waiter steps away to get their drinks, the air feels tense. It's quiet, and usually Louis would be talking his ear off about his day and what crazy things his students had done today. Harry watches intently at his fiancée, whose eyes haven't left the menu, like it's the most interesting thing in the restaurant, or the fact that Harry knows he’s going to get the same thing he always does. Chicken alfredo with added shrimp. 

“So…how was work?” Harry asks, breaking the silence between them. Even though Rossano’s is busy tonight, they’re far away from other people flooding the Italian restaurant. It's private and just them.

“Good,” Louis responds, short and not so sweet. Harry’s lips purse in confusion again, and he runs a rough hand through his already tangled hair from doing the same thing twelve times at work today.

“That's good,” Harry says, uncertain of his own voice, but Louis still doesn't look at him. The waiter returns with their drinks, a glass of red for Louis and a beer for Harry. 

“Are you ready to order?” The waitress beams, hands crossed in front of her, waiting for them to tell her their entrees. 

“Yeah, I’ll have the ravioli with extra cheese and he’ll have the chicken alfredo with shrimp–”

“Actually,” Louis cuts him off, turning his head to the waitress, “I’ll have the chicken parm, thank you.” Louis gives her a closed-mouth smile and shuts his menu with a snap, handing it to the wide-eyed waitress. 

“Anything else?” She wavers.

“No, that's all, thank you.” Harry doesn't even try to hide his confusion and also doesn't let his eyes leave Louis's face, mapping every crease and every corner to try and figure out what is wrong. When they’re alone again, Harry can’t hold it back.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, just had a long day,” Louis hums, still not looking at him, picking away at the pale pink polish chipping on his nails while Harry leans over the table head, ducking to try and get Louis’s attention on him. 

Louis won't budge.

“You always get the alfredo.” Harry challenges, wanting him to break. The energy is weird, off, and Harry hates it.

“ Sometimes I like change,” Louis shrugs, and that's a lie. Harry knows his fiancée inside and out. He knows when Louis is sad, mad, happy, annoyed, or frustrated. He knows when he’s going to come just by the noises he makes when Harry fucks him, and he definitely knows when he’s lying. 

Harry knows him.

“Okay…” he drags the word out, still confused by the switch of Louis's energy. “Why today?” 

“Just felt like it.”

“Alright.” Harry drops it. They don't continue the conversation because he knows it's going nowhere, for now at least. 

Dinner continues the same; Louis is short, cold, and something is wrong, but Harry knows he has to wait for Louis to come to him, so he suffers in silence. At home, it’s no different. They enter their apartment in silence, and Louis doesn't even let Harry help him take his cardigan off which– he always does. They do their night routine again– in silence. Harry tries making jokes with Louis, even using Franklin as an icebreaker, saying in his fake cat voice, ‘ Why is Mom so cranky, Dad? He’s killing my vibe ’ and Louis usually would smack him by now, but still, nothing.

Bedtime is worse. 

Harry tries making a move on Louis, trying to get any type of reaction from the boy, and if he knows one thing, Louis would never turn down a dicking from Harry. Slipping a ringed, calloused hand below the covers, soft skin slips between his fingers while Louis faces away from him – which is also weird. Harry teases the soft skin of his lower belly as he pulls the boy closer to him and leaves open-mouth kisses on his neck, trying to signal, I want hole.

“Not tonight, H.” 

Harry deflates. 

He leaves one last kiss on Louis's neck, and he can feel Louis melt at the touch, but he still pulls away at the last second. 

Harry falls asleep that night with a half-hard cock and a head full of empty thoughts. 

₊˚🪒₊˚

The rest of the week continues like this:

Thursday morning, Harry wakes up to Louis already out of bed and sitting at the kitchen island reading on his Kindle while a cup of steaming hot tea sits cooling on the counter. Harry walks into the space, stretches, and leans in for a kiss. Louis allows him to press their lips together, but he doesn't kiss back. Harry frowns but continues towards the kettle. His feet plat against the cool tile while he paces and waits for the water to boil. 

