Chapter Text
Special Delivery
Louis stood for a moment at his window, gazing twenty flights down at the traffic clogging up East 21st Street. Ever since he’d moved to New York two years ago, he’d longed for his own office with a door that closed and a window with a view of the city that never slept. He was twenty-six now and long past his days of waiting tables in greasy spoons and serving coffee at ungodly hours of the morning to ungrateful businessmen. While to some, something so simple as having their own office might have seemed insignificant, to a boy who’d grown up in a small village in a cramped house with four younger sisters, who’d had to share everything he’d worked for all his life, it was nearly everything. Having his own office meant Louis was finally making a place for himself in the world, finally earning some respect. He’d worked hard to get where he was and he was working hard to stay there, which was why he absolutely, positively did not tolerate incompetence at any level.
He’d been waiting twenty minutes now for the copies of his presentation to arrive and it was twenty minutes he didn’t have. He still had to make copies and go over his notes and make sure the audio visual equipment was set up properly in the conference room and that the catering company had provided two vegetarian meals in addition to the other food he’d requested. Normally, his bike messenger, Eduardo, was quick and reliable, but of course the day the company’s investors were in from out of town for an important meeting was the day Eduardo chose to break that dependability streak.
Louis didn’t turn from the window when the door banged opened. “You’re late,” he said coolly, to his reflection.
“I’m sorry - sir - Mr. Tomlinson - sir - I got clipped by a cab,” a young, gravelly voice said. The owner of the voice was British and hearing the familiar accent made Louis’ skin feel tight and his heart contract quickly in his chest with thoughts of home. It was true what Thomas Wolfe had said - "You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood...back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame...back home to places in the country," but it hadn't stopped Louis from yearning for it, with a thirst that bordered on pain.
Louis turned slowly, taking in the sight of the panting young messenger boy standing in his doorway. He was long and lean, with a golden tan and an unruly mop of dark curls and giant, pondering green eyes. They were in the middle of a summer heatwave and his loose cotton tank top was damp with sweat and fell away from his throat to reveal an excruciatingly perfect collarbone. But it was the pair of bright green spandex shorts that really got Louis’ heart racing. The shorts hugged the boy in all the right places and his legs seemed to go on for miles.
Louis swallowed hard. “You’re not Eduardo.”
“What was your first hint?” the boy smirked. Louis wanted to smack that smirk right off his pretty face.
“Have you got the reports?” The boy unceremoniously dumped a package onto Louis’ desk with no regard to its contents.
“Any particular reason they're wet?” Louis asked crinkling his nose as he lifted the parcel up by one corner as if holding a dead rat by the tail.
“Puddle - sir. Like I told you - I got clipped by a cab.”
“You know, there are two things I don’t tolerate. Tardiness and excuses. Close the door, please.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide, but he shut the door behind him. “Sit down,” Louis commanded. The boy collapsed into the chair in front of Louis' desk, legs spread invitingly wide. Louis tried not to stare as he opened the cabinet over his desk and pulled down the first aid kit. Wordlessly, he guided his swivel chair around the desk, sitting down across from the boy. Up close, Louis could smell him - a peculiarly masculine blend of sweat and leather and sun-baked tar, undercut with something spicy and citrus. He felt a bit faint when he glanced up and the boy was smiling at him, dimples biting into his cheeks.
He slid off the boy’s muddy cleat and set it aside, drawing the boy’s long, tanned leg up into his lap. The boy regarded him curiously, his mouth open in a way that made him look slightly dumb, his big green eyes round and inquiring. Louis prided himself on how steady he kept his hand as he ran it up the back of the boy’s furred, muscled calf. The boy’s leg twitched slightly - ticklish Louis thought, filing the information away for later.
It was difficult to tell at first, but the blood seemed to be originating from a gash across the boy's knee, a nasty wound caked with gravel and dirt and prone to infection. Louis' mother was a nurse so he'd never flinched at the sight of blood, although sexy bike messengers were another matter entirely. With admirable restraint, Louis ran an alcohol swab over the sharp plateau of the boy’s knee, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. Louis patiently picked out the larger pieces of gravel with a tweezer and cleared away all traces of blood and gore, before applying a topical ointment and covering it with an oversized bandage.
The boy’s breath had quickened and there was something in his eyes that jarred Louis, so much so that he stood too abruptly, the boy’s leg falling from his lap. “Thanks,” the boy said, softly, his breath hitching.
Louis handed him his shoe with business-like formality. “You should be more careful.” It came across more as a scolding than actual regard for his well-being - as if it were the boy's own fault that New York taxi-drivers were maniacs.
