Summary: When Louis finds some panties on stage, he gets curious…
Warnings: Feminisation, gay sex, fingering, cross-dressing, etc.
(I have to use wordpad without spell check, so sorry for any mistakes!)
The crowd are wild, Louis decides, just as his eyes follow a pair of white panties fly across the arena, landing neatly near the edge of the stage. He shakes his head, beacuse the audience in Newcastle have always been the craziest, the loudest, the best.
Curiosity gets the better of him, and as Liam and Niall entertain everybody with their own, improvised rap-off, Louis saunters over to the panties, bends over to pick them up. He encloses his small fist around the material, just so that no-oone can see. He’d rather be spared of the shame.
They feel soft in his hand, material silky and devine. He remembers then that a fan threw them on.; a fan tha may or may not have worn/been wearng them. So he quickly stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans, just to make the cleaners’ life a little easier.
And as he makes his way back across to the other boys, gives a few lines of rap, the panties are soon forgotten about.
Over the next few weeks, Louis somehow manages to collect a good few more pairs of lace undies.
His reasoning is pretty stupid. He tells himself that it’ll be easier for the cleaners, that they wouldn’t exactly want to pick up underwear, they have enough on their plates.
He also tells himself that he’ll take them to some clothes recycling bank or something, to, y’know, do his bit for the environment. But, with just a few more shows left of their UK leg, and a good eight to ten pairs of knickers and panties and thongs stored away at the bottom of his case, time seems to be running out.
Deep down, like way, way deep down, Louis knows he’s gonna keep them.
And he doesn’t like that fact, fucking hates it. Because it’s weird, and what boy has a collection of underwear that are meant for girls?
He feels almost ashamed. Almost. The panties are soft and silky and a couple of pairs have a cute little bow on the wasitband and the one thong he has is a devlish red, and he wonders how he’d look in them. Like sin, maybe? He’s not vain.
Liam’s voice is there then, snaking in through the creases of the dressing room door. “Lou, c’mon, gotta show to do.”
"Yeah, coming," Louis replies, and the fact that his voice has increased by a few octaves is embarrassing enough. He’s crouched down on trhe floor, case open as he fels over the thong. Liam gives his approval and Louis breathes a sigh of relief as he hears the sound of footsteps which soon disappear.
He buries the thong under a pile of jumpers, jeans and Van’s, where all the other ‘collectables’ are, hidden away from anyone else’s knowledge.
Straightening himself out, Louis prepares himself, tells hgimself that he needs to get over it all, that to get so worked up over something like this is ridiculous. He fixes his hair and makes sure he looks presentable before going off to join the boys for the penultimate show of their UK leg.
Amazingly, Louis forgets the items of clothing for about a couple of weeks or so. Their UK shows are all played out, and they’ve been spending a week doing press and interviews and writing, and it’s a relief when they’re home in London, a group of tired, exhausted boys stumbling into a five-bed apartment that’s barely ever used, but it’s their escape venue, a place for them.
They have about six days off until they’re going to New York, kicking off their North Americal leg. It’s not long, but it’s enough. Zayn will sleep, Niall will eat and lounge around in his boxers, Liam will moan at Niall, spend his time getting the place clean and stocked up for the six days, Harry will go and see his family, drag Louis out to see the latest blockbuster hit or go to the newest trendy club or something.
And Louis will go with him, because Harry’s his best friend and they’re good together. But he also wants to get to the bottom of this whole panties thing. It’s annoying and confusing and it’s probably weird to have underwear that belongs to other people in the back of your case. Scrap that. It is weird.
They’re half way through their time off. It’s a lazy Thursday norning, sun peering in through the open windows. Zayn’s fast asleep, and Louis wonders if he’s awoken at all these past few days. Liam’s out shopping, which is good, because they’re running out of milk and eggs and Liam’s the best at dealing with the paps and fans. He’s got security with him though, so he’ll be alright, Louis decides.
Niall’s mumbling to himself, tiredly cleaning up the crumbs of food from the sofa. (Liam had complianed at Niall for eating on the sofa, and now it’s lead to this).
He seems tired, and he had a busy day yesterday - shopping for clothes with Liam and Louis, so Louis thinks he’s safe from interuptions on Niall’s part.
Harry’s over in Cheshire, seeing his family. He’s begged Louis to go, but Harry doesn’t get back until the day before they go, and Louis really wants to sort his case out, wants to abolish the evidence that could prove he was ever into stupid girly underwear that’s silky and pretty and nice.
