twelve - louis

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twelve – louis

“I know you did it.”

            Louis rolled his eyes for probably the hundredth time that day; from the moment he found out that Liam was not going to rest if Mr. Winston’s body wasn’t buried, Niall would constantly nag him whenever he could, threatening him with hissed words and phrases about how he knew Louis had killed the man and blamed him for everything that had happened since he stepped his foot in the circus. Yes, it would have seemed quite bizarre to anyone how two murders happened when Louis began working there, but Louis was not going to let anyone think of that. Except from Niall, maybe; as much as the man hates to think what kind of trouble Niall’s obsession could cause him, he enjoys the fear in Niall’s voice whenever he blamed him for Winston’s death. It’s amusing; in a very cruel, twisted way.

            “I know you did it,” Niall repeated, taking a swing from the small bottle of scotch he was holding in his hand. They had been walking with the rest of the performers for quite some time, and both men seemed out of breath as they walked up the bumpy hill that was enveloped by bushy, tall trees that even covered most of the sky; Liam wanted Winston’s body away from the center of the city as much as possible. “But I’m not going to say anything, because I am a good person, not a monster like you.”

            Louis chuckled to himself, taking the bottle of scotch from Niall’s hand and taking a small sip of it; it was a cheap, disgusting brand of scotch that had probably been passed to Niall by a foreigner in Ireland. “Look, Horan,” he addressed him formally, although he did not do it from respect whatsoever, “We both know I did not do it. Hell, I don’t even know who would do such thing as kill two people, and then so brutally manipulate the second’s body. So, I would appreciate it if you didn’t annoy me with your threats, they mean absolutely nothing to me.”

            Niall muttered angrily to himself, “You still did it,” he said again, like a child who had been arguing with his parents.

            “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Just then, small fingers tugged on Louis’ suit, a stumbling, tired Harry holding his clothes for balance. The poor thing; they had been walking for more than five hours, and he had been forced to wear his normal work clothes, the corset tightly holding his stomach and pudgy sides, making him stumble on the unsteady grass like a new born baby deer. The sight was precious, really. Just like his name; “Dove?” Louis cooed in a sweet tone, loud enough for Niall to hear.

            “Tired…” Harry murmured, his soft eyelids drooping every so often while he rubbed them lazily, red marks appearing on his milky skin, “Are we there yet?”

            “I do not know, dove,” Louis told him, which was true. There were many performers walking in front of him, Liam with Sir Zayn leading the way, and he didn’t know when Liam would finally stop in order to bury that asshole’s body – or, the remains of it, really – or where. He heard Niall slowly walking away from them and sighed in relief.

            He had not yet found a chance to talk to the boy about the small incident between them the previous day, but all he could possibly think about was Harry’s lips around his cock again, his semen covering his thick, feminine eyelashes and his lips a dark, red burgundy color, all bruised up and swollen. Louis couldn’t understand why the boy had done it, when both of them had not shown any signs of mutual attraction to each other; although on one hand, Louis desperately wanted to shove the boy against the wall and pound into his tight arse, snap his thigh-highs against his pudgy skin and mark him everywhere, claim him –

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