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Harry crawls into his bed smelling of smoke and whisky, his skin cold to the touch. It’s 2am, but that’s alright – Louis is awake. He always is.
“I’ve met this boy,” Harry whispers, eyes shining, his face flushed pink with alcohol, and oh. Louis feels his stomach drop, because the thing with Harry is he falls in love in a second, before he knows the first thing about the object of his affections, and he feels it so deeply when it all comes crashing down. Louis is good at picking up the pieces – it’s what he’s best at, really – but it hurts every time, and he can’t help but worry. Harry must notice his face changing, because he shakes his head quickly.
“No, not like that. Nothing like that, Lou, he’s not my type. I thought you might like him, actually,” he says, with a sly little grin. Louis rolls his eyes, poking one of his dimples.
“I don’t need a matchmaker, sweetcheeks. You have horrendous taste.”
Harry laughs, tugging the blankets up to their ears. Louis shivers when Harry’s fingers brush his jaw; it must be freezing outside and he hopes Harry didn’t walk alone for too long.
“He’s smart! A literature major, he’s a writer himself and his flat is full of books. Good books too, proper classics and everything. He’s really funny, and tall – I know you like that,” Harry says, hiccupping a little. “He’s a senior, and he’s friends with everyone. You have to meet him.”
“Sounds like a dreamboat, Haz,” Louis replies dryly, because Harry thinks the world of almost everyone he meets. “Sure you don’t want him to yourself? Sounds like someone’s getting a wee crush.”
“Nah. See, there’s this girl, too,” Harry says, looking up through his eyelashes, almost shyly, and there it is. “Caroline.”
**
When Louis first met Harry, he thought maybe they were going to fall in love. He’d been seventeen at the time, and Harry fifteen; the Styles family moved into the vacant house next door. Louis had a lot of friends, he really did, but he wasn’t friends with anyone who made him feel as safe as Harry did. They learned each other’s secrets so quickly it terrified Louis, though it never seemed to bother Harry. He gave away his secrets like sweets, and sometimes Louis wanted to shove it all back into Harry’s mouth and ask him why he’d ever trust another person like that. They didn’t fall in love, but it was better that way.
When Louis graduated, he applied for RADA. He’d wanted to act ever since he was a little one, had aced drama all through school despite the fact he could never seem to concentrate in a single other class. He had practiced his audition over and over, enough that, if pressed, he could still recite it word for word now. He’d wanted it so badly – the excitement had settled low in his stomach, fizzing brightly, for weeks leading up to the audition – but in that last moment, right before he walked through the doors, he knew he couldn’t do it. Knew he wasn’t good enough, that he was shooting too high.
When he didn’t get it, it felt like being dragged underwater. His lungs hurt and his head ached and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Harry had done the crying for him, his face tucked into Louis’ hair and his arms wrapped around Louis’ aching chest, and Louis had told him everything was going to be alright.
**
As it turns out, Louis does not like the boy.
Harry drags him to a party the next night where Louis doesn’t know a single person, so he proceeds to get drunk as quickly as possible. It’s always easier to talk to new people that way, when he’s loose and vibrant and cares less about making new friends. He’s in the process of being chatted up by some blonde, fit bloke when Harry calls his name, dragging someone – Louis is going to assume it’s the boy – along with him.
“This is Nick,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows hopefully. He’s chewing his lip, eyes wide and soft. Nick is fit enough – tall and lanky, with an artfully dishevelled quiff and freckles down the bridge of his long nose. Nick gives him a once over, and Louis isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Louis shoots Nick his brightest smile; the one he knows charms the pants off strangers. This is far from the first time Harry’s tried to set him up, and it never works out – Harry really does have shocking taste in boys – but he always looks so hopeful, and Louis knows Harry’s just trying to make him happy, so he goes along with it. He might as well put in the effort, at least for Harry’s sake.
“If it isn’t the man himself! You’ve got Harry all weak at the knees, I hope you know,” he says. He goes to stick out his hand to shake, but ends up tripping over his own feet and pressing his hand into Nick’s belly to keep his balance. He’s possibly had a little more to drink than he first planned. “Oops. Sorry about that, mate.”
Nick raises an eyebrow.
“Charmed,” he says, then cuts his eyes to Harry, “This is Louis?”
Harry grins, showing all his teeth and nodding enthusiastically. His eyes are darting between them in a way that makes him look mildly unhinged.
“This is Louis,” Louis repeats in a sing-song voice, annoyed, “Surprised?”
“You could say that,” Nick replies, and Louis’ eyes narrow. Jerk.
“Harry! This is Luke, have you met Luke?” he asks brightly, pointedly ignoring Nick and squeezing Luke’s bicep, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “He’s on the wrestling team.”
Harry just looks confused, and Nick melts back into the crowd without a word, most likely finding a quiet corner to read important novels and judge strangers. Louis blows his fringe out of his eyes, irritated.
“Really, Haz? He seems a bit of a tosser,” Louis says, watching Nick sidle up to a group of pretty girls. Harry’s eyes bulge, his jaw dropping ridiculously. His eyes dart from Louis to Nick and back, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“He’s not! He’s intelligent,” he says, huffing unhappily when Louis rolls his eyes, “You didn’t even give him a chance. He’s just a bit drunk probably, you’d be perfect for each other.”
“Erm, you do know I’m still here, right?” asks Luke, snapping Louis back to attention. He drags his eyes off Nick and back to the vastly more pleasing sight of Luke. He’s muscular and tanned, and who really cares about skinny, pale boys with massive egos?
“How could I forget, babe?” he says, squeezing Luke’s bicep again which seems to satisfy him. He flirts with Luke – as best as he can with Harry staring disapprovingly from literally two metres away – because he may as well get something out of tonight. Harry eventually wanders off, after his impressively loud throat-clearing goes unnoticed. He shuffles up to Nick, and they’re both very clearly talking about Louis, so he studiously ignores the both of them and pretends to be wrapped up in whatever Luke is babbling about. As it turns out, Luke is incredibly dull to talk to, so they make out instead until Louis’ lips hurt and Luke pulls away to say,
“Come back to my dorm?”
Louis shakes his head, offering up a consolatory kiss, “Not that kind of boy, sorry. Want a drink?”
Luke nods, clearly disappointed, but he waits patiently while Louis goes to fetch more beers for them. He’s pawing through the fridge, trying to find the beer Harry brought along amid the sea of bottles, so he has to pretend not to be startled when Nick comes up behind him.
“So, you like a man that can hold you down, then?”
“What?” Louis asks, annoyed, throwing a look over his shoulder at Nick.
“You’re going home with the wrestler boy, aren’t you? Bright spark, that one,” Nick says, and Louis met him less than an hour ago and he’s already the most infuriating person he knows. He opens his mouth to say no, but instead what comes out is,
“Yeah, I am. You have fun with your right hand.”
He shoulders past Nick, forgetting the beer, and Nick reaches out to grab his sleeve.
“Wait on. It’s just banter, yeah?” Nick says, looking at least a little contrite. If Louis were a little less drunk, he’d accept it – but tipsy Louis has pride. He shrugs, flicking at Nick’s hand, and stalks out of the kitchen and straight over to Luke.
“Changed my mind,” he says, looping a finger through Luke’s beltloops, “Looks like it’s your lucky night.”
