Baby Lips [l.s mpreg] (boyxboy)

seventeen weeks - mar. 26 (3)

lets play a game of spot the hidden larry reference; if you find it i will give you a hug and likely nothing else because i'm broke

Louis's locker has always been especially dick-ish and rude when he's in a particular hurry to get someplace in a reasonable amount of time, and today is no exception.

He's got to hurry to the parking lot if he's going to reach Harry before he gets in his car and drives away without him, which is understandable because he is currently extremely mad at Louis, but he needs to get his house keys out of the locker first. His locker already far away from the front exit it won't open, because some powerful deity apparently enjoys toying with Louis and the delicate balance between having sanity and not.

Frustrated, he kicks at the foot of it and pounds his fist against the surface. "Damn you."

"Need some help?" a voice asks, startling him greatly, and a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. For a fraction of a second Louis is convinced it's Harry and his heart leaps even further, but then he turns and sees a head of blonde hair and is instantly disappointed. It's just the kid who has the locker next to him. Louis wasn't sure he knew of Louis's existence, to be frank, and is especially surprised when the lad beams at him with what seems to be genuine sincerity.

"I- uh, sure. I mean, I think it's just jammed again," Louis splutters, stepping back and gesturing toward the combination lock, "I, um. Sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it, mate." The boy steps up to the combination. "Whassit, then?"

"What?"

"Your combination."

"Oh!" Louis laughs, slapping himself internally, "9-28-13."

There's some spinning, some clicking, and then the locker opens. Louis, feeling especially embarrassed now, toes at the ground and tries to hide his blush behind his hooded jumper as he mutters out his thanks and goes to grab his belongings.

As he does so, the boy lingers and leans against the locker next to Louis, studying him unabashedly. Louis self-consciously tugs down his shirt as it rides up from his stretching - he can't quite reach the top shelf, it's not a big deal - as he goes to swing his hefty bag over his shoulder. The boy notices Louis's attention and beams at him once again.

"You're Louis, right?"

"Yeah," he says, closing his locker gently, "That's what they call me."

"I've seen you in class before. You're really good at football."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," says the boy, obviously skeptical, "I- well, this is going to sound really odd and sudden, but. The footie season starts, like, soon. Really soon. And our keeper just broke both of his legs in some sort of accident, or something, I don't know. I think he wrecked his car." Louis winces. "And we need a new one. Now."

Louis cocks an eyebrow. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I've seen you play. You're a natural. We can't hold tryouts just for one position, especially not this close to a game. It's not worth the effort. We were just going to have one of our teammates sub for him until we could find a replacement, but..." he trails off, biting his lip, "I think you could be a better solution."