A/N: Can we reach the highest comment score so far on this chapter? I think we might!
Harry,
We left Anaheim first thing after visiting the flea market.
It was upsetting to come to terms with the fact that what we'd expected to be the most cozy evening, had quickly transformed into a total disaster.
We'd expected sightseeing, a chatty shopping round and a stop at some cute ice cream store, but instead we took a one-hour bus ride back to Los Angeles. It was an easy decision for us to sit at the back of the vehicle, because then it was less problematic for Louis to cuddle up against my chest. And in that position, the boy sobbed and hummed thank-yous into my shirt.
Amongst forehead-kissing and comforting strokes in his hair, I put in all my efforts to in order to appear caringly compassionate. And it was working, I believe.
It was when we entered the lift to my building that Louis hugged me tight and said, "Never Anaheim again."
A snort sipped through my nose. "What a terrible city, am I right?"
"Dreadful," Louis muttered, and he was smiling.
"It wasn't photographic," I said, frowning jokingly. "The buildings were shit, as well."
"Yeah, especially the one you thought resembled a baby version of the Disney castle," he giggled into my shirt.
At that, I hugged him closer. "Disney castle my arse." Louis burst into laughter. "Even this bloody building is prettier. And this looks like an old container."
And Louis laughed harder.
Our relationship was nearing its second night, and it had already developed and grown into something I cherished so deeply.
My flat was no longer just a home. It was a place of shelter for the both of us, because the second we'd set feet inside that door, he was free to feel one-hundred percent comfortable with me. This sense of comfort must've been something that radiated through my skin, because Louis would not stop touching me.
He'd be holding my hand, brushing his fingers down my arm, or pulling me into random hugs.
"I'm gonna take a shower," he mumbled into what felt like the fourth-hundredth embrace.
"Do that," I replied and kissed his hair. "I'll make things cozy."
Louis,
Harry had brought a peculiar scent into the flat, which I noticed after exiting the steamy bathroom with his towel dangling from my hips.
It took me a couple seconds to distinguish that it came from his beloved scented candles he'd bought when we were out once. It was jasmine, but it appeared much fresher when it mixed with the fragrance that oozed from the shampoo I'd borrowed from his shelf.
I'd compressed my dirty clothes into a tight ball under my arms as I entered the bedroom, the new sight revealing that a brimming candle was indeed placed on his bedside table. Our puffy linens were somewhat organised on the bed where he laid, having crashed against the headboard with a cup of tea resting at his chin.
His smile appeared once he spotted me. "Hey," he chirped. "Want clean boxers?"
"Sure," I smiled and he tossed a pair that he'd already picked out from his side.
Once I'd succeeded at caughting the underwear in my hand (which was already occupied by my laundry), I scooted over to his closet and dropped the pile on the floor. It was quite daring of me to drop the towel right there, where he could easily watch my naked bottom from behind. But since I knew he'd like it, it didn't exactly bother me in any way.
I'd changed into his sweats when I climbed into the bed and placed a kiss on his mouth.
"Let's cook dinner," was my suggestion.
It was Harry's idea to bring our food into the bed once it was served on the counter. Since I would've been stupid to decline, we followed his wishes and carried a tray each to keep the plates and glasses on.
Once we'd eaten, Jackson came to my mind again.
"Still can't believe you sucker punched him," was what I said, and had already said about five times in the past two hours. "If I'd been less of a pussy, I totally would've done that a decade ago. Every day, if I could've. His reaction was priceless," I snickered.
Harry was removing the trays from the bed and placing them down on the floor to thereafter allow himself to crawl closer to me in the sheets. We'd removed our sweatpants about ten minutes prior, which was why I felt quite tingly he brought his thighs up to overlap mine with his feet curling behind my back.
"Not to be that dick," he began and hooked his arms around my neck, "but he was a bit of a fraidy-cat." The expression made me giggle. "I'm not saying I don't get how he could've traumatised you, because he must've been horrible, and I understand that," he explained. "But I swear he pissed himself when I threatened to snap his neck."
I laughed melodically. "He was terrified."
