Harry knows he shouldn’t. But he can’t help it, some lyrics just need to be punctuated with a good crotch grab.
He knows Louis is watching, catches the weight of Louis’ heavy-lidded gaze as he turns back towards the stage, can’t resist cupping himself again.
He’s half-hard in his jeans, and has a moment of guilt about all the underage kids in the audience, because his dick has to be obscene by now, but he can’t resist touching himself again, front and centre on the catwalk where the whole stadium can see.
Louis is smirking at the audience, eyes flicking to Harry. Harry knows better, but his poor dick is just aching to be touched. It’s bigger in his palm now, and fuck that’s going to be uncomfortable in a moment.
Harry really, really doesn’t mean to, palming himself unconsciously at the sight of Louis bending over, a strip of tanned skin peeking out between his jeans and his white shirt. He can’t - he absolutely cannot touch himself again onstage after this, because Louis will see, and he’s already gotten himself into five orgasms tonight, whether his poor cock can keep up or not.
Louis is going to make him take it, will suck him off and finger him through the first few orgasms, will milk more out of him - fuck, which bag are their toys in? - and then, only then is Louis going to fuck him, when he’s hypersensitive and sobbing, and Louis’ hand will close around his cock and start jerking him off, when Louis’ thrusts turn hard and choppy, and Harry will beg, because he can’t -
But Louis will tell him he can, that he obviously knew he was going to be able to come six times, or he wouldn’t have touched himself so often onstage. Harry knows the rule. Harry will shake his head, muscles tensing as his body protests, thrashing against the bed as his poor cock twitches, as he trembles and comes, dry and painful and so, so good.
This went somewhere I didn’t expect. A higher place, tbh. *jesus hands*