Larry Stylinson ~ Poor Little Rich Boy AU

9.

Leaving his sides, Louis’ arms shifted, and he rested them on Harry’s waist, almost like he was holding him. The feel of that almost had Harry panicking, but after swallowing his anxiety down, he was all right again, and tracing feathery shapes onto the tanned swell of Louis’ biceps, his expression serious. Those sinfully dark eyes fluttered open, the colour of the ocean in the dead of night, and Harry bit his lip very hard to restrain a strange, strangled sound that he could feel struggling to work its way out of him – something painfully like a moan. He would have blushed, because it wasn’t as if Louis would have known in the darkness, but it was a cool night and all the blood had vanished from his cheeks as he stood there, breathing heavily, trying to get his head around the fact that he was being held by another man in what could only be described as an embrace.

He breathed out in a shudder, and as if that were some kind of sign, Louis leaned forwards, agonizingly slowly. It seemed to take an eternity to dip his face towards Harry’s, to slide his nose to the right of Harry’s and gently touch his cheek with the tip of his nose. Their faces were quite literally touching; if one of them tilted their heads, they would be kissing. The thought sent delicious trembles down the back of Harry’s neck, trickling like cold water all the way down to his spine. It was ridiculous how badly he wanted it – he could have it, too if only he had the courage to make that first simple move.

Harry took a very deep breath, and hated how it shook.

The sound of rustling and swearing from the undergrowth behind them made them both flinch; Harry cringed backwards like Louis had hit him, shaking his head in horror and stepping away, and Louis turned furiously towards the disturbance as if it was some kind of personal enemy of his. Instantly beginning to retreat, Harry started backing away, and he was just about to turn tail and run at top speed back towards the hotel when a spotty fifteen or sixteen year old boy in a bright red uniform with a snapback on his head with ‘Pete’s Pizza Parlour’ embroidered on it in bright yellow stumbled out of the bushes, carrying a pizza box like it was the most precious thing in the world and he’d die if it happened to slip out of his hands.

Blinking, the acne-ridden youth swiped his untidy hair out of his eyes and said weakly, in a voice that was in the process of breaking and squeaked embarrassingly, “Uh…I have a pizza delivery here for a Mr. Louis Tomlinson?”

“Shit,” Louis said, rubbing his eyes wearily, “I forgot I ordered pizza.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh shakily at the sheer ridiculousness of it all; his voice shook a little, but he wasn’t the only one with a voice that was betraying him at that moment in time, so he didn’t mind too much. Anyway, he had an excuse; he’d almost been kissed. “When did you order pizza? While you were up the tree?”

“Yeah…I told you there were only two numbers I could see; I called the pizza delivery first.”

“Oh, so I don’t take priority over pizza? That’s – that’s charming, that is.” Pulling out his wallet, Harry started rummaging around for a couple of notes. “How much do I owe you?” he absently asked the youth, already beginning to smooth out the creases in a twenty pound note

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Louis interrupted before the boy could respond, “that’s my pizza. I’m paying for it, mush. Get your fingers out of your wallet.” He patted his own pocket, hesitated, fumbled around for a couple of seconds, then his head drooped in defeat. “Oh, for the love of… I left my wallet in my room!”

“It’s a good job one of us is organized,” Harry said fondly, handing over the money to the boy and accepting the pizza box in return. “Keep the change.”

“Ooh, get you, you spoilt little rich boy,” Louis teased, as the youth quickly turned around and vanished back into the trees without an objection. “You must have more money than sense. You lost an extra fiver, there.”