Larry Stylinson ~ Poor Little Rich Boy AU

15.

Louis stiffened, his whole body going upright on the wall, and Harry momentarily enjoyed his surprise, too, standing so closely behind him that nobody would see the way he was surreptitiously running his hands up and down Louis’ back, astonished at his own presumption, and yet savouring the hard tension of Louis’ muscles underneath his hands.

“Oh,” Louis breathed. “Really?”

“Mm hmm.” Harry leaned in a little closer to murmur, “I had a little peek before I came down. It’s glorious, Lou, really. There’s an en suite bathroom, a huge flat screen HD TV, a gorgeous king-sized bed with two pillows on each side, a golden duvet cover, really fancy curtains…”

Louis snorted. “This is the room we’re planning on having sex in, and you’re focusing on the curtains? Don’t you think there are other…necessities…that should be taken care of first?”

It was Harry’s turn to “Oh”, but he frowned and bit down on his lip. “Whoops. I didn’t think about that part.” I was focusing on the romantic details. He didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t have to.

Patting his pocket, Louis told him, “It’s a good job one of us came prepared. I got the stuff. And plenty of it, too.” He coughed, looking a little embarrassed. “I didn’t want us to be caught short…you know…in case we wanted to do it more than once…”

Despite his own embarrassment, Harry smirked. “You bought the whole store, then, I take it?”

“Pretty much. The girl on the counter looked at me like she thought I was a pimp – buying in bulk so I could give them to an army of prostitutes waiting outside.”

“That many, huh? You must have confidence in my abilities…what if I mess it up so badly that you never want to look at me again, never mind have sex with me?” Harry’s tone was light, but there was real worry behind his eyes, like he thought it might actually be an issue.

Louis swivelled around on the wall to look at him, swinging his legs over so that Harry stood in front of him; he tried to take the other boy’s hands, but Harry’s fingers were so enormous in comparison that it ended up looking more like Harry was holding his, rather than the other way around. He decided to begin with a kind lie – well, possibly a lie. More like a half-truth. “Hey. You won’t mess up. It’s near impossible to mess it up. Anyway, if I don’t like what you’re doing, you’ll know about it; I’m not the type to suffer in silence, don’t you worry.” He chuckled, then, seeing that Harry still looked anxious, cupped his cheek with one hand and stroked a thumb down his cheek. “You’re sure you’re ready for this? It’s a big step; you don’t have to do it.”

“No!” Harry protested fiercely, “I do want to. I really, really do. I just don’t want to do it wrong.”

“I’ll talk you through it if you need me to. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it’s just supposed to be fun. And it is, trust me. Anyway, it’s not like I’m into any of that kinky stuff – we’ll just do it, and it’ll be fine. And then afterwards we can have a massive pillow-fight with all four pillows!”

In spite of himself, Harry laughed, and jumping off the wall, Louis gave him an enormous hug. “Are we good?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, burying his face in Louis’ neck and breathing in deeply. “We’re good.”

~*~

“Very, very, very, very, very, very good!”

Louis laughed. “That good, huh?”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Better.”

They had raced up the stairs to the honeymoon suite, holding hands so they could tug each other faster when one of them started getting breathless, laughing and being the stupid kids that they were. Every so often they would stop and just look at each other, and then Louis would grab Harry by the arms and yank him forwards and kiss him hard, while Harry clung to the banister so that they wouldn’t be in danger of reconstructing their first kiss, and Louis laughed against his mouth so that their teeth clicked together, and neither of them cared. Every so often, they would switch, and it would be Harry who leaned down to kiss Louis while Louis groped at the wall to keep them both safely in place, resisting the urge to let his hands gravitate to their usual place; buried deeply in Harry’s hair.