“Yeah, uh, thanks,” the boy stood and bent down to wedge his foot into his shoe and Louis was rewarded with the sight of the neon green spandex straining appetizingly over the twin globes of his bum. Louis' cock twitched in his trousers and he walked back around the other side of his desk, sinking into his plush leather seat. The boy eyed him apprehensively.
“Was there something else?”
“Ah uh, you forgot the tip,” the boy stammered, before breaking into an attractive blush. Cheeky, that one.
“I didn’t forget. Next time, bring the package to me dry and on time and we’ll talk about your tip then.” The boy’s ears burned with embarrassment and anger, but he nodded, closing the door a bit too hard behind him as he went.
***
Louis had a quick, ungratifying wank under his desk after the boy left, his cum spattering over crumpled up balls of paper in his recycling bin. He hadn’t felt this way since he was sixteen - shaky and weak from excess sexual energy. Wanking hadn’t helped. Imagining tearing the clinging spandex off the boy’s lean body with his teeth hadn’t helped. Louis knew when he was this far gone, only one thing would suffice - the boy’s mouth and ass clenching hotly around his cock.
Louis managed to make it through the meeting without too many blunders and left work early, citing a migraine. He could do that now that he had an office, as long as he didn't make a habit of it - which he didn't. Louis was halfway back to his flat when he realized he didn’t even know the boy’s name or how to get a hold of him.
***
Louis wasn’t particularly hungry and he didn’t particularly feel like doing something nice for his co-workers, but he couldn’t think of anything else to messenger for - so in the end, it was coffee and donuts. Worst case scenario - he’d come off as a semi-decent bloke to the rest of the office and best case scenario - well, best case scenario was clad in tight, shiny spandex and went by the name of - well, Louis hadn’t quite figured that one out yet.
“Can you send the uh, the curly headed one?” he asked on the phone, feeling very flustered and young, like he was prank calling a grade school crush.
“Lorenzo?” Louis sighed, pinching the skin between his nose. The boy hadn’t looked particularly like a Lorenzo.
“No, the uh, the British one.”
“Oh, you mean Harry? Are you sure you want him? Bit of a mess, that one.”
“Yes, yes, that’s what I said,” Louis snapped. “And tell him the coffee better be warm when he arrives or he'll be answering to me."
***
Harry, unsurprisingly, was twenty-five minutes late. Louis found himself almost giddy with the knowledge that it would give him a chance to exercise his authority. He wondered if, after the last time, Harry had done it purposefully. The bag of donuts was only slightly crushed on arrival (which was honestly better than Louis had expected), but there was more coffee on Harry’s shirt than in the tray of cups he carried. He was wearing a rumpled Ramones t-shirt that was so wrinkled and stained it looked as if it had been exhumed from Joey Ramone’s grave itself. Underneath, he had on a pair of neon pink spandex shorts whose primary objective seemed to rerouting blood to Louis’ dick.
Louis sighed, reaching down to discreetly adjust his erection, as Harry set the donuts down on his desk. “Close the door please.”
Harry obliged, standing as a naughty child would in front of the school headmaster, with his head down and hands clasped behind his back. “Harry, how long have you been a bike messenger?”
“Uh - yesterday was my first day - sir,” Harry stammered, flicking his sweaty curls back off his forehead. Louis dug his nails into his thighs, fighting the sudden and unexpected urge to leap across his desk and lick along Harry's jaw-line.
“And in your vast, far-reaching experience as a bike messenger, would you say it’s acceptable to arrive twenty-five minutes late, with what is now presumably cold coffee? Most of which appears to be on your shirt?”
Harry’s nostrils flared, eyes glittering with fury, but he bit his tongue. “No, sir, I suppose - no, no it isn’t.”
“Would you say then, that it’s within my rights, nee, that it’s my duty, as a valued customer to administer a punishment?”
“A punishment, sir?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Come around my desk please.” Harry kept his head down, eyes fixed on his feet as he walked shame-faced around Louis’ desk, hands clasped in front of him. Louis grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him hard. Harry lost his balance, falling across Louis’ lap, which was exactly where Louis wanted him anyway.
“This’ll hurt me more than it hurts you,” Louis said, before raising his hand and bringing it down hard across Harry’s bottom.
Harry yelped, reflexively driving his hips down into Louis' crotch, where his dick was already swelling to full-mast. Louis balled his tie up into the boy’s mouth, muffling his cries as he administered the next few smacks. Louis' palm was stinging by the time he got to twenty-five, so he could only imagine how sensitive Harry’s arse must have been. He could feel the heat radiating off of it through the thin material of his pink shorts. He removed his spit-wet tie from Harry’s mouth, lovingly wiping the tears from Harry’s flushed face with one hand as he soothingly ran the other over Harry’s sore bottom.
