Chapter Text
In the beginning...
“It’s always the same people at every party, man,” Harry said with his nose pressed against Liam’s cotton-scented shoulder. “I’m starting to gross myself out with how many people in this room I’ve slept with. It’s a big room, you know? Too many repeat bodily fluids. I swear, it’s like they all get a group text and just show up at the same time. Mmm, you smell good tonight, Li.”
Liam snorted and licked beer foam off his lips. “Uh, yeah. There’s a big text notification sent out to, like, everyone. Doy.”
“There is?”
“There is.”
Harry tipped his head back to finish his Red Bull and vodka. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips, then burped. Someone poured something syrupy and clear with floating gold flecks into his cup, which he promptly downed as a shot. He pounded his chest with both fists and roared, “Fuck, yeah, cinnamon! I fucking love fall!”
Surrounding party guests chanted, “Hu-go! Hu-go! Hu-go!” over the Ke$ha song booming through the grand room, their voices almost drowning out the music. The members of the football team on the sofa laughed raucously as Harry fist pumped to the rhythm of their chant with his head down and his shoulders bobbing from side to side.
“Best fans in the world,” Harry cackled with a sloppy, hazy-eyed grin. He kissed his fingers and pointed up at the ceiling. “God Bless America.”
“Here, Hughie, have another,” Liam said as he tipped the bottle of Goldschläger into Harry’s cup. He giggled and arched away from Harry’s lips blowing weak raspberries on his neck. “The gold standard for the golden boy.”
“I need to speak to someone official about this text message chain,” Harry slurred, straightening up. “I, personally, have never gotten a notification.”
“You live here,” Ryan said with a snort, smushing Harry’s Packers hat over his eyes. Harry giggled and sank further into the sofa. “You’re on the team, genius. Do you need a text inviting you to your own victory party in your own frat house?”
Ke$ha suddenly cut out. Boos echoed around the high ceilings. Harry turned his hat backwards and peered towards the stereo.
Track: Foo Fighters - Everlong
The barest hint of blue eyes cut through the crowd as the first strum of guitar sounded through the speakers. Those same blue eyes darted out of Harry’s sight line, taking with them a head of tousled brown hair.
The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. He felt like he had a string attached to the center of his chest that lifted his torso higher, higher, higher. He scanned across the party.
“Who is that?” His lips felt like they were moving slower than usual. “Li?”
Liam looked in the direction of Harry’s gaze. “What? Who?”
Harry’s eyes locked with the mystery man and his breath caught in his chest. The man froze under Harry’s stare, his wet, pink lips opening half an inch. He turned away, but was too slow to shield his small smile. His eyes teased over his shoulder one more time before he disappeared into the crowd.
Harry rose from the sofa with his cup pointed forward.
“That guy. In the black. I’ve never seen him here before.”
He couldn’t hear Liam’s first few words over the music. Liam’s breathy voice filtered into his ears as he babbled, “--omlinson. His, uh, roommate is named Zayn and he’s, well, he’s a really good artist. Like, amazing artist. He’s really smart, too. Zayn, I mean. One time, Zayn asked me for a light—he’s a smoker, you know?—but I didn’t have one, and I said I’d bring a lighter to class the next time, but then—”
Chase tumbled into Harry’s empty spot on the sofa. “No one gives a fuck about your artsy fartsy shit, Payner.” He nudged Harry’s butt with his Nike. “Here’s an idea, Styles: Ask him to drop his pants and spread his butt cheeks. That should freshen your memory real quick.”
The surrounding players howled with laughter. Ryan tipped a vodka bottle into Harry’s empty cup. Harry craned his neck, a small frown wrinkling his brows.
“You’re a nasty fuck, Headley. And I don’t think I’ve seen his asshole.” Harry’s frown morphed into a sly smile. “Not that I wouldn’t like to, but I should introduce myself, as the host and all.” He smoothed his red tee over his abs. “It’s only polite.”
“The host of the party you weren’t even invited to,” Ryan said, peering into Harry’s half full cup. He tapped the neck of the vodka bottle on Harry’s knuckles. “Sit down and drink up. You’re drunk, but there’s always room to grow.”
Harry downed his oversized shot of vodka. Then another shot of vodka. Then a shot of rum, for variety. He scanned the room as he drank, his blinks growing slower and his gaze going woozier.