"And thick-headed."
A snort came, and my toothy smile erupted. "Yeah, he wasn't the brightest student if I remember correctly."
Harry smile lingered for a bit, but once another thought popped up, it faded. "Did he ever call you a faggot before today?"
"Nah," I declined, shaking my head. "Don't think that word was registered in his vocabulary in high school."
At that, Harry laughed. "Wow. He's that thick?"
"Surely," I answered. "But considering he was so quick to notice that you and I are together, I guess he's got some brains in his head at least."
"Or else he was just jealous," Harry noted, pointing a finger at my chest.
"Of me? Yeah, probably-"
"No, of me," he emphasised and I blinked a couple times. "What if he had a crush on you? All throughout high school? It's a common defence mechanism to be arsehole to the person you're attracted to. Especially if he's closeted and ashamed."
It was clever, but I disagreed. "No. That can't be possible. If he was teasing me, sure. But this guy hurt me to the point where I was hospitalised, remember? If he'd liked me I would've known that, for sure."
"Are you sure?" Harry raised his eyebrows, and then he playfully nudged my fist into my collarbone. "You're the prettiest bloke on the planet, Tommo."
My cheeks burned. "Tommo wasn't close to being pretty in high school, babe. If you'd see a picture of me back then, you'd certainly agree."
"Shut up," he monotoned. "Unless you've gone through a million dollars worth plastic surgery-which I highly doubt-there isn't a way you could possibly have gone from not pretty to the prettiest."
I gave him a look and he laughed. "Well, I beg to differ. I had the haircut of a lesbian mom," was the first thing I said, which had him bursting into laughter. "It's true. And I hated it. And so did everyone else, since nobody wanted to hang out with me." Harry's smile slowly washed out and was replaced by a sad frown. "And I wore glasses, as well. Ridiculous ones."
Harry suddenly perked up. "Oh my-" He cupped his mouth with one hand. "Like actual glasses?"
"No, a monocle," I sassed, snorting. "Yes. Actual glasses, which Jackson always made fun of. He'd make blind-jokes, even though I'm not actually blind. That's kind of why I stopped wearing them."
His hand slid down. "Fuck that," he swore. "You shouldn't ever take those things to heart, Louis. The bullies will search for anything to pick on just to have a simple target. And they're the weak ones. Not you."
I forced a smile. "Yeah, thanks."
And Harry sighed. "Louis, honey. It makes me sad that when you look back on high school, you only remember the negatives. That's not good."
"There were no positives with high school."
His eyes widened. "Um, hello? Liam Payne?"
A sense of warmth filled me at that name. And of course, Harry was always right.
"But imagine if I'd been naturally popular, like you," I mumbled, smiling shyly. Harry wasn't smiling. In fact, he looked displeased with that sentence. "You were blessed at birth, babe! Perfection had already been fulfilled the second you left the womb."
Harry took my hands and squeezed them. "Don't ever think like that. Popularity doesn't say anything about a person," he started, as if he'd taken it from a movie.
"You're still perfect, though," I hummed, glancing at him through my lashes.
"I'm really not," he replied.
"In my eyes, you are."
He smiled subtly. "Things don't have to be perfect to be admirable, sweetie. Even if high school was a bitch to you, she still brought you good memories. And even if bad things happened after those, it's the golden ones that should be remembered."
My eyes must've been glittering with adoration as I stared at him speak. His preaching words made me feel half as clever as him, but it was always like that.
"Good point," I said.
Harry's hook around my neck became smaller as he drew me close and aligned our foreheads. "On another note, I really want to see you in those glasses now."
My brows knitted together. "What's this? Some kind of fetish you have?"
Harry's mouth stretched widely. "Are you kidding? Men in glasses has always been a universal turn-on."
"I disagree," I said, snorting.
"What's your turn-on then, you little pessimist?"
I laughed at him. "I dunno. The usual ones."
Harry rolled his eyes. "C'mon. Everybody has their own thing. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm not ashamed," I fought back, but I was blushing.
One of his hands moved from my neck to my cheek when he pecked my lips. "Kisses are your turn-on, aren't they? My kisses?"
