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Me, you and this world as a roof

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Miami is bloody hot.

Suffocatingly, bloody hot.

But more importantly, it is mentally and utterly packed.


There are people already wandering across the roads – quite impressive if you consider the early hour in the afternoon - at every grade of drunkenness, from the ones completely and utterly trashed, sprawled lifeless on the kerbs, fingers curled possessively around beer bottles necks, probably still recovering from two nights ago, the giggling tipsy ones stumbling away from the beach after all-night long sex with strangers, and  the hopeful ones who are  trying to sober up using the painful technique of the hair of the dog at bars.

Counterproductive. Really.

Zayn and Louis's arrived just a day late for the start of the break. Zayn needed help to sort some shit out with his family, which in their dynamics simply means his mother – as usual, Louis might say- didn't want his son to hang around with Louis, even if this has never been a real obstacle, since, you know, there are here. So.

Anyway, nothing too worrying about or worth losing sleep for. Al least not when there is the imminent prospect of getting shit-faced, and possibly blitzed, if things work out as Louis planned.

They don't exactly know why they are here, because this is supposed to be a break from studies, innit? And it's not like they do make some sort of efforts at Uni that they should take a break from.

But nobody has to know, right?

They just kinda woke up an afternoon from a wonderful post-orgasm nap, limbs tangled together, bodies sticking with sweat and neglected dried come one their bellies, and Louis can easily blame it to his still fuzzing, from sleep and the mind-blowing sex he was recovering from, head when he just blurted out “let's go to Miami” and Zayn simply growled and fist bumped the air.

So yeah. Blame the sex.

They are currently driving on the main road, on the shitty car of Louis' best friend Stan, varnish tearing out from the flanks, of a colour that probably on its best day resembled something like green. They are looking for some shaded park lot, not wanting the car to melt under the unforgiving Florida's sun.

Stan would rip his dick off, and he really can't afford to lose it. You know, procreation and stuff.

Zayn has his hand outside the window, letting it float in the air, singing at the top of his lungs a Rihanna's song playing on the radio, with Louis laughing on the driving seat, sunglasses on, accompanied with his shit-eating grin he always has when something wicked and mischievous swirls in his mind.

“God, we've been looking forward this break for ages Z,” he pipes up, bouncing like a maniac on his seat, “I'm expecting booze to seep through my veins when we leave, at least. And to have some STD worth telling our friends or I really won't be satisfied,” he pouts, sounding completely serious, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

Zayn looks at him shocked, but expectingly fond. “Are you fucking kidding me? We packed more condoms than clothes mate. Fucking fuck safe at least,” he laughs, patting gently Louis' head and Louis' response is what he hopes it's the look a serial-killer would give before sinking the blade in the carotid of his victim.

Okay maybe the caramelized pop-corns he had for breakfast all amping him up on sugar haven't been a good idea after all.

Louis feel Zayn's eyes locked on him, just waiting for the question he knew was coming sooner or later. He hoped later. Or rather never if possible. He read something about Alzheimer. Fascinating really.

“So,” Zayn pauses, testing the words he is going to voice in his mind before actually say them, “how things with Greg?” he asks, knowing that he, Greg, was one of the very few cracks, in the armor built with cynicism  and aloofness that Louis guarded himself in, that had him exposed and fragile for the first time to someone else than Zayn himself.

Louis almost rams into a teenage girl fucking skipping across the street with headphones in her ears and exactly how Zayn expected, the question elicits a quite loud outburst from him.
 
“Fuck Uni, fuck Greg James and his stupid cute laugh and lovable everything. What was I even doing with him,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, drumming absentmindedly his fingers on the steering wheel, “c'mon, I'm a bloody 21 something mess who hasn't even been able to appreciate how much he cared about me because I preferred keeping shagging with you,” he finishes, training his eyes briefly on Zayn with that look that they both know far too well, which conceals so many words, the ones they don't want to say and never needed to.   

This thing between Zayn and Louis started a couple of years ago, when they were too young and too in love to let their guards down for anyeone else to intrude their little bubble, and, somehow, it never stopped. There are hollows in their bodies that they never let other people see and claim, too many secrets and promises embedded between their latched fingers, so that everyone outside their little world made them suffocate whenever they have tried to interfere.

And it quite worked through the years.

But one day, they started to be too much even for each other, the love that still ties them down was making them choke, the sex they shared  became obsessive and morbid, concealing the painful incapacity of letting the other one go. And even if they allowed themselves to breathe for a while, they ended up together again.


