you’ve got this spell on me
Title: you’ve got this spell on me
Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended.
Word count: 1397
Summary: Christmas tree shopping fluff
Notes: because of reasons. Also, my apologies for the title, obviously I’m listening to the Target bonus.
“God, I love Christmas. Harry, did you know that I love Christmas?” Louis is sitting in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, actually bouncing up and down in his seat, and sometimes Harry forgets that he’s only weeks away from being twenty-one. It should probably be ridiculous but mostly it’s just endearing.
Harry laughs and glances at Louis out of the corner of his eye, while simultaneously trying to keep his attention on the snow-slicked road. It’s not easy, though; Louis is wildly distracting on the best of days - even when he’s not acting like a kid that still lays cookies out for Santa every year.
“Yeah, Lou, you’ve mentioned it once or twice. I love Christmas, too.” he adds, because he does and because it’s hard not to get excited about something once Louis decides that you should be excited about it. Harry has always loved Christmas, of course, but with Louis it’s a veritable month of overwhelming Christmas spirit. Louis is never one to do things half way. He had gasped in righteous indignation when Harry had so much as made passing mention of maybe buying a fake tree this year.
“I am shocked at you, Harold. Shocked and appalled.”
Harry had merely grumbled under his breath about pine needles and cleaning and you know you could pick up a broom from time to time, Louis, knowing that this was a battle that he was not going to win. Harry doesn’t win many battles when it comes to Louis; though that’s mostly due to his penchant for giving in to whatever Louis wants with little to no argument. An uncontrollable inclination that earns him endless teasing from Zayn about being whipped. Harry will pretend to mind and Louis will smirk and pretend that he’s not just as far gone as Harry is and none of the boys will be the least bit fooled.
So, yes, it’s well established that Harry will do pretty much anything for Louis, which is how he finds himself, on one of their rare days off before holidays, pulling into a dark lot filled with acres upon acres of Christmas trees. It’s some insanely low temperature outside, registering somewhere in the double digit negatives, and, really, all Harry wants is to be back at their flat burrowed under layers of blankets on the couch with a cup of tea in hand, Louis curled into his side, and It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the tv. (Yes, he’s aware that he’s a total Christmas cliché.) But Louis had been insistent and he’d given Harry that pleading little smile that he knew Harry had no hopes of resisting, and, well.
Harry pulls his beanie down lower over his curls, zips his jacket up tightly, and figures, hey, if he gets frostbite at least he will (probably) be excused from the interviews and promo work tomorrow. (Harry likes to think of himself as something of an optimist.)
As Harry is reaching for the handle of his door, Louis tugs on the ends of his scarf and pulls him in close, a cheeky smile playing across his lips. Harry can see where this is headed, and before he can protest, weakly, that they’re in public, Louis’ lips are on his. But it’s dark and the lot is essentially deserted (apparently he and Louis are the only two in the city with a death by hypothermia wish) and fuck it anyways because Louis has really nice lips.
“Handy, that.” Louis says as he tucks Harry’s scarf back into his coat and pats his chest over the many layers Harry had bundled himself up in earlier.
Harry tries not to look too stupidly pleased, but he’s almost sure that he fails abysmally. As has been evidenced by many a tumblr post, Harry clearly cannot retain control of his facial muscles whenever Louis gives him the slightest bit of attention. But Harry can’t quite bring himself to care when Louis is looking at him like Harry is everything he’s ever wanted. Such looks are fleeting and never as outright as Harry’s gazes of adoration, but certainly no less sincere or meaningful.
“C’mon, Harry, there are evergreens to be perused!”
And if Harry is suddenly excited by the prospect of searching for a Christmas tree in below freezing weather - well, he certainly isn’t about to admit it out loud.
“Fuck it’s cold.” Harry says almost as soon as they step out of the car. And maybe it’s a little bit whiny, but he likes to be warm and cosy, sue him. “Like, really, really cold. Louis…”
“Suck it up, babe,” Louis says teasingly, “it’s all for the greater Christmas good. I’ll warm you up later, yeah?”
And, okay, that successfully shuts Harry up.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he says, stumbling over the words a bit in his eagerness.
Louis smirks because Harry has never quite understood the concept of playing hard to get; not two years ago and certainly not now. (He doesn’t understand the concept of games, period, when it comes to dating.)
It comes as no surprise that Louis is full of energy, seemingly completely unaffected by the cold. He walks quickly and excitedly from tree to tree falling in love with each one and then promptly coming up with reasons why it isn’t their tree. Too tall, too wide, too many branches, not enough branches, not Christmasy enough (whatever that means).
