Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5030878.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Zayn_Malik/Liam_Payne
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Liam_Payne, Niall_Horan, Zayn_Malik
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_-_Freeform, Age_Difference, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School,
      Alternate_Universe_-_College/University, uh, Biting, Car_Sex, Louis'
      twenty_one_to_harrys_sixteen!_so, five_years_age_difference, rich!Niall,
      Unrealistic_Situations, like_the_whole_fic_is_just_unrealistic_but_eh
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-19 Words: 11874
****** i'm so in love i let the world go by me ******
by sweetlyinfinite
Summary
     In which a twenty-one year old Louis and a sixteen year old Harry do
     things (things include: car sex, buying a kitten, being in love,
     etc.).
     an excerpt:
     "And Louis doesn’t know anything; he doesn’t know a single bloody
     thing about what the future will hold for either of them. Louis
     doesn’t know if Harry will become famous with millions of dollars and
     sixty tattoos, doesn’t know if Harry will major in English or Music
     or even PE and become a crappy teacher or a great one, doesn’t know
     if he’ll ever spank Harry in a French maid outfit, doesn’t know if
     Harry will sing him songs he’s written when he can't sleep, doesn’t
     know if he and Harry will even last.
     But.
     If there is one thing Louis knows, something he knows more than
     anything and his mother’s name and his age and how many fingers there
     are on the average human’s hand.
     If there’s one thing Louis Tomlinson knows it’s that he loves Harry
     Styles and he’ll try his very goddamn fucking best to keep Harry for
     the rest of his life. Louis knows he’d jump in front of a bullet or a
     knife or even a fucking bee for Harry. Louis is majorly terrified of
     bees.
     Louis thinks he’s rather quite fucked."
Notes
     hey! so I wrote this maybe last year or the year before and figured
     I'd post it. the poetry in italics is from richard siken's
     'schezerade' if memory serves me, the title is from the young veins'
     'nothing matters but you', in Australia (where I live) the legal age
     of consent is 16 so I guess I just used that a basis so, I don't know
     what it is in the uk but that's where my mind was with this--it's
     close to Christmas and they only started dating after harry was 16 if
     that's any comfort?
     this was totally inspired by all those manips of cherub harry with I
     think a twenty-two year old Louis? they were incredible, holy shit,
     but I never saved any so I can't link them and must hope in vain you
     have seen them.
     in any case, don't read if you don't like the age difference, or
     enjoy! (i only wish I'd expanded on the biting, good lord)
See the end of the work for more notes
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
                                                                            
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
 
Louis and Harry met when Harry was fifteen and Louis was twenty, a warm weekend
in March. Harry’d dropped his phone he’d gotten for Christmas outside a Pizza
Hut. Louis was there with his skateboard and his tattoos and his smile, and he
picked up Harry’s phone and gave it back, but not before putting himself into
the contacts.
That’s it. Simple, easy, normal. Aside from fifteen and twenty, but a very
usual way people start to date. Like, well, sort of usual. A bit forward.
But hey, it worked didn’t it?
Louis skated away. Harry bought himself a BBQ Cajun Chicken pizza without
olives, sauce smearing over his hands as he struggled with holding the box and
eating as he walked away. Bits of onion and peppers dropped onto the sidewalk
and Harry pretended he didn’t see.
And later, later, was when Louis got a text from Harry, an invitation to his
house and a wink at the end. Louis was playing FIFA with his flatmate Niall and
Niall’s friend Sean when he got the text, his phone making an irritating
buzzing in his pocket. He paused the game and read the message, and then he was
ditching Niall and his friend in favour of stealing the keys to Niall’s car and
driving to Harry’s house, where his parents were on a business trip and his
sister was at a friend’s house.
When he got there Harry was ordering Chinese takeout and it was only four in
the afternoon but Harry was wearing old jogging bottoms with this threadbare,
lavender shirt and his cheeks revealed deep dips of dimples when he saw Louis.
They learned how to move around each other that afternoon, breathing in
something other than harsh seawater in their lungs, something that tasted like
rain with a feeling of freedom or maybe just the feeling of something new. And
it was stupid, is stupid; of course it’s stupid because there’s a five year age
difference and Harry still wasn’t even legal but it’s fate or something equally
as clichéd (and insane). If it’s any better, all they did that night was talk
and banter, laugh at stupid jokes and watch ridiculous cartoons, and maybe when
Louis left he pressed a short kiss to Harry’s temple and smiled before he went
home.
 
It’s been a year and a bit, and they're sixteen and twenty and nobody believes
Harry when he says his boyfriend is turning twenty-one (Liam does but Liam met
Louis after walking in on him and Harry kissing each other so intensely they
didn’t even pull away until Liam tugged Harry's hair. Also, he’s Harry’s best
friend so of course he’s going to believe him). Everyone at their school says
things like: Harry’s too much a flirt to get a boyfriend, Harry’s only sixteen
he can't have a boyfriend who’s twenty-one, no one would be stupid enough to
date Styles because he’ll definitely cheat, Harry Styles flirts with too many
girls to even be gay, Harry Styles can't have a boyfriend who’s twenty-fucking-
one if I haven’t even had sex yet. The latter seems to be most popular among
his year and lower.
Overall, there are many reasons that people don’t believe Harry. Harry doesn’t
really care that nobody believes him, rather he flirts even more outrageously
just because it doesn’t mean anything to him anymore; he has Louis when all the
people in his year have are silly crushes that are only silly because they
won’t do anything about them.
Harry doesn’t really care because he’s in love with Louis and no one else can
have him.
 
