It started to become an addiction, the younger boy’s eyes like emerald heroin, potent and debilitating and dangerous. The more Louis saw of them the harder he found it to ever look at anything else. And the more he craved their unyielding, unfaltering attention.
He wouldn’t be sated until he had all of Harry.
Warnings: some smut, minor swearing, brief mentions of Caroline, Hannah, and Eleanor.
Just a little one-shot that’s been on my mind and was begging to be written. Inspired by Harry Styles’ lush green eyes because, let’s be real, who could resist them?
The green eyes / Yeah, the spotlight shines upon you / And how could / Anybody deny you?
From when Louis was a little kid, his mum had always told him that the eyes were windows to the soul.
Louis had never really understood the maxim. How could a person’s eyes tell you about his or her soul? Rather, wouldn’t someone’s heart tell way more about the nature of a person’s soul? Or, more importantly, their actions? Surely their actions spoke louder than their eyes.
As far as he was concerned, the saying was absolute rubbish.
And he adamantly believed this for the first 18 years of his existence.
But then Louis met Harry, and Harry seemed to have a tendency to change everything Louis thought he knew about the world. And himself.
He still remembers the day he saw them the first time, those vibrant green orbs, locked on him through the mirror with unmatched brilliance. Bright and full of life. Completely incomparable to anything he had ever seen before.
That’s when he knew. All he had to do was see those eyes and he knew. This boy was special.
“Hi, I’m Louis.”
The boy’s smile reached his eyes, scrunching them up adorably, and Louis didn’t dare look away, afraid that this moment would disappear all too soon. Or maybe he was more afraid that the boy would disappear all too soon.
Even then he knew he had to savor the moment. Capture it. Memorize every emerald fleck in this boy’s radiant eyes, every wave in his ocean of green.
There was something about this boy that Louis couldn’t quite put his finger on. Like even though he was a complete stranger, competitor to be more exact, this boy would become more important than Louis could ever know. Or at least he hoped. He really didn’t want to never see those eyes again.
“Nice to meet you, Louis. M’Harry.”
Louis was finally starting to think that maybe the saying wasn’t so rubbish afterall.
Louis’ favorite thing in the world was making Harry laugh. All he’d have to do was crack a joke or do something silly, or even pull the occasional prank call, and the boy’s eyes would be dancing with amusement and mischief.
He quite liked being the center of Harry’s everything. It made him feel important, content with the fact that he was the only one who could make Harry’s eyes crinkle like that. The only one who could set his eyes ablaze.
It started to become an addiction, the younger boy’s eyes like emerald heroin, potent and debilitating and dangerous. The more Louis saw of them the harder he found it to ever look at anything else. And the more he craved their unyielding, unfaltering attention.
Just like a junkie, he could never get enough.
He wouldn’t be sated until he had all of Harry.
He had run off the stage as soon as the show cut for commercial break, head lowered and gaze cast downwards.
Louis knew exactly where to find him, knew he wanted to be found.
Without hesitating or knocking, Louis opened the door gingerly and took in the sight before him. Harry was sitting on the floor, back against the cold tiles, curled up into himself, face in his hands. Dry heaves wracked his body and the shrill sound of whimpering that filled the still air cut through Louis deeper than a knife.
Louis had never seen anyone look so wounded and defeated.
He walked over to the boy and slid down next to him, not saying anything for quite some time, in fear of saying the wrong thing. Louis had never been good at the comforting thing, at talking about feelings, usually just telling a joke instead to dispel the tension. Eventually the sounds of the sniveling boy next to him started to make him feel nauseous, so he gently tugged Harry’s hands away from his face.
Harry turned sharply to fix Louis with a hard glare and questioned in between sobs, “why are you here? Why don’t you hate me? You deserve to hate me. I’ve ruined everything, made us lose. It’s all my fault.”
Tears were streaming down the boy’s face, lip quivering in between his teeth. He was clearly trying to keep it together long enough to talk to Louis, but it wasn’t working very well. His lashes were dark and wet, eyes swollen and rimmed red, irises breathtakingly clear, a shade of green that Louis was sure couldn’t ever be replicated since there was no color in the spectrum that could do it justice.
He looked so young, so innocent, so beautiful.
He was too young to be so broken.
Louis did the only thing he had ever been good at when it came to comforting people, and wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him into his chest. Harry more than obliged, burrowing his face into Louis’ neck, a trail of warm tears pooling at Louis’ collarbone.
“Harry, you know that’s not true. Where are you getting this nonsense from?” Louis asked, massaging Harry’s scalp with one hand, soothingly tracing patterns on Harry’s hip with the other.
“Twitter,” Harry answered tightly, his hot breath on Louis’ neck sending an unexpected yet thrilling chill up the older boy’s spine.
“Well those tossers on Twitter don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re brilliant Harry, don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Louis felt Harry smile against him and knew that all Harry really needed was a little reassurance.
He refused to consider whether those words would have had the same effect on Harry that they did if they would have come from someone else’s mouth. He also refused to think about the fluttering in his stomach that came as a result of Harry placing a light kiss on his neck.
Harry pulled back, tears no longer falling from his eyes, and asked Louis in a cracked whisper, “so what now?”
Louis wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. “What do you mean ‘what now’?” the older boy questioned in an equally low whisper.
It was so strange to see this side of Harry. He hadn’t even known this part of Harry existed. The lad was always so cheeky and hyper and happy. Louis knew one thing for sure though: he hated seeing Harry like this. He promised himself right then and there that he’d protect Harry and make sure the boy never cried again.
“I mean, is this the end? Are we going to go on with our lives like none of this ever happened? Am I never going to see you again?” Harry asked shakily, his eyes trained on Louis’ lips.
Louis had never seen Harry so scared.
“Harry. Look at me,” Louis commanded, tipping Harry’s chin upward with his index finger. Only when Harry locked his unsure gaze with Louis’ sincere one did Louis continue. “We’ve already talked about this plenty. We’re going to get a flat and live together.”
“I thought you were just joking about that,” Harry admitted shyly.
“I joke about a lot, love, but I would never joke about that.”
Harry’s relief was practically palpable, his whole mood shifting. He was smiling ear-to-ear, the rainbow after the storm, and Louis was pretty damn sure it was the loveliest smile he’d ever laid eyes on. That was saying something too, because Louis always thought Harry was lovely.
“There’s the Haz I know and love,” Louis grinned, planting a firm kiss in Harry’s hair.
“Thanks, Lou,” Harry replied sincerely, pulling into Louis’ touch instinctively.
And when Louis gave Harry a hand up off the floor and both boys joined the other three, Louis found the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile every time he thought about living with Harry.
Life couldn’t get better.
When Louis came home to Hannah he couldn’t help but compare her eyes to Harry’s.
Except no one’s eyes could compare to Harry’s. And no one could compare to Harry in any other way either.
It had been a mere brush of the lips, barely anything at all. Merely an impulse Louis had failed to control.
Yet when Harry pulled back, stunned, Louis could see everything in the boy’s eyes. How it wasn’t just a kiss, how it meant so much more.
It scared him, the way Harry looked at him. Because he didn’t know if he would ever be able to look back at Harry the same way, ever be able to fully reciprocate the boy’s love in the way the boy wanted. In the way the boy deserved.
All those thoughts were put on the backburner when Harry slammed his lips against Louis’ with not one trace of hesitation, jamming his tongue into Louis’ mouth forcefully.
Harry had been waiting for this moment patiently. Everything had been leading up to this, every laugh, every touch. Even though Louis had Hannah, Harry had never been worried or deterred for even a second.
He and Louis were inevitable.
And he was determined to prove that to Louis.
Louis didn’t take long to react, threading both hands into the boy’s hair and pushing him flat onto the sofa in their shared living room, the movie they had been watching completely forgotten about.
He reconnected their lips, taking Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard, enjoying the moan of pleasure and pain it elicited from Harry. He wanted to learn all of Harry’s sounds, revel in the fact that he was one of the lucky few who got to hear them. He was sure anyone would die to be in his position right now.
Annoyed by the awkward angle he was currently in, Louis nudged Harry’s legs apart and dropped down on top of the boy, now chest-to-chest with him. He licked Harry’s bottom lip, begging for an entrance, and Harry opened eagerly, always willing to give as much of himself as Louis wanted to take.
One of Harry’s hands found Louis’, their fingers intertwining perfectly, almost like they were made for each other, while Harry’s other hand found its way up the back of Louis’ striped shirt, nails digging into the small of his back each time Louis ground his hips down against Harry’s, letting Harry feel just how hard Louis was. The fact that he, Harry Styles, could have that effect on Louis made his head spin with giddiness.
Harry brought his knees up and wrapped his legs around Louis’ back, bringing their groins flush together. Louis groaned breathlessly into Harry’s mouth at the new contact and better angle, and moved down to assault Harry’s neck, nipping and sucking at every available inch of skin. Louis wanted there to be proof that this happened, that Harry was his and only his.
He sat up just long enough to tear the thin shirt off Harry’s body, throwing the discarded remains of fabric somewhere over the back of the sofa, and reattached his mouth to Harry’s skin, his lips finding one of Harry’s nipples, biting mercilessly at the pink flesh. Harry untangled his fingers from Louis’ and brought his hand up to grip the back of Louis’ neck, holding him steady, never wanting him to stop.
Louis had no intentions of stopping.
He snaked his hand in between their bodies, his fingers inching their way down Harry’s stomach achingly slow.
“Fuck, Lou,” Harry panted, out of breath. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Louis chuckled and moved up to Harry’s face, his fingers now toying with the band of Harry’s briefs.
Harry’s eyes were dark and lust-filled, alight with want. It was unlike anything Louis had ever seen, and all he could think was that it was all he ever wanted to see from now on.
“What ever do you mean?” Louis teased, before placing an open-mouthed kiss below Harry’s ear. Thank goodness for that forward interviewer who asked all the boys where their favorite place to be kissed was, or else Louis wouldn’t have had a clue.
“Please,” Harry pleaded, the sensations becoming too much to handle.
Louis smirked, happy that he was able to make Harry come undone like this, make Harry beg like this, and replied amusedly, “we wouldn’t want a dead popstar now would we?”
With that, Louis’ hand dove under Harry’s briefs, not taking the time to remove his jeans first since they were baggy enough to provide Louis the room he needed, and he resumed sucking at that sensitive spot below Harry’s ear.
Louis wasted no time at all, his thumb brushing Harry’s slit, spreading the pre-come all over the boy’s cock, before taking the boy’s length in his hand and stroking up and down vigorously.
Harry inhaled sharply and threw his head back against the sofa, eyes fluttering closed, knuckles white and digging into the sofa cushions.
“Lou, I’m so close,” he whimpered.
“Harry, I want you to look at me when you come, alright?” Louis said, cupping Harry’s face tenderly.
The young boy nodded and managed to open his eyes halfway. Louis had never seen Harry look more attractive than he did right now. Eyelids hooded, face flushed, lips swollen and red, forming-bruises coating his neck and chest, skin glistening with sweat, hair messier than usual, pupils blown. The sight alone made Louis want to come, but he was determined to finish Harry off first.
Luckily for Louis, it only took a few more tugs before the boy underneath him let out a loud cry and started shaking, hot fluid pouring out onto Louis’ hand. Harry had been a good boy and done as Louis asked, staring into Louis’ eyes as he climaxed, and that was all Louis needed to come too.
Louis collapsed on top of Harry, fitting his face into the crook of Harry’s neck as he tried to catch his breath. Harry brought his hand up and ran his hands through Louis’ hair, kneading his scalp as if thanking him.
That was one of Louis’ favorite things about their relationship. Everything that they needed to communicate to each other didn’t have to be put into words. Just a look or a gesture would suffice.
And when Louis glanced up and saw Harry staring down at him with those naïve green eyes full of hope, he knew he’d made a mistake.
Since that night, Louis and Harry had been a lot flirtier and much more handsy, which neither knew was even possible. They hadn’t hooked up again or anything though. Louis accredited this to their unspoken communication, Harry being perceptive enough to see how guilty Louis felt for cheating on Hannah and how confused he was about all of his feelings. Harry knew he had to back off and give Louis time to work everything out.
Unlike Louis, Harry had all his feelings sorted out. To him, feelings were simple. If he liked someone, great. The person’s gender didn’t matter.
He knew Louis didn’t have the same outlook, obviously petrified by the feelings he had for Harry, a male. It was alright with Harry though. He’d already been waiting months for Louis, a little longer of a wait wouldn’t be too hard.
The other boys noticed the shift, how much closer the two were now, but made no comments on the matter.
Management wasn’t so kind, instructing the two to keep their hands off each other. That really only made things worse, Louis and Harry having always been troublemakers who would do the exact opposite of what they were told. Like in that twitcam when a viewer told them to stop moshing and they both resumed moshing. The more management told them to keep away from each other, the more they defied orders.
Fans started to take notice too, giving them the name ‘Larry Stylinson’, and Louis and Harry couldn’t help but be amused.
Apparently they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were.
“So, it’s true then? You’re seeing her?” Louis asked, keeping his eyes resolutely fixed on the newspaper in front of him, refusing to look up even when he could feel Harry’s eyes boring into him from across the table.
Louis really hoped the question came off as casual.
“Why do you care?” Harry asked shrewdly before picking up his glass of orange juice and taking a swig, eying Louis closely over the rim.
“I don’t,” Louis retorted matter-of-factly, eyes scanning the headlines but not actually absorbing any of the words. “I’m just afraid you might fracture her hip when you two shag.”
Harry sighed in frustration and slammed his glass down on the table with such force that orange juice flew out. Louis’ eyes snapped up to look into Harry’s stormy ones. Harry rarely got angry, but when he did it was absolutely terrifying.
“Look,” Harry replied, raising his voice to an octave that made Louis shudder internally. “You know how I feel about you. I’ve made it clear. But you can’t expect me to just wait for you. It’s not fair. You’re still with Hannah and you’ve obviously made your decision, so you have no right to judge who I fancy. Caroline and I get on well, and if you were a true mate you’d support my decision.”
Louis couldn’t even control what came out of his mouth next. It was just a knee-jerk sarcastic remark. “Support your decision to date a bag of bones? Yeah, that’s what true mates do.”
Louis had expected Harry to glare or yell at him, but all he did was run his hand over his face tiredly. Harry was sick of this, sick of Louis being a possessive twat who tried to hoard him whenever a girl came into the picture.
Harry popped up from the table, his chair sliding out noisily while scraping the floor tiles, and walked around the table slowly, circling Louis like a lion circling its victim.
Louis gasped when he felt Harry’s hot breath on his neck behind him, having to grip the table edges tightly to keep himself from doing something he’d regret later. He really didn’t want to have to bear the guilt of cheating on Hannah again.
Harry leaned in even closer, to where his lips were practically touching Louis’ ear, and whispered huskily, “you’re the one with all the power here. I don’t understand why you’re jealous. All of this can be solved easily you know.”
Harry stood up and made to walk out of the room, but paused in the doorway. His next words were ones that would haunt Louis for weeks to come, on constant replay in the older boy’s head.
“Stop being a coward.”
Louis was a coward. He knew that.
It’s why he left Hannah for Eleanor.
Clearly Hannah wasn’t the right girl for him if he was having feelings about his best mate when he was with her. It was her fault that he wasn’t attracted to her anymore.
It was only a natural fit that he’d date Eleanor. From the moment he’d met her he had felt sparks. She was pretty and fun and shared his belief of not taking life too seriously. When he was with her he was happy.
Sometimes though, just sometimes, he’d find himself thinking about how boring and dull her eyes were. Common.
Sometimes he wished they were green.
“Isn’t this the weekend you’re taking Eleanor to meet your parents?” Liam questioned, plopping down next to Louis and putting his arm around his shoulder.
“It is,” Louis confirmed, grinning and nodding.
“You and her are getting pretty serious then?” Liam asked cheerily, probably glad to have another band member join him in the ‘girlfriend club.’
Louis’ eyes flicked up to look at Harry, who was stretched out on the sofa opposite the one he and Liam were sitting in. Harry seemed to be ignoring them, fingers dancing on the screen of his phone as if texting someone, but Louis knew better.
He knew Harry frightening well. Knew every chat up line he used on girls, knew how every song lyric he quoted on Twitter held importance to his life in the time he had tweeted it, knew that Harry had serious confidence issues regardless of how cheeky he portrayed himself outwardly. He even knew every color of Harry’s eyes. How dark they got whenever Louis’ hand lingered for too long, how lifeless they were when Caroline had ended things, how they’d light up whenever Louis opted for a movie night in with him rather than a surprise visit to Eleanor’s.
He knew it hurt Harry to see him with Eleanor, he wasn’t blind. It hurt him when Eleanor was even mentioned in passing. Harry had felt like he’d been rejected completely, like it wasn’t fair because he was there first and she had just swooped in and stolen what was rightfully his.
Louis felt bad, he did. Harry was his best friend; he didn’t ever want that to change. He didn’t want to lose Harry because Harry falsely believed he wasn’t important anymore. Harry had always been too stupid to see that he was one of the most important parts of Louis’ life, up there with his mum and his sisters.
That’s why, since he had begun dating Eleanor, he had made sure to show Harry a little extra love. Whether it was cuddling with him in bed when Harry got lonely or wiping his tears when they watched Bambi or even a small brush of the fingers in an interview, Louis knew it made all the difference in the world. It reassured Harry that he still mattered.
“Yeah, it’s getting pretty serious I suppose,” Louis responded noncommittally before standing up from where he’d been sitting, walking over to Harry, and starting a full-fledged tickle fight with the boy.
“I’ll never understand their relationship,” Niall commented to Liam quietly from his spot on the floor.
Liam conceded that Niall was quite right. The only people who could understand the relationship between Harry and Louis were, well, Harry and Louis.
All he and the boys and the rest of the world could do was speculate.
He hated himself for it.
He knew it wasn’t right, yet he couldn’t seem to stop.
He knew it was wrong of him to cheat on Eleanor and string Harry along, but he just couldn’t help it.
He loved both of them, found it impossible to choose.
Every time he thought he had successfully resisted the temptation, memories of Harry writhing beneath him, pupils shot, mouth wide open in pleasure, would flick through his mind. How was he supposed to resist Harry when the boy was so eager and willing?
Every time he told himself that this would be the last time.
It never was.
“You’re finally eighteen now, mate. Congrats,” Zayn smiled before jumping up and down excitedly and breaking into a small dance. Zayn was always showing off his dance skills and making the other boys feel incompetent. It got old fast.
“So, Harry, what do you want to do for your birthday?” Niall asked interestedly. None of the boys had gotten him anything, but wanted to make it up to him by doing whatever he wished on his birthday.
That wasn’t entirely true. Louis had gotten Harry tickets for this year’s Leeds Festival, knowing just how much Leeds meant to him. Harry still wore that stupid battered Leeds bracelet from last year, cryptically claiming it was symbolic. Louis had asked him why it was symbolic and Harry had responded truthfully that Leeds was where he’d vowed to himself that he’d never lose hope that someday Louis would be his.
When Harry said things like that, Louis wanted to bash his skull in. He already felt guilty enough, he didn’t need to add kindle to the flame.
“I want Louis to fuck me until I cry,” Harry answered back seriously, looking Niall dead in the eye.
Three sets of apprehensive eyes turned their attention to Louis, not sure whether to take Harry’s remark as a joke or not.
Louis cut the tension in the room immediately by letting out a bark of laughter and exclaiming “good one, Styles!”
The other three boys let out laughs of relief, and turned back to look at Harry. “For a second I thought you were serious,” Liam chuckled, smacking Harry playfully on the arm.
“Yeah, you had us good there,” Niall added.
Harry glanced up at Louis briefly, but it was long enough for Louis to recognize that glint in Harry’s eyes.
It wasn’t just a glint, it was a promise.
Something about concerts was euphoric. Whether it was the bright lights or the pounding music or the thousands of screaming fans, Louis always felt incredible when doing live shows. Sometimes he’d just look out into the crowd in awe, still not able to believe that this was his life now. It was all so surreal.
Louis knew the real reason he loved concerts though.
Just being there on-stage every night to see Harry in his element, open and vulnerable, pouring his heart out to a sea of strangers, made Louis feel blessed. As often as Louis would look into the crowd in awe, he’d look at Harry in awe. Harry was a star. Sure, he and the other boys were too, but Harry was on a whole different level. He was born for the spotlight.
It was times like these that he felt privileged that of all the people in the world Harry could have chosen to love, he chose him. It didn’t really make sense to Louis. Surely there had to be someone out there far better than himself who would be able to love Harry with all of his or her heart, not just half of it.
It was times like these that he felt he didn’t deserve Harry.
But then Harry’s eyes would find his from across the stage, as if reading his mind, and Harry would give him the brightest smile ever and take away any doubts he might have.
No one ever said love made sense.
The way that Harry would look at him in interviews was unsettling. He’d told him before to quit it, that he was being way too obvious and that people would take notice, but Harry never listened.
Even when Louis couldn’t see him, he’d feel those violent green eyes fixed on him, burning his skin, gaze transfixed on his mouth when he would talk, eyes memorizing every curve of his body when he wouldn’t.
But when he did see them, did happen to glance over at Harry, he’d see just how ravenous they really were. Hungry.
Eyes on fire, determination burning red hot.
They’d be split up at fan signings, ordered to sit on opposite sides in interviews. Often, one of the boys, usually Zayn, would be under strict orders to sit between them and break up any behavior that would raise suspicion. The other boys felt awkward being pawns for management, strongly supporting Louis and Harry’s relationship, but did what they were told nonetheless.
Louis didn’t really have a problem with it. Despite his loud and boisterous personality, he liked to keep his private life private. It was no one’s business who he was romantically involved with, and he was perfectly content with showing Harry real affection only when they couldn’t be seen.
Harry though, Harry hated it and did everything possible to rebel against management. He wanted to prove to the world that Louis was his, that Louis cared more for him than he did for Eleanor. He’d whisper dirty things in his ear on stage, confirm that he and Louis were dating to fans that asked, even kiss him on the cheek in front of thousands of people. Harry did everything in his power to raise eyebrows.
He never thought of the consequences though. Every time he pulled something risqué, Eleanor would be flown out to crush any doubt about Louis’ preferences. Then the next day loads of paparazzi pictures of the happy couple together, walking hand-in-hand, would be released and all inquiries into Louis’ sexuality would be dropped.
Harry hated her.
He knew his hatred was unfounded, spurred only out of jealousy, and that she was really a sweet girl, but he despised her. Envied her. She got to walk out in public with the man she loved, got to kiss him freely with no fear of criticism or backlash or punishment.
Harry knew that he and Louis weren’t exclusive, obviously, Harry still indulging his primal urges with willing fans, but it still hurt whenever a new picture of Louis and Eleanor surfaced.
It always amazed Harry that the person who lit up his world was the same one who tore it to pieces.
He didn’t worry though, refused to give up hope. They were meant to be, even if Louis couldn’t see it yet.
No matter how much distance management put between them, Harry and Louis would find their way back to each other.
They always did.
With Harry, all his cards were laid out on the table. Ready for the taking.
Louis was starting to feel that all he did was take and take and take.
He knew that if things continued the way they were going, pretty soon there wouldn’t be any cards left.
“What’re you watching?” Louis asked curiously upon entering the living room and seeing the curly-haired boy sitting cross-legged on the sofa, gnawing on an apple.
“Misfits,” Harry retorted simply, sending Louis the universal message of ‘shut up and talk to me when a commercial comes on.’
Louis sank down next to Harry on the white sofa and admired the room’s décor. He and Harry had bought a very expensive and very lavish flat in London recently, having finished with touring for the time being, and he still wasn’t used to it yet.
After minutes of being ignored, Louis snuggled up next to Harry, put his hands around the boy’s slim waist, and rested his head on the boy’s bony shoulder.