“There now. It's all over. I’m sorry I had to do that. You’ll be a good boy from now on, won’t you?”
“Yes, yes sir,” Harry sniffed, wiping his face into his sleeve. Louis pulled Harry up into a sitting position in his lap, Harry wincing as he shifted his weight between his stinging bum cheeks. Louis rested his chin on the boy’s shoulder, gazing down at his lap. Harry’s dick, now achingly hard, was outlined in sordid anatomical detail by the tight material of his shorts. Louis was pleased at how big it was, took a bit of pride in the thought that he’d been the one to make it swell to full thickness. He ran a palm over the silky smooth material, eliciting a small breathy whimper from Harry that sent a corresponding surge of blood rushing to his own dick.
“You can call me Louis when we’re like this,” he said, snuggling his chin into the soft, warm crook of Harry’s neck. “Sir’s only when you’ve been naughty. Have you been naughty, Harry?”
When Harry didn’t respond quickly enough for Louis’ liking, Louis pinched the head of Harry's dick hard. Harry gasped, his thighs quivering and quaking, tears hovering in perfect pearls at the outer fringe of his lashes. “I - I think I have been, Louis.”
“And do you think naughty boys deserve to cum?” Louis asked breathily against Harry’s ear, as he fondled Harry’s dick teasingly through his shorts.
“I - please - Louis-” Harry gasped, arching his hips up to meet Louis’ hand. Louis sunk his teeth into the soft skin between Harry’s neck and shoulder, sucking a purple bruise into his summer brown skin. Harry tasted faintly of salt. Louis ran his tongue along the shell of Harry’s ear as he continued to stroke him, pausing to suck and bite on his fleshly earlobe. Harry trembled, a mewling little sob of pleasure tumbling from his lips. Louis quickened his pace, stroking up Harry’s obscenely long shaft with one hand and tugging down on his plump balls with the other.
Harry’s strong, lean thighs tightened perceptibly around Louis’ legs and he reached back to grasp Louis’ elbow as he came, his body shuddering once and then twice, before going limp. A wet spot spread over the front of his shorts, and Louis kept stroking and pinching Harry’s now overly-sensitive dickhead until Harry batted Louis’ hand away like a tuckered-out kitten, crying “toomuchtoomuch”.
Harry’s head lolled back, resting on Louis’ shoulder as his breathing slowed down. Louis knew he had to regain control of the situation before - God forbid, it led to cuddling or worse, Harry falling asleep on him. Louis made a production of checking his watch - a ridiculously expensive, diamond-encrusted Bill Blass he'd gotten himself when he'd received his first promotion. He hadn't eaten for a week after, but it had been well worth it. “I have a meeting in an hour. Don’t suppose there’s any chance your next delivery will be on time.”
Harry laughed, a deep throaty sound that rumbled against Louis' chest. “Don’t much care. They don’t tip as well as you do,” he teased. Louis pinched Harry thigh hard and Harry squealed as he hopped up out of Louis’ lap.
Louis took in the sight of Harry - his hair mussed, lips chewed swollen and red, the front of his shorts soaked, his long legs wobbling slightly like a newborn fawn taking its first steps. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Louis rolled his eyes. “You can’t go out there looking like that. You’re thoroughly debauched.”
Louis pulled his gym bag up onto the desk and unzipped it, handing Harry a clean folded t-shirt and a pair of sweat-shorts. “My private bathroom’s just through that door, if you wanted to clean up.” Harry nodded. “But be quick about it. I’ve work to get done and this coffee’s not getting any warmer.”
As soon as the bathroom door was shut, Louis had his erection out the fly of his trousers and was wanking hard and fast into the bin beneath his desk. He came quickly and quietly, licking the last drops of cum from the side of his fist before zipping up again. He wondered what Harry tasted like and how long it would be before he found out. As it was, any amount of time felt too long.
***
Louis was casually eating a donut at his desk and pretending to look over reports (he really should be but his eyes kept glazing over when he looked at the computer screen) when Harry returned. He glanced up, nearly choking on the pastry in his mouth. Harry of course, managed to look achingly sexy in Louis’ decidedly unsexy workout gear. He’d run some cold water over his flushed cheeks and managed to comb his hair into a slightly less unruly formation, but the purpled bruising along his throat wasn't doing much to dispel the image of wanton sex God. Louis pulled his wallet out of his trouser pocket and handed Harry a wad of bills without looking at them.