One afternoon, Louis ditches his last lesson at uni, makes sure Niall can get a
ride home with someone else before he grabs Niall’s keys, thinking about how he
should probably invest in a car of his own.
It’s a bit cold outside Harry’s school as he pulls up, so he tugs on a beanie
and a jumper when he gets out of Niall’s car. He leans against it, waiting for
the bell to go so he can see Harry. He hasn’t seen Harry in just over a week
and it’s pulling at the hairs on his arm wondering if anything’s happened.
Louis pulls out his phone as well while he waits, flicking through old text
messages and losing terribly on a quiz about Harry Potter but winning greatly
on a quiz about pop songs/artists. He thinks it says something about the kind
of things he does in his spare time. It does, because Louis does fuck all in
his spare time—wanks and watches MTV and, well, plays stupid quiz games.
(Supposedly, on a quiz he’d taken a few months back, he’s the wild, outgoing
friend who everyone wanted a piece of, which Harry and Niall had scoffed at and
Liam had blushed and stuttered out he wasn’t bad looking.)
His jumper gets a little warm so he pushes the sleeves up, making his tattoos
visible. Up close they're stupid tattoos; well, not stupid but they don’t look
terribly important. Far away from where some school kids are now shuffling out
onto the pavement they look very punk, appearing only vague black lines that
could be anything from his mother’s name to a gun, so that’s something. There’s
also the issue of the fake tattoo on his neck, something Niall had persuaded
him to try and then he took pictures and posted them on Instagram. It’s odd,
very hard core with skulls and smoke and menacing flowers and so, so many lines
that look like veins. There’s even a collection of fucking butterflies, but
again from far away it makes Louis look incredibly, awfully, punk. Punk seems
to be the word of the day, really.
The fake earrings (small, black circles) Niall’d pressed on and Louis had
forgotten to take off doesn’t help. And, which he’d also forgotten about, the
other fake tattoo on his arm, which is an eagle that takes up his entire arm
with a snake coiling around the bird, both heads near his wrist, where there’s
his playing card suits bracelet tattoo.
Louis doesn’t know why he lets Niall do these things.
He pulls out a cigarette, becoming more than a little annoyed that the bell
hasn’t rung yet. He only has time for a few sucks on his cigarette before it
goes, finally. Bless whatever lord is out there, because Louis knows smoking
isn’t good for his health but he needs it sometimes, needs the sweet smoke
swimming in his mouth and filling his lungs so nothing else can.
The teenagers all spill out the front gates, heading off the buses and cars and
some splitting off down streets. Louis stays leant against Niall’s car,
breathing in smoke and letting it spill out past his teeth as he searches for
Harry.
And then. There he is. He’s smiling and nodding as Liam talks to him about
something, mouth moving so quickly that if Louis cared to he wouldn’t be able
to catch the words.
(Up on the concrete steps, Harry opens his mouth to reply to Liam and hears,
“Oh my god.”
Harry looks up at the person who said it and they’re looking directly ahead, so
he follows their gaze and there is Louis. His skin is tainted full of tattoos
Harry’s never seen before and there’s a black earring peeking out from under
his beanie, a cigarette sitting between his lips. He looks untouchable, maybe a
smidge like a pirate who’s just found a treasure chest. Louis’ looking at
Harry, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking at Harry exactly which causes
several outbreaks of, “Oh my god he’s looking at me!”
There are too many looks in Harry’s mind and not enough Louis’.)
Harry doesn’t even say goodbye to Liam before he’s running down the steps, over
the street without even looking and into Louis’ arms. Louis’ just inhaled a
deep breath of cigarette smoke and he drops the smoke to press his hands into
his boy’s (literally boy) waist.
Harry whispers, “About 8.6 million people in the U.S. have at least one serious
illness that’s caused by smoking.”
Louis lets his mouth open and he blows the smoke from his mouth into Harry’s.
Harry gasps in the air, a little by accident, because as deadly as smoking is
Louis is insanely attractive with a stick of death in his hands and on his
lips.
Louis mutters against Harry’s mouth, “Good thing we don’t live in the U.S.
yeah?”
Then he’s pushing, pressing, urging, surging his mouth forward to catch the
younger boy’s lips and Harry gasps again, whines a little as Louis’ fingers
press harder into his hips. Harry knows what this means, so he places his hands
on Louis’ shoulders and jumps up, with his legs wrapping around Louis’ waist
and Louis’ hands moving to his thighs. Louis' shirt rucks up, exposing a slip
of his golden stomach before Harry drops down a little and covers it.
Louis holds him there for a few seconds until his arms start to ache a bit,
then he lifts Harry higher, higher until he’s sitting on the roof of Niall’s
stupidly (thankfully) low car. It’s weird because Louis has to tilt his head up
for once, like he’ll have to adjust to in future years when Harry’s limbs
stretch like a giraffe, but it’s a welcome change from dipping his head. It’s
also really overwhelming that Harry has to bend his back to reach Louis’ mouth.
They pull away from each other after a few moments, Louis’ hands now digging
into Harry’s thighs, thumbs circling over the seam of his school trousers on
his inner thighs. Harry’s panting softly into Louis’ mouth, the dirty taste of
cigarettes lingering filthy on their tongues; Harry’s cheeks are flushed a
sweet pink, and his lips are indecently red and puffy.
Louis rakes his nails down Harry’s legs and Harry shivers.
Then he smiles. He smiles, big and wide and exposing lots of his teeth and the
two deep dimples on either side of his face. It's a smile that holds innocence,
a rare quality of something big that believes the world is beautiful all over.
Harry’s eyes are gleaming, sparkling, like he’s excited and fascinated by
Louis, Louis who shouldn’t be out of his own classes for another half hour yet.
Louis, if he could see himself, would see surprise, sudden and insistent as
surprises always take you. His eyebrows are raised in cute arches and his mouth
is hanging open like he can't believe what’s before his eyes and what’s before
his eyes is Harry. Louis’ surprised because Harry’s real and solid and warm and
breathless, beneath his hands but hovering over his head, and he can call this
magnificent beauty of a human being his. His boy.
(Across the street Liam is blushing furiously for two reasons, one of which
might be the fact his best friend and his best friend’s boyfriend are
practically having sex against a car he knows not to be Louis’. There are so
many voices surrounding him asking who Harry’s making out with, and hasn’t he
got a boyfriend, and how they manage to look like they’ll win the most
attractive couple of the year award, which. Liam gets the idea.
(At their school Hottest Couple is a thing, reserved for hot power couples
mostly, and last year it was Liam and Eleanor. That was stupid because they
didn’t even like each other and had been voted as a joke (Liam was scared that
Eleanor would trip him and pour Starbucks down his shirt, but he realised she
loved her Grande White Chocolate Mocha Frap with no whip (Toffee Nut Latte
during the holidays) too much to do anything) and this year there has been no
announcement of the competition as of yet.)
The second reason could definitely possibly maybe be the easy presence of Zayn
on the left side of his body, the soft breaths from Zayn’s mouth skimming over
his ear, past his neck and down over the plains of Liam’s chest under his
shirt, the warmth of his laugh in his ear as he says something about being
nervous and wanting to do this forever, but like, I’ve been really scared?
Liam’s barely able to say anything back, but he manages a weak smile that he
hopes doesn’t show he’s bursting on the inside, like someone stuck dynamite in
his lunch and has thrown a match down his throat. “I, um? Oh, shit, sorry. I'm,
yeah. Yes. A date would be fantastic.”
Zayn, who’s in 12th form and is much more attractive than Liam can ever hope to
be, laughs again and presses his lips to Liam’s cheek that is still flushed the
shade of the sea at sunset, reflecting in hazy sheens of burgundy and
tangerine. “Good. Do you have a pen?”
Liam blinks for a moment then he reaches into his pocket where Harry’d shoved
his permanent marker after drawing a large penis on the table at lunch. Zayn
chuckles, low and quiet, when he produces it, asks, “Were you planning this all
day, Payne?”
Liam was not, so he laughs sweetly in response and lets Zayn push the sleeve of
his shirt up. “I wasn’t, Z, but I very much wish I had been.”
Zayn nods, not really listening but his face warms a little more at the
nickname. He focuses on remembering his number and tries to think of a cute
note he could leave Liam, and as he does so his eyebrows furrow a bit and he
bites his lip, but that isn't really important when Liam watches and waits for
his tongue to peak out and wet his lips.)
Louis mumbles, “I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, you see, so
I don’t care if Sophie or whatever the fuck you said her name was thinks I'm
not even real. I love you, Harry.”
Harry smiles shyly, ducks his head like an embarrassed child and his eyes seem
to sparkle before they flick to the dirty road stained with spilt drinks and
bubblegum wrappers. To Louis the act is endearing as anything, like watching
the kitten he’d looked at longingly yesterday in the pet shop yawn and press
her tiny paw to the glass before tipping over.
Louis wants a kitten, he does, but he doesn’t have time for a cat, let alone a
kitten. He can barely pay rent and buy food and he won’t be able to survive
with all the added costs of not only food every day but bowls and toys and,
like, leashes. If cats wear leashes. Do they? Louis doesn’t care, he still puts
it on his mental lists of costs if he were to purchase a kitten. If they don’t
then he’ll buy one and walk his kitten.
(The thing is, Louis told Niall and Niall said he doesn’t have to pay rent much
anymore, because Niall’s family is actually fucking loaded, which means Niall
has a shitload of cash and he says, one early morning when they should be
sleeping but are staring bleary-eyed at a shitty movie playing, “My dad’s
gonna, fucking, buy this place so we don’t have to do the rent, thing.” Which
means, Niall’s father actually just bought their building with the apparent
millions of dollars in his bank account on the basis that it was a good
investment if he did up the flats because it was in a fairly good position for
the area. The other residents living there could either allow the touch ups to
their places or they could find somewhere else to live, and Louis doesn’t—
Inheritance, Niall had shrugged over a blunt. And Louis just continued to
choke.)
Louis doesn’t tell Harry about the teeny kitten he’s going to buy; instead he
puts his hands on Harry’s cheeks, the tips of his fingers touching Harry’s
bouncy hair, and lifts his head so he can kiss him again.
He kisses Harry soft and sweet, a gentle shade of lilac if kisses were to have
colour. It creates a darker rose tint on Harry’s cheeks, warming them just so
that Louis can feel the heat more. He tilts his head slightly more to the
right, allowing a smoother, deeper slide of mouths. Louis wants to bite at
Harry’s lips, feel them beginning the swell and become the colour of your
fingers after eating strawberries on a warm summer’s day.
Harry pulls back first, breathing softly and nosing into Louis’ neck that is
covered in colour, mainly black. Harry remembers the fake tattoos, shifting his
head up so his chin is resting on Louis’ shoulder. He asks as he searches for
Liam in the crowds of onlookers waiting for buses, “What’s with the tattoos?
Louis laughs into Harry’s curls that smell like he’s been using his sister’s
shampoo again. “Niall. He thought he was into punks. ‘Cause there was this
girl, a total punk, that hit on Niall when we went out. Remember, um, last
Friday? Niall said she was like, really hot and he wasn’t sure if her or the
punk, so I said he just needed to get laid, and guess fucking what?”
Harry breathes slower so Louis shouldn’t be able to feel his breath on his
neck, eyes on Zayn bending down to kiss Liam’s cheek. He doesn't say that Louis
should've said 'who hit on Niall' rather than 'that hit on Niall' because Louis
will say 'respect your elders, kiddo' purely to spite Harry. “What?”
“He got hard even when we were just peeling the paper back from the tattoos.”
“Yeah?”
Louis hums, leaning forward to nip at Harry’s earlobe and Harry takes the
opportunity (after squeaking a little bit) to shout across the street, “Keep it
PG, Li, or at least be safe!”
Louis jumps at the loud voice next to his ear, swearing as he twists away. He
turns to look at where Harry had left Liam and there’s an attractive guy
handing Liam back a permanent marker. He thinks it might be his that Harry
stole. Liam burns a dark shade of crimson and shouts back, “Make sure you don’t
tug on the ropes around your wrists too hard and leave marks like you did last
time, yeah? And remember to take a shower after spending the night with your
boyfriend and showing up with his come in your hair!”
“Sure, as long as you tell Zayn what you think he’d look good in! I'm sure he’d
love to know how much you’ve wanked to the image of him sliding—” down a
fireman’s pole in full uniform, before he rips off his helmet and kisses you
like you’re dying, and then he takes you right there on the concrete floor.
This is when Louis smacks his hand over Harry’s mouth; Harry who’s laughing
like he’s just heard the best dad joke ever, clutching his sides and letting
the laughs pour off his tongue. Louis looks over at Liam who's leaning on Zayn
to keep himself up, a mix of flushed skin and crinkling eyes and laughing at
Harry’s utter stupidity.
Zayn looks happy, if confused. His eyes drift to Louis’ for help and Louis
shrugs because he’s just Harry’s boyfriend, not a mind reader. Louis sends him
a smile anyway, with teeth and sparkle like the women on toothpaste ads, and
Zayn smiles back the second most gorgeous smile Louis’ ever seen. It looks
sincere, real, and his face is scrunched up so gorgeously Louis wants to smile
a little bit more, but Louis lets Liam have that and turns to view the very
most gorgeous smile.
It lights Harry’s face up, crumples his eyes into happy slits and stretches his
kissed-red lips over all his teeth. His mouth is open because he’s still
laughing and the dimples are there to make another appearance alongside the
deep creases of his cheeks, caused by the width of the smile.
Louis’ captivated, mesmerised by the colour of Harry’s skin and the small
crinkles by his eyes and the still sort of chubby cheeks pushed up like apples,
and the fact the Harry is his. His mouth goes dry, his head full of Harry and
only Harry and not anyone or anything else because Harry is his. Louis runs his
hand through his hair, fucking it up before he presses it down and not
breathingbecause Harry is his.
And Louis doesn’t know anything; he doesn’t know a single bloody thing about
what the future will hold for either of them. Louis doesn’t know if Harry will
become famous with millions of dollars and sixty tattoos and have to pretend to
be straight and get asked to date, like, Taylor Swift or some shit, doesn’t
know if Harry will major in English or Music or even PE and become a crappy
teacher or a great one, doesn’t know if he’ll ever spank Harry in a French maid
outfit or if Harry will spank him in the one he’s thinking of buying, doesn’t
know if Harry will sing him songs he’s written when he can't sleep, songs with
lyrics about stars and scripts and boats tied to the shore, doesn’t know if he
and Harry will even last.
If there is one thing Louis knows, something he knows more than anything and
his mother’s name and his age and how many fingers there are on the average
human’s hand.
If there’s one thing Louis Tomlinson knows it’s that he loves Harry Styles and
he’ll try his very goddamn fucking best to keep Harry for the rest of his life.
Louis knows he’d jump in front of a bullet or a knife or even a fucking bee for
