Louis wakes up a few minutes before his alarm goes off, rolling over in his bed. Momentarily he wonders why his arse feels a little sore before he remembers the events of last night. One of the more inspired ideas he's had in a while. He sort of feels like a changed man after his first prostate orgasm, like he should be spreading the word about them. Going from door to door and informing everybody about their wonders, a true man of the people.
He yawns and stretches his muscles, gripping onto the headboard to flex properly. Letting out a deep breath, he shrugs himself out of bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the back of his chair and pulling it over his head. Wandering over to his phone, he takes it off charge and checks his messages. There's one from Harry, sent 34 minutes ago. Louis rubs his eyes and reads the text.
'Am I good to come over at 4ish? I would come earlier but last minute meeting came up x'
Louis is actually thankful for the delay, gives him time to prepare himself. '4 is fine mate no worries' He hesitates before adding an 'x' and pressing send.
*
When Louis opens the door and gets a look at Harry for the first time with a clear mind, it's a bit overwhelming. It feels like Louis' spent his life looking at him through dusty glasses, only now wiping them clean and getting that high definition affect. He's got on a soft white t-shirt, it's long sleeved and thin, dark outline of his tattoos visible underneath. It falls loosely over his collar bones, wings of his swallow tattoos just poking out. There's a loose strand of hair that falls in front of his face, escaping from the messy bun the rest of it is tied up in.
It's been a while since he's seen Harry like this, Louis realises, slight pang in his stomach. These days the most he gets to see of Harry is at work related events. Frolicking around on stage in his colourful shirts and tight jeans, heeled leather boots. Or dressed to the nines on red carpets in some YSL get up, face made up and hair slicked back. Even if its just interviews or meetings, Harry'll be in some expensive outfit, more often than not sent to him for free by some designer that's pulled out every stop possible just for Harry to been seen in a piece from their collection. It feels oddly intimate, just to have Harry stood in front of him like this. Hair scooped up messily on his head, old jeans and a t-shirt. No frills.
"Hiya," Harry greets him, tucking the loose strand of hair back behind his ear and smiling down at Louis.
Louis' words get stuck in his throat for a second as he locks eyes with Harry. "Hi," He manages finally, beckoning Harry inside.
"Oh, um." Harry pauses, looking back at his car. "I brought some stuff with me, like you said. Um, it's in the boot. Sorta need another pair of arms to carry it in." He says, gesturing to his car parked in the drive.
Louis raises his eyebrows, smirk spreading across his face. "What sorta stuff?"
"Like, ingredients. I came prepared."
Part of Louis feels like he should be offended at the fact that Harry actually thinks Louis' house is so lacking in nutritional produce that he has to bring his own, but there's a bigger part that's just ridiculously endeared by the whole situation. "You would." Louis rolls his eyes, quirking one side of his mouth up.
They both make their way to Harry's car, Louis tiptoeing over in his socks, cringing at the feeling of the wet gravel from last nights rain under his feet. For a moment, he considers taking a running jump at Harry and clinging onto his back, piggybacking over the wet floor. Louis' has always had an aversion to shoes and a particular interest in being carried places, it used to work well in his favour when it came to Harry. Their contrasting frames and build meant that Harry could easily scoop Louis up and carry him about with ease, something Louis would never admit to absolutely loving.
Louis would always get sleepy and soft after long, late night car journeys back from the studio. He'd rest his head on the car window as they drove back to the flat, kicking his shoes off and tucking his feet under himself, letting his eyes fall shut. He remembers countless times where Harry would ever so gently tap him awake as the car came to a stop outside, whispering "We're home." Harry would pick up Louis shoes and turn his back to the car door, motioning for Louis to jump up so he could carry him inside.
"You've got a bad back. Don't wanna hurt you." He'd protest, placing his hands on Harry's shoulders.
"You won't hurt me, you're five foot nothing and weigh roughly as much as a sack of feathers." Harry'd said, squatting down so Louis could wrap his legs around his waist and hoist himself up. Harry would carry him all the way back inside and up the stairs, dropping him in bed and then wandering back up with a cup of tea and toast for him a few minutes later.