“Can’t sleep?” Harry asks, and Louis hums in agreement. His hair is styled beautifully on his head, a few strands fall on his forehead gracefully as his long lashes fan over his cheeks while he looks down at the words on his screen. He’s wearing a pair of light-washed jeans and a yellow blouse paired with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath, and god, Harry wants to ruin him.

“What time am I picking your parents up at the airport tomorrow?” Harry asks, keeping his tone light, but he knows the question will force Louis to speak. Maybe he misses his voice, or maybe he really misses his fiancée actually looking him in the eye.

Of course, Louis’ eyes do not leave his kindle, picking up his tea and taking a slow sip. “Around noon, I think.”

“Okay, I can use my lunch break, no worries.”

“Great, they’ll be so–” He pauses, Louis' eyes meet Harry’s over the rim of his mug, “...surprised when they see you, I’m sure.” Harry bathes in the attention he gets, only for mere seconds, but then Louis’s eyes fall again. 

“Surprised? Why?” His voice cracks, eyebrows raise in confusion again. But all Harry gets in response is a loud sigh and the sound of the stool scraping on the floor. Louis hops down, bare feet thudding onto the ground when he circles the island, and suddenly, he’s standing so close to Harry. 

“You’re so lucky I love you.” Louis glares at him, a hand reaches up to squeeze his cheeks together, making his lips pucker up–and Louis kisses him. It's quick, but it's something, and Harry will take anything.

“I love you.” Harry almost whispers because every time Louis is this close to him, close enough he can see the freckles on his nose and the faint smell of his vanilla perfume, he immediately surrenders. Louis taps his cheek once, and suddenly he's gone. Slipping on his nude flats and hauling his tote bag over his shoulder. 

“I’m on drop-off duty, and Kathleen is scared of Mrs. Nelson. She begged me to switch days.” Harry soaks in every word because this is the most Louis has spoken to him in so long. 

He’ll take anything. 

“Oh, she’s the ‘Karen’, isn’t she?”

“The one and only,” Louis replies, opening the door with a small smile, and he’s gone just like that. Harry still knows something is wrong, but he waits for Louis to come to him; he always does. 

The breakroom has seen more of Harry's vulnerability in the past week than it ever has in the six years he’s worked at this company. Sitting at the metal table in the break room, Megan and Niall are sitting around him, almost like an intervention is happening because Harry's got his hands in his hair, pulling the strands just a bit while he groans loudly.

“I don't know what I did, you guys? He won't even look at me. I finally got more than two words this morning, but… there's still something wrong.” Harry slams his hand down on the table a little more forcibly than he meant. Megan looks at Niall, who then looks at her. “Do you think he’s getting cold feet? He’s realizing maybe marrying me is a mistake? I mean, I know it’s annoying when I don't pick up my hard hat off the table, and I stink sometimes.” Harry rambles while his two friends stare at him in disbelief. “And okay, I also know I could be better at changing Frank's litter or switching the toilet paper roll when it's empty, but I forget…”

“Harry,” Megan reaches a hand out to touch his lying on the table still. “I don't think it's that at all. Louis loves you.” 

“Yeah,” Niall chimes in, face a little softer now. “You guys are meant to be, bro.”

“Do you think he’s pregnant?” Harry’s eyes widen, not even listening to his friend's advice. His hands slowly dropping from his head, staring blankly at the two while he starts hyperventilating slightly, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have babies with Louis. Of course, I would just… not right now, we aren’t ready.” 

“Harry!” Megan reaches over, chuckling at her friend having a minor panic attack, and she’s laughing. Harry needs new friends. “Relax, maybe there’s something he’s not ready to talk about or maybe… come to terms with.” Megan nods, mostly to herself, and Niall nods with her.

“Yeah, Meg's right. He’ll come around, you'll see.”

“Thank guys,” Harry nods, mostly to himself and his face twists again, “But like– we don't think he’s pregnant, right?”

₊˚🪒₊˚

It’s Friday at noon when it finally clicks in Harry’s brain what has been wrong with his fiancée for the last three torturous days. All it takes is his future in-laws’ arrival in Washington for Louis’s bridal shower to realize that… he should have known.  