He leaves with Luke, and pretends he doesn’t feel Nick’s eyes on his back as he goes.
**
He wakes up sore and fuzzy in a strange bed, blinking against the light. Luke is still asleep next to him, drooling a little onto the pillow, and there’s a blonde guy sitting on the second bed opposite them, staring and shovelling cereal into his mouth at a genuinely impressive pace.
“Erm, good morning?” Louis says, lifting up one hand to shield his eyes from the sun; someone really needs to shut those blinds.
“Morning! I’m Niall,” the boy says, slurping the milk from the bottom of his bowl. He doesn’t say anything else, and the silence feels uncomfortable – at least for Louis. Niall seems pretty content to sit and stare.
“Are you on the wrestling team, too?” Louis asks, and Niall throws his head back and cackles, a little bit of milk dripping down his chin.
“Do I look like a wrestler, mate?” he asks, slapping his knee as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. It’s a fair point – he’s kind of scrawny. “Feel like some breakfast? There’s no milk left, but we might have some bread somewhere. I can’t really remember what I ate last night.”
“Nah, thanks. I think I’ll just head home. Harry’ll probably cook up some eggs.”
“Eggs! D’you think I could get in on that?”
Louis is generally cautious about bringing home strays, but he’s tired and hungover, and Niall looks so genuinely excited by the prospect of eggs.
“Sure, why not?” he shrugs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and tugging on his jeans and shirt from last night. He leaves Luke snoring, not bothering to leave a phone number. It’s not typically something Louis does, but he figures he’s earned at least one drunken mistake. They’re within walking distance of Louis’ flat so they set out on foot, and Louis lets Niall babble happily. Turns out he’s a Political Science major, first year as well, all the way from Mullingar. He’s telling a story about his dad and an unfortunate incident with a childhood pet when they walk through the front door to find Harry standing in the kitchen. Harry, and Nick. Fantastic.
“That’s not Luke,” Harry says, frowning. He’d sent Louis a dozen worried texts after he left, demanding Luke’s full name and dorm number. He’s most likely already found him on Facebook and has a reference picture saved onto his phone.
“Niall! Pleased to meet you,” Niall says, bouncing into the kitchen and shaking both their hands vigorously, “I was told there’d be eggs?”
Harry shoots Louis a we’ll talk about this later look, and Louis ducks into his bedroom to change into fresh clothes. He could really do with a shower, but he can already smell the eggs in the kitchen – bacon, too, because Harry is an angel – so he figures it can wait. When he comes back out, Nick is lurking in the living room, inspecting the bookcase. There’s not a single book on it, so he’s probably not impressed. He glances up when Louis walks in, doing his best to look casual and utterly failing.
“So that’s a regular Saturday night for you, hmm?”
Louis bristles, crossing his arms defensively, “What’s it to you?”
“Two blondes in one go? I have to say, I’m impressed,” Nick grins, tipping his orange juice at Louis as if making a toast. Twat.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Louis sniffs, sweeping into the kitchen and ignoring Nick’s protests of don’t be so sensitive, love. If he wants to think Louis’ a slut after having known him for less than 24 hours, fine, let him. He’ll be the best slut of all time, because he can, and it’s none of Nick’s business what he does.
He slings an arm around Niall’s shoulder, dropping a kiss on his cheek for show. Niall doesn’t appear to be bothered in the least, serving himself up a truly impressive portion of bacon while Harry’s eyes bore unblinkingly into his skull.
**
Nick’s been feeling blocked for weeks now – hasn’t put pen to paper in a full month. He’s got a slot in the university literary journal, which is fantastic, provided he’ll actually be able to write a half decent piece for it. At this point, Nick’s a little doubtful. So when he gets home that night and pulls out his notebook, he’s expecting the same thing that’s been happening every night without fail – nothing but a series of worthless, unconnected snippets that he ends up scribbling drawings of kittens over. Instead, the words flow – he ends up writing for hours, until eventually his sandy eyes and cramping hand force him to stop at half three in the morning.
It’s not until he wakes up the next day that he realises he’s written about a boy, someone golden and bright, with a snarling mouth and soft blue eyes, and, oh. Shit.
It’s not that Louis isn’t his type, because he really, really is. But Nick isn’t the kind of guy that grows on people; he’s charismatic, he makes people laugh, and if people don’t like that straight up there’s not really a whole lot more Nick has in his arsenal. To be perfectly honest, he’s not used to people disliking him – he’s a charming guy – but he’d bet a fairly decent amount of money on Louis not being his biggest fan.
Nick would also bet a fairly decent amount of money on him not being Louis’ type, if that wrestler whose name he can’t remember (fine, Luke) was anything to go by. He’s got a certain pale, artistic look going for him, but even his generous ego can admit he’s not exactly athletic.
He tries to interrogate Harry on the boys Louis generally goes for, which fails spectacularly – Harry spends the next hour rambling incredibly slowly on all the myriad ways Louis doesn’t appreciate himself, and doesn’t once mention boys. It’s absolutely hopeless.
Nick shrugs it off. There are countless beautiful, sharp, blue-eyed boys to fall in love with; Louis is nothing special. He writes six thousand words on doomed infatuation that night, and tells himself it doesn’t mean anything.
**
It’s another two weeks before Louis meets Caroline – although ‘meets’ is perhaps too strong a word for it. He’s lying on the couch with Harry, drifting in and out of sleep as Judge Judy pounds a gavel furiously in the background, when something under his belly vibrates.
“Oi, you’re lying on my phone,” Harry says digging underneath Louis in a way that he refuses to admit tickles. Louis huffs, trying to squirm back into the position he was in before, but Harry appears to be frozen solid; stiff as a plank and remarkably uncomfortable.
“Who is it?”
“Erm, Caroline. She wants me to come help her study in the library,” Harry mumbles, and Louis tilts his head up to see Harry’s face. He looks absolutely terrified, and Louis tries to contain his fond smile for the sake of Harry’s pride. “Oh, bloody fuck. What do I do? Should I go? Oh God, what should I wear? I should say I’m busy, shouldn’t I?”
Louis laughs, rolling off the couch and pulling Harry to his feet.
“Let’s get you ready, big boy.”
They spend the next fifteen minutes crafting the perfect reply text, and the next half hour after that picking out the perfect nonchalant outfit. Harry’s frantically running his fingers through his hair, because his curls just won’t sit right, and Louis doesn’t quite know what to do with this Harry that’s so unsure.
“What’s got you in such a panic? Not like you to doubt your proficiency with the ladies,” Louis says, waggling his eyebrows for the full effect. Harry’s curls droop, and he looks absolutely miserable.
“I really, really like her,” he says, soft and hesitant, and Louis just wants to wrap him up in a hug. “Will you come with me? Not, like, to be there, but just in the library? Make sure I don’t embarrass myself?”
Louis fixes Harry’s hair, straightening his collar one last time before declaring him ready to go.
Caroline is absolutely gorgeous. She’s dressed casually, just a white t-shirt and jeans, but she’s still stunning, and Harry looks a little lost as he sits down next to her. She greets him with a kiss on the cheek – Louis does a miniature fist pump at that – and Harry mostly looks like he’s struggling not to throw up. Louis’ lurking behind a shelf, peeking between two enormous Sociology textbooks to get a good look and squinting with concentration. Caroline’s smiling a lot, and she’s got a hand on Harry’s forearm, which Louis figures is probably a good sign.