Inevitably together.

There are too many things that bind them irreparably without a way out. And sometimes Louis has asked himself if he really wanted one.

But somehow they found their balance, which, to be perfectly honest, still consists in having other friends beyond one another - that anyway they share, but fuck it - some random hook-ups at clubs that always end with rather avoidable walks of shame in the morning and inevitable conseguent banters because ha you shagged a frat boy, and occasional - but not so occasional, if daily in you vocabulary comes along with that definition - sex between they two.  

It worked perfectly like that for a while, at least, till Louis started seeing  Greg. Which, you know, didn't make things change at all, because things are still like that, but it made Louis realize something he didn't really want to.

Greg was a great guy. Perfect, even. Caring, funny, adorable, fit, parents love him and etcetera. But maybe perfect isn't what Louis wants. At least, it isn't Louis' “perfect”. Because no matter how much Greg tried to grow a slight stubble because he knew Louis loved it.

It would have never felt like Zayn's under Louis' fingertips and lips.

And maybe Louis didn't want the love Greg could give him. The one that takes your hand and makes you feel safe and sheltered. Maybe Louis wants the one that feels like it has your heart gripped in its fist and  ready to tear it off your chest. And Zayn is that love. He has constantly a gun pressed at Louis' temple, hands steady, breath held. But Louis knows. Knows Zayn would never pull the trigger.

And sometimes, it had felt like were Louis's hands the ones holding Zayn's firm around the gun  and never letting them drop.

Because that's what love is, right? The menace of a always looming downfall, but the certainty of two arms there to catch you.  

But again. Fuck it. Louis is too sober to think about this shit right now.

“What do you wanna do first  little princess?” Zayn asks from the passenger seat, fumbling with the radio, probably sick of the shitty pop music currently playing.
 
“Get drunk. You shouldn't even ask mate,” he responds matter-of-factly while swaying his head to the rhythm of some songs playing just made-up in his head.

A little smile tugs at the corners of Zayn's mouth. “What about a quick stop at the beach, since, well. Since we are in Miami,” he looks towards the seaside and taps at his chin, seemingly considering, ”and there are plenty of fit blokes down there?”

Well, Louis can't really argue with that.

Louis parks the park carelessly and probably out the lines and promptly pops out. They take their stuffs from the trunk with some beach towels – Louis carefully avoids the pink one his mum gave them stating it's just a blanket Boo because no. He is gay, but not that gay- and search for some free spot on the shore. Zayn wastes no time in settling his things down. He throws them carelessly on his still unfolded towel - his phone sinks into the sand but Louis will probably tell him later - undresses briskly and starts running, lifting tons of sands behind him in a very comical way, but Louis can't really get to care when he's able to see that stupid lopsided smile and awkward attempt of a run while people give him wide-eyed stares.

He sits down, allowing himself briefly to just look at him and appreciate these moments, where everything is less sharp, where there are just they two and the rest of the world around blurs on the edges, which doesn't know what they have.

And how much it hurts.

He tugs off his shirt, and checks his phone just to see if his mother called. There is only a message from Greg, but he isn't surely going to read it and allow himself to feel guilty for something he is sure isn't his fault. He is trying to take a picture of Zayn attempting to swim – drop it mate, you are a lost cause- that, to be honest, is just him wallowing in a rather waist-high water, managing to even nearly drown for  few seconds, when a ball hits Louis' head, and he is already standing up to snap at whoever twat that ball belongs to, when his eyes lands on a very very--err, cute guy, actually.
 
“Sorry mate, that idiot ain't really good at football,” the guy says, pointing with his thumb to another very fit and tattooed guy behind him.

“Oh Jesus, you are Irish,” Louis says disbelieving, eyes widening in awe, “thank God I was going crazy with all these yanks around here.”

“Niall,” the guy offers his hand with an huge smile, “and that's Stan.”

“Louis,” he shakes Niall's hand while giving him an once-over, noticing how low his swimsuit is hanging on his narrow waist, “and that's Zayn.”

They stand there for what feels like hours just grinning to each other, while the other two share a look, pulling a bewildered face. Niall's bleached hair shine under the blinding light, his lips are flushed in such a beautiful way and his sunglasses are slid down his nose, showing the red dent on the bridge.

Then Zayn coughs twice, and reality floats back and Louis really needs a swim because he's sweating and in need to cover an imminent boner. Fuck.