Anyone else, Harry knows, would be fed up at this point and just tell Louis to ‘pick a bloody tree already’, but Harry can’t help but appreciate how fully Louis throws himself into the holidays. (He can practically hear Zayn’s snorts of, “So fucking whipped, Haz.”)
“Lou, Lou, look at his one!” Harry says, and, okay, maybe he’s a little bit into this now, too.
Louis tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows in that way that he has, the way that says really? with more attitude than Harry could muster with words.
“It’s small and cute and perfect.” Harry says a note of defensiveness in his voice. “Here, take a picture.” He gestures to Louis’ phone impatiently, and, yeah, he’s more than a little bit into this.
Louis shakes his head but smiles and takes his phone out anyways, taking his gloves off in order to tap the right part of the screen.
Harry sidles up next to the tree and loses his balance in a drift of snow, falling against the tree a bit and sending a shower of snow down upon himself just as Louis is taking the picture. And snow in his face and down his jacket and under his shirt definitely doesn’t help Harry’s efforts to not get frostbite. He heaves a full body shiver and brushes the snow away furiously and almost misses the way that Louis is laughing so hard that he can hardly breathe.
“Oh my God, Harry,” he pants between chuckles, “look at you!”
Harry shoots him an entirely unconvincing glare for all of a second before he’s dissolving into laughter himself, in between chatters of his teeth, because just like his excitement, Louis’ laughter is infectious. And Harry thinks that maybe it’s the best sound in the world, and that maybe making Louis laugh is the best feeling in the world.
Once Louis has managed to catch his breath, he steps closer to Harry and helps him brush away the rest of the snow. (His hands linger under Harry’s shirt strictly longer than is necessary, but Harry isn’t complaining.) He pushes Harry back further into the cover of the trees, and because they’re so far back in the lot, so far from the only person in a mile radius, Harry doesn’t even think of resisting when Louis leans up on his tiptoes to press their lips together.
When Louis pulls back he’s smiling and his cheeks are a little flushed and he says, “I think we’ve found our tree.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks hopefully; he really does love it even if it is a little sparse.
“Lucky that I love you.” Louis says in response.
“Yeah.” Harry repeats, serious, agreeing even though Louis is joking, because even though Harry is more obvious in his affection, when it comes down to it, Louis will do anything to make Harry happy as well. And, yeah, Harry supposes that that does make him pretty lucky.
Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Disclaimer: This is a work of complete fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended.
Word count: 1397
Summary: Christmas tree shopping fluff
Notes: because of reasons. Also, my apologies for the title, obviously I’m listening to the Target bonus.
“God, I love Christmas. Harry, did you know that I love Christmas?” Louis is sitting in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, actually bouncing up and down in his seat, and sometimes Harry forgets that he’s only weeks away from being twenty-one. It should probably be ridiculous but mostly it’s just endearing.
Harry laughs and glances at Louis out of the corner of his eye, while simultaneously trying to keep his attention on the snow-slicked road. It’s not easy, though; Louis is wildly distracting on the best of days - even when he’s not acting like a kid that still lays cookies out for Santa every year.
“Yeah, Lou, you’ve mentioned it once or twice. I love Christmas, too.” he adds, because he does and because it’s hard not to get excited about something once Louis decides that you should be excited about it. Harry has always loved Christmas, of course, but with Louis it’s a veritable month of overwhelming Christmas spirit. Louis is never one to do things half way. He had gasped in righteous indignation when Harry had so much as made passing mention of maybe buying a fake tree this year.
“I am shocked at you, Harold. Shocked and appalled.”
Harry had merely grumbled under his breath about pine needles and cleaning and you know you could pick up a broom from time to time, Louis, knowing that this was a battle that he was not going to win. Harry doesn’t win many battles when it comes to Louis; though that’s mostly due to his penchant for giving in to whatever Louis wants with little to no argument. An uncontrollable inclination that earns him endless teasing from Zayn about being whipped. Harry will pretend to mind and Louis will smirk and pretend that he’s not just as far gone as Harry is and none of the boys will be the least bit fooled.
So, yes, it’s well established that Harry will do pretty much anything for Louis, which is how he finds himself, on one of their rare days off before holidays, pulling into a dark lot filled with acres upon acres of Christmas trees. It’s some insanely low temperature outside, registering somewhere in the double digit negatives, and, really, all Harry wants is to be back at their flat burrowed under layers of blankets on the couch with a cup of tea in hand, Louis curled into his side, and It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the tv. (Yes, he’s aware that he’s a total Christmas cliché.) But Louis had been insistent and he’d given Harry that pleading little smile that he knew Harry had no hopes of resisting, and, well.