Having just took a long, hot shower, Louis’ stood at the foot of his bed, white, crisp towel wrapped securely around his dainty waist. His case is positioned on his bed, open. He was planning on packing for America, removing the clothes that were already in his case until he got to the back, just panties remaining.
It all hits him again, and he really has to sort this fucking problem out.
He decides then and there to get rid of them. To just throw them away and forget about the whole thing. But his brain has other ideas.
Louis holds a pair of the undies in his small hands, fingers curling and exploring the soft material of the white laced panties. They’ve got blue stitching along the waitband and there’s a tiny little bow of the same colour. They’re gorgeous, they’re actullly gorgeous.
His towel decides to drop then, turning into a pool of white at his feet.
Louis sighs, thinks he’s dry enough and that he should get ready. But his hands are tight on the panties and he’s stark naked and one thing turns to another and then he’s slipping a leg into one of the holes, doing the same to his other leg.
The material is even softer as Louis tugs the undies up his thick legs. He feels insane, can’t belive what he’s doing. He has them on and secure in a few seconds, material stretchig around his arse and cock.
He doesn’t think much of it, really. Just thinks that they’re incredibly soft and very comfortable.
It’s not until he glances over the mirror, long and wide as it hangs on the wall, drapes down from the ceiling to the floor, that everything changes.
Louis really isn’t a vain person, but he looks beautiful. Fucking glorious.
His skin has lost a bit of its tan, and Louis makes a mental note to top it up when they’re in America.
He looks at himself in the mirror, stands face-to-face and looks his body up and down. He looks amazing, looks bloody spectacular. The curve of his lower back and the roundness of his arse and the stretch of the panties around his cock is all overwhelming.
Louis just stares, twists and turns his body for what feels like hours. He really isn’t vain, but he can’t find faults, can’t point out one single thing that is wrong with the panties.
But then there’s a knock on the door, and Louis freezes, heart pounding against his chest.
"Lou, m’bored, let’s go out, Josh said we can go play footie," Niall says, and he sounds like he’s got a mouthful of food in his mouth and Louis’ over the moon that A, he has a lock on his door, and B, he made sure to lock the bloody thing.
He clears his throat before replying with a shaky: “yeah, sure, just give us a minute.”
Niall wanders off then, scurries away and Louis lets out the biggest sigh of relief he’s ever released, heart eventually relaxing, settling down into a normal rythem of thuds.
He opts to discard the panties, tugs them off in favour for some simple, boring, orange boxers. His cheeks are a light red and his skin is slightly flushed. Louis pulls on some sweats and a jumper, sorts his shoes and socks and hair before he meets up with Niall.
Harry comes home later that day, earlier than what was originally planned. He drags a bag through the door and gives Liam a soft smile, watches as the boy sorts out the grocries. “You’re home early,” Liam says, returns Harry’s smile.
"There’s only so much home-made casserole my stomach can take," Harry jokes, slings the bag over his shoulder just as Zayn - all tired eyes and dark skin and dressed in nothing but some boxers and a t-shirt - pads his way into the living room, slumps down into the couch.
Harry and Liam shake their heads, share wide smiles. “Where’re the other two?” Harry asks softly, makes his way down to his bedroom. “Dunno, must’ve gone out.”
Liam ends up sat beside Zayn on the couch, playing a game of cards as some random T.V show plays in the ackground.
Harry’s got his bag unpacked and his things for America sorted. He finds one of Louis’ jumpers on the ground, picks it up and smooths it out. It smells like Louis, like rainbows and sweetness. It’s from the first night of their current time off, Harry and Louis cuddling on the former’s bed, watching Tangled for the nth time.
He twists the thick material in his hands, decides to go to its owner’s room and hang it up. Harry passes the two boys on the couch, scurries past until he reaches Louis’ room which is hidden down a corridor, Zayn’s room and a bathroom oppoiste.
Turning the handle, the door’s soon opened, and Harry takes a step inside, furrows his brows and looks around. There’s a case on the bed, open and revealing, and Harry’s height gives him the advantage of seeing the contents of said case.
He’s confused, stands with parted lips and narrow eyes.
His mind begins to race, and he hangs up the jumper as quickly as he can, makes to leave but is stopped, eyes landing on a pair of panties that lie on the floor.