My eyes creased hungrily. "That's true."
Harry kissed my nose, and then my cheek. "What else do you like that I do?"
After eyeing him curiously, I found an answer. "That face," I noted, but he didn't seem content.
"That's just a smile."
"I don't get to like that?"
"It's what everyone likes," he complained.
Since I agreed, I nodded and pondered for a bit longer. It wasn't easy to terminate what I found the most arousing about Harry, apart from his looks. My first thought was everything at once, but I realised that was a fucking boring answer. So I settled with something that was slightly more precise.
"Your charm, I think," was the conclusion.
When he smirked, his hands had moved to my shoulders. "What, like when I speak like this?" he put on a smug voice.
"Yeah," I laughed, blushing heatedly. "And when you flirt with me. You do that side-grin, the one that really brings out your dimples."
"Oh," he crooned. "You like my dimples?" And at that, they carved deeply into his cheeks.
So I poked one of them. "They're so you."
Harry cupped my cheeks. "And your freckles are so you."
In reaction, I frowned. "Freckles?"
"These," he hummed and traced his thumb over the very spot I remembered him touching many times before. "They're so fucking cute."
And then I knew what he was talking about. "Those aren't freckles, they're moles. It's like stains on my skin."
It seemed that I'd offended him-even though I was shit-talking my own appearance-because he was frowning and pouting like a little boy.
But instead of starting an argument, he slowly leaned in. And in the softest manner possible, he placed his gentle lips where his thumb had just stroked. In a short kiss, his lips puckered quietly.
"I love them," he whispered.
It was like a match had been ignited, because his fire spread fast and painfully as his kisses traced down my jaw and trickled down to my neck.
"Harry," I alarmed him. "Slow down."
"Why?" he cooed, and his kisses continued.
"Because it's gonna end badly."
"No..." he mumbled. "You like my kisses..."
"Which is exactly why you're gonna have to stop before I get a raging boner."
Harry purred against my shoulder. "That wouldn't make me want to stop..."
"But-"
My sentence was interrupted by his soft moan. "You smell so good," he grunted and nibbled lightly at my collarbone.
"What are you doing..."
"Turning you on," he flirted, "with my charm." His wet kisses were warm, and I burned into their touch. "'Cause it drives you crazy..."
And as my heart picked up a generous speed, a soft moan pressed from my throat, which made him gasp into the shoulder that was wet from his kisses.
"Stop," I begged.
"Why?" Harry's legs curled around my waist as he dived deeper into my neck by clambering his arms at either side of my shoulders. "I want..."
My heart was really struggling. "You want what?"
"You..." he drawled, biting into my skin.
A hand slid under my arm and grazed over my back until it found my tailbone, where his fingers daringly lured over the waistband of my boxers. It felt as though my fast-beating heart would hammer a hole in my chest when Harry flicked a finger underneath.
"Wanna get you out of these..." he muttered.
"Harry," I whined. "I'm nervous..."
His head moved back from my neck. "That's okay." He cupped my face with his gentle hands. "Do you want?" he asked, and I instantly nodded. "Then it's alright. You've every right to be nervous, baby."
"Okay," I whispered.
I'd made it easy to be mad at myself for being this timid. It was not how I'd expected our first time to rouse, because I was supposed to be dominant, in control! But in that moment, Harry's eagerness was easily bestriding mine.
"Take care of me," I whispered, breathing in his scent at his neck. "Once I'm ready, I'll make you feel good, but tonight... You've got to take charge, alright?"
"Yeah?" Harry hummed. "Be vulgar, baby. You can tell me exactly what you want."
"I can't," I whispered, and he kissed my lips.
"Wanna fuck?" Harry blurted.
My throat tightened. I couldn't speak.
"Don't leave me hanging," he warned, placing kisses all over my blushing face.
"Fuck, yes," I forced out. "I want."
"Want what?" he panted teasingly.
"You," I growled, "fucking me. Right here. Right now."
***
A/N: Do y'all hear something?
Yeah, that's me screaming in the background.
See you tomorrow. 😎