“Who are we spying on?” Nick asks from directly behind him, and Louis jumps so hard he nearly knocks himself out on the shelf. He jabs his elbow into Nick’s ribs, shushing him frantically – a glance tells him Harry and Caroline haven’t noticed – before turning around.
“I am checking up on Harry. He was nervous, and I’m a good friend. Why are you lurking?” he whispers, noting Nick’s pained expression as he rubs his sore ribs with a deep sense of satisfaction.
“I’m not lurking,” Nick whispers back, indignant. He looks through the shelf above Louis - which is really just rude and unnecessary - and smirks.
“So she managed to ensnare her prey, then. I’m rather proud.”
“Harry isn’t prey. Don’t you have enough books at home?”
“I could never have enough books,” Nick says, his expression turning wistful, “There’s no greater joy than discovering a new book.”
“I hate books,” Louis replies, and the second it comes out of his mouth he realises how ridiculous it sounds.
“What?” Nick asks, genuinely nonplussed.
“I just don’t like reading, it’s not that weird,” Louis snaps, defensive, because he can’t take it back now.
“You hate. Books? What, you just hate all books?”
“Yes,” Louis hisses. Nick stares, unblinking, and tilts his head to the side just a little.
“Have you tried Nietzsche?”
“What kind of fucking idiot recommends Nietzsche to a person who doesn’t like to read?” Louis fumes, throwing up his hands, “God, Nick.”
Nick seems amused, even fond, which only serves to rile Louis up further. Of all people, he’s making a tit of himself in front of Nick, who already thinks he’s some empty-headed floozy, and now thinks he doesn’t know how to fucking read.
“Look, I’m kind of busy here,” he says, pointedly turning away from Nick. Caroline is laughing at something, her head thrown back, and Harry’s staring at the long line of her throat, transfixed.
“You look it,” Nick says mockingly, and Louis throws a glare over his shoulder and all but fumes. After checking on Harry one more time, he scans the library, eyes landing on a boy that looks sort of like a friendly lumberjack reading alone at a corner desk.
“Later,” he snaps at Nick, stalking across the library and sitting himself down next to the boy, dragging his chair so close their thighs are touching. “Hi, gorgeous. I’m Louis.”
The boy looks startled, eyes wide, but he smiles politely despite his confusion. “Hello. I’m Liam, it’s nice to meet you.”
Louis laughs, even though Liam hasn’t said anything funny, and leans into the other boy, his hand resting on Liam’s strong forearm.
“What’re you reading?” he asks, tipping his chair so they’re pressed even closer together. Liam starts chatting courteously about civil engineering, and Louis glances over at Nick, who’s still looming at the spot Louis left him. He’s scowling, arms crossed over his chest, so Louis smirks and turns his back to him. He flirts outrageously for a few minutes until Nick wanders away, most likely sulking; Louis feels triumphant. Still, he’s distracted for the rest of the study date, the back of his neck prickling even when Nick is long gone.
**
Nick is everywhere, and it’s driving Louis crazy. Every time he goes to a party, Nick is there. Every time he eats lunch in the refec, Nick is there. Every time he wakes up in his own flat, Nick is there; witty and clever and charming and Louis just wishes he would stop. He does this thing where he takes up all the space in a room, like everyone in it just has to listen to his stupid jokes or look at his eyes with those stupidly long lashes, and it’s becoming incredibly difficult for Louis to actually study. That’s the only reason why, when Harry mentions he might invite Nick over for a few beers and some FIFA, Louis says,
“No. Just us, yeah?”
Harry pouts, tugging Louis’ feet into his lap.
“Aren’t you warming up to him, yet? He thinks you’re great, you know,” he says, digging his thumb gently into the ball of Louis’ foot and rolling his ankle.
“I don’t think great is exactly the word he’d use,” Louis scoffs, but the tension is already draining out of his body as Harry switches to the other foot, “He’s distracting. And I’m supposed to be learning lines.”
Harry’s face brightens, eyes practically shining with pride, “You’re auditioning for Puck!”
Louis shakes his head, flexing his toes against Harry’s wrist.
“No, Haz. I can’t carry lead. I’m going for Theseus.”
Harry’s face drops, disappointment written all over him, and Louis just can’t handle that, so he drops his head back onto the arm of the couch.
“That’s not true. You deserve the lead. I’ve heard you run through those lines, Lou, you’re brilliant.
Louis grunts, so Harry gets up to crawl over the top of him, one hand to his chin so he can’t look away. Louis’ never met anyone who could make you feel so guilty with just one look.
“Please. Promise me you’ll try?”
“Yeah. Okay, I promise,” he says, and both of them already know he’s lying.
**
Despite current evidence to the contrary, Nick is something of a social chameleon. He’s friends with everyone, really, and he’s never had a problem blending with any given group. It’s always been easy for him to make friends, to charm people into getting his way. He’d go so far as to describe himself as suave. So this issue – Nick’s going to go ahead and call it the Louis Situation – is really kind of blindsiding him.
It could have something to do with Louis being the most utterly gorgeous little thing he’s ever seen. Still, he’s generally able to function normally around attractive people without constantly insulting their virtue.
“Having fun, then?” Nick asks, leaning down a little so Louis can hear him over the pounding music of the bar. Louis tilts his chin up to glare at Nick.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, visibly drawing his body up to give himself a little extra height. Christ. One bloody sentence and he’s already got his foot firmly jammed in his mouth, and he doesn’t even know why.
“Nothing! Nothing, love. Could I grab you a drink, maybe? Unless you’re already spoken for,” he says politely, gesturing towards the boy hovering next to Louis at the bar. Louis scowls, clearly irritated.
“I don’t even know him, arsehole,” he grits out, fingers curling into a fist.
“Right, right,” Nick soothes, wracking his brain for a way to turn this into a compliment, “It’s just, we’ve been here an hour, so I sort of assumed you’d have found a bloke by now?”
Louis’ expression turns thunderous.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, pushing past Nick, whose protests get drowned out in the thrumming bass of some horrendous pop song. Louis’ already making his way through the crowd, and Nick focuses on getting himself well and truly drunk instead of watching Louis dance like an absolute creep. He makes it through two more drinks without turning around – which he thinks is quite impressive – until Harry sidles up next to him.
“Louis seems pissed off,” Harry says in his ear, signalling at the bartender for two more drinks, “Did you say something to him?”
Nick makes a non-committal grunt and twists around to scan the crowd. His stomach leaps unpleasantly when he finds Louis; he’s wedged up against a wall, a gorgeous, dark skinned boy pressing in close, and they’re kissing quite enthusiastically. Oh.
“That was quick,” he says, and even he can admit he’s being a prat. He has absolutely no claim on Louis, and if Louis wants to sleep around, that’s fine. He can fuck the entire bloody school, and the faculty, and Nick won’t lose a wink of sleep over it. He downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, slamming the glass back down on the bar with a little more force than necessary.
“What? Oh, that’s Zayn. Don’t worry about him, he just makes out with guys when he’s drunk. Girls go nuts for it,” Harry says, nodding his head at a blonde girl whose eyes are glued to Louis and Zayn, her tongue practically hanging out of her head. “They’re not dating, or anything.”
