FIC; so maybe you should learn to love
Title: So Maybe You Should Learn to Love
Rating: pg-15
Warning: mild porn I guess? really mild porn
Word count:
Pairing: Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction, hence most probably untrue, etc, etc.
Summary: Harry's 5 favourite words (in alphabetical order, no less) and how they all seem to relate to Louis. Hmm.
Author's Note(s): Started out as a shameless filler for my LJ, because I wanted to have at least one fic on here before I posted something non-fic, again. Hush, hush, I know. Didn't meant to dedicate this to anyone, but Janna said hi to me on my Tumblr and oops, not immune to her sorry, but now without even prompting this is for you, darling. And of course, to my other non-existent readers. What could I ever have done without you? Feel free to Britpick. Also unbeta'd. Hush.
1. asda
Harry really doesn't want to leave. In fact, he'd rather do anything but leave.
Louis is still trying to convince him to go, I'll be right here, but he's not really very good at convincing. Lou's slowly stroking his the inside of his thigh, mouthing at the junction between his neck and shoulder, promising that he'll be here when Harry comes back, but really, that's not a very good incentive to leave Louis right now.
Of course, he has to. He still has to.
"Asda's just a few minutes from here, babe," Louis reminds him again.
Actually, he counts, the entire trip takes him seven minutes. Nevertheless, soon enough, he's rushing back to Louis, to Louis spread naked on the bed, to one, then two, then three fingers fucking him, to marking his hipbones with wet, open-mouthed, dirty kisses.
Thank god Asda stocks lube.
2. bunk beds
The bunk beds in the X Factor house are two things- 1) they're extremely tiny, and 2) not meant for fitting in two people, especially lanky teenaged boys.
Not that Louis Tomlinson ever cared about what was law.
"There, there," Louis pants into his neck, and Harry shivers- it's not the first time they've done it, per se, but holy hell, Harry still feels his entire fucking soul or something drain through his toes everytime he feels the older boys' lips trace a pattern only seen by him. He would feel more afraid of the other boy sensing his thoughts, or at least the gist of it, seeing as how they're so closely wound around each other. That is, if his brain was functioning better.
He whimpers- not a particularly manly whimper, but he really doesn't have the capacity to care right now- and bucks shamelessly into Louis' steady hand. The warm friction is just right, but somehow still not enough, and it's just been a really long day and he's too tired to not not submit under Louis' teasing blue eyes. "That's it, Curly," he hears Louis whisper and he feels him stroke just under the head, circling the bundle of nerves, before digging his thumb into the slit, precome spurting everywhere.
It takes a few more strokes- he's so sensitive, and he likes that because Louis likes that and he wants to be good for Louis, always, and he comes then, biting Lou's shoulder, with a surprised "-Agh! and murmurs, chuckles of Lou's beautiful raspy voice - "Easy, Hazza"- but his mouth soon dries up from the blue wool of Lou's sweatshirt and he blinks back from the crook of Louis' neck. Louis smells like his banana shower gel and still slightly of the hairspray they use for their live shows and, Harry's just.
Harry's content to lie there, boneless and sated, until he remembers Louis, or rather, his (large) problem digging into his thigh.
"O-oh, sorry Lou- her-"
The older boy presses kisses to his neck, and Harry- though he will never admit this out loud- feels tingles all over. Tingles. He's becoming a girl. They rarely kiss so intimately, because that's what they are- best friends with benefits- except maybe for foreplay, and even that is rare: a full-on snogging session, instead of the light butterfly kisses he feels Louis adorn his neck with.
Louis hums against his neck. "It's alright Hazza, I'll take care of this one by myself."
Harry watches then, with heavy lidded eyes. He just feels so content now, and sleepy, the weight of his thoughts taken off his shoulder- getting through X Factor seems like a faraway problem, a speck of an island on the horizon. The wall is cold against his back and his fingers dance across the sheets, but his eyes are focused on Louis before him- Louis with his eyes closed, Louis with his hand rubbing up and down his shaft, Louis with come all over his blue sweatshirt.
Tissues. Yes, something about tissues. They can take care of that later.
3. chapstick
There's something off about snogging Louis today; he tastes weird, not like the Louis he's so used to snogging at all, but rather.. well, he can't complete that sentence, not really, because he's not sure what Louis tastes like.
Louis used to taste like his weird bitter-sweet Yorkshire tea- like chips he steals from Liam or Colgate.
Louis now tastes like something vaguely fruity. Sweeter; the taste is more defined now. The last time Harry tasted something like this was when he kissed..
A girl?
He remembers Caroline, and all the other girls before her, that wore strawberry-scented lipgloss. But Louis doesn't wear lipgloss- not since X Factor, at least. Harry sits silently throughout all their interviews today (nothing hectic, just a few radio stations and a teen magazine) until he decides he knows why Louis tastes like a girl. Sort of.