Now, he just does his best to avoid the puddles, waddling across the drive on tiptoes as he watches Harry lead the way in front. Harry pulls the boot open, several weighty plastic bags inside, full to the brim with an array of ingredients.
Louis comes up behind him, one hand reaching up to rest against the open boot lid, eyebrows raised. "Jesus."
"Might have gone a bit over the top." Harry mumbles, grabbing one of the bags. "Wasn't sure what to bring so I just sort of...brought everything."
Louis giggles, "S'alright, let's get 'em inside." He says, picking up a bag and stumbling a little bit under the weight.
Once they've got everything in from the car and loaded into Louis' kitchen, they're both slightly unsure of what to do with themselves. Louis cant help but feel out of his depth, heart beating a touch faster than normal at the sight of Harry stumbling around his kitchen, the thought of having him all to himself for the entire day a lot to take in. It's ridiculous because it's just Harry, the same Harry he's always been. It's Louis that's different. It's Louis that finds himself biting his lip when Harry stretches to reach the top of the cupboard, shirt hitching up and exposing his toned stomach. It's Louis that finds himself mesmerised by the way Harry's long fingers wrap around the door handle, squeezing tight. It's Louis that finds his eyes wandering down to the plush pinkness of Harry's lips when he speaks, studying the way they press together and fall apart.
But then again, maybe Louis isn't different at all. Not if he really thinks about it. He's found himself fascinated by Harry for as long as he can remember. Always touching, always wanting to touch. Always wanting to be that tiny bit closer, caught up in him. It had always been easy to explain away though, Harry had that effect on everyone, everyone wanted a piece of Harry. There had been countless interviews where he'd been asked who he'd date in the band if he was a girl, and Harry's name had always effortlessly rolled off his tongue. "I'd pick Harry because he's really charming." Or "I'd date Harry, everybody loves Harry." Never having to think about why.
Louis is brought back to the situation at hand with the sound of a heavy plastic thud hitting the kitchen tile. He whips his head around to look over at Harry who's stood at the other end of the kitchen island, hands up in mid air, empty space between them previously occupied by whatever has just fallen on the floor.
"Oops." Harry says slowly, bending down to pick it back up. Louis' eyes widen when Harry comes up, a large tupperware container in his hands, full of a particularly suspicious looking green substance.
"Is that-" Louis begins, raising an eyebrow. Harry quirks a cheeky smile back at him, cheeks dimpling, before pushing the container over for Louis to inspect. He takes it, opening the lid just a crack. He's hit with an overpowering scent, that familiar, earthy smell of bud. Louis shakes his head, laughing affectionately. "You bloody stoner."
"Hey, when in California..." Harry giggles, shrugging his shoulders.
"There must be at least forty quids worth in this, this like a house warming gift or something?" Louis laughs, holding the stuff up and getting a proper look.
"Thought it might spice up the baking a bit." Harry explains, emptying out the rest of his ingredients. "Be proper cliche and make weed brownies. I mean, only if you want to, obviously. We can just make like, weed free brownies. We don't even have to make brownies, it's really up to you. I've got all sorts of-"
"-Harry." Louis cuts him off, popping the lid back on the tupperware. "I would love to make weed brownies with you."
If Harry goes a bit red at that, Louis pretends not to notice.
*
Louis has never actually prepared more than a sandwich or a Pot Noodle in the kitchen, having only been renting it out for a week or so, so he feels like he has an excuse to not have a fucking clue how anything works in there.
"How do you not know if you have a whisk?" Harry asks, exasperatedly opening draws and cupboards in search of one.
"I don't know!" Louis squawks, "It's not exactly an every day item."
"But what if you want to make an omelette or a sauce or beat eggs or something?"
Louis blinks back at him, "There's this thing called a supermarket, wonderful place with a ready meal section."
Harry shakes his head at him, eyes wide in mock anguish. "Jamie Oliver would be ashamed."
"Never liked him anyway, he got rid of turkey dinosaurs at my primary." Louis retorts.
Harry laughs back, hoisting himself up on the counter with one arm, stretching up to reach the top of the cupboard. Louis swallows sharply, pulling his eyes away from how Harry's arm muscles bulge with the effort of holding himself up. "Found one!" Harry calls, victory in his voice. "It's right at the back of your top cupboard. Can't quite reach though." He says, putting both his feet back on the floor.