Harry’s staring at him like he’s waiting for Nick to say something, or possibly declare his undying love for Louis.
“I really don’t think I could care any less,” Nick scoffs, and when even Harry Styles looks dubious, you know you’re likely making an enormous twat of yourself.
**
The worst thing about Nick, Louis thinks, is that he fucks absolutely everything up. He’s practically fuming as he walks home, his hands curled into fists in the pockets of his jeans. It’s pretty impressive, really, because his jeans are just about painted onto his skin. Zayn had found a hook-up within about ten minutes of them making out – Zayn had mumbled his thanks against Louis’ neck – and Louis hadn’t really seen a reason to stay. Because Nick, well. Nick is interesting and handsome and clever, and Nick thinks Louis is a useless slut.
“He ruins everything,” Louis grumbles, knocking his shoulders against Niall, who had been surprisingly agreeable when Louis had asked for a walk home. To be fair, Niall seemed to be agreeable to basically everything, including leaving bars early and walking home in the cold.
“That Nick bloke, is it?” Niall asks, and Louis should probably be embarrassed that Niall already knows who he’s talking about. “Bit of a weird one. He was watching you with Zayn.”
Louis scowls. The whole point was to have Nick see, of course - he gets pissed off every time Louis does it, glaring and making his snide little remarks. Louis wants Nick to know that he doesn’t care about his opinion because he’s too busy hooking up with cute boys. But he still can’t help but feel like he’s playing right into Nick’s hands, and Louis hates being a step behind.
Niall sets himself up on the couch easily enough, tucking his feet under the cushions and falling asleep before Louis gets back with a glass of water for him. His mouth is open, and he’s snoring a little already, so Louis leaves the glass of water on the coffee table and folds a blanket over him.
Louis never sleeps well after he’s been drinking. By all rights, he should drop straight off into a stupor like Niall, but instead he drifts in and out of a light sleep, his legs getting impossibly tangled in the sheets as he twists and turns. It’s difficult to keep track of time that way, but he thinks it’s no longer than an hour or two before Harry’s crawling into bed with him, his toes like blocks of ice when they press against Louis’ calves.
“I kissed her,” he sighs dreamily, nuzzling his face into the pillow to hide his dopey smile. Louis is so exhausted, his eyes grainy and sore, but he grins despite himself, reaching out to tug on one of Harry’s curls.
“I told you she likes you. No one can resist your charm, Styles.”
Harry’s smile turn warm, bashful as he shakes his head.
“We’re going out tomorrow. A proper date,” he says, and he looks so dazed and so happy that Louis has to wrap his arms around his shoulders, dropping a kiss to the top of his head.
“Harry’s got a girlfriend,” he sing-songs, laughing when Harry pinches his belly in retaliation. They lie like that for a while; for long enough that Louis thinks Harry must have drifted off to sleep.
“Hey,” Harry mutters, startling Louis out of the half-doze he was falling into, “Are you okay?”
“What? Yeah, I didn’t drink that much,” Louis replies, confused, but Harry shakes his head against his neck.
“I’m worried about you.”
He doesn’t follow that up, just curls his fingers into the back of Louis’ sleep shirt, and Louis’ stomach flips a little.
“Why? I’m fine, Haz. I always am, aren’t I?”
“You always say you are,” Harry grumbles, smoothing his hands over Louis’ back now, “It’s just. You’ve been hooking up with a lot of guys, yeah? Which is fine, it’s totally fine, it’s just not like you.”
Louis swallows, pulling Harry in so he’s tight against his chest.
“It’s nothing. Just... university, yeah? Just having fun.”
Harry hums unhappily into Louis’ shoulder, but he doesn’t reply. Their breathing evens out to something slow and deep, so when Harry eventually mumbles, “You should be Puck,” Louis can pretend he’s fallen asleep.
**
Nick keeps writing about Louis. It’s kind of a problem. He doesn’t mention him by name, but it’s so painfully obvious that even Greg notices it, and he regularly walks out of his dorm without his keys, wallet or phone.
“Your muse is an 18 year old trollop,” Greg says, flicking curiously through Nick’s notebook, his feet propped up on the coffee table, “What would your mother think?”
“He’s not my muse. Jesus fucking wept, James,” Nick snaps. He’s tired, frustrated, and feeling incredibly bedraggled. He slept on the couch last night – face down in his notebook, the pen drawing idle patterns on his cheek – and his mouth tastes like absolute death. He desperately needs a shower, some good, strong toothpaste, and for his friends to stop badgering him about his embarrassing life.
“No? Who is it who wears braces that ‘frame the curve of a delicate spine’ and has blue eyes ‘like venus fly traps’, then?” Greg asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a phase. It’s just a method of breaking through writer’s block, so I can write about real things.”
“This actually gets pretty explicit,” Greg says, lingering over a page, so Nick snatches the notebook away. Greg chuckles, because he’s a cruel bastard with pedestrian tastes in literature, and Nick fumes silently, kicking at an empty beer bottle.
“Why don’t you just try talking to him? You’re a natural-born schmoozer,” Greg suggests, incredibly helpfully.
“Not around him. He’s like a vortex that sucks up all my charisma, everything I say just pisses him off,” Nick moans, shooting Greg a baleful look, “I’m still charming, aren’t I?”
There’s a slow smirk spreading across Greg’s face; he stretches his arms over the back of the couch and gives Nick a triumphant look.
“You want to date him,” Greg crows, and when Nick pulls a sour face, “You want to hold his hand. You want to kiss his pretty little pink cheeks!”
“It would never work. He’s a drama kid. His temper is ridiculous, I think he may genuinely have an anger problem, and he’s too busy being touched by every single boy in the entire universe other than me,” Nick pouts, kicking over yet another bottle with a satisfying clang, “And he’s so sharp, and his skin is so lovely, and he’s so bloody funny when he’s talking to anyone but me –”
“Just ask him for a shag and be done with it.”
“I don’t just want a shag,” Nick says, indignant, and immediately realises how truly fucking dreadful this is.
“You’re an embarrassment, mate,” Greg says, shaking his head, and Nick would love to defend himself, but he really can’t.
**
The next time Louis sees Nick, he’s working the morning shift at the coffee house. It’s a Tuesday morning, and completely dead. The kind of dead that means Louis can play Britney’s entire catalogue without getting any complaints, and leaves him to making animal origami out of the serviettes. He’s bored out of his mind.
Nick seems shocked at the sound of the door’s bell jingling, eyes wide like a startled animal when he realises he’s alone in the store with Louis and there’s no socially acceptable way to back out. He’s wearing drainpipe jeans today, clinging to his long, thin legs, and he’s got a trilby hat balanced on top of his quiff. He squares his shoulders, plastering a smirk on his face, and saunters up to the counter.
“Alright there?” Louis asks, wondering if Nick is potentially a little unhinged. Most writers are, or so he hears. Nick nods, hums a little, which Louis supposes counts as acknowledgement.
Nick – predictably – orders his coffee black, no sugar. Louis manages to repress an eyeroll; it’s possibly his proudest moment.
“And how are we doing today, dove?” Nick asks, his voice saccharine. Louis twists his face up in disgust at the pet name.
“We are doing just fine. Or we were, until you walked in,” he replies, filling Nick’s cup up to the very brim in the hopes that he burns himself carrying it back to the table. He doesn’t move to a table, though, not even after he’s paid – he just leans his elbows on the counter, folding his long body over so he’s at eye level with Louis.