Harry. Louis is majorly terrified of bees.
Louis thinks he’s rather quite fucked.
He pulls Harry off the roof of the car by his hips, spinning him around then
planting him firmly on the ground. Harry giggles. Louis pauses for a second.
Were there a whole heap of people watching him and Harry?
He turns around while Harry sticks his arm up and waves, pretending to be the
Queen.
Yeah. There is definitely a whole heap of people watching them. Louis raises
his eyebrows because what are they all doing? Do they not have, like, lives?
Louis waves too, mainly because Harry grabs his arm and flops it around, but
also because it lets them all know he’s seen their perving arses.
Most people disband then, heading for cars and buses that have arrived and are
waiting for the rest of the school kids to get on. A girl yells out, “You
should hang out with us some time!” then she puts a fucking lollipop in her
mouth and struts away.
Louis chokes and he doesn’t even know. How old is she? Twelve? What the fuck?
Harry laughs, a burst of warmth and sunshine, and Louis’ knees threaten to
crumble. Harry lets himself be pushed into the car, smile wide and happy. Louis
glances back over the street and calls out, “Bye Liam! Sorry Harry’s being a
twat! Love you, mate!”
(And it shows how much Liam means because Louis doesn’t just tell people he
loves them. Liam holds a special place in his heart because once Harry went out
and Louis stayed at his place [his family don’t even mind Louis being there, as
long as they aren’t loud and they’ve requested no penetrative sex, to which
Louis had coughed and flushed madly. Harry had shrugged and at the time it was
odd, odd that Harry’s own mother didn’t seem to resent that he was deflowering
her son, though back then Louis wasn’t even thinking about that yet].
Liam had showed up sobbing and confused because I think I like boys like you
and Harry like each other and my mum’s gonna hate me oh my god I’ll be kicked
out. This led to the establishment that Liam was bisexual and that he was maybe
a little bit in love with Zayn, and Louis blurting that he loved Harry. At this
stage, not even Harry had said he loved Louis, four months in and neither of
them had, but Louis admitted it first, even if it wasn’t to Harry. Soon after,
with the encouragement of Gemma (Gemma of all people), Louis had mumbled the
three words and Harry had cried.)
“Bye, Tommo!”
Then Louis’ moving around to his side of the car, getting in and pushing the
keys into the ignition as Harry licks his lips in his seat. Before he can get
any further, Harry’s placing his hand on top of Louis’ crotch and pressing down
and groping hopelessly over the tight material. Louis sucks in a breath of air
and instinctively shifts his hips up into the warmth of his boyfriend’s palm.
Harry presses harders, leans over as much as the seatbelt will let him and
sucks on Louis’ bottom lip. Louis turns to face Harry, pressing his hands to
Harry’s cheeks and making Harry move his hand back so it twists in Louis’ hair.
Harry pulls back when Louis licks the inside of his upper lip and mumbles
softly, so innocent it smooths along Louis’ skin, “Lou, bite me?”
Louis’ mouth drops open and maybe, fuck, maybe he’d really fucking like that.
He nods and his head is loud and he can't let go of his breath until Harry
kisses his jaw, then he exhales and it sounds like there’s a little whine at
the end.
Louis is a little embarrassed by his reaction but he smacks Harry’s hand away
and breathes, ruffling his hair back to something presentable. Louis still
feels like a teenager, because he needs a second to catch his breath after
Harry barely even provided friction and only said a few words. Harry’s smirking
in the passenger seat, but there’s a bulge in his own trousers and Louis wants
to kiss the smirk off and then wipe his dick along Harry’s lips. So.
“Don’t, fucking. At least let me, like, fuck, drive away from your school. I
don’t know. Not yet though, Haz, christ.”
Harry gets out his phone and Louis sighs shakily.
He’s definitely fucked.
After another two minutes Louis deems himself fit enough to drive without
crashing. As he pulls away from the curb and onto the street, Harry stays still
in his seat, hands complacently in his lap. There’s still a smirk on his young
face. Louis is thinking rather than merely wiping his dick on Harry’s lips,
he’ll fuck his mouth and come down his throat while Harry gags instead.
Then Harry moves. He unbuckles his seatbelt and moves his legs so he’s crawling
over and half-straddling Louis’ thighs, blocking his view of the road. He digs
his fingers into Louis’ hair, discarding the beanie on the floor. Louis freaks
out because they could crash but they're still on streets that are easy to stop
on, so Louis twists the wheel, parks outside someone’s house and turns off the
car.
“What the hell, Harry?”
Harry shrugs, moving so he’s completely on top of Louis with the steering wheel
digging into his back. “I want you, because that girl at school said I was
lying and I'm not because you're right here, y’know?”
Harry grinds down and Louis can't believe anything, because everyone thinks
Harry is innocent and sweet with his dimples and his teeth and his eyes and
hisapocalypticcurls. Curls that Louis threads his fingers through and tugs down
so Harry’s lips end up on his and they’re kissing wetly in the front seat.
“Louis, can I ride you? I’m gonna, going to do it Lou, I want to sit on you
and—”
Louis pushes Harry’s head back, effectively cutting him off, so he can see him.
His eyes are sparkling that fucking colour that’s like olive and pale blue and
grey, his cheeks are pink and his lips are an obscene shade of pizza sauce red.
He looks beautiful and Louis can't decide if he wants to propose or if he wants
to give him the best head he’s ever given right now.
But this isn't Louis’ car, this is Niall’s car and Niall will very much care if
they go at it where he has to sit when he drives.
“H, no. This is, Niall’s car. We, can't—fuck Harry, you’re—have sex in here.
Niall’ll go off his head.”
Louis pants this out as Harry grinds down in his lap, his dick underneath
hardening maddeningly quickly. Unfortunately the message is unclear, because
the edge of the words blur as they lift off his tongue, hazy with lust.
Harry is already hard; Louis can feel the solidness and the heat permeating
their clothes.
Harry huffs and brings his hands from Louis’ hair to unbutton and unzip his
jeans. Harry doesn’t even take Louis’ boxers off, just pulls his cock through
the gap in the fabric while using the other one to pull on the lever on the
side of the seat so it falls and hits the back seat, making Louis practically
horizontal. Louis squeaks and then he hisses at the contact. He wants to say
that when Harry moves his hand he makes a manly sound but in reality he mewls,
a bit like the helpless sound a teenage girl makes when she sees shirtless,
sweaty men, and nudges his hips up so his dick is more in Harry’s hand. Louis,
at this stage, is less than able to do anything but make the sound over and
over.
He looks at Harry, observes and absorbs the image, the smell, the noise of this
moment in Niall’s car where the windows are fogging up like their own personal
cliché. It’s hypnotising. Harry’s shifted to one of Louis’ thighs to have a
more solid force to rub his arse on and his head is hanging down to concentrate
on the task at hand. His head is full of ridiculous curls that bounce as he
rocks on Louis’ leg and drags his hand up and down Louis’ cock. Louis can hear
his breath hitch to know he’s angling his movements so his own dick can rub on
Louis’ leg.
Harry bends down even further, his back arching and his neck dipping and then
his mouth is on Louis’ dick and Louis can't breathe. He wheezes in a sharp
breath of air as Harry licks over the slit, tongue dipping in.
“Harry, you’re so—good, fuck. You’re mesmerising, babe.”
“T-thanks, Lou, you too,” Harry puffs back, moving his head up a little so he
can spit on Louis and move his hand easier. He straightens and wraps his hand
around the head, lets the saliva get under his fingers and cover the hard cock
beneath them. There’s a trail of it from Louis’ cock to Harry’s lips and his
lips are spit-slicked and burning and undeniably indecent.
The scent of sex is heavy in the air, tainting the windows and the other scent
of some generic fruity shampoo. Harry hesitates for a second, deciding
something, before he shoves Louis’ jumper and shirt up, Louis going along with
him and frantically lifting off his clothes. Harry grins, quick and small, and
then he licks around the rosy bud of Louis’ nipple. It’s hard and pink, and
Louis twitches as he moans dumbly and flushes a dark shade of pink, feeling the
slight nips of Harry's teeth and causing the already sensitive area to almost
sting. Harry moves his palm up and down before he twists and swipes a thumb
over the head, pressing slightly into the slit which makes Louis jerk up into
the heat of Harry’s hand. This becomes a routine that Louis doesn’t notice, too
wrapped up in everything he can't name.
“Please, fuck, Haz, keep going, keep—”
Louis’ cut off by Harry’s lips moving up to his for a deep, messy press of lips
and tongues and too much teeth. Harry licks delicately behind his teeth, the
roof of his mouth, his tongue and Louis shivers as his hips continue to stutter
up. Harry’s panting into his mouth, sharp and short huffs of breath that seem
to be getting sharper every few breaths and Louis licks his lips when Harry
pulls away for a second. Louis ducks his head and fits his teeth on Harry upper
arm where it’s soft and pale. He bites down, letting his jaw clench gradually
as Harry bucks faster and faster, and it’s so unbearable when Harry sobs out a
sound, loud and wanton. Louis realises how hard he must be biting, the salt of
skin on his tongue, so he detaches his teeth, nipping once, and—
Rather suddenly, Harry stops moving himself forward. Louis breathes heavily and
quirks his eyebrows up because, “Haz, what’re you—oh.”
Oh because the front of Harry’s trousers is wet. He’s come completely
untouched. It’s an amazing feat within itself, really, especially for Harry who
hasn’t ever tried to come untouched (Louis has, it’s fucking ridiculous how
much he failed before he got it). Harry’s mouth is open. Then:
He moans, great and breathy and insane. Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his
head and his eyelashes flutter prettily above his pink, pink, raspberries
andcreampink cheeks and Louis gasps loudly. Harry bites Louis’ lower lip in
surprise as the hot liquid continues to stain his underwear and trousers in
several long strings, pleasure filling his body and making the world pure
static white. Louis’ eyes are wide, and Harry’s hand keeps moving and pumping
and circling and pulling even as he moves his hips in little jolts to get
himself through his own orgasm.
Harry opens his eyes and wets his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue, and he
smiles sheepishly, almost, but really he's very pleased and everything is
blurred with his ecstasy. To Harry, Louis looks like an angel, arching up off
the seat into his hand, hair plastered to his forehead from the heat in the car
and eyelashes looking long and very pretty against his eyelids. His pupils are
dilated widely, eyes bright sea blue where the colour is visible.
He’s beautiful so Harry tries to say, “You’re beautiful,” but he drawls it out
and his throat is a little croaky and then Louis explodes.
He shouts, soft and surprised, and Harry angles his cock towards his face and
lets Louis’ come spurt over his cheeks, mouth and chin (mainly his mouth but
some of it lands on his eyelid and it drips off through his eyelashes and it’s
hotter than anything). Louis keeps his eyes open no matter how hard he wants to
screw them shut, though a few times they roll back into his head. The hot ropes
of come dripping over his boy make him see stars in flashes of bright colours,
his view slightly ruined by tears.
After Louis regains a sense of anything, he blinks slowly, his eyes searching
for Harry in the now quiet, cooling car. He’s still on his lap, front of his
trousers damp with his own come. He’s smiling, big and stupid and happy, like
he probably shouldn’t have done something but he did it anyway and he’s so
pleased with the results not even the stickiness in his pants could deter his
glowing mood—
They just had sex in Niall’s car when Louis told him no.
Louis doesn’t care, pushes Harry off him into the passenger seat, and tucks
himself back into his pants. He presses his fingers through the damp roots of
Harry’s hair and presses his hands to Harry’s cheeks and presses his lips to
Harry’s lips and presses his hips into Harry’s hips and presses, wants to press
himself into Harry. Louis kisses Harry like he imagines he would if he was
drowning and Harry was on fire, their only cure each other.
Harry pokes his tongue gently through the gap in Louis’ mouth, licking at the
bottom of his top teeth and Louis pushes his tongue back into his own mouth,
gripping Harry’s neck to bring his head forward roughly so he can bite softly
on Harry’s lip. Harry whines gently.
Before Louis can ravish him, get him hard again and suck him off, there's a
knock on one of the windows.
It’s a middle-aged man with red cheeks and furious eyes, a girl standing behind
him with a sort of smile on her face with a Starbucks cup in her hand.
Louis gasps back away from Harry, as the man’s on the passenger side, hovering
angrily. He knocks rapidly again and Harry sits up properly, wiping away the
come on his chin Louis was going to lick away and wondering if he should adjust
his collar or leave it and hope the jizz that had dripped off stays blended in.
Harry licks his lips, shifts his eyes to Louis who’s laughing hysterically in
his now up-right seat and buttoning his skinny jeans.
Harry huffs and rolls down the window. The girl is smirking now and Harry
squints a bit to place her. The man is scowling, disapproval plain in his eyes.
“What do you think you're doing outside of my goddam house?”
Louis cackles even more, letting, “Sir, I think it’s more what we have done,”
slip out before he chokes on his laughter and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“This is a family neighbourhood, we don’t need any vile acts ruining our
children’s minds,” the man whispers viscously and Louis stops laughing.
“I'm sorry, but was that supposed to be for us who were wanking off outside
your house?”
The man frowns in disgust, eyes becoming weird shapes as his face shifts. “You
boys are vile, deluded creatures and I don’t want you in my neighbourhood.”
Louis snorts, Harry rolls his eyes. Then Harry says, “You’re stupid.”
And he rolls up the window.
Harry breathes for a bit and Louis starts up the car. Harry says, “Oh my god
that was Eleanor. Eleanor Calder. Basically, she’s in Zayn’s year and I'm
pretty sure her and Liam were voted hottest couple last year even though Liam’s
in love with Zayn.”
Then they’re laughing and watching the two people walk away, daughter strutting
in her school uniform and father looking resigned.
Louis pulls out onto the street and Harry lifts his legs up onto the dash. He
winces and Louis looks over to see him glaring at his crotch.
“There’s a pair of sweats in the backseat if you want to change,” he offers,
jerking his head back to indicate exactly where he means.
Harry smiles kindly, eyes the shape of cartoon hearts and sparkling with little
stars. “Thanks, Loubear,” he breathes out, reaching into the backseat for the
trackies and Louis merely rolls his eyes and replies, “You’re welcome,
Hazzabear.”
Which makes Harry’s smile bigger. “Boobear.”
“Pumpkin.”
“Sweetcheeks.”
Louis snorts. “Baby cakes.”
Harry leans back up with the sweats in his hand and plants a sloppy kiss to
Louis’ jaw. “Sweetums.”
“Oh my god, Haz, let’s stop. We sound like one of those celebrity couples that
talk to each other like complete babies.”
Harry laughs and shimmies out of his trousers, taking his underwear with them
and humming along to an old love song his mother plays when she’s happy.
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
     it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,
                 how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
                                                                                                                       