They are currently playing a dumb game with a foot ball, that has started as something resembling very poorly volley but that has ended up being a mer attempt to hit each other's head and other delicate body parts, and never has Louis feared so much for his own health in his life before. They stumble out of the water, collapsing lifeless on the shore. Louis feels his salty skin tingle and shivers a little when the delicate spring breeze blows gently over his body.

Suddenly Louis feels Zayn hovering over himself and grinding imperceptibly against his crotch and then he smiles broadly at him, because he knows what the hell he's doing to him and Louis hates him just a little bit. Jealous shit.


Then Zayn stands up and nods his head to Josh, “do ya wanna tag along to get some food?”. Josh smiles, nodding emphatically, and stands up too to reach him.  

And with that, they leave.


They sit down, both facing the ocean, perfectly aware of the the point of contact where their shoulders touch, sharing Niall's earphones and letting the music cover the noise of all the people gathering around them and loud children playing with the sand. Louis tilts his head slightly to look curiously at Niall, who's already staring at him, the blue of their eyes mingling together somewhere between them. He notices Niall's are fainly lighter that his own, pale like his skin, and hold smears of gold and pallid green around the iris. He feels Niall's salty skin lightly rubbing against his own, the rough friction only increasing the burning desire for his hand to reach his cheek and kiss him.

And so he does.

He kisses him gently, tongue only brushing against Niall' lips, swallowing the little appreciative noise they are making. Louis let his thumb drag around Niall's eyes, trying to sooth the little crinkles around them, stroking out the blush that sits high on his cheeks, but it is just a mer pretest to touch him and to memorize how soft his skin feels under his fingertips.

There is no stubble, and for once, it is better this way.

He thinks Niall's kisses taste like sunshine. Like the perfect mixture of sweetness and happiness blended in an explosion of delicate warmth that can get you addicted.


It is when he processes this, that he pulls away, because he isn't here for this. And if Niall doesn't notice the harshness of Louis' movement, well, probably it's because he has his eyes still closed and Louis feels this strong urge to stab violently his eyes with a shell because he just met the personification of the concept of perfection and he isn't really ready to deal with it.

Josh and Zayn come back with chips and coke cans in a plastic bag, and Louis' sure Zayn suggested to go to a supermarket just to give them more time and he is unsure if he wants more to punch his face or kiss him senseless.

Probably the latter.

They settle on casual and random conversations, passing around a spliff Niall rolled in record time, Zayn maybe a little bit too involved with Josh dumb stories about his and Niall's trip in Madrid, wandering around full of ethanol and THC in their system in Plaza Mayor and ending up sleeping with some tramps, but Louis is wrapped around their little fingers too, so he doesn't really mind that much.

“We are going to this shitty club tonight near the great building down there,” Niall points somewhere behind him, face unsure while he munches loudly some stupid-flavored chips they bought.

“Mmmh very gripping mate,” Louis says chuckling fondly at Zayn, but then he adds, ”we will be there too,” even if they didn't ask.

Louis smiles and feels light. He likes they way they fell so easily together.

He just. Really likes it.


*


If you ever ask Louis when he stopped thinking about his bed as his own, his response would probably be a grimace.


And not a funny one. Not like the ones that have Zayn clinging his stomach and tears forming in the rim of his hazel eyes, laughter echoing in Louis' ears for days.

It is because Louis doesn't actually know when. He doesn't even know why, to be honest, but nobody ever asked him that. He can't pinpoint the moment when it became normal for his pillow to have two deep dents in the morning  and the scent of nicotine and Zayn's cologne clinging possessively to his sheets. But he can't even pinpoint the moment when all this became unhealthy, and somehow wrong.

There’s a rhythm, a pattern, a routine to the way their relationship has always worked. It unfolds with practical ease, and they think that maybe living together has something to do with that. But they both know it started far before all that. When all the  first time as been shared with the other. When they were sure that there would never have been a last.

Separate was never an option though. And maybe that's why, Louis thinks, it became unhealthy.  


*


They enter the club already drunk off their asses – damn Zayn who proposed fucking “aperitif” -  Zayn's fingers circling possessively Louis' wrist, thumb soothing the hectic pulse underneath. And if he had paid enough attention, he would have noticed how their beats matched in their fast unforgiving rhythm.