He waits until all the boys have stood up, hanging back because he needs to be behind Louis for his theory to be tested. Sure enough, there's a small telltale bulge in his back pocket, barely visible unless you were looking for it.
"Cherry Chapstick, huh?" he grins when he fishes out a pink tube from Louis' back pocket.
Louis regards him coolly. "Passionfruit, actually."
Harry ducks down and kisses him full on the lips, enjoying the flavour this time. Passionfruit, of course. How could he have not known?
4. trousers
They're out shopping again, because Louis' bored of his trademark red trousers. Sure, they all love their clothes still, but it's becoming annoying having their fans assume that's the only thing they'll wear. Actually, Louis' just annoyed. Harry supplied a possible reason, which led to them shopping.
But of course, Louis' still Lou, so he chooses the tightest jeans possible.
"What do you think?" it's a theoretical question, but one that Harry answers anyway.
"Perfect," he replies, running his hands over the span of Louis' arse and grinning, imagining making him come in these.
5. watermelon
They're hanging out at Ed's again, all of the boys- Harry really doesn't remember much of the day, his mind cottoning on to random details- the poorly painted blue clouds on the yellow watering can by the front door (he supposes it's acrylic, but someone's added too much water, it's turned into a watercolour); the logo that looks like Niall's snapback on their pizza box- just little things that don't matter, really.
But then Ed's leading them into his backyard and he's got a bat in his hand (a bat? where the hell did he get a bat?) and then suddenly they're bashing fruit, watermelons not withstanding.
"Your turn," Niall laughs as he passes the bat to Harry, and Harry does what any normal person would do when they've got a bat and a bat-able piece of fruit. He bats.
Except, he swings too hard and the fruit actually gets on him and Louis, sweet-smelling and red and sticky.
He splutters out apologies (not that he needed to anyway, but, you know) but he really can't help himself when he moves to Louis and starts nibbling the pieces of watermelon on his cheek, his neck.
"Fucking lovebirds!" Ed shouts and then yells at them to get a room.
So they do.
(+1)6. harry
Call him vain, but his favourite word is his name.
Because when Louis calls him- voice strained as he spills white and sticky over their sheets, or lovingly as he watches Harry cooks, or tacked to the end of a simple "Good morning"- there's no better word in the world.
Rating: pg-15
Warning: mild porn I guess? really mild porn
Word count:
Pairing: Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles
Disclaimer: This is fanfiction, hence most probably untrue, etc, etc.
Summary: Harry's 5 favourite words (in alphabetical order, no less) and how they all seem to relate to Louis. Hmm.
Author's Note(s): Started out as a shameless filler for my LJ, because I wanted to have at least one fic on here before I posted something non-fic, again. Hush, hush, I know. Didn't meant to dedicate this to anyone, but Janna said hi to me on my Tumblr and oops, not immune to her sorry, but now without even prompting this is for you, darling. And of course, to my other non-existent readers. What could I ever have done without you? Feel free to Britpick. Also unbeta'd. Hush.
1. asda
Harry really doesn't want to leave. In fact, he'd rather do anything but leave.
Louis is still trying to convince him to go, I'll be right here, but he's not really very good at convincing. Lou's slowly stroking his the inside of his thigh, mouthing at the junction between his neck and shoulder, promising that he'll be here when Harry comes back, but really, that's not a very good incentive to leave Louis right now.
Of course, he has to. He still has to.
"Asda's just a few minutes from here, babe," Louis reminds him again.
Actually, he counts, the entire trip takes him seven minutes. Nevertheless, soon enough, he's rushing back to Louis, to Louis spread naked on the bed, to one, then two, then three fingers fucking him, to marking his hipbones with wet, open-mouthed, dirty kisses.
Thank god Asda stocks lube.
2. bunk beds
The bunk beds in the X Factor house are two things- 1) they're extremely tiny, and 2) not meant for fitting in two people, especially lanky teenaged boys.
Not that Louis Tomlinson ever cared about what was law.
"There, there," Louis pants into his neck, and Harry shivers- it's not the first time they've done it, per se, but holy hell, Harry still feels his entire fucking soul or something drain through his toes everytime he feels the older boys' lips trace a pattern only seen by him. He would feel more afraid of the other boy sensing his thoughts, or at least the gist of it, seeing as how they're so closely wound around each other. That is, if his brain was functioning better.
He whimpers- not a particularly manly whimper, but he really doesn't have the capacity to care right now- and bucks shamelessly into Louis' steady hand. The warm friction is just right, but somehow still not enough, and it's just been a really long day and he's too tired to not not submit under Louis' teasing blue eyes. "That's it, Curly," he hears Louis whisper and he feels him stroke just under the head, circling the bundle of nerves, before digging his thumb into the slit, precome spurting everywhere.