“What’s this then?” Harry asked.
“Your tip.”
“I haven’t got any change-” Harry said, gazing in awe at the stack of twenties in his hand.
“I don’t need any-”
“But this is too much,” Harry insisted, trying to hand it back.
“You’ve earned it,” Louis said, dropping a wink at him.
Harry bristled, crossing his arms defensively along his chest. Louis' shirt was stretched alluringly tight across his pectorals, the sleeves rolled up to reveal biceps that Louis yearned to lick and bite. “I’m not like - I’m not your Pretty Woman - or whatever.”
Louis snorted, wondering if the delightful lad in front of him had really just compared himself to Julia Roberts. “That’s good. Because I’m much more handsome than Richard Geer.”
Harry set his chin resolutely. “I mean it - I’m not - I’m not your whore or whatever."
"Don't be silly. Bike messengers have got to eat, haven’t they? Or," he lowered his voice, "you could buy yourself another pair of those shorts. Seems like an investment with a return if you ask me."
Harry blushed, shoving the money to the bottom of his messenger bag before rucking it up over his shoulder. “Enjoy your donuts then.”
Louis smirked. “I plan to.”
He waited until Harry was well down the hall before he leaned back in his chair and tipped the whole bag into his rubbish bin.
***
For the next two weeks, Louis proposed an increasingly outrageous list of items for delivery. When he could, he deliberately set Harry up for failure - asking for more and more ridiculous, hard-to-find items or ones that he knew would be difficult to carry on a bike.
Monday, it was a thirty gallon fish tank for his office - including a pump, water heater, gravel, live fish and several decorative pirate themed statues (about which he was very specific). Harry managed to keep all the fish alive and only broke one thermometer en route and he looked so ridiculously cute putting it all together - with his spandex-covered ass high in the air, that Louis forgave him for the thermometer (though he didn’t spare him a sound spanking).
Tuesday, Louis fancied a traditional English ale and the best fish and chips New York had to offer (he left it up to Harry to find a suitable English pub) and was pleasantly surprised at just how much it tasted like home. Harry sat on Louis’ lap and Louis fed him chips as he looked at expense reports over Harry’s shoulder. Harry was like a well-behaved little boy out with his parents at a nice restaurant and Louis rewarded him with a quick greasy-handed wank when they were finished with lunch.
Wednesday, Louis asked for twenty-five different colored pads of post-its (he’d googled it to be sure and they came in thirty-two colors), but Harry only managed to wrangle up twenty-one and left Louis’ office with a red, throbbing bottom.
Thursday, Louis asked for a bouquet of out-of-season flowers and a chocolate orange and a copy of several different British tabloids he knew were hard to get in the US. The beautiful thing about New York was that you could find just about anything and everything if you looked hard enough, and while it may have taken Harry extra time and hassle, he managed to get a good number of the things Louis requested. (Which didn't mean Louis spared him a punishment. He did, as an after-thought, feed Harry slices of his chocolate orange, his dick stiffening quite a bit when Harry licked his fingers more than was strictly necessary.)
Friday, Louis only ordered one thing - to pick up a parcel from a jewelry store. Harry was a half-hour late. Everyone had already left for the weekend and Louis was the only one left on his floor, besides the cleaning staff. “Close the door please,” Louis instructed, as he powered down his computer.
Harry closed it and walked timidly toward Louis’ desk, as had now become their custom. “Harry, how do you expect to make anything of yourself when you can’t even perform the simplest tasks correctly and on time?”
“I’m sorry - sir - I -”
Louis put a finger up to Harry’s lips. “Hush now, kitten. No excuses, remember? You’ll just have to try harder next time, won’t you?”
Harry chewed his lip. “Are you going to - will you punish me?”
“Do you think you deserve to be punished?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah - it’s just - my bottom is sore,” Harry blushed. “And it makes riding my bike a bit...uncomfortable.”
Louis smirked. “Well, I’ll just have to spank you somewhere else then, won’t I, pet?”
Harry swallowed hard, but followed Louis to his chair, sitting obediently on his lap. Louis opened the top drawer of his desk, drawing out a metal ruler. He ran the cool, flat edge over the inside of Harry’s thighs. “Suppose I hit you here?” Louis pulled the ruler back and thwapped it hard against the tender skin of Harry’s inner thigh. Harry gritted his teeth, but admirably didn’t make a sound other than a hissing exhale. Louis placed another stinging red stripe along the other side, savoring the way Harry’s back muscles tensed against his chest.