Lilly and Lincoln Tomlinson are two of the best people Harry’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. It makes perfect sense that Louis was raised by them. They treat Harry like their own son, always. Even when Louis introduced them and Lincoln had squeezed Harry's hand so tightly his knuckles popped, but he now understands why he did. Louis, being their only son and the apple of their eye, Harry made sure to win them over. Easily doing so with his charming personality and with ease, he showed them how much he loved their son. 

“Harry, dear!” Turning around at the sudden voice, Harry sees Lilly and Lincoln walking towards them with their luggage and open arms for their soon-to-be son-in-law. They probably knew it was him from the work boots and orange vest he still had on over his black shirt. “Oh–” Lilly's face drops suddenly when she gets close enough to actually see Harry, and he can't help but let a hurt look cross his face. Lilly stares at him, dropping her bags on the ground, and suddenly, two warm hands are mauling his face. “What did you do? Does my son know about this?”

“Know about what?” Harry asks, still confused, while Lincoln is already patting his shoulder twice as a comforting gesture, because why is Louis’s Mom looking at him like he's got six heads?

“This!” She nearly screams, poking Harry’s upper lip, and she gives him a look. “I'm sure Louis didn't agree to this.”

“Oh yeah, I shaved,” Harry's nose twitches almost out of habit. “And no, he didn't, but it’s just a stupid work thing.” He waves her hands off his face, and then it suddenly clicks. “ Louis .”

“Yes, how is he taking it? Probably devastated, my poor boy.” Lilly dramatically puts a hand on her heart, making her husband roll his eyes fondly at his wife. Harry quickly bends down to grab her luggage and hauls her duffel bag over his shoulder with ease. “Seriously, what did he say?”

“Uh–” Harry nervously laughs, and Lincoln is now eyeing him intently while they walk towards Harry's truck. Harry pulls down the tailgate to lift the suitcase into the bed, “Nothing, actually, now that I think of it.”

“The silent treatment.” Lincoln nods, a knowing look on his face as he lifts his own luggage onto the truck bed as well. “I know it all too well…”

“Excuse me?” Lilly shoves her husband and rounds the front to claim the front seat, just like her son does. “He seriously hasn't said a word? Nothing?!”

Harry climbs into the driver's seat, turns the key, and the engine roars to life. “No, but now it makes sense why he hasn't talked to me in three days…”

“Oh son…” Lincoln shakes his head, fake disappointment fills his face, but then he's chuckling at the realization his son-in-law has just had. Harry palms his forehead and groans loudly. One hand is still on the steering wheel while he swiftly weaves through traffic towards Louis’ aunt's house, where his parents will be staying for the weekend.

“I honestly don't know how it didn't click sooner!” Harry exasperates, horror filling his face as they both laugh at him. “That's why I've been on the shit list.”

“Language…” Lilly pinches his ear and then sighs. “I can’t blame him, I almost didn't recognize you, but I do apologize for giving Louis my dramatics, honey.”

“No, I think our boy is valid, Lils,” Lincoln says, ruffling the hair on Harry's head because Harry is also realizing this is weird for everyone in his life. He just didn't know facial hair would be such a huge thing to people, but his whole appearance has changed drastically. 

“I didn't even think much of it, it's just hair…” Harry's shoulders sink because how could he not clue into why his fiancée could barely look him in the eye the last few days, and well, maybe he should have mentioned it.

“I’m just saying it's surprising you still have all your limbs and you're not six feet under.” Lilly shrugs, humming joyfully while she changes the radio station.

When Harry turns into Louis’ aunt Leanne's driveway, Harry helps his future in-laws bring their bags into the house. Saying his hellos and talking a little about the wedding with Louis’ aunt and his parents, comfortable and at ease. He leaves with a wave and an invitation for dinner tomorrow at Leanne's. 

Harry’s backing out of the driveway when his phone rings loudly in his pocket. He digs it out skillfully, pressing the speaker button and answering.“Baby.”

“Did you get my parents to Aunt Lee's in one piece?” He's chewing loudly on his lunch through the speaker, and Harry isn't even annoyed one bit.

