Once in a Lifetime ➳ Larry

chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

Harry carelessly traces random patterns on Louis's chest, causing the older man to tense up. His cold, lifeless fingertips feel like ice against his skin. His gold-tinted eyes burn with hunger, and his stomach aches for relief. He craves the strong, metallic taste of warm blood on his tongue, filling him with revival. As he sits on Louis's lap, forehead pressed into his neck, he feels his body unwind with weakness.

Louis's hands roam up and down his back soothingly. His breathing is slowing down gradually, becoming rough and fatigued. He needs to eat. His body is starting to shutdown to conserve energy, so they need to act quickly. Louis knows that naturally, fledglings need more blood than full-grown vampires, so this intense thirst is relatively normal.

"Harry," Louis speaks softly. "You need to eat."

He pauses. "Need to rest," he grumbles.

"No," Louis says sternly. "You're starving yourself."

Harry stiffens at the accusation. He lifts his head up slowly, revealing pallid, sickly skin and dark circles beneath his eyes. His lips are chapped and pale, almost white. Louis misses the bubblegum pinkness that once filled his delicious, kissable mouth.

"You're coming with me, whether you like it or not," Louis huffs with exasperation. "I'm not losing you again."

Harry sighs like an upset child. His movements are slow and syrupy, filled with exhaustion and lethargy. He steadily slides off of Louis's lap with his head hung low.

"Okay, Daddy," he teases.

It's supposed to be a light joke, a prod at Louis's protectiveness, but it definitely catches him off guard. He gulps and examines Harry's face, searching for any sign of sincerity, but he only finds weariness. Apparently, Harry's tired mind can't think clearly. His hunger distracts him from the obvious innuendo.

"Don't call me that," Louis orders.

Harry bites his lip shyly. "Sorry, Daddy."

Louis's hands tighten into fists. A look of dominance crosses over his silver, shining irises. He resists every urge to pounce on Harry and ravish him completely. He just lets his brain burn with sexual frustration and keeps his dirty thoughts to himself.

"C'mon," Louis says abruptly, grabbing Harry's wrist.

He pulls him off of the couch. Harry's body feels like a heavy weight, dragging along with resistance. He follows Louis obediently and doesn't bother asking questions. After all, Louis tends to be spontaneous.

They exit Harry's flat and walk out to find Louis's shiny Porsche parked along the curb. Harry paces silently and instinctively squeezes Louis's hand. He never realized it until now, but his hands are incredibly petite, and the rope tattoo that wraps around his wrist makes him seem even more delicate. He's a contradictory masterpiece— the perfect combination of daintiness and masculinity.

Louis opens up the passenger side door, allowing Harry to slide inside. The comfortable, soft leather swallows him with warmth. His head lolls to the side tiredly as Louis closes the door and climbs to the other side, behind the steering wheel. He starts up the engine.

Harry frowns and picks at his nails passively. His head feels cloudy, like he's elsewhere, not in reality. The sensation of drowsiness starts to fill his veins.

"Where are we goin'?" Harry croaks curiously.

Louis's throat bobs with nervousness, but he doesn't say anything. His cold eyes stare through the windshield as they start driving towards the run-down side of town. When Harry looks outside, he sees crumbling houses and prostitutes lining the streets. Empty vodka bottles and discarded beer cans fill the neighborhood lawns. Harry's lips quiver slightly.