“You’re a drama major, yeah?” Nick asks, carefully picking up the cup. His ridiculously long fingers practically wrap around the entire thing. Louis nods, turning back to his serviette origami. “Have I seen you in anything?”
“I’m first year,” Louis replies drily, shooting Nick his best your idiocy is beneath me look, “So no. But I’ll be in the first year production next semester.”
Nick nods, taking a cautious sip of his coffee, as if it might be poisoned. Louis should have thought of that.
“You suit it,” he says, resting his jaw in the palm of one hand. “I can picture you up on the stage, all those lights. You’ve got a presence, yeah? Like people can’t help but look at you.”
Louis studies Nick’s face, searching for any trace of teasing, any hint of mockery in his voice. Nick smiles, and it looks so genuine, even a little embarrassed, that Louis can’t help but smile back.
“Thanks? Don’t know how true that is. But it’s where I want to be, anyway.”
Nick’s smile broadens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He really does have a lovely smile.
“You didn’t think about going to a drama university? What made you come here?”
Louis’ heart sinks, his smile faltering. He hates this question more than anything, so he busies himself with wiping down the counter to avoid Nick’s eyes.
“I tried for RADA, but I didn’t get in,” he says, trying to make it sound offhand and probably failing completely. Nick hesitates, clearly searching for the right thing to say.
“Oh. Well, there’s a lot of competition for those kinds of places. I’m sure it takes a lot of talent to get in,” he says, and a spike of humiliation shoots hot and sharp through Louis’ belly.
“Right,” he replies stiffly, expression closing off, and he turns away to fuss with the cups on the back wall.
“No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that, it just came out wrong. I’m sure you’re talented, really talented – ” Nick babbles, but Louis cuts him off.
“Look, I’ve got a lot to do before my shift finishes. I don’t really have time to stand around talking,” he says, not turning around. Louis really, really does not want him to see the look on his face, or to see the look on Nick’s.
“Right,” Nick says, his voice gentle, “I, um. Thanks for the coffee.”
Louis doesn’t reply, and the bell tinkles happily as Nick walks out.
**
Weeks pass, and Nick gets no closer to writing a single word that can’t be traced back to Louis Tomlinson. It’s sickening, really. He’s gotten to the last page of his notebook, and the entire thing is full of mournful prose about an untouchable boy. He throws the notebook across the room in frustration; it hits the opposite wall with a satisfying thwap.
“Oi!” Caroline yells from her bedroom, throwing something rather substantial at her side of the wall; most likely one of her enormous pairs of heels.
“Sorry!” he calls, flopping backwards onto the couch, hands covering his eyes. It takes her a few minutes to emerge from the bedroom – presumably she’s busy untangling herself from Harry’s remarkably heavy sleeping body – but she does come, sitting herself down on his legs.
“What’s got you in a mood, then?” she says, poking him in the softest part of his belly.
“I don’t have anything to submit to the literary journal. My first chance, and I’ve got nothing. I’ll be ruined.”
Caroline lifts one of his hands, just to raise an incredulous eyebrow at him before letting it slap back down onto his face.
“You have plenty to submit. It just all happens to be about how you’re embarrassingly mushy over that Tomlinson kid,” she says, shifting so her bum slips between his legs instead of resting painfully on his knees, “Suck it up and send that in.”
“I can’t do that,” Nick moans, dragging his hands down his face, “He hates me, he’ll think I’m a bloody lunatic.”
“He won’t. He’s an actor, they like dramatic gestures.”
“I really don’t think that’ll work,” Nick says drily, and after a beat, “Will it?”
“Well, you’re never going to be able to get it out to his face. At least, not without calling him a whore,” Caroline grins, because she takes great joy in other people’s pain. “This way, you can say everything you want to say, yeah? No interruptions, no inadvertent insults.
Nick is silent, but even he has to admit it sounds like it might work.
“I can’t believe I’m considering taking your advice on this. Or on anything, ever.”
Caroline laughs, pushing herself up with one last placating pat to his shins, “Romance the fuck out of him, babe.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get back to your boy toy,” he mutters, gallantly ignoring the inappropriate hand gesture she flashes him before she disappears back into her bedroom.
It’s probably not the greatest idea he’s ever had, and could quite easily blow up in his face. But Nick is sort of clueless when it comes to romance, and is definitely clueless when it comes to Louis, so it’s really the only plan he’s got.
**
The week between Nick submitting his work and having it actually published is possibly the most uncomfortable of his life. He avoids Harry’s dorm, but still can’t seem to escape Louis; he runs into him in the halls, the refec, the library, the bloody bathrooms. On Thursday, he runs into Louis a total of four times – Louis actually asks him why he’s so sweaty, looking at him like he might have lost his mind, and Nick has never actively wished to disappear before this.
It was probably a bad idea.
Still, on the day the journal is published, Nick can’t help but be a little hopeful. It is definitely romantic – he confirmed this with Caroline, Pixie and Aimee several times last night – and according to Harry, Louis is a secret romantic. Apparently, he cries at the end of Titanic every single time, so Nick is probably on the right track. He manages to get through his morning classes without much incident, although the incessant staring is somewhat off-putting. There are a few giggles hidden behind hands, but a few people come up to say they loved his piece – Nick only preens a little – so he figures it all evens out.
Around lunch time, he’s making his way to the refec when he meets eyes with one of Louis’ blondes – Niall, was it? – across the quadrangle.
“Oi!” Niall bellows, raising his arms, and Nick feels a sinking sense of dread, “Nick Grimshaw! You wrote that porn about Louis in the paper! You’re a freak, mate!”
He throws his head back and cackles, one hand to his belly as his whole body shakes with laughter. Nick feels the eyes of one hundred curious students burning into him, and he realises the rational reaction is probably incredible shame, but Nick is mostly proud. At least he’ll be infamous, and Niall’s mildly unhinged hooting can only expand his reader base.
His afternoon classes are a little more eventful. He can’t be certain, but he’s pretty sure the majority of the class are talking about the story. He can see at least twenty people with the magazine open to his page, and far too many laptops open to either Nick’s or, more distressingly, Louis’ Facebook. Nick doesn’t have a single clue how it could have possibly spread this fast – he didn’t even mention Louis by name, and only his closest friends knew about his unfortunate obsession. Nick’s phone is blowing up; he’s getting texts and calls from seemingly everyone he knows, some congratulating (Caroline), some fondly mocking (Greg).
He doesn’t get a text from Louis.
Even for an admitted attention seeker it’s exhausting, and he can’t seem to fight down uncharacteristic nerves every time he checks his phone to see if it’s Louis calling him. By the time his classes are finished, Nick is ready to get back to his dorm and hide from the stares and titters. Harry sends him four texts in quick succession as he gets to his dorm, so he has to fumble with his phone and the keys at the same time.
I KNEW U WOULD BE GOOD TOGETHER I KNEW IT I KNEW IT DIDN’T I SAY
I CAN’T BELIEVE U DID THIS OMfG YOUR SO ROMANTIC
I LVOED THE PART ABOUT HIS GENTLE EYES THAT ARE THE CRACKS IN HIS ARMOUR SO POETIC
THE BIT ABOUT HIS BUM WAS WEIRD BUT I READ IT ANYWY :) :)
Nick shuts the door behind him, heading straight for the kitchen to make a calming cup of tea. The dorm is blissfully empty and there’s not a single person staring at him; it’s really quite peaceful.