It’s all confusing. Harry has no idea why Louis has a bunch of knickers in an otherwise case, and he really doesn’t know why he’s holding the pair of white panties in his large hands. He knows it’s wrong, knows he should leave and stop snooping around Louis’ private things. So he does, puts the panties back in the hope that Louis won’t realise someone was in his room.
He walks out and closes the door behind him, but can’t help the images that begin to flood his mind. Louis in the knickers, looking all pretty and girly. It makes Harry hard and he stumbles into the bathroom, gets himself off with a low, quiet grunt of Louis’ name. He feels dirty, really dirty, goes off to his own room without so much as a glance to the other two boys, forces himself to sleep and forget the whole thing.
America is hot. The first night is electric, the lights and noise of New York sending volts of adrenaline down everyone’s viens. The show goes execptionally well. The crowd are amazing, vocals great, and not one person goes hom unsatisfied. A job well done.
The boys are hot and sweaty after the show, lounging around the dressing room as Zayn gets Paul to see if they can go to a local club. His wish is granted, and Zayn, Niall and Liam change into causal clothing to accomadate the musky night air of New York. Louis makes an excuse of tiredness, telling them that he’s gonna catch an early night.
Harry watches him as he does so, makes the exact same excuse and listens as the other three groan and ramble on about how it’s not gonna be the same. They leave nonetheless, are guided out by Paul and security, grab Josh and the rest of the band to go with.
Harry hasn’t forgotten the whole panties thing. It’s been on his mind constantly, has re-grown all feelings for the small boy he thought he’d abolished.
It’s tense in the room now, Louis grabbing his stuff and telling Harry that he’ll see him in the morning. Harry nods and watches as Louis leaves, shakes his head and follows out shortly after. Their rooms are, conincedentally, next door to one another’s, and as Harry sits in his bed, nothing but sweats and a jumoer on, he can’t help but think over everything.
He decides to sort things out, decides that he misses his best friend and before, they’d joke over these kind of things. Harry slides out of bed, bare-footed and messy-haired as he grabs the spare key-card that he so skillfully took from Paul earlier that day. He goes to Louis’ door and feels guilty for not knocking. But he figures Louis’ asleep and proceeds to slowly swipe the card in, opens the door in one, swift motion.
There’s a yelp, which comes from Louis, and Harry freezes in the doorway, eyes landing on his small band-mate, all open skin and red, sinful panties perched around waist. It’s all Louis has on and he looks fucking graceful.
The room falls silent, the air grows thick.
Harry knows he should leave, knows he should go and apolagise to Louis later. But Louis’ facing him, looking at him with an expression that Harry can only read as please.
"Lou, I-" he goes to speak, but cannot find the words. He feels horrible, guilty, want to assure the terrified-looking boy acroos the room from him.
"Hazz, please don’t say-" ouis replies, Harry cutting his sentence with a: "you don’t have to say anything, I ive you my word."
Louis nods, lets out a sigh of relief as Harry kicks the door shut with the back of his foot. Louis goes to question Harry’s moves, but just stays still, watches as the tall boy saunters over to him, bright eyes and chocolate curls and pink lips.
Harry’s stood right in front of him then, husky scent and hot skin entering Louis’ system. And all feelings that they ever felkt for each other are now back, the same want and need and desperation that was there on The X Factor.
"You look, fuck, you look so perfect," Harry whispers, and Louis swallows, tenses up the slightest bit when Harry’s large hands go to his hips. "Hazz, I-."
"I’ll go. If you want me to, I’ll go, leave you alone, and I’ll never so much as breath a word about any of this ever again."
There’s a pause, and Louis shakes his head, reaches up to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck. “No, please, stay.”
Harry nods, drinks in everything about the gorgeous boy before him. “What do you want Lou?”
"I want you to make love to me, like we’ve always wanted. I don’t want any questions or anything, just you, please, we can talk after, just want you Harry."
There’s a moan that spills from Harry’s lips. His curls bounce as he nods, and everything’s so weird and confusing but Louis wants them to make love, and Harry will happily always, always give Louis what he wants.
He pulls Louis closer then, dips his head down to capture the boy’s lips in a soft, gentle kiss. Harry slides his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip, and is soon granted access, the kiss quickly becoming heated, tongue-filled and sloppy.
When Harry reluctantly pulls away to catch his breath, Louis fists at his shirt, stands up on his tip-toes to nose at Harry’s neck, takes in the manly, sweaty scent that has built up from the show. “Get this off.”