Harry returned the contact, wrapping his arm behind Louis’ back, rubbing circles on the tanned skin of his left arm. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with Eleanor?” Harry questioned distractedly, eyes still set on the television screen, trying not to miss any important plot points.
“Yeah. But I broke up with her.”
Harry froze and stopped his ministrations on Louis’ skin immediately.
The loud sounds of destruction and blasting coming from the television show contrasted sharply with the tense silence that hung between the boys in the room.
Louis untangled himself from Harry and sat up straight on the couch. The blue light emanating from the screen of the TV played across Harry’s features, his strong jawline, the sharp curve of his nose, those dark eyebrows. He studied the boy’s profile, looking for any indication that he had heard his words. But there were none. Just stoicism.
Louis grew nervous, every second feeling like an eternity, and was uncharacteristically anxious when he said, “Harry, if you could say something that would be brilliant.”
Harry’s gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers toying with the opening of his sweatpants, teeth worrying his bottom lip.
Just when Louis was starting to think that maybe he’d made a terrible mistake, he saw it.
And then another one. And another one.
Pretty soon tears were falling freely, the boy’s cheeks soaked in no time at all.
Harry turned to Louis abruptly and kissed him with such force that Louis fell back onto the couch. Louis could taste the tears on Harry’s lips, understood all that they represented. Longing. Frustration. Doubt.
When Harry’s hands flew to Louis’ trousers, trying to undo the buttons, Louis broke off the kiss and grabbed Harry’s wrists, stilling them instantly and pulling them away.
Harry was panting above him, eyes wild and face red, hands coming to rest on either side of Louis’ head. Louis searched his face, trying to read the unidentifiable emotion there.
“Harry, slow down. There’s no need to rush tonight. Why are you going so fast?”
Drop. A tear hit Louis’ cheek.
Harry gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly, and averted his gaze, trying to come up with a suitable response.
Drop. Another one.
“Because,” Harry started slowly, sniffling, “I’m afraid you’ll change your mind.”
Louis reached up and pulled Harry into a hug, the boy in his arms as weak as a ragdoll. It hurt him to know that he was the one who made Harry feel this way, had made Harry feel this way for three years now. He rocked him back and forth and kissed him tenderly until the boy stopped crying.
“The thing is, Harry,” Louis whispered soothingly into the boy’s ear, “I couldn’t change my mind even if I wanted. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
Harry’s chuckle vibrated against Louis’ chest and left a warm sensation in its wake.
Okay, so Louis wasn’t the smoothest with words, especially heartfelt ones. Luckily that didn’t matter. Harry always knew what he was trying to say, even when he couldn’t form the right words.
“I love you too, Boo Bear,” Harry smiled, turning his head to the side to get more comfortable.
Louis grinned and let his eyes fall closed, enjoying the sound of the steady breathing of the boy on top of him.
This was it. This was right. How did he know?
He just did.
Louis knew there would come a day when everything would be out in the open, when they wouldn’t have to hide anymore.
A day when management wouldn’t be able to cover it up any longer. A day when half of the world would be in shock and the other half would be gloating that they’d known all along. A day when they would be harassed by paparazzi and reporters and sleazy magazines trying to confirm the story.
He wasn’t scared.
Because he knew all he’d have to do is take one look into Harry’s eyes and it would confirm what he already knew.
Everything would be alright as long as they had each other. Theirs was a love worth fighting for.
They were Harry and Louis.
They were inevitable.
Title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘Sparks Fly’, intro song lyric taken from Coldplay’s ‘Green Eyes.’
My first time writing smut of any kind, so go easy on me. Feedback would be lovely. :)
To all my followers, sorry for the lack of updates. I know this isn’t the post you were hoping for, but please accept it as a peace offering. For some reason, the next chapter of Never, Never Grow Up is not coming to me easily. Inspiration, thou art a capricious bitch.
I can’t promise when the next update is going to be (I hate saying a date and then being a liar), but it will be soon. I do have a One Direction concert to attend on Thursday, so maybe seeing Larry in person will serve as a source of inspiration.
Til then, love as always. ~Sara