Has he read it?
He gets a reply almost immediately, his phone rattling against the countertop.
what? he isn’t with you?i haven’t seen him since this morning didn’t you call him or something?
No. I haven’t seen him all day. Do you think he’ll like it?
This time, Harry doesn’t respond for several minutes. Nick sips his tea and holds the phone in his hand so he won’t miss it when it vibrates.
i just called him three times and he didn’t pick up can you please call him>???
nick. you’d better be careful about this or ELSE i will come for u
Just as Nick’s contemplating calling Louis, there’s a knock at the door. Nick is pretty certain he saw Greg take his keys this morning, so he’s caught somewhere between anticipation and dread. He fixes his hair before opening the door, just in case.
Louis is flushed pink, an almost dazed expression on his face. He holds up the journal, its spine broken where it’s bent over on one page.
Wild creature, the title reads, with Nick’s own name underneath
“This is me. Did you realise this was me?” Louis blurts, shaking the journal as if Nick might not have seen it yet, and he sounds furious.
Nick clears his throat, uncomfortable.
“Yes, as it turns out. It sort of has been for a while,” he says, not quite meeting Louis’ eyes, “Sorry about that.”
“Is it a joke?” Louis snaps. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on the journal, and Christ, he looks absolutely humiliated and it’s like a punch to the gut. Nick scrambles for the right words to say to make it better, anything to get that awful look off Louis’ face.
“No! No, Louis, of course not. Every time I tried to write, it was all about you; I couldn’t stop thinking about you, ask anyone - ask Caroline, I just about drove her mad with it. I just didn’t know how to tell you. Everything I say comes out wrong, so I thought if I wrote it all down...”
“Oh, so you like me now? You like me so much you wrote a story about what I slut I am? That the entire school is going to read?” Louis explodes, shaking as he curls the journal up in his fist. Nick shakes his head, reaching out in an abortive gesture. He can’t believe how wrong he got this, how badly he read Louis.
“I don’t think that. I was jealous, I hated that they got to have you while all I could do is make a bloody twat out of myself in front of you. I don’t judge you for it, I never would, it’s up to you who you sleep with –”
Louis cuts him off, slapping the journal sharply against Nick’s chest once, and then again. Nick wants to tug Louis into his arms, tuck his head under Nick’s chin and rub his back till his shoulders relax and his hands unclench.
“I didn’t sleep with any of them, you fucking idiot. I just did it because I knew that’s what you thought of me. And I wanted you to know that I don’t care,” he says, voice rising, unsteady with anger.
“Oh, darling,” Nick starts, reaching out in earnest this time, but Louis shakes his head and takes a step back.
“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything,” he snaps, before turning on his heel and stalking away.
**
The next day, Nick skips all his classes in favour of lying around in bed regretting every single decision that lead him up to this point. He’s got Harry on speakerphone, because his other hands are occupied with a pen and a bag of chocolate chip biscuits, respectively.
“He hates me,” Nick says through a mouthful of biscuit, “Why the fuck did I think that was romantic? I’m a complete idiot, aren’t I?”
“Not an idiot,” Harry says hesitantly, which probably means Nick is in fact an idiot.
“I didn’t mean to call him promiscuous. And Christ, it wasn’t bloody porn, so I don’t know what Niall’s on about. It was four sentences of that, maybe five, and it was artistic,” Nick says, biting down particularly viciously on another biscuit.
“Maybe he didn’t understand what you meant. Maybe you need to be more romantic,” Harry says, frustratingly slow.
“I think I made it pretty clear what I meant. There was an entire section dedicated to the sound of his voice alone.”
“... you’re not writing in your journal, are you?”
“No,” Nick sulks, underlining the words otherworldly beauty five times.
“Nicholas,” Harry sighs, as if he has any right to be exasperated, “You need to make him see that you’re serious. You should fill his room with roses. Ooh, or paint a mural of his face in the main hall! That would be so sick.”
“Both of those things sound like something a murderer might do,” Nick replies, but he’s considering it.
After he hangs up with Harry, he Googles “romantic surprises”, “how to declare your love”, and “how to make a boy fall in love with you”. The results are depressing, to say the least. He spends the next hour going through every one of Louis’ Facebook likes and photos to look for clues on how to sweep him off his feet, and has to slam his laptop shut when Caroline waltzes into his room.
“Knock,” he hisses, hunching guiltily over the laptop. He really does not need Caroline to witness his downward spiral.
“Have you even gotten out of bed today?” Caroline asks, although his array of empty food wrappers and lack of pants should really speak for themselves.
“I’m strategising,” Nick says, shaking crumbs off his shirt.
“Honey,” Caroline says, in a voice that’s half condescending and half genuinely fond, “Why don’t you just talk to him?”
“I took your advice last week, and now my life is in shambles. The entire school knows I have gooey feelings about a boy who will probably punch me in the face the next time he sees me. You’re terrible.”
“Fine,” Caroline says, rolling her eyes, “But I wouldn’t take Harry’s advice, if I were you. I’ve experienced his special brand of wooing first hand. I don’t think ‘adorably pathetic’ will work on Louis.”
Nick groans, running one hand down his face, and Caroline visibly melts.
“How about I microwave some brownies and we watch High School Musical, hmm?” she offers, because neither of them are any good with emotions.
“Get out, you beastly woman,” Nick says, because he can’t say yes please right now.
“I’ll pop the kettle on, then,” Caroline grins, backing out of the room.
**
Louis’ never been great at ignoring people having a go at him - he’s not exactly a turn-the-other-cheek type of guy. He’s spent the whole day scowling at every stare and practically snarling at every whisper; he threw a peach at a guy who was actually taking a photo of him. To be fair, that was probably the best part of his day.
He skips out on his afternoon classes, because he knows he’ll only get worse from here, and there’s nothing worse than having everyone see him like this. Everyone in his course has read the story by now, and he really, really doesn’t want anyone to see that he’s affected, but they can, and he knows it. He wants to escape the day with his head held high; god fucking forbid he do anything as mortifying as cry. His dorm is the safest place he can be.
“Hazza!” he calls out when he gets inside, kicking the door shut behind him. There’s silence, so Louis throws his bag against the wall with a satisfying thump. It’s better if he can get his anger out before Harry gets home, because he’s always trying to fix everything, and there’s nothing that can be fixed. Nick’s gone and fucked it all up.
Really, he’d brought it on himself. He’d let Nick think what he wanted of him, had played right into his hands, and he’d been able to hide how much that hurt – mostly because Nick is unbelievably thick. But now everyone thinks he’s been sleeping around, and it really was a tiny part of Nick’s story, but of course it’s the part people fixated on. He’s used to people staring at him and he’s used to people laughing at him, but he usually makes it on his terms, with his own jokes and stupid pranks.
Louis throws himself facedown onto his bed, burying his face between the pillows. Nick’s made an idiot out of him to everyone else, but Louis’ made an idiot out of himself to Nick, which is really worse than anything. All Nick wanted was to fuck him – jealous that he wasn’t one of the many to get a piece – and now Nick knows he cares, was making it all up to get his attention like a stupid teenager.