to slice into pieces.
 
When he’s changed and Louis’ headed toward his flat once more, Harry tugs his
chair forward then pulls his legs up so that his feet are resting on the seat
and his knees are on the dash. He grabs his phone from the little pocket in the
side of the car, scrolls through Facebook before he finds himself laughing.
Louis looks over quickly, eyes darting to the smile on Harry’s face. Harry
shoves the phone in his face and there’s a video of a kitten attacking a mango
then nibbling on the side. Louis laughs as well, trying to keep his eyes on the
road but watch at the same time. Louis wonders if the kitten he’s going to buy
will do cute things like that Harry can film and show all his friends. (He
doesn’t know that she will do the silliest things then fall asleep on Louis’
belly, purring softly and nuzzling into the skin and Louis will fall asleep too
and Harry will take thousands of pictures and not show anyone but Louis and the
kitten.)
Suddenly his face changes, scowling at the bright screen in the afternoon sun.
Harry mutters something meanly, shutting off his phone and letting it drop in
his lap. They’ve just pulled up at a set of traffic lights so Louis takes the
opportunity to snatch the iPhone and unlock it. Harry whines, makes grabby
hands to take it back while his face is still upset.
The status in the middle of the screen says:
any1 els c tht hottie waiting outside? mmmn ;) hes so fit hes mine back off
bitchez xxx
and the one under that says:
that lads fit as k , he's hotter than like, channinng taTeum u feellll
and the one above them all merely says:
if ur da gy dat ws outsd scool 2day fck mi pls loll
Louis snorts and then chokes on a laugh before he blushes a little. As he hands
the phone back over and waits for the light to change colour his cheeks heat
considerably more because he isn't hotter than Channing Tatum (Channing Tatum
has caused too many problems in the morning to even be legal, so many that
Louis’ not sure how he isn't that guy who died from masturbating like fourteen
times in a row).
“Screenshot that for me, babe?” Louis asks, because he’s so printing it out and
framing it on their flat door, so that if anyone walks past they’ll see how hot
people think he is.
Harry grumbles, “Yeah, but you’re mine y’know.”
Louis smiles because he doubts he was supposed to hear that. “Yours.”
Harry looks back up, beaming. Louis ruffles Harry’s hair then, and Harry ducks
his head sweetly. Harry goes through each of the ten messages that have been
sent to him, making sure the person messaging him knows he’s seen it before he
moves to Liam’s message saying that Zayn had asked him to the cinema and he
responds with some exclamation marks and smiles or something. Also an x, right
at the end.
 