Harry nods, and his shirt is torn off from his body, tossed away and soon followed by his sweats. He’s stood in his boxers, Louis in his pretty red panties as their hips roll together, cocks rubbing and moans being pulled from throats.
Louis moves then, falls back onto the bed and tugs Harry down with him, captures his lips in another heated kiss.
It’s paced and sweet and perfect and Harry flips Louis over so that he’s on his stomach, head nesstling into the pillows. Harry kneels between Louis’ legs once he’s spread them, lans forward to kiss along Louis; shoulders. “You sure you want this?”
Louis nods, reaches over to fumble in his bedside drawer, hands Harry some lube and a condom. “Please Hazz, want you badly.”
Harry moans at that, kisses his way all down Louis’ body until he’s at the black stitching of the wasitband of the panties.
They look so good on Louis, and his arse looks better than it has ever looked. There’s a hole in them, one that Harry’s only just noticed and it makes his dick even harder, fat and straining against the compressing material of his boxers.
He’s going to fuck Louis whilst he wears the panties. Louis’ going to make a mess in them and Harry needs to be inside him as soon as fucking possible.
But he wants this to last, too, so keeps kissng all over Louis’ body, slicks three fingers up with the lube.
He slides his middle finger into the hole of the panties, pushes it further in until it’s nudging against Louis’ hole. Harry traces the tight ring of muscles before pushing it past the rim, moaning at how they clench and work around the digit.
Louis lets out a strangled noise then, one that’s muffled by the pillow. Harry knows that Louis’ touched himself before, and uses that as an excuse to push n a second finger. He brings them in and out, scoping around Louis’ insides, exploring the boy’s tight heat.
It’s not long before Harry has three fingers - long and thick and twisting - inside Louis’ walls, curling into the boy’s prostate.
Louis cries out, bites down into the pillow and reaches his hands into the sheets, twists and curls his nimble fingers into the soft material.
"Please," he breathes, and Harry nods, presses a kiss to the back of Louis’ neck before pulling his fingers free, emitting a whimper from Louis due to the loss, hole clenching around thin air.
Harry holds the boy and flips him over, slides his own boxers off before kneeling back between Louis’ spread, lifted legs. He slicks himself up with a genourous amount of lube and leans down to kiss Louis - wet and hot and amazing.
He lines his tip up with Louis’ hole and nudges in, watches as the small boy’s face contourts with the pressure of Harry’s dick against his hole. Louis’ own cock is hard and straining against his panties, skin red, flustered and hot. Harry leans down again to kis Louis once more, pushes in bit by bit until their hips are pressed.
The feeling of the panties against his hips is nice and Harry can’t take how beautiful Louis looks, drowns in the prettiness of his band-mate.
He fucks him tenderly then and there, holding Louis’ legs and thrusting his hips in a steady but deep rhythm. It’s amamzing and perfect and everything gains speed as the boys chase their orgasms. Louis’ ankles cross around the back of Harry’s neck and his body is folded as Harry’s fucking becomes quick, cock delving into Louis’ walls, stretching him and hitting his prostate with each thrust.
"Cum for me darling, make a mess in your pretty panties," Harry grunts, his lips trailing along Louis’ jaw, down his neck.
Louis nods, blunt nails scratching down Harry’s back as he releases with a high, drawn out cry of Harry’s name, thighs shaking and body tembling. His panties become messy, stained with evidence of Louis’ orgasm.
It’s overwhelming, and the pressure of Louis’ walls clamping around his dick is enough to send Harry over the edge. He spills into the condom and pants into the crook of Louis’ neck, bites down in an unsuccessful attempt to keep his deep grunts quiet.
Harry slows his thrusts, kisses Louis to distract him as he pulls out gently, the small boy whimpering into Harry’s mouth. They pant and breath quickly and reain their breaths. Harry collapses dow beside Louis, leans over to kiss him.
No words are said until Harry’s ran them a bath. It feels too awkard to speak, but they kiss and touch and Harry helps Louis out of the messy underwear, tosses them into the bin because they’re rich and Louis has other pairs.
Louis sits between Harry’s legs in the tub, his back pressed flush to the taller one’s chest. Harry’s arms are around him and it feels perfect, feels right.
"I’ve always loved you, ever since X Factor," Harry whispers, littering Louis’ shoulders and neck and back and body with kisses and touches.
Louis giggles, laces his fingers into Harry’s hands that are on his thighs. “Me too, promise me we can make this work, this time?”
There’s a pause, and the kisses have stopped. Louis wants to take back his words until: