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one wall. In a brief skim he spots pictures of a pair of redheaded twins,

the Golden Gate Bridge, and a young woman who can only be Gemma,

looking exactly as he imagined her with pink streaks in her hair. He

looks to the left and sees a print of a Turner painting, a small tapestry

of a dragon, and a constellation of paper snowflakes. He looks up and

sees that there‟s a string of multi-colored Christmas lights bordering the

ceiling, blinking merrily. God, he‟s having dinner inside Harry‟s brain.

One picture catches his eye, pinned up next to the one of Gemma. He‟s

never seen it before, but he still recognizes it immediately. He and

Harry are standing with Niall and Zayn in front of a Ferris wheel. Zayn

looks despondent, Niall looks like he just had in orgy in a fry cooker,

Louis is obscured by a giant bear, and there, there is Harry, grinning

blissfully at tiny hidden photograph Louis, his head turned in profile

away from the camera. Louis wants to tear it off the wall, fold it up, put

it in his wallet, and only look at it when he‟s very, very sad.

“Wherever I go, I tend to just pick stuff up, and usually I just never

throw it out,” Harry says, finishing up his elaborate plating. There's

garnish. Louis may never recover from this. “I like being surrounded by

memories. And, I don‟t know, I‟d feel guilty if I got rid of it now.” He

brings the plates over to the table, going back to the kitchen for wine

glasses.

Louis smiles at his retreating back. “I‟m surprised you‟re not

surrounded by stray cats you‟ve taken in,” he says, “Or, I don‟t know,

followed around by ducklings. You‟re a Disney princess, Harry

Styles.” Returning with the glasses, Harry gives an exaggerated curtsy.

“Have you actually not opened that yet?” Harry asks, gesturing towards

the bottle of wine in Louis‟ hands. Louis looks down, slightly

bewildered to see it there.

“Sorry,” he says, uncorking it with a pop, “Got distracted.”

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“Ah yes, you‟re so easily distracted,” Harry says with a sly grin, taking

the bottle from him and filling both their glasses. Louis flips him a V

and takes his glass, stifling a smile in response to Harry‟s laugh.

They sit down to eat what turns out to be a truly delicious meal, and

every worry that Louis had about this night slinks away unnoticed as he

looks at Harry across the table. As they eat, they lapse in and out of

conversation, but the words are easy and the silences comfortable.

Louis feels fluid and warm, more so than is justified by his single glass

of wine. He knows this feeling, has felt it before, but can‟t quite put a

name to it.

“So,” Harry says, looking at Louis‟ empty plate, “I take it you enjoyed

the food?” He takes a drink, and Louis finds himself staring, caught up

in the movement of the tendons in his wrist, following the bob of his

Adam‟s apple as he swallows the wine.

Louis wants to give a sarcastic answer, but can‟t quite bring himself to.

“Yeah, they were incredible. I am officially impressed.”

Harry beams at him. “Yeah, well, I‟ll be honest, they‟re my best dish,

so it‟s always a safe choice when I‟m looking to impress.”

Ah, yes. There‟s the word Louis was looking for. Safe.

He raises his glass and drains it dry in a single swallow before standing

and walking around the table.

“What—” is all Harry can manage, pushing his chair back from the

table, before Louis is sliding into his lap and kissing him insistently. He

swallows the rest of Harry‟s question, his hands gripping his shoulders

tightly. Harry may have been caught off-guard, but he‟s a quick study,

gripping Louis‟ arse and hauling him in closer. Louis slips one hand

around behind Harry‟s neck and under his shirt collar, spreading his

fingers to touch as much skin as possible. Harry makes a soft sound and

breaks away from the kiss, breathing heavily.

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“Jesus, Lou,” he says with a small laugh, pulling back to search Louis‟

face. “If you‟ve got a risotto fetish or something, just tell me. I‟ll find a

way to make it work.”

Louis does his best to wipe the grin off his face and leans back in,

stealing a quick kiss. “If you expect me,” another kiss, “to look at you

across this table all night,” another, “and not want you,” another, this

one lingering, “you‟re even stupider than your Christmas lights.”

Harry nuzzles into Louis‟ neck. “You like the Christmas lights.” He

slides a hand up the back of Louis‟ jumper. The breadth of it nearly

covers the width of Louis‟ back, and Louis‟ breath catches.

“Yeah, I do,” Louis says, pulling Harry back up into a kiss, and this one

neither of them breaks.

He‟s never been a slow-moving kind of guy, but Louis can‟t help but

savor this, enjoy every sweep of Harry‟s tongue into his mouth, every

sound Harry makes when Louis tugs on his hair. Harry seems quite

content himself, with one hand on Louis‟ back and the other roaming

the rest of him, mapping his thigh, his waist, his cheek. Louis thinks he

could stay here forever, clinging to Harry on a rickety wooden chair, if

Harry promised never to stop touching him like this.

It doesn‟t take long for him to want more, though. They‟ve fallen into a

sort of rhythm, Louis grinding down against Harry and Harry pushing

back languidly, holding him close. Louis can tell that Harry is hard, can

feel it every time Harry pushes against him, and you know what, he

loves kissing as much as the next guy, but he wants that.

Sucking on Harry‟s tongue, Louis moves his fingers to his shirtfront,

making quick work of the buttons. He starts to push it off his shoulders

but gives up, settling for letting his hands slide down Harry‟s chest.

God, is it normal for someone to have this much skin? To be so warm?

Louis can‟t remember ever feeling hungry for someone like this.

Harry‟s got to be a special case. Harry makes him wish he had extra

hands.

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Louis scratches his nails lightly across Harry‟s abdomen and relishes

the feel of his muscles tightening up, the way his entire torso shivers.

He makes a pleased sound into Harry‟s mouth that turns into a

surprised squeak when he finds himself suddenly in the air. Harry‟s slid

his hands under Louis‟ thighs and lifted, and Louis locks his legs

behind Harry‟s back automatically, throwing his arms around Harry‟s

neck. He hears Harry‟s chair clatter to the floor behind them. Harry

walks a total of three, maybe four steps, and Louis‟ back hits a wall.

Harry‟s hands are gentle as he holds Louis in place, but his mouth is

bruising. Louis is in sensory overload, hyperaware of Harry

surrounding him and the feel of the photographs on the wall behind him

scratching his neck. His mind flashes to the tickle of grass and a

disappearing sky, and he bites down on Harry‟s lip. Harry groans,

shifting them slightly to the right, and Louis can feel photos tearing

away from the wall.

“Hazza—” he says, “your, the—” is all he can manage, his vocabulary

completely out of reach.

“Don‟t care,” Harry says, mouthing at the soft underside of Louis‟ jaw,

and Louis‟ eyes flutter closed. His hips work helplessly, but the

position makes it difficult and he can‟t get any purchase. He‟d be lying

if he said he didn‟t enjoy being so enveloped by Harry, but he wants

more, wants to be able to touch as much of him as he likes.

He pulls lightly on Harry‟s hair. “Harry,” he says weakly. Harry

responds by pressing a sucking kiss to the juncture of his neck and

shoulder. “Haz,” he tries again, and this time Harry looks up, carefully

settling Louis‟ feet back on the ground. Louis is thankful for the wall

behind him as he regains his surefootedness.

“What is it, Lou?” Harry murmurs, his hands coming to rest on Louis‟

waist. His mouth is shining, and Louis can see the raised red tracks on

his stomach where he scratched him. He loves it, loves seeing his own

signature all over Harry.

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“I want—” he starts, but can‟t find the words, can‟t put what he‟s

thinking into any sentence that he can imagine saying out loud.

“Louis, please,” Harry says, sounding strangled. “There‟s nothing—

whatever you want, Lou, anything.” He doesn‟t seem to realise he‟s

pressing his hips into Louis‟, and God, that is really not helping him be

coherent.

Louis musters up what courage he has and forces out the words. “I

want—I know we haven‟t done this yet, but, God, Harry, I want, I want

to be inside of you,” he forces out in one stammering breath. “Please.”

He‟s half-cringing at himself, but Harry isn‟t. Harry‟s mouth has

dropped open ever so slightly, and he‟s nodding powerlessly. “Yes, I—

” he swallows, “I want that too, God, Lou, I want that, I want that,” and

then he‟s kissing Louis again, like he‟s lost the use of words, and they

have that in common at least.

Harry lifts Louis up again, and this time they‟re moving to the

screened-off section of the studio, and when Louis is set down it‟s on a

mattress on the floor. He looks around and then raises his eyebrows at

Harry. “Cosy,” he says. “At least there are sheets on it.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, finally shucking the shirt from his shoulders.

“Could be worse, I could have a cat that likes to come into the room

and watch.”

“That happened one time—” Louis protests, but he‟s cut off with a kiss,

Harry leaning over him. His hands slip under Louis‟ jumper again, but

this time they keep moving, and Louis breaks off the kiss to let him

pull it over his head. Fuck, Louis must have too many nerve endings

for a normal human, because the feeling of Harry‟s bare chest against

his makes him feel like he‟s going to burst into flames.

The sensation vanishes soon enough, though, because Harry is moving

down Louis‟ body and undoing his trousers, pulling them and his pants

down his thighs in one motion. Louis‟ cock bobs free, more than half-

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hard, and he has half a moment to appreciate the cat‟s-got-the-canary

look on Harry‟s face before he‟s enveloped in plush, wet heat and his

head slams back against the mattress.

Harry must have gone down on him half a dozen times by now, but

Louis still hasn‟t gotten used to the sheer enthusiasm of it, the way his

fingers dig into Louis‟ hips and move him exactly where he wants him.

Harry‟s eyes are closed tightly, focused on the feel of it, and Louis

wonders if he‟d make the same face when Louis fucked him. That

thought brings him suddenly back to reality, and he tugs on Harry‟s

hair, pulling him off with a sound that downright indecent.

“No—” he starts, but then backtracks at Harry‟s arched eyebrows, “I

mean yes, God, yes, but this, this isn‟t how I want to come tonight and,

just, come up here,” he says, motioning Harry up the bed. Harry makes

a show of weariness as he crawls toward him, but he quickly turns to

surprised laughter when Louis flips him over.

Harry lies back and watches as Louis undoes his trousers and pulls

them off, followed by his briefs, deigning to lift his hips at the

appropriate times. Louis toes off his shoes and kicks off his own

trousers and pants, leaving the two of them naked on the bed.

And God, Louis knows Harry is beautiful, has known it since the

second he saw him for the first time, but it‟s still striking sometimes.

This is one of those times, Harry on his back in the soft light of his flat,

looking up at Louis like he deserves any of this.

“Like what you see?” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows, and fine,

maybe “beautiful” isn‟t the word, maybe the word is “goober.”

Louis snorts and grabs Harry‟s cock, which shuts him up effectively.

“Where do you keep the lube in this establishment?” he asks

imperiously.

Harry reaches up behind him and under the pillow, pulling out a bottle

of lube and a few condoms, which he tosses down to Louis. “Do you

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keep that there all the time, or did you just think I was a sure thing?”

Louis asks, leaving the condoms to the side and cracking open the lube.

“No comment, “ Harry replies, whining a bit as Louis lets go of him to

slick up two of his fingers. Louis taps the inside of his leg and he

spreads them accordingly, letting Louis settle in between.

Louis slides his fingers behind Harry‟s balls, gliding back until he finds

what he‟s looking for. When he slides his fingers over it, Harry hisses,

his hand moving to touch himself. Louis intercepts Harry‟s hand,

bringing it to his lips and sucking two of his fingers into his mouth, and

Harry gasps. In that moment of relaxation, Louis makes the first