Harry pulls his beanie down lower over his curls, zips his jacket up tightly, and figures, hey, if he gets frostbite at least he will (probably) be excused from the interviews and promo work tomorrow. (Harry likes to think of himself as something of an optimist.)
As Harry is reaching for the handle of his door, Louis tugs on the ends of his scarf and pulls him in close, a cheeky smile playing across his lips. Harry can see where this is headed, and before he can protest, weakly, that they’re in public, Louis’ lips are on his. But it’s dark and the lot is essentially deserted (apparently he and Louis are the only two in the city with a death by hypothermia wish) and fuck it anyways because Louis has really nice lips.
“Handy, that.” Louis says as he tucks Harry’s scarf back into his coat and pats his chest over the many layers Harry had bundled himself up in earlier.
Harry tries not to look too stupidly pleased, but he’s almost sure that he fails abysmally. As has been evidenced by many a tumblr post, Harry clearly cannot retain control of his facial muscles whenever Louis gives him the slightest bit of attention. But Harry can’t quite bring himself to care when Louis is looking at him like Harry is everything he’s ever wanted. Such looks are fleeting and never as outright as Harry’s gazes of adoration, but certainly no less sincere or meaningful.
“C’mon, Harry, there are evergreens to be perused!”
And if Harry is suddenly excited by the prospect of searching for a Christmas tree in below freezing weather - well, he certainly isn’t about to admit it out loud.
“Fuck it’s cold.” Harry says almost as soon as they step out of the car. And maybe it’s a little bit whiny, but he likes to be warm and cosy, sue him. “Like, really, really cold. Louis…”
“Suck it up, babe,” Louis says teasingly, “it’s all for the greater Christmas good. I’ll warm you up later, yeah?”
And, okay, that successfully shuts Harry up.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he says, stumbling over the words a bit in his eagerness.
Louis smirks because Harry has never quite understood the concept of playing hard to get; not two years ago and certainly not now. (He doesn’t understand the concept of games, period, when it comes to dating.)
It comes as no surprise that Louis is full of energy, seemingly completely unaffected by the cold. He walks quickly and excitedly from tree to tree falling in love with each one and then promptly coming up with reasons why it isn’t their tree. Too tall, too wide, too many branches, not enough branches, not Christmasy enough (whatever that means).
Anyone else, Harry knows, would be fed up at this point and just tell Louis to ‘pick a bloody tree already’, but Harry can’t help but appreciate how fully Louis throws himself into the holidays. (He can practically hear Zayn’s snorts of, “So fucking whipped, Haz.”)
“Lou, Lou, look at his one!” Harry says, and, okay, maybe he’s a little bit into this now, too.
Louis tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows in that way that he has, the way that says really? with more attitude than Harry could muster with words.
“It’s small and cute and perfect.” Harry says a note of defensiveness in his voice. “Here, take a picture.” He gestures to Louis’ phone impatiently, and, yeah, he’s more than a little bit into this.
Louis shakes his head but smiles and takes his phone out anyways, taking his gloves off in order to tap the right part of the screen.
Harry sidles up next to the tree and loses his balance in a drift of snow, falling against the tree a bit and sending a shower of snow down upon himself just as Louis is taking the picture. And snow in his face and down his jacket and under his shirt definitely doesn’t help Harry’s efforts to not get frostbite. He heaves a full body shiver and brushes the snow away furiously and almost misses the way that Louis is laughing so hard that he can hardly breathe.
“Oh my God, Harry,” he pants between chuckles, “look at you!”
Harry shoots him an entirely unconvincing glare for all of a second before he’s dissolving into laughter himself, in between chatters of his teeth, because just like his excitement, Louis’ laughter is infectious. And Harry thinks that maybe it’s the best sound in the world, and that maybe making Louis laugh is the best feeling in the world.
Once Louis has managed to catch his breath, he steps closer to Harry and helps him brush away the rest of the snow. (His hands linger under Harry’s shirt strictly longer than is necessary, but Harry isn’t complaining.) He pushes Harry back further into the cover of the trees, and because they’re so far back in the lot, so far from the only person in a mile radius, Harry doesn’t even think of resisting when Louis leans up on his tiptoes to press their lips together.
When Louis pulls back he’s smiling and his cheeks are a little flushed and he says, “I think we’ve found our tree.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks hopefully; he really does love it even if it is a little sparse.
“Lucky that I love you.” Louis says in response.
“Yeah.” Harry repeats, serious, agreeing even though Louis is joking, because even though Harry is more obvious in his affection, when it comes down to it, Louis will do anything to make Harry happy as well. And, yeah, Harry supposes that that does make him pretty lucky.