“Of course, M’lady. We are invited for dinner tomorrow night.” He nods mostly to himself, turning onto the highway to drive back to the construction site. He leaves out the fact that he knows why Louis has given him the cold shoulder and waits for his response.

“Good, that sounds fun. I hope Mom makes her lemon cake for my shower this weekend.” Louis chirps, he's still not giving his all like Harry knows he could. He's strained, but Harry waits still, humming like he can already taste the pie on his tongue. 

“Love me a Tomlinson cake. I won’t lie.” Harry’s drooling at the thought of Lilly’s homemade lemon icing she puts on it.

“What about my cake?” And Harry can see the pout from here. 

“What was that?” Harry questions, acting like he didn't hear every word his stubborn fiancée said. Finally turning into the work site, the gravel crunches under his tires while he eyes the clock. 12:47.

“Nothing, see you tonight.” Louis goes back to being flat, monotone, and Harry’s kind of sick of it.

“Kay, Love you.”

“Love you.” 

The phone call ends with a beep.

Harry knows when he gets home tonight–even though Louis has been the biggest brat in the universe–he’s going to show his soon-to-be wife how fun it is to ride a face and no mustache needed, that's for darn sure.

₊˚🪒₊˚

When Harry arrives home that evening, it's late. Louis has already been home for a few hours now, so when he walks into a quiet, dark apartment, he’s taken aback by the lack of Louis in the area.

“Baby?” He calls out, dropping his stuff at his feet, completely exhausted from work. While he toes off his worn boots, he shuffles further into the apartment, and still, silence. “Lou?”

The door of their bedroom is cracked slightly so Franklin can get in if needed. Harry knows the light coming from the room is the lamp in the corner because Louis hates the big light. It casts an orange line across the floor as Harry approaches. He pushes open the creaky oak and stops in his tracks.

 Lying on their bed, face squished into the mattress while his mouth hangs open in quiet sobs, hair sticking to his shining forehead, his round ass is up, presenting himself for no one other than Harry. Louis has a white, pure lace lingerie set that makes his skin glow. The sheer, baby doll nightie falls onto the plaid sheets as his golden skin peeks through the floral patterns of the lace panties that hug his curved hips. Delicate against his skin. The fabric clings to him, tracing the lines of his back and the gentle slope of his thighs. Louis then turns his head slightly, eyes hooded by long lashes while he stares into Harry’s soul. 

Harry stands in the doorway, motionless. His heart beats steady and full in his chest, but his eyes shift, tracing the lines of his body when his eyes meet Louis's wrist, curved awkwardly at an angle while he fingers himself, soft huffs leaving his parted lips. 

“You always look at me like that,” Louis whimpers, a soft smile creeping on his face. “Like I’m something that will break.” Harry steps into the room slowly, every movement deliberate, while the floorboards creak under him. The bed dipped as he set his fist to steady himself, leaning down to be eye level, his other hand brushes lightly over the small of Louis’ back, tracing the lace as though it were part of him. Louis’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mewling into the touch.

Pressing a kiss to Louis’ warm skin, he whispers, "Because I’m scared you actually will.” He lets his fingers continue, following the arch, and he slaps down hard, making the sound echo in his ears.

“Daddy,” Louis breaks, his voice high when he cries out. His body arches into his hands now, grabbing the round cheek and shaking it to ease the pain. Leaning back, Harry watches as the skin moves under his touch. “Please, I need you.” 

“You need me, huh?” Rearing his hand back, Harry gave a harder slap to Louis’s other cheek, the first one blooming red already. Louis gasps, clutching at the sheets below him.

Harry leans back down, licking Louis’ ear before whispering, “Do you want me to eat that tight pussy?” Louis moans, biting his lip as he looks up into Harry’s eyes, pleading without a word. “Words, Lou.”

“Yes, please, please, please. ”

“Sit on my face.”

It took a bit of manoeuvring and a few giggles from Louis before he finally settled onto Harry’s chest, knees pressed to the mattress by his ears, while Louis bites his lip as he looks down at him. Louis isn’t real. Harry’s already established that because he doesn’t know how he got so lucky. 

