Cupidity
Harry/Louis
• demigod!verse, deal with it
• 730 words
• written for
aimmyarrowshigh ultra-specifically because reasons.
See, the thing was, Harry knew. He knew who 'Simon' was and he knew Zayn and Niall and Liam had no idea and he knew that Louis knew.
They looked at each other, and something more than awareness sparked in their eyes.
The attraction was immediate because it was Harry, but also because it was Louis, and he had the self-restraint of a hyperactive monkey on sugar pills. Harry had never had the opportunity to be around demigods before, not like this. And certainly not like Louis. Louis with magnetic fingers and pockets full of everything that should've been in everyone else's pockets. Louis talking too fast, Louis running from hallway to hallway in the blink of an eye without so much as a by-your-leave, and it was intoxicating, how little he cared about what other people thought.
Harry began to realize, though, that that wasn't quite true.
He cared more.
It took him a long time to realize. He was always watching, always touching, always pulling him close and away and mine mine mine, and this was so dangerous but he didn't care. Couldn't care, not from the minute he'd seen him. And yes, Rhea would give him the sternest of talking-tos if she knew, but Harry was helpless to his own nature. Which made him helpless to Louis Tomlinson. Helpless to the boy who wanted nothing more than for people to like him, and having no reasonable way of making that happen.
The first time they sang together, it all went click.
Louis loved to sing. Loved to. Louis loved singing like Harry loved everything, and it felt like a heady rush of power, someone who lived and breathed everything that Harry was. Someone who loved himself stupid, then rolled up and convinced himself that everyone would hate him for breathing their air, then wanting and wanting and wanting just a little tiny bit of the sense of being a part of something.
That, Harry could understand.
He didn't let on that he knew until Simon brought them all together, because likely, the news that he was in fact a god was probably not the safest thing to be bandying about. Even when he did call them all out on it, he pointed at Harry and Louis and said 'you know who you are'. And Louis laughed and talked about his dad, and Harry said nothing. Let them assume. I'm one of you, his face said, and it wasn't entirely the truth. And I've known you all along.
"I knew there was something about you," Louis whispered, in the dark, when they pressed together under the sheets in a bed they shared for no reason other than wanting to. "I thought--"
He went quiet, and Harry traced his face with his fingertips, over and over and over. Amazed. "Thought what?" he finally prompted.
Louis went a bit red. "Thought you were something more," he muttered. "Somethin' - dunno. You just looked too good to be real."
Though the compliment made him feel all glowy and wiggly on the inside, he had a standard to maintain. He smacked Louis across the face - lightly, of course - then nuzzled over it with his cheek. "And I'm not anymore, then?"
Louis huffed a laugh, the end of it breaking off as he squirmed to try and get even closer. "Oh, you're real all right. Now you're just too good for me."
He didn't try to argue with him - kissed him, instead, the sort of wet, slow, open-mouthed deal that you're not supposed to do until you've been at it for a while, or something. It didn't matter. Harry didn't like things like rules, and if he wanted to kiss Louis-son-of-Hermes like he'd been kissing him for centuries, then he would. And they could talk about Louis' self-esteem another time. When Harry was able to put into words how he made him feel. Which might possibly not be for another forever. But it could wait. Until then, he'd tell him with his lips, and his hands, and the way he looked into his eyes, and Louis was his his his his his and maybe one day, he would tell him why.