#midly

Louis relaxes more fully into Harry’s lap once more. Harry kisses down Louis’ face and his hand slides down to Louis left hand, making Louis drop his arms. He traces the veins of Louis’ wrist without looking.

“You got a bracelet of suits here… about two years ago now,” Harry says as he kisses down to Louis jaw, then sings into his skin. “I roll and I roll ‘til I change my luck…”

Louis recognizes the lyric… the one he apparently wrote. Louis drops his head back, baring his neck to Harry’s gum-drop kisses. Harry brushes his thumb higher.

“You got the Jolly Roger last fall… I got my mermaid after that. You called me your siren in bed that night…”

Louis groans as Harry’s tongue flicks out over his neck, feeling Harry’s smile. Louis had thought about smirking into skin before, but this wasn’t a smirk. This was a genuine, sweet smile. Harry, his Harry…

Harry runs his palm up Louis’ forearm.

“You got the dagger just last winter… we were in Australia and I’ve had the rose for years. People talked about that one, a lot, like before you even got it. It’s not exactly an original combo… you got it anyway,” Harry whispers. “The dagger and the rose… a sign of enduring love, of doing anything it takes…”

“Are we really so tragic?” Louis breathes and then groans as Harry sucks a little mark into the space under Louis’ ear.

That makes Harry laugh and press his forehead into Louis’ shoulder.

“It’s not always easy. Hard to sell gay popstars to teenage girls,” Harry says, a bit hesitantly.

“We’re… it’s not like… we’re not out?” Louis asks, kneading at the knotted muscles in Harry’s upper back, as he tries to pull up the proper terminology.

“Not yet,” Harry confesses. “Soon, though, Lou… so soon now.”

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah, until then we had the tattoos. They forgot to include that on the appearance clause of our contracts,” Harry says smugly, dragging his hand down Louis’ other arm, pulling him closer with the other. Their chests press briefly together and for once Louis actually does feel small with Harry’s big hands on him. Heat flares wherever they touch.

“Tell me more,” Louis says and then ducks his head down to kiss and suck at Harry’s neck.

Louis’ never felt quite as powerful as when Harry moans softly as Louis nips at his skin. His fingers dig into Louis’ bicep.

“You get a big… a big deer here,” Harry says, and then his fingers walk lower, dancing over Louis’ skin. “Here you got a teacup… for home. Here you got a horseshoe for luck. You have a stickman here… he was your first. A paper airplane… a bomb.”

His fingers slow in between the mess of random spots he’s poked on Louis’ forearm, brushing softer.

“Right here you have oops.”

“Oops?” Louis asks. “Why oops?”

“First word I ever said to you… it’s in my handwriting. I’ve got hi on my arm… in yours,” Harry whispers, free fingers carding through the soft strands of hair at the nape of Louis’ neck.

“How romantic,” Louis chuckles.

“We met in a bathroom so it’s not really,” Harry says, amused.

Harry’s lips and words are worming their way into Louis’ ears and working him up all over again, and Harry’s free hand seems to be encouraging the little rolls of Louis’ hips. He gasps slightly when he feels Harry’s hardness brush against his arse, turning his words breathless.

“That’s dreadful, Harold. Why did we commemorate that?” Louis teases, throwing his head back as Harry nips at his collarbones.

“Because it’s important… and I don’t want to forget. I signed my very first autograph for you, you know. At the X-Factor auditions, where we met,” Harry whispers into Louis’ throat, fingers digging into Louis’ waist, proving the younger boy isn’t the only one worked up. “You… you said you knew I’d be famous, and that I shouldn’t even worry. You took a picture with me… I got it framed. It’s on my nightstand at home.”

Harry’s voice is rough and Louis is enough of a hopeless romantic deep down that the words drive right into him and pull a whine from his lips. He can picture it, a side table with a little lamp, a phone plugged into a charger for the night, a simple little frame, and two bodies tucked close in the middle of a massive bed.

“I… I never had a chance with you, did I?” Louis murmurs, carding his fingers through silky curls, head still resting back on his shoulders. “You had me from the beginning, huh, Harry Styles?”

That makes Harry let loose a nearly pained moan, arms twining tightly around

Louis waist to pull him flush. Louis kisses him again.

“Tell me more,” Louis says into Harry’s mouth, feeling harsh breaths against his lips.

Harry brings one hand up, trailing over Louis abdomen and making his muscles tense. Harry rests his fingertips against Louis’ sternum.

“You… you have two here…” he says.

“Show me,” Louis repeats, with intent.

Harry opens his eyes and meets Louis’, and he pours all the intense meaning in there, asking. Harry nods and pulls Louis’ shirt up from the hem. Then he rolls them. Louis huffs out a startled breath as his bare back hits the duvet. Harry starts kissing him deeply before running his hands up and down Louis’ sides.

“You… you have a 78 over your heart,” Harry says, and that one Louis doesn’t need explained.

“Gran’s house number,” Louis says, and Harry nods, pressing a quick kiss to Louis’ bottom lip before dropping to his neck again.