At Louis’ flat all they do is cuddle, make out and play stupid video games
before Harry falls asleep snuggled into Louis’ side. Niall had gone home with
Stacy, who’s a short, red-haired demon (she poured ice cold water on Louis’
head once during their theatre class, which was part of their exercise for the
day but whatever). He’d been pining after her for ages and had said he was
gonna ‘put the charms’ on her, which. Louis hopes he got in.
Harry had texted Anne saying he was staying at Liam’s for the night, before
texting Liam the same thing so if Anne asked he would be in the know. Louis had
laughed when he got a text from Anne saying to look after her boy right or he’d
be seeing Gemma on his doorstep, which made him text her back that he’d make
sure Harry was kept in tip-top condition (Gemma can be scary if she wants to
be).
Louis continues to play his level on one of those shooting games where you have
to attack zombies with no real purpose but keeping yourself alive. He gets
eaten and he rolls his eyes at the pulsing ‘GAME OVER’ in the middle of the
screen. When he goes to turn it off Harry pushes his head more into the space
between Louis’ shoulder and the sofa, making Louis sigh softly into a smile.
Louis turns around, managing not to move Harry, then scoops him into his arms
and heaves. Louis’ still sitting, so really he’s just moved his boyfriend to
his lap, but then Louis stands and Harry makes a gentle sound. He’s not heavy,
per se, he’s just not a feather, so forgive Louis if he falls back a few times
before he’s standing stable with Harry in his arms.
He watches Harry for a moment, soft pink mouth open with small puffs of air
escaping, nostrils flaring somewhat as he inhales, a cotton candy flush to his
cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, eyelids gold under the lighting,
eyelashes casting long, dark shadows across his face, insane curls tucked
behind one of his ears for once, and Louis can't think of anything more
beautiful (not even his beautiful folder on his phone, which mainly consists of
Harry and landscapes, but hey).
Louis stumbles into his bedroom, transferring the love of his life to his left
arm as he pulls the covers on the right side back, knowing the right side is
Harry’s and the left is his. It takes a bit, nearly dropping the sweet boy, but
then the covers are back and Louis places Harry in the sheets. He’s very
careful to remove his jumper, and then presses a kiss to the place between
Harry’s collarbones when it’s off. Louis goes slowly removing the sweatpants,
even slower when he mouths softly at the tops of Harry’s thighs and Harry
squirms. His eyelashes flutter.
Harry whines delicately and Louis smiles against his skin, kissing below his
navel and shushing him before pulling the duvet back up and shuffling over to
his own side to get undressed. He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge in
the kitchen, places one on Harry’s bedside table (that Louis had invested in
after Harry once tried to put a mug of tea on the table, sleepy and assuming
there was one there, and had dropped the cup to the carpet, thankfully not
breaking it in the process) and one on his, brushes his teeth, then crawls into
bed beside Harry.
Harry, as if sensing the warm body beside him, shifts over to the middle of the
bed and stretches his legs out to hit Louis’. Louis gasps at the fucking ice
that Harry’s feet are, but still kicks out his own feet to thread between
Harry's and uses that hold to pull him closer still, until they’re sharing
Louis’ pillows. Louis looks at Harry’s face, admiring and wondering, and pushes
his hair up so it’s not resting on his forehead. There are two spots hidden
under the waves, high on his forehead, and Louis smiles. He’s thinking about
the morning, when they’re showering and Harry wipes his forehead as Louis
washes his hair. He thinks Harry will probably ask to borrow a beanie just in
case, knows that if he does he’ll tell Harry he doesn’t need one and that he
loves him and he’s beautiful the way he is. Harry might stutter out that he
loves Louis even more and the blush should grace his cheeks for the rest of the
morning.
The thought reminds Louis.
“I love you, H,” he whispers, pushing his lips against the warm skin of Harry’s
jaw before he turns around to face the window. Outside there is another world,
gleaming with weak street lamps and cars rolling smoothly over the road, wet
with a light rain; a world where there are men singing drunkenly a block over
and a cat meowing across the street. Despite these things happening as he lies
there, it is an outside world and Louis is inside with Harry and can't see
anything but the dark cover of his curtains and the light slithering through.
Harry is asleep, has been asleep since ten past ten, but his arm slides up onto
Louis’ waist, to which Louis grabs his hand and drags it down over his belly
and intertwines their fingers so Harry’s palm rests against Louis’ skin, Louis’
arm covering Harry’s. Harry slips his a leg between the two of Louis’ that are
pulled up, and moves his other leg over Louis’ thighs. His face nuzzles into
the base of Louis’ hair that’s too long and smells like brown sugar, breath
hitting Louis’ neck and ghosting down his back.
He mumbles something that sound suspiciously like, “Luh ye, Lou,” and Louis
chokes because Harry is still definitely still asleep.
And yeah, so what if they’re sixteen and twenty-one; when they’re lying pressed
skin against skin in the darkness of a flat that smells funny and mold in the
corner of the living room, with a hole in the kitchen wall, breathing in sync
with the other, nothing matters but the weak moonlight slipping through a gap
of the curtains and painting their skins, making them look like a single being.
 