Louis wanders over, arms folded across his chest. "Don't look at me, if you can't reach I haven't got a chance."
He notices Harry's eyes drag up his body, mouth open and breathing a little heavy from straining his muscles. When their eyes meet Harry snaps his mouth shut and darts his eyes back over to the cupboard. "Um, ok. True. D'you mind if I climb up onto the counter to grab it?" Harry says quickly, eyeing up the area.
"Go for it." Louis nods, heading back over to the kitchen island. He rifles through bags with no real purpose other than to give his eyes something to do that doesn't involve staring at Harry folding himself up then stretching himself out to reach the fucking whisk. When he hears the sound of Harry's sock clad feet hit the floor, he turns back to look. Harry's stood with the whisk in one hand, holding it up over his head like a trophy. Louis rolls his eyes and laughs, beckoning Harry and the whisk over.
He stands over a big glass bowl, containing eggs, sugar and baking powder that they'd put in earlier before realising they were missing a whisk. "Shall I start whisking or you?" Louis asks him, as Harry stands next to him, pressing his hip against his. For a moment, Harry is quiet. Louis wonders if he's recalling memories. Back when they were living together it was always Harry that insisted on cooking, on cleaning, making the beds, no matter how much Louis protested against it or tried to even out the work load. Harry never asked for anything in return either, never held it against Louis or made him feel guilty about it. It was like he actually enjoyed the domesticity of it, liked doing things for Louis.
"Hm." Harry says, swirling the whisk around between his fingers. "I can do this if you want to start grinding the bud up. I've got a good whisking hand."
Louis smirks at him. "Don't suppose you brought a grinder?"
Harry purses his lips. "Might have forgotten that part." He pouts, flicking the whisk around and catching it between his fingers, showing off.
Louis tuts playfully, turning on his heel out of the kitchen to retrieve his own grinder lying around somewhere in his room. On his way out he hears the distinct sound of the whisk clattering to the floor and a flustered "shit" leave Harry's lips.
It takes him what feels like an age to find a damn grinder, rifling through every drawer and suitcase he can find. He eventually plucks one out of a rucksack shoved in the bottom of a wardrobe. It's an embarrassingly uncool novelty one in the shape of a football, one of Oli's more inspired birthday gifts. He sighs, grabbing it in his hand and chucking the rucksack back in the wardrobe. He practically runs down the stairs, eager to get back to Harry as soon as possible. It's weird, he's not so much as laid a finger on Harry for months and managed alright, but the slight brush of their hips knocking together in the kitchen has got him roped right back in.
When he gets back to the kitchen he all but freezes in mid air, choking on nothing. Harry's stood in the corner, one hand on his hip, other in his mouth. There's a bowl of melted chocolate on the counter in front of him and Harry's fucking sucking it off his fingers. Louis' frozen still as Harry hollows his cheeks around two fingers, slowly dragging them out of his shiny pink lips. There's a drop of the stuff on the corner of his mouth, and Louis watches as he presses it with the pad of his thumb before sucking it past his lips. Jesus Christ.
"Um." Louis coughs, making his way into the kitchen, cheeks all flushed and hot. "Found me grinder." He says, holding it up.
Harry's eyes dart up, smile spreading over his face. Fucking dimples. "That's cute."
Louis feels his cheeks flush. "Thanks." He all but squeaks, fiddling with his hair. "Oli got me it."
Harry smirks back at him. "Whisking's done, I melted this chocolate for the mixture too."
Louis nods once, eyebrows raised, making his way over. It takes absolutely every ounce of self control he has to not bound over there and just like, squeeze Harry's stupid lips, or something.
"Try some." Harry suggests, pushing the bowl towards Louis. "S'really good."