Louis doesn’t want to be the boy scorned. He doesn’t want to have some stupid crush on a boy that fucked him over. He doesn’t want to be fucking Theseus.
“Lou? You okay?” Harry asks, tentative, knocking lightly on the door jamb. Louis allows himself a few more seconds of self-pity before rolling over, smiling up at Harry
“Yeah, Haz. I’m just tired,” he says, and when Harry looks unconvinced, he beckons to him, “C’mere.”
Harry pads across the room and flops down on the bed, tugging Louis into his arms.
“It’s just a story. It’ll blow over in a few days, no one will even remember this time next week. I promise.”
Louis shrugs, cramped against Harry’s chest.
“He really likes you,” Harry says, but Louis pinches his hip before he can keep going.
“Wish I could see everything the way you do,” Louis says, putting a smile in his voice, and pushes back from Harry’s chest, “I’m going for Puck.”
“Lou,” Harry cries, his worried face splitting into a grin so fast it’s almost blinding, “Are you really? You’re gonna smash it, babe.”
Louis laughs, poking one of Harry’s dimples and rolling his eyes. Harry’s wriggling, excited, grabbing for Louis’ wrists so he can jerk his arms around in ridiculous victory dance.
“Fuck it. I’ve got a reputation now, might as well crash and burn in front of everyone anyway.”
Harry’s face drops a little, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Louis pounces before he can say anything; jumping on top of him and digging his fingers into Harry’s ticklish ribs.
**
Nick doesn’t have classes the next day, and then he has the whole weekend to plan how to fix things with Louis. He runs through all his ideas with Harry, but he seems equally as enthusiastic with each one as he did the last, so it’s not incredibly helpful. He’s pretty certain Harry’s saying yes to everything just because he wants Nick to do something, anything to stop Louis from being unhappy, which only makes Nick feel like more of a twat.
ok i researched skywriting and it would cost $600 do you have $600
If he didn’t like my story in the university journal, I don’t think he’d appreciate it on the fucking sky Harold.
nick i am so SO sure he likes you. I have known him for yrs and i’m an expert. YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHIGN!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I genuinely don’t understand why you think I’d trust your expertise in basically any field?
nicssolas this is nialler. i have taken ovr hazs phone because your both bloody maniacs. just go and talk to him insted of trying 2 recreate sleepless in seattle because its not gonna work and u both suck xxoxo
And that’s just... well.
By the time Sunday night rolls around, Nick’s made his decision. He’s going to talk to Louis. He’s not going to try to be cool, or witty, or romantic, or artistic. He’s going to tell Louis how much he adores him, and Louis will probably say he doesn’t feel the same, and Nick is absolutely fucking terrified.
He smokes ten cigarettes on his way to Harry and Louis’ dorm – it’s possible he takes a few detours on the way – and the chill doesn’t help his shaking hands one bit. He’s organised with Harry to have Louis alone, so his stomach has no reason to flip so violently when it’s Louis who opens the door.
“May I come in?” he asks, and Louis looks angry, but he doesn’t look surprised. He shrugs, walking back into the living room as if he couldn’t give less of a fuck if Nick follows. He leaves the door open, though, so Nick goes after him at a careful distance. Louis settles down on the couch, his back to Nick, and starts reading from a very dog-eared copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“Auditions are soon, yeah?” Nick says, fiddling with his sleeves. Engaging in small talk at this particular moment is probably unwise, but everything he’d planned to say seems to have gone from his head.
“I’m getting Puck,” Louis says forcefully, flipping a page so fast it almost tears. Nick walks around to the front of the couch so he can see Louis properly; he’s curled up in the corner, his legs tucked under himself, the book in his lap. Nick is pretty certain he’s not actually reading the lines.
“You’ll be brilliant at it.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Louis snaps, not looking up, his grip going tight and white-knuckled on the book. Nick takes a deep breath.
“I meant what I said, you know. Back in the coffee house. People can’t help but look at you,” Nick starts, swallowing thickly. This would probably be easier if he didn’t have to look at Louis’ face, closed over defensively, “Alright, I can’t help but look at you.”
Louis’ eyes flick up, but he keeps his head resolutely down.
“It’s not just because you’re beautiful. It’s that you’re so guarded, like maybe if you hide yourself people won’t realise how amazing you are. And I have absolutely no clue why you’d do that, because you’re smart and funny and sweet and so protective. I see the way you are with Harry – with Caroline – like it’s your personal responsibility to make sure he doesn’t get hurt. And I hated seeing you with other blokes, because I wanted to have you; not for one night, but properly. All to myself, every day,” Nick gushes, and by the time he stops to take a breath, Louis is looking up at him, his face carefully blank. He doesn’t say anything for at least a full minute, and Nick has to bite down viciously on his own tongue to stop himself from babbling any further.
“Why didn’t you say any of that in your fucking story?” Louis finally says, slow and cautious.
“I’m not good with words,” Nick says, rolling his shoulders and looking anywhere but at Louis.
“You’re a writer, you daft bastard,” Louis says, but there’s a tiny smile curling the corner of his mouth. Nick shrugs, offering up a tentative smile in return.
“Yes, well. Turns out I’m absolutely dizzy over you,” he says, and Louis’ biting his lip, which makes Nick go warm. He gives Louis a sheepish look, says, “I was going for romantic.”
“It was sort of romantic,” Louis replies, with a twist of his lips that suggests he’s trying not to laugh. He’s gone a little pink, though, so Nick counts that as a win.
**************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Louis gets Puck. It’s weeks of running lines, of him freaking out to Harry, of Nick holding his breath, of absolute agony, but he gets it. The rehearsals are brutal – a wreck of long hours, injuries, tantrums and disasters – but Louis shines through the whole thing, like it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for.
They’ve been dating for nearly four months by the time opening week comes around, and Nick thinks he’s gotten the boyfriend thing pretty much down. So when he drops around to Louis’ dorm on Monday evening to find Louis frantically running through his lines alone in the living room Nick rests a knee on the couch, cupping Louis’ jaw in his hands and dipping down for a kiss. Louis’ lips are warm, a little dry, so Nick sucks gently on his top lip, then the bottom, before dropping a light kiss on his cupid’s bow. Louis’ hands have come up to wrap around Nick’s wrists, and Nick’s thumbs are tracing Louis’ cheekbones; they’re both smiling stupidly.
“You’re panicking,” Nick murmurs, kissing the tip of Louis’ nose.
“Not so much, now,” Louis replies, scrunching up his nose and poking out his tongue, “Just can’t stop thinking.”
Nick runs through a thousand sweet, encouraging things in his head, but eventually settles on, “How about we go to your room and I suck your brains out your cock?”
He maybe doesn’t have the boyfriend thing quite down just yet. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, though; he pushes Nick off him and heads straight for the bedroom, tripping over his own pants as he strips them off and shrieking when Nick gets up to chase him. He catches up to him easily – one advantage to having obscenely long legs – and scoops him into his arms, avoiding Louis’ kicking feet.
“Down, you fucking ape,” Louis yelps, laughing and batting at Nick’s arms. Nick throws him onto the bed, beating his chest for effect, and Louis is already wriggling out of the rest of his clothes. Nick’s seen him naked plenty of times – as many times as he could possibly manage it – but it’s still flooring, every single time. He drops his arms, forgetting about making him laugh when Louis is spread out in front of him. Nick doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over just how small Louis is like this, nothing but curves and smooth, tanned skin. He kneels on the bed at Louis’ feet, almost reverent.