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
     we’re inconsolable.
                                                Tell me how all this, and love
too, will ruin us.
 
In the morning there’s still no sign of Niall as they go through their morning
routines together: shower (which doesn’t wash those fucking tattoos off, no
matter how hard Louis scrubs), teeth, breakfast, teeth (Harry thinks he needs
to brush his teeth again because he neglected doing so last night), getting
dressed (Harry in his spare uniform he’d left at Louis’ and a borrowed pair of
jeans from someone, Louis in track pants and a loose tanktop to go jogging in),
quick blowjobs before they have to leave, more teeth-brushing, singing along to
the radio in the car, and then a short kiss before Harry gets out of the car.
Louis drives a bit away and gets out when he can park properly. There’s no
particular place he wants to run, he just wants to go and go and go until he
can't breathe properly, because running is exhilarating. He straps his phone
into a band on his arm and then he starts jogging. Louis jogs down streets and
past people’s houses, dogs barking at him through his workout playlist that
consists of top 40 pop songs, 80’s rock, and Taylor Swift (her voice in his ear
makes him feel like she’s right next to him, so he runs faster just in case
she’s trying to get a look at him to describe him in a song named ‘Infinite
Sprint’ or ‘Caramel Fringe’ or some other ridiculous bullshit).
He jogs down a road that has so many weird twists and turns that he just takes
one and doesn’t look back, knowing if he gets lost he can use his phone to call
someone. He jogs until he decides to run, sprinting through a large grassy area
that appears out of nowhere but may just be someone’s backyard and slowing down
when he reaches the pavement. Louis runs down an avenue, through an alley he
wouldn’t dare go down at night and then across the street without waiting for a
red light to keep him safe. He rushes past people bustling hurriedly through
the street who are trying to avoid touching the sweaty mess that Louis knows he
is.
Eventually, he gets tired. Not exhausted, but his thighs are burning and he
jogs slowly back through streets and avenues and crescents to get back to
Niall’s car. When he’s in the front seat, gulping down water and breathing
hard, he sees Harry’s school sweater in the passenger seat. He waits a few more
minutes, until his hair is a bit less sweaty (he needs to invest in a headband)
and he can spray himself with deodorant, then he jumps back out of the car with
Harry’s jumper around the strap of his gym bag (a bag which has his drink
bottle, deodorant, a spare shirt and shorts, a knee brace and a towel. There
are also condoms and lube in the not-so-secret pocket, but they’re always there
until Louis replaces them.).
He walks up the concrete pavement, jogs the last bit because he can, with the
bag swinging gently, the cold air biting at his skin and flushing his cheeks
even more. The women in the office are kind to Louis, smiling and making jokes
about Christmas and their grandsons/daughters. They tell Louis which class
Harry’s currently in, something English, and even give him a map of the school
with the room highlighted to help guide him.
He thanks them with a sweet smile and then he’s off in search of the room.
Louis only has to climb a set of stairs and turn right to get to the room.
Louis knocks, and the voice that had been talking halts. He can hear him sigh
through the door then someone shouts, “Come in!”
 