“I’m not even that drunk,” Harry said to no one in particular. That prompted more laughter, the loud sounds woofing around inside his head. He pinched the air, blinking his eyes extra wide. “Maybe I’m a wee bit…”
When he relaxed his eyes, he saw the back of the mystery man’s head. His gaze dropped to take in the arch of his lower back and the swell of his ass beneath his dark, tight jeans. Harry’s legs started to move without notice and dragged his body off the sofa.
Liam’s voice cackling, “You look like Jack from The Nightmare Before Christmas!” was the last thing he heard before he left the main room.
Harry pushed through the crowd and followed the mystery man to the kitchen, but the man ducked outside into the backyard. A surge of party guests wedged between Harry and the door. Dodging more grinding bodies, Harry darted through the kitchen to get outside. Fresh air greeted him, as did the back of the mystery man’s head going through the door that led to the library.
A group of people doing keg stands blocked Harry’s direct route to chase after the man, but Harry hurried around the cheering crowd, exchanging only a handful of high-fives in his quest towards the library. He half expected the library to be empty when he got inside, as it usually was every other day of the year, but there was the mystery man, his back to Harry, his weight on his left leg, and his head ducked down.
“Hello,” Harry said.
The man turned, startled, with an open book clutched in his hands. Harry tried to take in every inch of him, from the rosy tips of his stubble-dusted cheeks to the tapering of his ankles at the ends of his black jeans, but the alcohol sloshing in his stomach short-circuited his mental cataloging system. He tried to remember details, but kept getting stuck on the mustard-yellow cover of the book in the man’s small hands. The details that seemed life altering in that moment would be long forgotten by morning.
“Hi,” the man said quietly. He started to smile, the movement of his lips slow. He shelved the book without breaking eye contact. “How are you tonight?”
His gentle, raspy voice burrowed its way to the back of Harry’s gold-flecked brain, sending pleasure signals to his fingers and toes and every nerve ending in between.
“Uh…” Harry thought for a moment, his lips moving without sound. “So...How are you tonight?”
The man squinted playfully. “I believe I just asked you that question.”
“Right,” Harry drawled, grinning and leaning his forearm against a bookshelf. His hand slipped and shoved a heavy book off the shelf, the book slamming to the floor and Harry’s body tilting sideways. He saw the floor and fallen book rush closer. “Shiiiiit.”
He braced himself to hit hardwood, but he was hauled to his feet.
“Easy, Riggins, easy,” the mystery man chuckled as he squeezed Harry’s forearm. “It’s just a book. Frightening for you, I’m sure, but no reason to take a tumble.”
Harry blinked at the small hand cradling his arm, then looked to the man. “I’m Harry, not Riggins. Do we have a Riggins on the team? First the texts. Now this.” He blew a breath through his lips. “No one tells me anything around here.”
The mystery man smirked, his eyes never wavering. He put on a serious, deeper tone of voice.
“Right. Harry. Of course. Sorry for the confusion.” He held his hand out. “I’m Louis.”
Harry shook his hand.
“I’m Harry. Hi.”
“Hi,” Louis said on a light, breathy giggle.
“So,” Harry said with their hands still joined. “What are you doing in our library? Party’s out in the main rooms.”
Louis’ smile fell and he released Harry’s hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He took a step back. “Is this room off limits? Like in Beauty and the Beast?” He palmed his forehead. “Why did I just reference Beauty and the Beast? What’s wrong with me?”
Harry stepped forward. “The Beast let Belle go in the library. He gave her the library as a gift. It was the West Wing she was forbidden to enter.”
Louis leaned his back against the shelf of dusty books, the shimmer in his gaze returning. “Hearing you talk so clearly about this while we’re both on the brink of a blackout is sort of like watching A Beautiful Mind in real life.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, pleased. Louis’ sudden giggle slapped him in the face before Louis muffled his mouth with his palm. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Louis giggled, shaking his head. He stepped around Harry. “I’ll, um, leave you alone with your books.”
“No, please, don’t,” Harry said. His fingers brushed Louis’ forearm before closing around his thin wrist. Louis stared at the point of contact, his eyes scanning back at Harry. “Wow, your eyes are, like, blue laser beams that are also wide beams, like headlights on a Jeep. But blue.”
Louis started to laugh again and turned away, his hands covering his face and his back hiccuping. Harry walked around to face him head-on.
“Hey,” Harry warned, low but amused. “I’m being nice, here.”
“You are. You’re being nice. A perfect southern gentleman.” He dabbed beneath his eyes with the backs of his hands, sniffling as his laughter calmed. “Sorry, I’m just kind of really drunk and way overtired. I get giggly when I’m like this.”
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder on the wall. “You’re drunk and you seek out the library?”
“My friend got with the girl he wanted and I was bored and books are old friends and...” Louis dissolved into a round of airy laughter. “Wow.” He held a book over his face and turned away. “I’m mega-drunk and embarrassing myself. This is why I don’t do parties. I’m just gonna go.”
Harry jogged after him.
“No, wait, don’t go.”
Louis rounded an antique coffee table and tossed the book at Harry, who caught it.
“Nah, I should go.”
“Stay,” Harry said softly, dropping the book to the floor. His long legs scaled over a sofa to get in front of Louis. “Talk to me.”
Louis’ eyes narrowed as he smirked.
“You don’t even know me.”
“And I love that about our friendship.”
“Our friendship?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“The Anti-Riggins,” Louis said, starting to giggle as he spoke. He held his hand out and blocked Harry’s face from looking at him as he walked. “I’m sorry, I’m really drunk. Time to sleep.”
Harry snagged his hand and pulled him back.
“We can go to sleep.”
“We?” Louis asked on a high rasp, his brows arched. He shook Harry’s hand off. “You’re nuts, cowboy. Pretty eyes and a nice voice can only get you so far.”
Harry’s eyes rounded as he grinned wide enough to show all his teeth.
“Oh my God, we’re the same! I think you have pretty eyes and a nice voice, too! That definitely means we’re meant to be and you should stay to talk with me. For sure.”
Louis’ face flooded with heat. He dropped his head forward.
“Um, I…” Louis squinted up at him with a small smile, Harry swaying forward on his feet. “I recently got out of a relationship and I’m not, uh, looking to hook up yet. So, um”—Louis thumbed towards the door—“I’ll just go.”
“Who said I want to hookup?”
“Well, what do you want to do, then?”
Harry snorted.
“Talk. Doy.”
“Who says doy anymore?”
“Uh, hellur,” Harry drawled, rolling his eyes. He pointed both thumbs at his chest. “This guy, doy.”
Louis’ light laughter tittered around the drafty library, sending shivers up and down Harry’s spine. Harry thumbed the underside of Louis’ wrist.
“C’mon,” Harry said quietly, walking towards the sofa. “Talk to me. Please? Just a little.”
Louis allowed himself to be pulled closer to Harry. “Why do you want to talk to me? We don’t know each other.”
Harry squinted at the leather of the couch for a beat.
“Yeah, uh...I just…” He brought his gaze to Louis, who stared back at him with an intensity that did not match up with his giggly drunkenness. “I kind of would like that. Tonight.”
Louis lowered himself onto the sofa, the sharpness of his jawline accentuated by Harry’s view from above. He offered Harry a small smile and patted the empty cushion.
“What do you want to talk about?”
. . .
And that was how Harry found himself chatting about everything and anything with Louis, a stranger he didn’t know the last name of and who he normally would have finished off in bed well over an hour ago. Instead of finishing him off in bed, the two men finished a bottle of tequila between them as stories spilled from their lips.
Harry tipped the bottle back as Louis gulped. Louis smiled and hummed with his lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle.
“Alright,” Louis laughed, pushing the bottle away. He wiped his hand over his mouth and wilted onto the arm of the sofa. He propped his tucked arms behind his head, his black tee riding up on his stomach. “Your turn.”
Harry’s lips popped off the end of the bottle. “Hmm. Let’s see.” He took another small sip. “Why...Why did you break up with your ex recently?”
Louis shrugged, his shirt riding up higher on his stomach.
“Eh. A few reasons. We weren’t meshing past a certain point.”
“Meshing about what?”
“Like,” Louis said, laughing through the word, “uh, a few things. He wasn’t a good sport.”
“A good sport?”
“Yeah, like, if we were playing board games with friends, he either didn’t want to play, or he’d pout the whole time. Then, if he lost, he’d pout even more.”
“Ugh,” Harry said with great, dramatic disgust. Louis giggled and rubbed his right hand over his face, his left hand still behind his head. “That’s awful. Unacceptable. What else?”
“Um, just the good sport stuff mostly. Oh! And laughing.”
“Too much?”
“Not enough, actually. I...I love a good laugh, you know? I want to be with someone funny. Not, like, annoying class clown funny, but sometimes I need someone who’s gonna make me laugh so hard my stomach aches. Someone that helps get me out of my head once in a while. Not get annoyed at me for thinking the word, ‘Fart,’ is always funny.”
“Doy. It is.”
Louis giggled lightly, his eyes bright. “Yeah, see! You get it.”
“We’re basically, like, twins.”
“Not so sure about that.”
“Why?”
“Well...I’m actually…” Louis winced, clenching his teeth as if bracing for a punch. He swirled his fingers around the Armadillo memorabilia covered walls, complete with team photos from decades ago. “Not a football guy.”
“What!?” Harry exclaimed, laughing at Louis’ muffled giggles. “You’re in my house and you’re not a football guy? I might have to boot you!”
“I like baseball! Baseball is awesome, I swear!”
Harry’s pretend outrage, complete with flailed arms and bulging eyes as he chanted, “Baseball? Baseball!?” only made Louis giggle more, his body curled in the corner of the sofa. Harry handed over the last of the tequila, Louis sucking on the rim of of the bottle until his giggles subsided and he could swallow. Harry’s arm stretched around the back of the sofa. “Where are you from again?”
Louis’ lips popped off the bottle.
“California.”
“Let’s see,” Harry said, stroking his invisible beard. He narrowed his gaze. “Are you...A Dodgers fan?”
“Ugh, no way. No way. Ugh. No. The Angels are my number two team.”
Harry guffawed, wide-eyed. “The Angels? Who is your number one? Any other team in baseball?”
“The Cubs.”
Harry smirked and tilted his head. Sweetly, he asked, “The Cubbies?”
“Yeah,” Louis giggled, excitement bursting from his crinkled eyes. “They’re my heart. My soul.”
Harry ran his fingers along the back of the sofa.
“How did a California boy get into the Cubs?”
“I dunno. History, I guess. And I didn’t really have a strong pull towards any team near me, so it just made sense. I’d love to get to a game at Wrigley.”
“You’ve never been?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, then it’s settled.” Harry stroked Louis’ fringe out of his eyes and smiled slowly. “I’m definitely going to propose to you at Game Seven of the World Series at Wrigley Field once the Cubs win.”
Hysterical laughter shook Louis’ body, Harry laughing along with him and their heads leaning closer on the sofa.
“Yeah, be sure to mark that date down in your calendar, Marty. It’s gonna be a long courtship.”
“My name’s Harry, not Marty.”
“Yeah, I...I know,” Louis laughed, softer. He watched Harry’s fingers stroke the back point of his jawline. His throat bobbed. All the tequila seemed to hit him at once, his gaze going woozy. “That was a joke. Um. Back to the Future. I sneak out of frat parties to read. You know the drill.”
Harry nibbled his bottom lip, his fingertips familiarizing themselves with the soft stubble dusting Louis’ cheek. His lip popped from his teeth, the corners of his mouth weighed down.
“You should actually probably get away from me.”
Confusion flooded Louis’ sleepy face.
“Why’s that?”
Harry leaned in and whispered, “I’m a total asshole.” He shrugged, twirling his fingers in the longish strands at the base of Louis’ hairline. “Ask anyone and they’ll tell you.”
Blue eyes pinned him in place, making his drunken haze feel more like a drunken mist. Louis stared at him for one long, discerning breath before his eyes narrowed, his smile slow.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
The weight holding the corners of Harry’s lips lifted as a smile worked its way across his face. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by something ice cold dousing his head.
“Asshole!”
Harry watched Louis turn in time to be slapped in the face with a cup of beer, Louis gasping and pressing his palms to his eyes.
“What the hell, Veronica?” Harry asked, his arm settling around Louis’ narrow shoulders. “What was that for?”
“You are an asshole, Harry Styles,” she hissed furiously, slapping Harry in the face with another Solo cup of liquid. Harry shut his eyes, liquid dripping down the front of his neck. “I drag my ass to your stupid party, hoping to recreate last weekend, and I find out you’re with this guy!? I mean, come on, what the fuck?” She gestured at herself from head to toe. “What’s wrong with you!?”
Harry swayed on his feet as he stood with palms outstretched. “We were just talking, Louis and I. And, uh, did I say we were fucking tonight?” He patted his pockets. “I forgot where my schedule is.”
“You have a fucking schedule?” Louis asked from below.
“Some people keep their ducks in a row, but I also keep my fucks in a row.”
Veronica shrieked and dumped a final cup of liquid on top of Louis’ head, then stomped away.
Harry started to say, “Why are you taking it out on him?” but the only words that made it out of his mouth were, “Why are you—” He dry heaved and doubled over, holding his stomach with both arms. “Ugh, is that—Is there jager in that? I hate the smell of—”
“You are an asshole, Harry Styles!” Veronica shouted from the doorway.
Harry gasped out, “Jager,” as the contents of his stomach rushed up his throat and emptied in one focused stream spewing out of his mouth, his vomit shooting directly on top of Louis’ already soaked head. Louis remained motionless as it happened, his mouth and eyes clenched tightly shut, pinkinsh puke dripping down his face and coating the entire front of his shirt. Harry put his hand over his mouth when the vomit stopped, his eyes as wide as they had ever been. Louis swiped his hands over his eyes and lips. He stared up at Harry, both men silent.
Louis nodded. “Right. This is why I don’t do parties.” He pushed himself off the sofa and Harry immediately wrapped him in his arms. "What...is this?"
“I’m so sorry,” Harry murmured into his puke covered hair. Louis squirmed, Harry only tightening his hug. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s whatever.” Louis’ voice showed none of the playful lilt it had during their long conversation. “I’m gonna go.”
Harry stepped back from their hug.
“Come to my room with me.”
“Uh, that’s gonna be a no.” Louis stepped around Harry, slicking his hair back with one hand. “God only knows what other fluids I’d be pelted with.”
“Come with me, please. I can help you clean up and give you a new shirt, at least. You’re”—Harry plucked a vomit covered Frito off Louis’ shoulder—“kind of a mess.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Louis said, tighter. He pushed Harry’s hand away. “I’m done with this pretending we’re friends thing. The charm is gone.”
“Please,” Harry begged, gripping Louis’ hands, a blob of pink vomit stuck to his cheek. “Please, we can, um, keep talking there. Get you cleaned up. We can do whatever you want.”
Louis sighed.
“To be honest, I really want to just go home, take a shower, and watch Daredevil until I pass out.”
“Okay!”
“That...wasn’t an offer,” Louis said slowly, lifting his hands from Harry’s. Harry’s smile faded a touch. “I’m going to do that at my home. Alone.”
“But we can do all that here, I promise. I have Netflix hooked up to my TV and a big bed. We can just chill.”
Louis blinked his heavy, vomit covered eyelashes, fixing Harry with a stare.
“I mean, honestly, Harry. Netflix and chill? I’ve got your vomit inside my nostrils. I’m not really in the mood for you to enter me tonight.”
“God, you’re stubborn. I’m trying to help you, not enter you. Who even says it like that?”
“I’ll take a new shirt and a bathroom to wash up, but that’s it. That’s. It.”
. . .
And that was how Louis found himself toweling his hair in a private bathroom far too nice for a frat house. His eyes sagged more and more while he dried his bare chest. The lights of the bathroom felt too bright, too white, as they pounded into his squinted eyes. His body begged him to lie down, but he knew the minute he became horizontal that it was lights out. He had to get home.
Harry knocked on the door.
“You alright in there?”
“Fine,” Louis said.
“I brought you water. And a shirt.”
Louis opened the bathroom door, bare from his jeans up. He could see Harry was suffering from the same tequila-induced sleepiness, his refined features all softened, his body hunching forward. Harry held out a red shirt and a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” Louis said, accepting both.
“I know you probably want to run for the hills, but…” Harry held his arm out towards the television. “I have Netflix ready. You should probably just sleep over. We’re both,” he burped, “pretty drunk.”
Louis tucked his head inside the smooth, shiny shirt, the material hanging off his frame. He handed Harry his wet towel.
“Why do I get the vibe you’re not really a ‘stay in to cuddle and watch Daredevil’ type?”
“I’m not,” Harry said simply. He stared at the wet towel, then let it drop to the ground. “But tonight is all about pretend, right? Might as well go all out.”
Louis kicked a pile of clothes out of his path as he sucked down a mouthful of water.
“Your room is gross.”
“You’re gross.”
“Very mature. And I’m gross because you puked on me.”
“Hey, I apologized, like, many times.”
Louis sighed, “Whatever,” and crawled on top of the messy bed. The lights went dark, the flat-screen television glowing. He placed the bottle on Harry’s bedside table. “What episode are you on?”
“Five.”
“Me too.”
“Nice.”
Louis flopped on his stomach into a mound of pillows. The smell of faded Axe and stale sweat bombarded his nose. His belly swirled and his lips curled. He flipped onto his back, ignoring the swaying shadows on the ceiling that seemed to mirror the swirling feeling taking over his brain. He watched Harry get under the covers, fully dressed down to his backwards Packers hat.
“Why don’t you go back to the party?” Louis asked. He shut his eyes. “I’m fine here.”
“Nah. I was bored with it tonight, anyway.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mmm.”
The opening started and Louis cracked his eyes open, sliding his gaze sideways to Harry.
“Why?”
Harry shrugged, light flickering over his cheekbones.
“Was just bored with the same people.”
“That why you came chasing after me?”
Louis could see Harry’s cheek dimple, Harry rolling the back of his head along his pillow.
“Doy,” he said softly.
Louis snorted and propped his right hand behind his head. They watched for a few minutes before Harry whispered, “Lou?”
“Mmm?”
“Can I spoon you when we sleep? Like…pretend to spoon you? In the, you know, style of our pretend friends night?”
Louis raised one eyebrow without looking away from the screen.
“You gonna keep your clothes on and your dick to yourself?”
Harry rolled onto his side, lifting three fingers.
“Mmhmm. Scout’s honor.”
“Scout’s honor,” Louis snorted. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Spoon away.” He yawned and curled on his side with his back to Harry. “I’m too tired to watch.”
The television turned off seconds later. Louis felt the bed shifting behind him before Harry’s long body enveloped him. The party continued to bang downstairs, music and people’s voice filtering into the bedroom every few seconds.
“I might suck at this,” Harry admitted against Louis’ neck, his words slurring together. He tightened his hold, nuzzling his face behind his ear. “Don’t usually do it too often without sex as a warmup round.”
Louis exhaled slowly and relaxed his entire body.
“You actually feel pretty nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm.”
“Aw, cool, happy to hear it. Love positive feedback,” Harry said, his smile audible in his higher tone. “Um…” He scanned over the frizzy peaks of Louis’ wet hair, then followed the shell of his ear until he reached the soft skin beneath his jawline. He shut his eyes, focusing on the warm feeling of Louis’ socked feet linking with his own. “You feel pretty nice.”
“Someone likes playing pretend more than they thought, hmm?” Louis waited for a reply, but all he heard was quiet breathing. He shifted in the tight embrace. “Harry?”
Harry’s eyes flew open.
“What?”
“Didn’t know if you fell asleep. You didn’t answer.”
“Oh. No. I’m up.”
Louis turned onto his other side. He wiggled high enough so that his face was at Harry’s level. He rested his cheek on Harry’s bicep and slipped his hand up the front of Harry’s tee, thumbing over a defined hip dent.
“You’d never be into this every night. You’d get bored. Seems like you’re pretty popular. You wouldn’t want this forever.”
Harry touched the tip of Louis’ chin and tilted his head back. He smiled crookedly.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
Louis rolled his eyes and rubbed his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. And lucky I’m feeling tactile.”
Harry shimmied lower in bed until they were face to face. He leaned close enough for their foreheads to press together.
“Hey,” Harry whispered.
“What?” Louis whispered back.
“Your mouth smells like my toothpaste. Wanna make out?”
“Your mouth smells like…” Louis sniffed. “Soda or something. How is that possible, Barfs McGee?”
“I downed a travel bottle of mouthwash I found on my dresser, plus I found some gummy worms in my closet and ate them while you were showering.”
Louis laughed and rolled onto his back with both palms pressed to his eyes.
“God, what am I doing?” he mumbled.
Harry swayed over him. He propped himself up with his forearms framing Louis’ face, his inner thigh resting over Louis’ knees. Louis stretched his arms up to the headboard and opened his eyes.
“Hey,” Harry whispered again, his fingertips meandering down the side of Louis’ neck. Lower, and with a deeper Texas accent, he drawled, “You’re real pretty.”
Louis held his sincere stare, his body motionless as Harry stroked his neck. In the dark bedroom, he could only make out vague shapes of Harry’s face. The curve of his lips or the roundness of his bright eyes or the strong line of his nose. He was in bed with a stranger, but something in his gut told him everything would be fine.
Louis let go of the headboard. He cradled Harry’s cheeks, guiding his face lower. Harry’s lips quirked once they could feel each other’s breath. Their open lips pressed together, slotting at just enough of an angle to gently suck, mint and sugar mingling as both breathed into the kiss. Louis’ feet flexed against the heavy blanket, prickly sweat springing over his entire body.
“Ooh,” Harry whispered, shimmying his shoulders. He widened his eyes, smiling crookedly. “That was...new.”
“Yeah,” Louis exhaled on a barely-there giggle. He licked his lips. “That’s for sure.”
Harry pecked Louis’s lips even softer while sliding his palms up and down Louis’ sides. He cradled his cheek with his right hand and brought their lips close enough to touch, but didn’t kiss him.
Louis blinked up at him.
“What’s up, Riggins?”
“Is this okay?” Harry whispered, his fingertips lightly toying with Louis’ small earlobe. Louis’ brows arched. Genuine surprise wiped away some of the tequila fog that softened his eyes. “Are you okay with kissing me?”
“A frat boy slash football player who respects consent? Yes, please.”
“Awesome,” Harry said with a wide grin, Louis smiling just as wide. His palm hugged Louis’ jawline, their lips bumping together as both chuckled, out of breath even though they were laying in bed. “You’re hot, too.” Harry kissed the corner of his mouth. “Not just pretty.”
“You’re super hot but you’ve got, like, five kisses left before I fall asleep. No offense.”
“Five?”
“Five. Can you count that high, or no, since there are only four downs in--”
Harry smacked his lips to Louis’ mouth, murmured, “One,” and playfully prodded his stomach. Louis smiled into kiss number two, sliding his hands up the back of Harry’s tee.
Their lips joined a handful of times with the same open-mouthed, lazy, exploratory softness until Harry’s tongue teased between Louis’ lips. Louis laughed quietly and turned his face away. Harry kissed along his jawline.
“Okay. That’s all you’re getting,” Louis said, breathing fast. “Sleep. Now.”
Harry pressed one final, firm kiss to the arch of his neck, then nuzzled his nose beneath Louis’ ear and settled half on top of him.
“I could get used to this.”
“Me rejecting you?”
Harry lifted his face. “Nah.” He dipped close enough to brush their lips together, then their lips pursed for another tiny peck. “You.” Harry tucked a longer strand of Louis’ hair over his ear, then kissed him with such soft sweetness that Louis exhaled against his lips, his feet bicycling under the blankets. Harry whispered, “I could get used to you.”
Harry was permitted to watch Louis slowly smile for three seconds before Louis broke their stare and wiggled onto his side. Louis huffed and pulled the blankets up over his burning face, Harry smiling and tugging the back of his shirt.
“Would you shut up and spoon me, already?” Louis grumbled. “God. I’m tired and neither of us will remember this nonsense tomorrow. It’s time to sleep.”
Harry chuckled low in his throat. “Whatever you say, Lou.”
Their bodies fit with their knees bent at the same angle and Harry’s chest snug to Louis’ back. Harry shucked Louis’ shirt up enough to flatten his hand on his bare stomach.
“Warm,” Harry murmured.
“Mmm.” Louis dug his feet between Harry’s ankles. “You, too.”
The walls vibrated with dubstep and someone was having loud sex in the bedroom next door, but both simply sighed at the same time and curled tighter together.