Summary: Harry is a tease during band class.
By: Sterekintheshire.archiveofourown.org
Larry side Ziam
I'll be posting my Larry oneshots soon enough too so ya know and I just love the Ziam in this
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"No! It's an A flat in the flutes!" Louis shouts at the cowering girls in the front row. His last nerve is quickly withering away with this band.
"Sorry, sir," The first one says, slowly putting her fingers on they keys so she's sure not to miss it.
"No, I'm sorry." Louis takes a glance around the classroom, taking notice of the tired faces and the 'kill me now' expressions. He picks his thermos full of cooling coffee up off the podium and takes a sip, continuing his mental roll call.
That is, until he got to the clarinet section.
His second chair player, a curly haired bloke with tantalizing green eyes, was watching him intently, licking his mouthpiece seductively.
Louis clears his throat before raising his baton, instructing the band to start from the beginning of 'Trafalgar Square' yet again.
The rest of the class was okay. He only had to get on to a blonde saxophone player named Niall and a percussionist named Zayn.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Harry liked Mr. Tomlinson. Like, he really really liked Mr. Tomlinson. He has nice hair, not even close to how nice Harry's was, but still, it's pretty incredible. He also has glorious eyes. They're a magnificent blue and they always widen whenever they land on Harry.
Like when he licks his clarinet reed, pretending it's Mr. Tomlinson's di-
"Harry!" It was Niall, his only Irish friend.
He's like a little ball of sunshine.
And then there are his other friends, Liam and Zayn.
Liam, the little ball of fluff that you want to cuddle until he pops.
Zayn, Liam's boyfriend, a big ball of teasing, seductive, lovely asshole.
He is currently poking Liam in the bum with his drum stick. Liam slaps it away and threatens to throw it in his uncle's wood chipper.
"Gee, lads, calm down. I'm sure everything will be alright," Harry says.
Liam glares at him, but it softens when Zayn touches his shoulder gently and pulls him to his chest.
"Let's get lunch, shall we?" Zayn suggests, leading Liam out of the band room and in the complete opposite direction of the lunchroom. "But, Zayn, I thought we were going to get lunch?" Harry could hear Liam say with confusion laced in his voice.
Harry chuckles and Niall leaves to actually get lunch.
Harry stays behind and walks into Mr. Tomlinson's office, where he finds him at his desk, flipping through a book of music.
"Mr. Tomlinson," Harry says, causing the man to look up at him. "Does it bother you when I take my clarinet and do this?" Harry asks, moving his mouthpiece to his mouth so he can lick is oh so very slowly.
Mr. Tomlinson watches every tongue flick, every slow, tantalizing stroke of his tongue across the smooth reed.
"Of course not, Harry," Louis forces himself to say, tearing his gaze away from the sight. "You have to wet your reed or else your clarinet won't play right. It's good you do so, Mr. Styles. But remember, don't lick it too much!"