“You’re stunning, baby.” Harry’s calloused hands run over the smooth skin of Louis’s curved waist, down his thighs. Harry groans, struggling to keep his breath even as Louis starts to shuffle up, until his thighs are bracketing Harry’s head, his hole wet and hovering over his mouth. Harry smacks Louis’s ass before using the cheek he’s sinking his fingernails into his skin, pulling Louis down onto his open mouth. “You taste so fucking good.” 

A growl rips through his chest, craning his neck up to flatten his tongue over him, a broad stroke ripping a loud whine from Louis’ throat. The sound immediately causes Harry to reach down to palm himself over his jeans with his other hand, desperate for some relief.

“Daddy, more. ” Louis grinds down onto Harry's tongue. Louis is moaning loudly, and Harry’s rock hard because of it. Harry can picture him- knuckles white on the headboard, face flushed, head falling forward while he tries to move his hips under Harry’s grasp. Harry moans, muffled by the weight of his fiancée on top of him, and the feeling of Louis's slick hot against his tongue. The smell of him fills his nose as he drags his face against him, mouth settling firmly over the hole while he sucks.

Harry knows once Louis starts letting out these desperate ‘ Uh’ s, he’s going to come. The next second, Harry pulls away, and Louis' eyes shoot open, looking down at him with a gaped mouth, a whimper ghosting his lips.  

“I think you ride my face just fine without my mustache,” Harry grins, his face feeling wet. He almost licks his top lip because his mustache usually is in the way, and it's an unfamiliar feeling. 

“I miss it.” Louis pouts, reaching a hand down to run his pointer finger over Harry’s top lip, collecting the wetness sitting there, and shoving the digit into Harry’s mouth. He sucks around the finger like it’s his lifeline, and he’s not even a bit sorry about it. Louis pulls his finger out with a giggle and leans down, kissing Harry messily. Their mouths open immediately, breathing hotly into each other while Louis starts grinding onto Harry’s hand still on his ass. 

“You gonna ride my cock like you ride my face?” Harry says into Louis' mouth, muffled, but he knows the whore humping his thigh heard him just fine.

“ Yes ,” Without warning, he sits up and reaches a hand behind himself to open Harry’s belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans skillfully, like he’s done it a million times before. (He has)

Louis licks a fat stripe up his palm, small hand reaching back and wrapping around Harry's cock while he strokes quickly. Harry’s hips buck into the touch, a growl leaves his chest because the next second Louis is sitting directly onto his cock, balls deep and grinding down with a piercing moan. "Fuck me harder."

Harry holds his waist tightly, moving him slightly up by the hold on his hip when Louis grabs his wrist, interlocking their fingers and raising Harry’s hands above his head. “No touching,” Louis whispers, and Harry can only whine pathetically. Louis pushes back down onto him, the steady pace continued, “You feel so big, H.” Louis’ head flops back, hips moving quickly with Harry’s help as his gasps and whines fill the room.

“You look so good like that, baby.” The sound of the headboard hitting the wall fills the room suddenly, “Keep going, that's my good girl.” Harry grunts, nodding while his eyes are glued to his fiancée's body, watching his cock slip in and out of Louis every time he rises. The sounds of their skin meeting are muffled by Harry’s jeans still halfway down his legs and Louis’ pushed aside panties. It’s messy, quick, fast, and Harry’s still fully dressed. “I want to fill you up– make you full of me.” and Harry’s whining now– “I need you, Lou .”

Louis’s head falls forward, his body bouncing relentlessly on Harry’s cock while he slides two hands over Harry's throat. “Just like that, Daddy?” and Harry nods dumbly, looking up at him, hands falling to twist the sheets in his fists while Louis bites his lip. No touching.

“I wish you’d told me,” Louis ducks his face into Harry’s damp neck, licking a fat stripe over his skin, while stilling his hips. “I almost divorced you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Harry rasps, eyes rolling back into his head.

“No, I wouldn't.” He sits back up, putting slight pressure on Harry's neck, making him arch into it, “because I’d miss your cock too much.” Louis whispers, almost a whine. The warm light from the lamp shines over him, his hair is sticking in every direction, and Harry is going to come immediately.