Inside the classroom Harry’s shivering as he holds onto Louis’ jumper he’d
managed to snag, but had to take off because it wasn’t uniform. Everyone had
seen him wearing it though, knew it was the guy’s who was outside school
yesterday because there is no way Harry has the exact same Adidas jumper (even
though it’s just a jumper, so yeah, he probably could).
He glances up as someone edges their way into the room and his mouth drops
comically as he sees who it is, a blush instantly painting his cheeks.
Louis’ hair looks redder than before, the dampness of the strands creating the
illusion of an auburn shade. His cheeks are stained red, but not grossly red,
like they’re only red because of the cold. There’s sweat high on his cheeks,
illuminating his cheekbones alongside the flush, and his arms glisten under the
fluorescent lighting. The fake tattoos still make him look wildly punk, with
the designs crawling up from his wrists to the base of his jaw, which. Jesus,
y’know? To top it off, Louis’ panting a little and Harry squirms in his seat,
holds his breath in his lungs.
Their teacher, Mr Gregson, rolls his eyes at his class who are enchanted by the
visitor (who are whispering oh my fucking god is that the guy and he's insanely
fit what the fuck).
“And what would you like, sir?”
Louis glances over at the man, pulls out the earphones he just realised were
still in, smiles charmingly and lets a few crowfeet scrunch his eyes up. “’M
just here to give Harry his jumper. He left it in the car.”
Gregson sighs a sigh that says he hates his life and everything in it and maybe
he wants warm cream corn on crumpets that he can't have. But, probably not the
last one. Some of his class coo sweetly, and maybe that makes him roll his
eyes. “Give it to him then, please, so I can continue wasting my life on these
kids.” He says the second part quieter, more a mumbling to himself that Louis
hears regardless and chooses to ignore.
He smiles again and struts, saunters, over to Harry, because apparently walking
isn't enough. Everyone’s looking, watching, peering, waiting on the edge of
their seats. For what? Well.
For the moment Louis gets down onto his knees, grasps Harry’s pink cheeks and
pulls his face forward and tilts it up so their lips are in line but not yet
touching, open mouthed and anticipating. They watch for the spark jumping
between their lips, peer for the pink of Louis' tongue to glide over Harry's
bottom lip, licking his tongue that peeks out to meet Louis' before it flicks
over his upper lip. They wait on the edge of their seats so they can see the
moment Louis forgets they’re in a classroom full of teenagers and a fifty year
old man who really couldn’t give a damn about these kids, and the moment Louis
makes Harry forget too with a bite on his bottom lip soothed with the stroking
of his tongue.
 
Only some see the exchange of love through these touches, and Louis’ hands
remain pressed on Harry’s face throughout their kisses.
When Louis pulls back, because it’s clear Harry isn't going to, he’s breathing
too heavily again and Harry whimpers, whines, needily into the space between
them. Some of the class gag, some aw, but most don’t give a shit and Liam rolls
his eyes.
Louis notices because he’s right beside Harry and asks, “Hey, Payne. You and
Zayn…do anything?”
Liam goes red like his face is a pizza base and sauce has just been slathered
on and, if the bruised cherry mark poorly hidden on his neck is anything to go
by, Louis can safely assume that yes, they did do something.
Harry mumbles, barely a sound, “I can't wait to suck your cock tonight, Lou.”
Louis laughs, surprised and loud and the sound hits Harry’s lips. “Love, I
think your mum will be expecting you home.”
“She won’t, promise. Even if she does you can always sleep on the sofa and
sneak up when she’s asleep?” Harry shakes his head, nose bumping against
Louis’, and Louis, even after a year of dating this boy, is still surprised at
how desperate Harry can sound.
Gregson coughs, because Harry’s idea of a whisper is hardly quiet and though he
didn’t hear the first part of the conversation he’s not thick enough to not get
the gist.
Harry’s blush, which had lightened, deepens immensely but he’s smirking and
Louis kisses it off him in an instant. It’s a chaste kiss, a quick slide of
their mouths and it feels very, very red, an explosion maybe, a day in Spain.
Louis stands up, patting Harry’s head and walks to the door. When his hand’s on
the doorknob he halts. Louis spins around with a dorky smile on his face, one
that usually only Harry gets to see when he’s inexplicably happy.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, tugging Harry’s sweater out of his bag and throwing it
across the room for him to catch. Harry laughs and Liam grins and everyone else
is a little frozen.
Before Louis can leave, he has to turn around a second time.
“What do you want?” Gregson is upset now, if only because he’s mad his wife
would never be as sweet as these two boys are.
“Love you H, see you later?”
Harry nods, “Okay, Lou, love you too.”
“Get out,” Gregson sighs for the third time in Louis’ presence, sick to death
of their love permeating the air of his classroom. It’s supposed to make
teenagers tired and weary and angry and solely want to give up; not give them
hope, or something equally revolting.
“I love you, pumpkin!” Louis shouts, because he can and he’s Louis.
Harry grins, the one with both dimples and lots of teeth. “I love you too,
boobear!”
Louis groans, rushing over back to Harry’s desk to collect his Adidas jumper,
“You were supposed to pick baby cakes!”
Harry laughs again, replies, “Fine, sweetums!”
“Suck a dick,” Louis mouths, waiting for Harry to giggle before he plants a
kiss on his lips and is out of the room, running back out to his car (Niall’s
car) and missing Harry’s reply of please.
 
It’s not time for lunch yet, so Louis drives home. Niall’s there, playing FIFA
with a hand occasionally digging into a large bucket for a piece of KFC chicken
that Louis gladly steals. Niall whines but Louis asks for the money to buy his
kitten and Niall brightens immediately.
He wipes his greasy hand on his jeans and says, “This is gonna be the craic,
Lou. Having our own kitten? Man, that’s gonna be sick.”
 
Niall, for once, drives his own car to the mall. It seems Louis is always
driving. At the mall Louis pays a ridiculous amount for his eight week old dark
chocolate Scottish Fold.
They go around to all the shops with her snuggling in Louis’ arms to collect
various items for her, like a litter box and a collar (two actually, one with a
bell, one without). Also, a leash, because Louis said he would. He and Niall
don’t purchase these things from the pet shop because their kitten cost enough
and everyone knows how overpriced pet shops are.
Any stores that don’t want a kitten within the vicinity are rendered speechless
at her, and she yawns sleepily every time Louis holds her out, like she knows
that if she yawns there is absolutely no way they can resist her. Then she
looks up at him, and if she were a person she would be smirking. Louis grins
every time as well, because he knew she was it.
 
