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Harry is having a bad day.
The department is always understaffed and overworked, he’s used to that. But an outbreak of the flu means that people are calling out while their patient load gets worse and worse. The coffeeshop in the hospital lobby is closed, so he’d had to settle for the cafeteria glop when he’s going on four hours of sleep. And now the surgical attending won’t get out of his face.
“Don’t you dare,” Zayn hisses, pointing at Harry as he leans in close, “tell me how to do my job.”
“I wouldn’t have to,” Harry retorts, his voice rising dangerously close to a shout, “if you would just do your job.”
Zayn locks eyes with him, crossing his arms and refusing to back down. The squeak of tennis shoes on the linoleum floor distracts Harry from their staring contest and he looks down the hallway to see his favorite nurse, Niall, jogging toward them.
“Alright, break it up,” Niall calls out as he approaches. “They need you up on Four, Malik.”
“Yeah, okay,” Zayn mutters before turning and walking away.
Harry shakes his head. Asshole.
Niall claps Harry on the back and rounds the corner of the nurses station, picking up a clipboard and scribbling on it.
Harry should be grateful to him for defusing the situation, but he’s tired and frustrated and pissed off. Fuck it. He needs a break.
“I need some air,” Harry says, tossing his stethoscope on the counter. “I’m going outside to sun my taint.”
“Don’t forget the sunscreen,” Niall says, eyes on his clipboard.
“I’ll be fine,” Harry mumbles, stomping toward the door to the stairs.
“I know you’ll be fine,” Niall calls after him. His hearing has always been spookily good. “But trust me on the sunscreen.”
Harry doesn’t bother responding. He takes the stairs two at a time. There’s a small observation deck on Two that no one uses since the hospital banned smoking on the grounds. He’ll get a quick boost of Vitamin D, and then get back to work.
It had been dark when Harry arrived at the hospital, but when he pushes open the door to the deck, it’s sunny and warm with a light breeze. Perfect. He makes a beeline for an old plastic lounge chair that someone had dragged up here probably sometime during the Obama administration. It’s pushed up against a low wall facing an empty field next to a parking lot.
Harry kicks off his running shoes and ignores a small mystery stain on the pant leg of his scrubs as he pushes them down. Hazard of the job. He gets into the familiar position, propping himself up on his elbows and spreading his knees as wide as he can. He hangs his head and arches his back.
Perfect.
Niall is right about the sunscreen. Actually, Niall is always right. It’s best to apply it 15 minutes beforehand, but Harry should be fine if he only suns for about half a minute. The quick boost will get him through the rest of his shift.
He’s counting Mississippis in his head when he first sees him.
A guy about his own age running onto the field with a few others. The breeze ripples through his brown hair like he’s on the cover of a romance novel or something. He’s just Harry’s type, trim and compact. Even from a distance, Harry can see he has a great smile. And he must smile a lot, going by the cute crinkles by his eyes.
The guy slows to a stop and starts to stretch. Harry gulps.
He’s got a great ass, too.
Harry vaguely notices a black and white ball being kicked around and wonders when exactly squats became required stretching for playing soccer. Deep squats. In white shorts that leave basically nothing to the imagination. Harry’s cock brushes against the sun-warmed plastic of the chair as he starts to get hard. It only gets worse as the guy lies on his back and pulls his legs back by the thighs, a stretch that happens to factor into Harry’s favorite sexual position.
Fuck.
Well, he knew he needed a break. He just didn’t figure he’d be jerking off during it.
His mind made up, Harry doesn’t waste any more time. He leans his weight on one elbow, and takes his cock in hand. As the guy rolls from side to side on the grass below, Harry imagines tugging down those indecent shorts with his teeth. He lets his mind run with the scenario, picturing his hands spreading the guy’s supple thighs and swallowing him down. Fully hard now, Harry strokes his cock roughly. He thumbs over the head, spreading a bead of pre-come around. Shit, that’s good. It’s been a long time since he got laid.
Too long. This is going to be over embarrassingly fast. He can’t help a small whimper escaping his lips as he thinks about tracing his tongue around the guy’s hole before dipping it inside.
He barely notices the soccer ball flying toward him until it crashes into the wall beside him. The guy on the field turns and looks right at him. Harry ducks down, the thrill of almost being caught going directly to his cock. He bites his fist to stay quiet as he comes over the plastic chair.
Panting a little, Harry chances a peek over the low wall. The guy on the field is still looking up at the observation deck, a redhead next to him pointing almost directly at Harry. The guy nods, and starts jogging toward the hospital.
Harry scrambles. There’s a tissue in the pocket of his zippered hoodie, and he wipes off his hand and then the chair before tossing it in a trashcan by the door. He pulls his pants on and stuffs his feet into his shoes. Right, okay. The soccer ball, where did it go… He grabs it from the other side of the deck and heads for the door to the stairs. He presses his badge against the sensor and the lock clicks. If he’s lucky, he can intercept the guy in the lobby.
When Harry reaches the lobby, a little out of breath and starting to sweat in his hoodie, he sees the guy standing at the reception desk, his hip cocked.
Harry gulps.
He walks toward the desk, his step faltering when the guy spots him and smiles. Those crinkles by his eyes are even cuter up close.
“Hey, man, thank you.” The guy smooths the hair laying across his forehead, still smiling. “I can take that off of your hands.”
“Here you go,” Harry says, going for a casual tone and nearly nailing it.
It’s the guy’s eyes. Harry couldn’t tell from the deck how blue they would be, matching his soccer jersey. But a deeper blue, like a jewel tone. They’re… Wow. Mesmerizing.
Once he’s handed over the soccer ball, Harry sticks his hand under the hand sanitizer dispenser, mostly for something to do but also just in case the guy wants to shake hands.
Because he might. He’s lingering by the desk, giving Harry an obvious once-over, his damn hip still cocked.
“So,” the guy says, smoothing his hair again. He looks at Harry’s badge. “Dr. Styles. Do they have you on ball duty?”
Harry laughs, a weird, strangled noise. He claps a hand over his mouth, but the guy stands a little taller, like he’s proud that he made Harry laugh or something.
Oh. He’s definitely flirting.
“No, actually, uh…”
“Louis. My name is Louis.”
He offers his hand, and Harry takes it, stifling another gulp when he feels how soft Louis’ skin is.
“No, Louis,” he says, releasing Louis’ hand after a beat too long. “They don’t have me on ball duty. That’s more of a… personal time thing for me.”
“Is it really,” Louis murmurs, looking Harry up and down. “Shame.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Harry says, running his index finger over his lower lip and watching Louis’ eyes trace the movement. “I have a few more minutes on my break. The coffee’s awful, but would you want to grab a cup with me?”
“Yeah, alright,” Louis says with a nod. “I can’t say no to awful coffee, not when the guy who’s asking is so cute.”
Harry blushes. Like he’s thirteen years old. But he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed, not with the way that Louis is smiling at him.
“Cute– I mean, cool,” Harry says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Follow me.”
The coffee, as promised, is awful. But the company is decidedly not. They only talk for a few minutes because Harry really does have to get back. But the easy banter does more to ease his stress than even the orgasm did, and Harry leaves the cafeteria with Louis’ number in his phone and plans for Friday night.
Niall will never let him live it down, but the sunburn – although painful – was definitely worth it.