“I love you,” Louis says, moving his hips again while grinding down, squeezing Harry’s cock with his hole like he doesn’t want it to ever leave. Harry wouldn't mind. Louis’ eyes open, and Harry probably looks insane from how big he’s grinning. “I hate you,” Louis cries once his eyes drop to his top lip. “Don’t you ever–” Louis grits his teeth while tightening his grip. “Shave it again.” 

“ Fuck, Lou–” Harry gasps, his mouth drops open, and he can’t take his eyes off Louis moving above him, tight around his cock, and now dripping a string of saliva into Harry’s awaiting mouth. He spits it in at the last second, and Harry swallows.

“I’m gonna come, H.” Louis whimpers, mouth falling open, hips not losing pace while he uses Harry’s body as leverage and squeezes around his cock. Harry’s body coils, and he comes inside Louis with a loud groan while his head is thrown back above him, milking Harry’s spent cock. 

Suddenly, his hands leave Harry’s red throat to grab both sides of his face and kiss him. “Fuck me, fuck me, ” Louis’ breath hitches when Harry wraps a hand around his small cock, stroking the head. He comes directly into Harry’s hand and moans loudly into Harry’s toothy grin.

“ God, I love you.” Harry sighs loudly when Louis rolls off of him, chest heaving from his orgasm. “C’mere,” he whispers, curls his fingers around his throat, and pulls Louis into a soft kiss.

Their lips are buttery and their skin is sticky. 

Louis pulls away first, licking his lips and looking up at Harry through his curled lashes, batting them sweetly. “Will it grow back for the wedding?”

“Yes, baby.”

“ Thank god, ” Louis groans dramatically, rolling onto Harry’s chest and shoving his shoulder with his foot. “I miss the beard burn!”

₊˚🪒₊˚

Standing at the altar and saying your vows to the love of your life should be easy, but not when you ugly cry through the whole thing. Louis cried, laughed, and blushed during his vows, while Harry rubbed his thumb in circles on Louis’s hand to calm him, something he knew would work. Louis never thought he’d end up with the man standing in front of him, eyes rimmed, shoulders straight, hands shaking in Louis’ own and sporting a thick, prickly mustache. 

Louis loves him. 

He loves this man more than he loves said man's cock, and that's a lot. Louis has learned that Harry is the sweetest soul Louis has ever met. He's kind, genuine, selfless, hard working, makes Louis think  ‘why so sexy, if so dumb?’ more times than not, and even though Louis spent the first six years of his twenties with him, finishing his teaching degree and also getting his master's– they had met suddenly, but honestly? Louis thinks it was meant to be. 

They moved fast and recklessly, but Louis knew he’d marry him. Their wedding ceremony was beautiful, everything Louis dreamed of his wedding to be. They had all their closest families gathered together for their big day, and Louis couldn't be happier. 

Standing at the open bar, Louis sips on his red cocktail, eyes scanning the room. His ears are filled with The Backstreet Boys, and while bopping along, he gets distracted when suddenly two strong arms wrap around his curved waist. 

“Mmf!” Louis almost chokes on his sip and hits Harry's shoulder, suit jacket gone. He runs cold fingers down the half-unbuttoned shirt, goose bumps form under his touch, but he snaps the black suspenders quickly onto Harry's chest.

“Ow!” Harry rubs his nipple, pain filling his face. It disappears when he grins, pinching Louis's bum and kissing his cheek roughly.

“You scared me! I almost spilt it on my dress, H.” Louis pouts, looking down at his reception dress. It cuts at his thighs, pearly white, strapless, and there's a train on the back. He went shopping with his mom for it, and Lilly Tomlinson does have good taste.

Louis preens into the hair, scratching his skin while Harry keeps peppering his face with kisses. 

“Give me beard burn later,” Louis pushes his face away gently, a smile appears quickly when 

Harry groans, fake annoyance filling his voice, and says. 

“Why did I marry you again?”

“Hmm…” Louis hums, spinning in his arms, muscle bulging from his white dress shirt. “Because you love me and I love you.” Louis grins sleepily.

“What if I shave again?” Harry lifts a curious eyebrow.

“Now that’s never going to happen, Charlie Swan."

₊˚🪒₊˚