kiss with a fist (is better than none)
Harry and Louis don't get on at all.
BUT they do, in fact, do an awful lot of getting off~
Harry startled visibly, shaking off his deer in the headlights look and huffing quietly. Louis took a final, lingering glance along his scant frame, except the puppy chub at his hips, and then kept washing his hands with a faint sneer. He expected words, biting and sarcastic, as usual. Instead, he was met with silence. Confused, Louis turned back to him as he dried his hands, ready with a scathing remark. It died on his tongue. Harry's eyes were locked, very deliberately, on his crotch. His crotch, which was still unzipped, and therefore dick on display. Oh fuck.
“My eyes are up here, Styles,” Louis growled, cheeks flushing despite himself as he reached to do up his fly.
“Leave it.” It rasped from Harry's throat, thick and shaky. Louis froze, fingers cupping himself.
“Excuse me?”