After they’ve let her run around wildly in their flat while they scoff nachos,
Niall states he’s ditching uni to intern at a studio just outside the city.
Niall also tries to give Louis his shitty car, but Louis refuses even though
he’s near-always using it; Niall can't pay for his kitten to live and give him
a car while still paying half the bills.
Then, Louis goes, takes his kitten with him in the car. She still isn't tired,
so she pads her way around the car, not one of those cats who hate travelling
which Louis finds a little odd, but hey. Louis watches her out of the corner of
his eye and through the rear-view mirror. At one point she’s traipsing along
the padding of the backseat, the next she’s desperately clinging to the fabric
next to the passenger seat.
Louis is in love already.
Eventually she tires out, clawing up Louis’ leg and settling in his lap with
her claws digging into his trousers. Louis winces as he slides the car into the
same parking spot he had yesterday.
He hasn’t the heart to disturb her, so he lets her put little red marks into
his skin (well, he assumes there are red marks under his jeans). Louis drags
his phone out of his pocket, going on Tumblr then Twitter though really there
isn't anything important going on but a few Australian’s complaining about the
hot December weather melting their souls and getting mad about the heat. He
mainly has the apps because Harry has them, wanted Louis to have them as well
and follow everyone he did and his accounts and whatever else. Reblog his
selfies and retweet his selfies and take selfies with him then reblog and
retweet them. And, also, like, do cute coupley things with him. This process is
the same for Instagram, Harry’s favourite. Louis doesn’t check Instagram
because it’s stupid, but Harry tags him in literally everything.
Louis had to turn his notifications off for that one.
He waits until his kitty yawns awake, removing her claws and padding over his
chest where she looks up and yawns again, tongue flicking from the top of her
mouth to the bottom. Louis looks at her pointed tiny teeth. He wants to poke at
them, so he does and she snaps her mouth shut curiously and Louis yelps and
snatches his hand back. The kitten stares up at her owner and she blinks wide
before she’s scrambling towards his hand, the one she just nipped, and when she
gets there Louis resists the urge to move it as he glares at his hand. She
leans up and then she licks, small and tiny and a bare swipe of her sandpaper
tongue against the break in his skin and she glances back up at Louis, like im
sorry is this okay i love youand Louis can't breathe because of course it’s
fucking okay.
The time on the dash says school is just about over for the teens across the
street, so Louis jumps out with the unnamed kitten clinging to the fabric
covering his shoulder where she’d scuttled up to right before Louis could place
her in his palms. The thing is, it’s pretty fucking cold and the pet shop had
always been warm and so had Louis’ flat, so the kitten starts to shiver, her
legs shaking a little. Louis can feel it, knows from experience with the pale
Ragdoll his mum got when he was young that she’s fucking cold too.
His hands are bare so there’s a guarantee they won’t keep her warm, and really
there’s only one option left.
Louis moves her to the roof for a moment, tugs his jumper off to then tug the
shirt underneath off, leaving him bare-chested just as the fucking bell goes. A
few students see his hips and stomach and pecks and nipples (nipples) but then
he’s shoving the sweater back on and wrapping her with his warm cotton shirt, a
band shirt of Harry’s, actually.
Louis then looks both ways before he’s jogging across the street, thankfully
void of vehicles, and once again looking for Harry. Today he’s closer, though,
a lot closer and there are so many students buzzing around him and pushing past
and trying to see what he’s holding that he manages to nudge Zayn with his hip
before some kid is bumping into him and jostling the kitten snuggled in his
shirt.
He goes to insult the boy or something but he recognises his beanie and the
hair and then the face and the eyes and the nose and the mouth and even the
goddamn philtrum because it’s Harry.
Harry breaks out in the biggest smile to date and Louis can't describe
accurately all the feelings that burst in his stomach at the light in Harry’s
especially green eyes in the cold, can't think of words to place when he sees
the absolute excitement in Harry’s features, in his fucking dimples, when he
sees what Louis’ holding.
His cheeks are flushed a deep red from the cold, the school sweater doing less
than nothing with the thinness of the material. Harry chokes for a moment,
flounders at the sight of Louis but then his boyfriend is bringing his hands
up. There's a black ball of fur hidden in one of Harry’s band shirts from ages
ago. Harry is filled with love when the black ball of fur uncurls and stretches
in Louis’ palms. She pads a single step to the edge of the shirt and hence
Louis’ hands, bending her head to sniff the material before her nose scrunches
up sweetly.
Harry's smile drops and then it’s there again, blinding and beaming and
brilliant and big and he breathes, “Louis William Tomlinson, I love you.”
Louis knows, he really, really does. “Harry Edward Styles, I love you.”
“Have you named her, or him? Is it a him?” Harry’s bouncing now with delight,
and Liam’s ditched him to hold hands with Zayn or make out with Zayn or with
Zayn.
“Her, and I’ve not named her. Wanted you to,” Louis mumbles, stretching his
arms out for Harry so he can take the shirt and the kitten and Louis’ heart
with her too.
“Boston,” Harry blurts, and he doesn’t look ashamed and Louis isn't surprised.
Boston purrs at her name, rubbing against the shirt before mewling and spinning
around to sit in the small space Louis’ hands offer. Harry tears up and he
can't think of anything but thank you and louisto breathe out and Louis
understands, he does, because Boston works perfectly. She’s gorgeous and Louis’
thinking about their future with about forty more cats, all different breeds
(except for maybe red Self Persian because, hello, they look like they
permanently hate you and Louis couldn’t deal with a brooding face all day).
Harry moves his head up, away from his, their, kitten so he’s looking at Louis
directly. Then he’s shifting, stumbling forward so Louis can catch his arms and
keep him up and press their lips together for the first time as official
parents for the kitten.
Then, Louis smiles too, grins against Harry’s mouth and starts to laugh softly.
Harry laughs with him, though he’s not entirely sure as to why they're
laughing; he does so because it feels right, and because Boston is licking the
tips of his fingers peeking out under the shirt.
Louis is laughing because he really, really wants nothing but this.
 
Back at the flat, she’s playful again and Harry, after calling his mum, is
there and playing with a mouse dangling with string on a wooden rod. Boston’s
leaping, trying to pounce on the toy, but every time Harry moves it away she
seems to become even bouncier. Niall tells him to let her have it once, so
Harry does. But then Boston rips at it with her claws and that is the end of
the mouse.
Instead, after she’s strewn fluff over the floor, he uses his own hand to
capture her attention. He runs his fingers through the rug he’s sitting on the
floor next to, it’s brown and red and green and Harry thinks Louis once said it
was a Persian rug. It doesn’t matter because Boston has caught the movement
with her eyes and is jumping over. She flattens herself on her belly, scuttling
forward in random spurts of energy, each time getting closer to Harry’s spread
out fingers.
Louis mumbles into his sleeve, “She's gonna bite you, Harry, stop being a
twat.”
But Harry turns around to grin at Louis, too big and very silly and he wiggles
his fingers accidentally and Boston pounces. Niall begins to cackle loudly and
Harry can't actually move his hand because Boston is clinging to his skin and
nibbling with her pointy teeth that Louis wants to call teethies.
Harry’s face scrunches up as he winces and he twists back around to gently pry
Boston off. She flicks her eyes up, sees Harry and darts back. She then bounds
around the room, up and under and through the bits of furniture in the living
room and then over to Niall to munch on his toes, which Niall finds hysterical.
Harry supposes if it were Niall being bitten he would be laughing too. As it
is, he wants a band aid. Preferably the princess ones he made Louis buy the
last time they went shopping.
And it’s an indescribable feeling that has settled in Louis’ belly; it’s
something like love and the warmth of the sun, delighted laughter at the park
as the snow begins to fall. It’s something like butterflies beating wildly
against the lining of his stomach, a gleeful shine to someone’s eye, the hitch
of breath in a new mother’s throat as she holds her child for the first time.
It’s a feeling he always gets around Harry, a feeling like forever is possible.
Like they’re all puzzle pieces and somewhere Louis has gotten lucky enough that
he’s found his matching piece.
It’s a feeling he can live with, honestly.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
                                                                                   
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
 
End Notes
     tumblr is seasideghoul if you wanna hit me up, for any reason. have
     an amazing week, thanks for getting this far, and i want you to be
     safe and alive by the end of your amazing week. love you all, thank
     you.
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