You Don't Own Me (Larry/Larcel)

6 Illegal

WARNING: mentions of alcohol and minor drug mentions.

I sat on my couch that Saturday, biting my nails nervously. No, not because I was going to Louis' house. I was nervous to see my school pictures, you know, the ones that Louis ruins every year? Those pictures.

I knew I didn't have a bruise this time, or a cut lip, but a simple zit could ruin it for me.

And then my mum walked through the door with the mail, and I see a large white envelope in the mix.

I eagerly snatch it from my mum, her being startled but soon realising my nervousness and excitement, and I open it, and slide the pictures out as my mum walks into the kitchen.

I look down at the pictures and my cheeks flush pink, I feel embarrassment, I feel anger. There I am in the picture, a wrinkled sweater, a crooked smile, red cheeks and disheveled hair. It looks like I had just had sex previously!

I hate Louis. Once again, he seems to ruin my pictures and this time, not even meaning to. Or did he mean to? Maybe this was all done just to ruin my pictures again? No, I don't think he would go to that extreme to ruin some dumb pictures.

Extreme, meaning touching me - down there.. yeah yeah the story had already been told.

Speaking of the dev- L-Louis, I mean, it's almost time to go to his house and I fret a bit, I would be at Louis house with him, alone.

The thought almost excites me but it's just to do work. Help him with his school grades, nothing more.

Nothing more.

--------------------------------------------------

Marcel steps out of his mums car onto the sidewalk of Louis Tomlinson's house. Technically he could have walked, seeing as how it was right around the corner, but they were out and about anyway.

He looked up at the quaint place, nice, modern, and not at all small, but it wasn't huge either, it was just, normal.

He stepped up the steps, watching his step as he did so, and he knocked softy on the door, suddenly feeling nervous. Well, he had a reason to be, it was Louis Tomlinson. 'Me' he thought 'Me, Marcel Styles, and THE Louis Tomlinson, alone in a house together.'

About two minutes later, Marcel was almost sweating as he heard the door click open, and swing inward toward a very wet Louis.

Marcel's eyes involuntarily raked down the elders body and Marcel tugged at his collar.

Louis stood there almost baffled but with a puzzled look, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and soap suds in his hair and running down his chest.

"I-I uh- did I come at a, a bad time?"

Marcel asked in a quiet voice.

Louis scoffed. "Well I was in the shower washing me hair when I heard someone beating on the door, but you can come in anyway."

Oh. Beating on the door? To Marcel it was just a soft knock. Or was it?

Marcel's thoughts were interrupted by Louis clearing his throat.

"You coming in, or are you just going to stand there and catch flies in your mouth?" He asked and crossed his arms over his soapy chest.

Marcel's cheeks reddened and he stepped inside, taking his shoes off from habit. "It's uh, it's a nice house I like the, the, vase.." He said, glancing at an abstract vase and mentally slapping himself. Well, what do you say when you see someone's home for the first time? And it actually WAS a nice vase.