It takes a few more strokes- he's so sensitive, and he likes that because Louis likes that and he wants to be good for Louis, always, and he comes then, biting Lou's shoulder, with a surprised "-Agh! and murmurs, chuckles of Lou's beautiful raspy voice - "Easy, Hazza"- but his mouth soon dries up from the blue wool of Lou's sweatshirt and he blinks back from the crook of Louis' neck. Louis smells like his banana shower gel and still slightly of the hairspray they use for their live shows and, Harry's just.
Harry's content to lie there, boneless and sated, until he remembers Louis, or rather, his (large) problem digging into his thigh.
"O-oh, sorry Lou- her-"
The older boy presses kisses to his neck, and Harry- though he will never admit this out loud- feels tingles all over. Tingles. He's becoming a girl. They rarely kiss so intimately, because that's what they are- best friends with benefits- except maybe for foreplay, and even that is rare: a full-on snogging session, instead of the light butterfly kisses he feels Louis adorn his neck with.
Louis hums against his neck. "It's alright Hazza, I'll take care of this one by myself."
Harry watches then, with heavy lidded eyes. He just feels so content now, and sleepy, the weight of his thoughts taken off his shoulder- getting through X Factor seems like a faraway problem, a speck of an island on the horizon. The wall is cold against his back and his fingers dance across the sheets, but his eyes are focused on Louis before him- Louis with his eyes closed, Louis with his hand rubbing up and down his shaft, Louis with come all over his blue sweatshirt.
Tissues. Yes, something about tissues. They can take care of that later.
3. chapstick
There's something off about snogging Louis today; he tastes weird, not like the Louis he's so used to snogging at all, but rather.. well, he can't complete that sentence, not really, because he's not sure what Louis tastes like.
Louis used to taste like his weird bitter-sweet Yorkshire tea- like chips he steals from Liam or Colgate.
Louis now tastes like something vaguely fruity. Sweeter; the taste is more defined now. The last time Harry tasted something like this was when he kissed..
A girl?
He remembers Caroline, and all the other girls before her, that wore strawberry-scented lipgloss. But Louis doesn't wear lipgloss- not since X Factor, at least. Harry sits silently throughout all their interviews today (nothing hectic, just a few radio stations and a teen magazine) until he decides he knows why Louis tastes like a girl. Sort of.
He waits until all the boys have stood up, hanging back because he needs to be behind Louis for his theory to be tested. Sure enough, there's a small telltale bulge in his back pocket, barely visible unless you were looking for it.
"Cherry Chapstick, huh?" he grins when he fishes out a pink tube from Louis' back pocket.
Louis regards him coolly. "Passionfruit, actually."
Harry ducks down and kisses him full on the lips, enjoying the flavour this time. Passionfruit, of course. How could he have not known?
4. trousers
They're out shopping again, because Louis' bored of his trademark red trousers. Sure, they all love their clothes still, but it's becoming annoying having their fans assume that's the only thing they'll wear. Actually, Louis' just annoyed. Harry supplied a possible reason, which led to them shopping.
But of course, Louis' still Lou, so he chooses the tightest jeans possible.
"What do you think?" it's a theoretical question, but one that Harry answers anyway.
"Perfect," he replies, running his hands over the span of Louis' arse and grinning, imagining making him come in these.
5. watermelon
They're hanging out at Ed's again, all of the boys- Harry really doesn't remember much of the day, his mind cottoning on to random details- the poorly painted blue clouds on the yellow watering can by the front door (he supposes it's acrylic, but someone's added too much water, it's turned into a watercolour); the logo that looks like Niall's snapback on their pizza box- just little things that don't matter, really.
But then Ed's leading them into his backyard and he's got a bat in his hand (a bat? where the hell did he get a bat?) and then suddenly they're bashing fruit, watermelons not withstanding.
"Your turn," Niall laughs as he passes the bat to Harry, and Harry does what any normal person would do when they've got a bat and a bat-able piece of fruit. He bats.
Except, he swings too hard and the fruit actually gets on him and Louis, sweet-smelling and red and sticky.
He splutters out apologies (not that he needed to anyway, but, you know) but he really can't help himself when he moves to Louis and starts nibbling the pieces of watermelon on his cheek, his neck.
"Fucking lovebirds!" Ed shouts and then yells at them to get a room.
So they do.
(+1)6. harry
Call him vain, but his favourite word is his name.
Because when Louis calls him- voice strained as he spills white and sticky over their sheets, or lovingly as he watches Harry cooks, or tacked to the end of a simple "Good morning"- there's no better word in the world.