“What about here?” Louis asked, moving the ruler to rest against Harry’s spandex-clad package. He ran it experimentally over Harry’s sack, which was drawn tight against his body - either out of fear or arousal. “How many hits do you think I should give you here?”
Harry squirmed in Louis’ lap, his breath hitching in his throat. Despite his obvious fear, he had a rather sporting hardon. “Five sir?” he ventured.
“Just five?” Louis laughed. “Let’s make it ten. One for every three minutes you kept me waiting.” Harry let out a shaky breath, but didn’t object. “Count them aloud. And no closing your legs or covering yourself or I’ll start over.”
Harry’s whole body tensed before Louis struck the first time and despite Louis’ warning, both hands moved reflexively to cover himself. Louis held his wrists. “I didn’t hear what number that was?”
“One,” Harry cried, his legs trembling with the effort to keep them apart. Louis knew from experience that awful churning feeling that arose in your gut when someone hit you where it hurt, knew intimately the nauseous creep of bile up the back of your throat when someone got you good. He also knew that Harry was going along with it - that he could have told Louis to stop at any time but didn’t, either because he wanted to please Louis or because some part of him enjoyed the pain, wanted it even. Louis’ dick twitched at the thought.
He slid the cool metal along Harry’s heated shaft, teasing his erection into further hardness before he placed the second and third smacks directly in a row to Harry’s plump balls without allowing him a chance to recover. “Two, three,” Harry sobbed. Harry’s knuckles were white where they gripped the arms of Louis’ desk-chair and the back of his shirt was damp with sweat.
“If you want me to stop, love,” Louis whispered against Harry’s ear. “Just say. Just say and I’ll stop.”
“It’s all right,” Harry insisted, his breathing labored and brow knitted in pain. “I can take it.” He was shaking hard, but he kept his legs spread as Louis ran the ruler tauntingly over Harry's erection.
“That’s my good boy.” Louis worked Harry’s hardon with one hand and struck his left and right testicle in quick succession with the ruler in his other hand. “Four. Five,” Harry whimpered, tears running down his flushed face. His balls had to have been in his throat by then and Louis nearly called the whole thing off at five - it wasn't his intention to really hurt Harry after all, but he was enjoying it all a bit more than he cared to admit (or his dick was at any rate). Harry’s whole body was shaking as Louis rapidly delivered the final blows (a bit more softly than the others). Louis was surprised when as Harry cried ‘ten’ and the ruler struck him a final time, Harry’s body tensed and he began to orgasm, cum bubbling up to the surface of his spandex shorts. Louis stroked him the rest of the way through it, milking the last drops from his tortured dick-head through the thin material of his shorts as Harry shivered and shook.
Afterward, Harry laid limp and boneless in the tight circle of Louis’ arms as Louis nuzzled his neck and peppered his tear-stained face with kisses. “You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you.” Harry’s body shuddered, wracked with the aftershocks of his intense (and probably somewhat painful) orgasm. Louis stroked Harry’s sweaty-damp curls as he came down.
“Do you have plans later tonight?”
“Why?”
“Thought maybe you’d like to come to mine?” Louis said, trying to sound off-handed about it, even though his heart was pounding hard in anticipation.
Harry raised a questioning eyebrow. “Just to eat some dinner and watch some telly,” Louis hurriedly explained. “Maybe have some breakfast together in the morning. And just sleeping in between. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
Harry chewed his lip, considering. “Yeah. I guess that’d be nice.”
“Good. That's settled then.” Louis clapped Harry's thigh, carefully avoiding the red stripes he’d laid earlier. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, love, and we’ll head out?”
“I just - can - I rest another second?” Harry asked timidly.
“Yeah. Of course.” Harry rested his head back against Louis’ shoulder and Louis resumed stroking his hair.
“Louis?” Harry asked, his eyes closed, his low voice rumbling against Louis’ chest.
“Yes kitten?”
“I really - I really like you,” Harry whispered, so softly Louis had to strain to hear him. Louis fought the urge to drop Harry on the floor and make a run for it. He could deal with it when it was a game. When he was the cheeky headmaster and Harry was his naughty pupil, it was okay. He knew he'd crossed a line when he'd invited Harry to his flat, but as long as he was the one crossing the line, he still felt in control. The truth was, Harry made everything feel a bit out of his control.
“I like you too,” Louis said at last, giving Harry’s middle a fond squeeze.
“You don’t think I’m weird? For - for liking it?”
“Of course not. Now go get changed. You’re not fit for public in those shorts,” Louis lifted Harry up, giving his backside an affectionate pat as he went.