Nick curls his fingers around one of Louis’ ankles, more experimental than anything else. He’s so delicate there, and Nick’s fingers overlap his thumb, settling in between the grooves of bone. Louis flexes his foot, curling his toes, but doesn’t make a move to shift out of Nick’s grip. He just looks, raising his arms to so his wrists cross on the pillow, his head tilting as he watches.
“Thought you were going to blow me?” Louis asks, his sharp teeth biting into his bottom lip as Nick lifts his leg, guiding it up and to the side. Nick hums, nodding absently as he traces the fingers of his other hand down Louis’ calf, his thighs. Louis’ thigh are pretty impressive – curvy and thick – but Nick’s hands can span their entire width, pressed flat against the soft skin.
“Yeah,” Nick says, his fingers dragging lightly across Louis’ arse, dipping down between his cheeks, “But I’d really like to fuck you now, if that’s okay?”
Louis shivers, his back arching a little, and Nick can see the indents of his ribs press out against his skin.
“Okay,” he says, watching Nick through lidded eyes. He stretches, fingers brushing against the headboard, because he’s an absolute bloody tease and knows exactly what he does to Nick. Nick hums, planting warm, dry hands on Louis’ hips before dragging them up Louis’ belly and chest, his fingers catching over Louis’ ribs, his nipples and collarbones. His right hand settles on Louis’ jaw, thumb stroking just underneath his chin, while his left reaches for the lube and condoms. He drops a kiss on Louis’ lips, just lightly, before making his way back down between his thighs, letting Louis settle with his feet resting on Nick’s hips. His cock is hard, curved against his belly, but Louis isn’t reaching down to touch just yet.
That first push is always Nick’s favourite part; the way Louis bites his lip at that first touch, how once he presses through that resistance he just sinks in. Louis always keeps himself still, at least at the start, because he’s always hated giving anything away. Nick stretches to two fingers, his other hand rubbing circles into Louis’ thigh, and he slides in as deep as he can, knuckles pressing against Louis’ rim. Louis lets out a quiet little huff of air, circling his hips in tiny motions.
“Nick,” Louis grumbles, tilting his hips up pointedly. Nick pushes at Louis’ thigh, getting him to spread wider, and leans down to suck a kiss into the underside of Louis’ cock. Louis clenches up around Nick’s fingers, his foot slipping off Nick’s hip as he drags his tongue from the base right up to the crown, circling over the head. Nick pulls back just enough to hook Louis’ legs over his shoulders before dipping back down to take Louis into his mouth, a third finger sinking inside as he lets Louis hit the back of his throat. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks, fingers pumping steadily till lube is dripping into the sheets and Louis is squirming, heels drumming against Nick’s back.
“I wanna ride you,” Louis says, tugging on Nick’s hair till he pulls off his dick. Nick draws his fingers out, teasing at Louis’ rim, before crawling over him to flop on his back. Louis’ already got the condom unwrapped, rolling it down his cock and giving him a squeeze.
Nick grins, pats his hip and says, “Giddy up, then.”
Louis pulls a face, but he still throws a leg over Nick and climbs on top, says, “I’m gonna need you to stop talking.”
Nick laughs, guiding his cock between Louis’ cheeks and just rubbing, catching on his hole and painting his skin with pre-come.
“Tease,” Louis huffs, wrapping his hand around Nick’s own so he can sink down, eyes fluttering shut. He gets a few inches in before he has to start rolling his hips, working Nick’s cock inside, biting down on his lip at the stretch. Nick squeezes his hip, resting the other hand flat on Louis’ belly like he might be able to feel himself inside, and presses down gently. Louis whimpers at that, his hips flush with Nick’s now and his cock twitching, so Nick slides his hand from his hip to the base of Louis cock to grip him tight. He doesn’t want him to come too soon.
Louis sucks in a deep breath, belly puffing against Nick’s hand, before he starts to move. He rolls his hips, not much more than a tease, letting Nick drag inside him. He looks beautiful like this; golden and flushed, eyes half closed as he concentrates on the circle of his hips.
“Darling,” Nick rasps, pleading, and thrusts his hips up, driving himself deep inside. That seems to get his point across, because Louis whines and leans forward, digging his fingers into Nick’s chest as he works himself properly on his cock. He’s bouncing on Nick’s lap, breath coming in short, sharp bursts, his thighs straining with effort. He’s unbelievably tight – Nick probably could have spent longer stretching him, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind, shoving himself back hard.
“Roll me,” Louis gasps, his nails pressing crescents into Nick’s skin, and his rhythm faltering. He looks so fucking good up there, but he never lasts long, can’t give it to himself hard enough, “Nick, roll me.”
Nick grips his hips with both hands, rolling them so Louis’ on his back without slipping out. Louis howls, his thighs falling open and his ankles crossing at the small of Nick’s back, so Nick props himself on his elbows and drives inside, his rhythm relentless. Louis’ chanting his name, eyes squeezed shut, so Nick has to dip down and lick his way into his mouth. Louis’ panting too hard to return the kiss; he reaches down to jerk himself, his knuckles brushing fast over Nick’s stomach as their hips slam together. The headboard is knocking against the wall – Nick really, really hopes the whole floor can hear it – and Louis lets out one last, shuddering moan before he’s coming. He goes tight as a fucking vice around Nick, his whole body shaking as he arches up, spilling over his hand and Nick’s stomach. He’s digging his fingers so hard into Nick’s shoulders he thinks it might break the skin, and Nick doesn’t care in the least. Louis melts into the bed, letting out small whimpers he’ll deny later on, and lets his legs fall, so Nick pulls himself out. He’s too desperate to be patient, stripping the condom off and working himself over; taking in Louis’ twitching cock, the come streaked up his belly, and his red, used hole.
Louis is smiling, flushed pink and eyes shining brightly, sunk boneless and content against the mattress. He beckons at Nick with his fingers, mouthing come up here, so Nick crawls his way up Louis’ chest, balancing himself with one hand against the headboard and angling his dick down. Louis licks lazily at the head, sucking droplets of pre-come as Nick drags it over his lips. He curls his tongue over the crown, and that’s all it takes for Nick, his hand flying over his cock as he comes. Louis drops his mouth open, his lips catching whatever his tongue misses, and Nick is honestly proud of himself for not blacking out then and there.
He manages to tip onto his side without crushing Louis, and as soon as he has full control over his arms he drags Louis towards him, tangling their legs together and kissing Louis’ temple.
“You’re bloody amazing, did you know that?” Nick asks, his mouth still pressed against Louis’ temple.
“I’ve been told I’m a pretty fantastic shag, yeah,” Louis says, a smile in his voice as he tries to slow his breathing down.
“Not that,” Nick says, bringing his hand up to stroke his thumb over Louis’ jaw, the shell of his ear. He’s never been good at this kind of thing, but he finds it’s much easier when he doesn’t have to look at Louis, just in case he makes an idiot of himself. “You’ll blow them all away, darling. I mean it.”
Louis huffs, but he reaches his hand up to tangle his fingers with Nick’s, squeezing.
“Shut up,” he says, but they both know he means, thank you.
*