“And here…” Harry says, fingers sliding and pressing into Louis’ skin below his collarbones, “You have words here… It is what it is. On its own… you don’t love it that much, think it’s trite. But it goes… goes with my butterfly. They were part of a design together… and we split them. Sometimes things have to be split for a while…”

Louis groans as Harry sucks a soft purple mark above his heart.

“Show me… show me the better half,” Louis says, smiling softly at his own joke.

“Different… not better, just different,” Harry insists, but then pulls his shirt up over his head, not even bothering with the buttons.

Louis gasps as his eyes rake over the suddenly exposed skin. He pressed a palm over the massive butterfly and then daringly traces over the laurels on Harry’s hips.

“Didn’t… didn’t see these here,” Louis whispers. “They’re beautiful…”

They completely accentuate Harry’s waist, enhancing instead of drawing attention from the little love handles that sit above Harry’s hips.

“That’s why I got them. You saw a design, liked it,” Harry explains and Louis is so caught up he doesn’t realise he’s digging his thumbs into them until Harry groans. “Have had bruises from you doing just that.”

“Sorry,” Louis apologizes but Harry swings his curly head back and forth.

“No, love it,” he says, and Louis believes him from the glazed look in his darkening green eyes.

“What about these,” Louis asks, tracing the birds dipping under Harry’s collar bones.

“One for you, one for me,” Harry says simply and Louis nods—Louis isn’t sure why but he feels like he’s the one on Harry’s right side. “They were some of my first…”

“They’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Harry replies, one hand cupping Louis’ chin. “My beautiful, Lou…”

It sort of feels like something inside of Louis is shredding apart when Harry drops down to kiss him again. Something inside is fracturing under the weight of Harry’s love. It’s all he can do to focus on the sensations flooding his body to stop himself from breaking apart. He’s so hard. He’s never been turned on like this in his life and his trousers are still on. Which… speaking of that…

“Show me more,” Louis says and Harry pulls back to cock his head to the side questioningly.

“Please,” Louis says, pressing his hips up meaningfully. Harry’s eyes widen for just a second as he realises what Louis wants but then he’s nodding, loose necked.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Harry says, voice low.

He sits back and pops the button on Louis’ jeans before peeling the incredibly tight material down his legs. Louis breathes deeply, trying to keep his cool as Harry tosses the almost-jeggings to the ground. Louis feels bare, just in his pants with Harry’s gaze raking over him. He’s been naked with one or two people before, but it’s never felt like this. A pink flush blooms on his chest. He’s not used to being the one so out of control. It’s not that Louis’ particularly experienced, he just errs on the side of natural control.

It’s difficult to be in control when it seems that Harry already knows how sensitive the backs of Louis knees are. He lifts Louis’ leg and noses the ticklish spot, pressing a kiss to the inside of Louis’ knee. He keeps Louis’ left leg raised slightly as his fingers trail down Louis right shin.

“You’ve got a spiderweb here,” he says, “And between each side you’ve got The Rogue.”

He pressed his thumb into the skin right about Louis’ left ankle.

“You’ve got a screw head on one foot that matches the band… and a tringle on your right ankle,” Harry says, thumb running up and down Louis’ Achilles tendon. Louis lets his head fall back onto the pillow and lets out a little sigh. There are things that Harry’s doing that shouldn’t feel good, but feel positively erotic when he does it.

“You’re so amazing, Lou. You have to know that. You are brilliant… beautiful, so beautiful, my Louis,” Harry says, briefly letting his forehead rest on Louis’ thigh.

“You’re perfect.”

“Don’t… don’t be… I’m not,” Louis replies, voice cracking slightly, and embarrassingly his throat feels tight.

“Yes,” Harry insists and leans up to pull one of Louis feet towards him.

He pets over the top with his palm and taps each one of Louis’ toes slowly with his fingers. He rubs his thumb along the bridge before pecking Louis’ insole. He rubs his hands over Louis’ foot and kisses the knob of Louis ankle before running his palms up over Louis shins, then draws them down his calves and back. Louis’ back arches, dick twitching even though nothing Harry’s doing should affect him so much. It’s just the delicacy in his touches, the reverence in his lips.

Harry’s thumbs trace Louis kneecaps, as if he knows how they ache when Louis trains too hard, pretending that one day he might make the Rovers. His hands rub up and down the sides of Louis’ thighs, like he knows the amount of time Louis spent staring into the mirror when the other boys shot up and got lanky and he just got shapely, how up until this point he’d refused to wear tight trousers for that very reason.

“Love your thighs…” Harry whispers, as if he can read Louis’ fucking thoughts. “So strong…”

He digs his fingers into the meat of them and if Louis was any less turned on it would have made him writhe to escape, but now it only makes him groan and press his shoulders into the mattress. He skips over where Louis secretly wants him most and presses kisses to each of Louis’ hipbones, poking out above his straining pants.

“Love your stomach. My favorite,” Harry says, like he’s insisting—like maybe he’s had a fight about it before.

Like maybe he knows how frustrated Louis gets when he’s brushing his teeth shirtless and sees the little rolls that appear when he bends to spit. Like he knows that Louis’ tried to do a million sit ups and there’s still this little bit of fat that Louis can pinch out between his thumb and fingers. Harry pinches it between his teeth and sucks a hot bruise beneath Louis’ navel.