I bet it is, Louis thinks. "Erm, okay." Is what he says, leaning in a bit closer to Harry, hips knocking again. Louis swallows, mouth dry. He looks at Harry through the corner of his eye, he's watching him, nodding in encouragement. "Uh," He stammers, extending one finger and dipping it into the sticky goo. He can feel the heat of Harry's stare as he takes it back out towards his mouth, long string of chocolate dripping off his finger. He bites his lip before ducking his head down and poking out his tongue, catching the liquid before bringing the tip of his finger to his mouth. Ever so softly he sucks the remaining chocolate from the pad of his finger, flicking his tongue over his lips to catch any he missed.
Harry clears his throat next to him, "Uh...was, was that-"
"Tastes really good yeah, yeah. Love it. Nice one." Louis interrupts, flattening his fringe against his forehead.
Harry nods back at him, smoothing his t-shirt down. "Ah, good. D'ya wanna start grindin'?"
For a second Louis' mind short circuits and he completely forgets the context of the word 'grinding' leaving Harry's lips. "Grinding! Yeah, shit. I'll get on it now." He babbles, dashing over to the Tupperware box with the weed in it. Getting stoned in this state is either going to be a really great idea or a really fucking awful one, only one way to find out.
They talk lazily for a while as Louis methodically grinds up the weed into a thin powder, Harry mixing all their ingredients together in a bowl. It feels good, refreshing almost to be able to just talk to Harry, just the two of them alone for once. No outside distractions or regulations. Falling back into sync with each other. It's almost like meeting again for the first time, Louis remembering how easy it had been to click with Harry the moment they met. How all the other boys had to try to get to know each other, but for Harry and Louis, it'd felt like they already did. He remembers launching himself into Harry's arms when they'd been put together, just running across the stage and leaping into him. How Harry had caught him without stumbling and wrapped his arms around his waist like it was nothing. There's a part of him that wonders what Harry would do if he ran across the kitchen to him now, flinging himself around him. He's almost sure Harry would catch him again, but there's a fear that's stopping him from finding out.
"This bits all finished." Harry says, tapping a wooden spoon on the side of the glass bowl he's stirring the ingredients in. "Just gotta make the oil and shove it all together."
"Nice," Louis drawls out, emptying the last of the weed out of the grinder and onto a plastic tray. "I can't believe you're a pot brownie connoisseur."
Harry giggles, coming to stand next to Louis, examining the ground up herb. "Well, I did used to be a baker."
Louis groans, rolling his eyes playfully. "A Saturday job behind the tills at Greggs doesn't make you a baker."
"Hey, I did not work at Greggs. I'll have you know I was employed by one of the most up-market bakeries in Cheshire."
"Well, I'm sure they'll be absolutely chuffed to know you're using your knowledge of baked goods to prepare a wholesome batch of pot brownies."
Harry lets out an over exaggerated laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. "You're mean." He says, shoving Louis' shoulder lightly with an outstretched palm.
"Oi, watch it. No pushing allowed in my kitchen. I take health and safety veryseriously."
Harry giggles again, ducking his head and dimpling. "I'll grab you the frying pan." Louis watches him as he saunters off across the kitchen to locate said pan. He studies the way Harry's hips sway as he walks, how long his strides are and the way he keeps his wrists held up. How his bun jiggles behind him, bobbing up and down with the rhythm of his walk, loose strands falling down against the long column of his neck. Louis tears his gaze away from Harry and ducks down to the storage unit below him to grab a plastic bottle of cooking oil.
"Does it matter what kind of oil?" He calls over to Harry.
"Anything but olive is fine." He replies, walking over with the frying pan.
Louis checks the label, it's vegetable. "Cool."
Harry holds the pan out steadily as Louis tips the tray of bud into it, scooping it off with the side of his hand. "Now just pour the oil over it, just like a thin covering." Harry instructs him, picking up the handle of the pan and shaking it around so the weed spreads out evenly. Louis takes the instruction, pouring the oil as carefully as he can. "There you go." Harry says, "That's great."
Louis smiles up at him, keening at the praise. "Now what?"
"Um, we shove that on the burner for a bit. Like, a couple of hours probably, to like, extract the THC or something. Stir every half hour or so. Then, just add it to the mixture and bake 'em."
Louis nods, turning on the hob. "Sorted. We can smoke the rest of the bud if you want. Maybe watch a film or something while we wait?"
Louis watches Harry's grin creep across his face, dimples forming. "I'd love that."