Louis feels slightly tired. They spent nearly two hours amidst finding the motel Stan' mother suggested them and unpacking their stuffs – which in Louis' vocabulary meant opening his bag and throwing things around the room with Zayn alternating between hysterical laughter and scowling glare when a shampoo bottle exploded when hurled against a wall.

Anyway. The room smells like a flowerbed now, far better than grime and seasoned cum. Poetic, innit?

They detach at some point, a very grumpy Zayn complaining about the lack or supplemental liquid happiness to support the spectacularly, ridiculously shit-faced state they are expecting to leave the club in. And so he leads towards the bar, knees wobbling slightly and gait evidently unbalanced and strangely funny. Louis laughs, shaking his head disbelievingly fondly because sometimes he asks himself how the hell can he be so stupidly in love with that idiot. But he already knows that deep inside  this one is exactly the main reason.   

Louis finds himself lost in the middle of the dance floor, music coursing rapidly in his veins, vision blurring, contours jumbling and everything feels warmer. There are hands holding him, lips dusting kisses on his neck and definitely not a telephone pressing against his arse. Brilliant.


He grinds against the other body, muscled and toned, without even bothering to steal a look at his face, but judging by the size of the thing treasured in his pants he can't really complain, can't he?

Louis perceives the world spin around him and suddenly he is facing a fucking joke of nature because how the hell is he even real?

There is a deep and profound dimple carving his left cheek, and Louis would like very much to trail his cock inside it, smearing come all over and maybe then lick it – dignity Louis -  a smear of glassy green around stupidly dilated pupils and then Louis' jaw hangs slack comically when his eyes land on the cocksucker lips of the guy in front of him. So he doesn't know where he wants to put his cock in, but he's got time to make up his mind.


Louis put his thumb on the guy's bottom lip, and then drags it down, appreciating how his eyes flutter close in the attempt to muffle a moan.

“Your hair is stupid,” is what Louis blurts out, from a vast range of things he could have probably said, one of his fingers entwining with a rebellious lock of that stupid mop of ebony curls, slightly sticking to his forehead. The guy laughs, the delicious sound reverberates  between each of Louis' ribs, and expanding in the thick air around them.

He leans down and whispers “Harry” in the shell of Louis' ear, hot breath puffing funnily inside it. Louis reciprocates the gesture –he has to stand on his tip toes but shut up- and whispers back his name.

Somewhere between a hand clasping behind his neck and Louis' lost in Harry's hair their mouths find one another. They kiss messily, a battle of tongues fighting mercilessly for dominance till the realization it isn't something that necessitates to be established, then Harry skim Louis' waist, lowering his hand till they grab Louis' ass, who groans against Harry's neck and licks away a droplet of sweat running down the pale flesh column.

“Fuck you are so beautiful,” Harry breathes out against Louis' parted lips, pushing Louis' body against his own, letting him feel how hard he is just from rutting their sweaty bodies together.

The taste of cheap beer that Louis chases inside his mouth rolls across his tongue, which keeps curling sinfully against the one of Harry. He lets out a whimper, an instrumental of sharp breaths as Louis licks at Harry’s neck and his hand strokes over the younger's chest.  He trails his lips over Harry’s satiny skin, the taste of sweat and salt still there, the sting of fading cologne right at his collarbone until Harry’s sliding his fingers into that space puckering between the back of Louis’s jeans and his skin.

Louis feels this unbearing need to ruin him. To drag him into the toilet and fuck him senseless till in his head there will be just room for LouisLouisLouis and nothing else. He wants to know the secrets that lie gracefully in the creases around his eyes and the hollows of his throat, to leave a mark there like he owns him.


They move in a more private spot of the club, somewhere where at least they can pretend to be alone and listen to whatever comes out their alcohol-stained lips. It doesn't last long before Louis starts to suck again at Harry's neck, licking the red blotches blossoming under the pale and milky skin.

"I saw you today. At -- fuck Louis, at the beach. You were smoking with a another lad. Black -- shit, blak hair, a face to die for."

Louis thinks Harry is going to say more, so he lets his hand slip down along his stomach, grazing the fabric of his black skinny jeans, strained against the growing bulge underneath, but then "I couldn't stop looking at you. You were so damn beautiful."

There is something that settles inside his ribcage. And he doesn't know what it means, if it's okay to feel like this when a stranger see something that neither you can.

And again that strange feeling pooling somewhere in Louis' body, which isn't surely inside his pants where he wants it to. He wonders if that just isn't  his thing, if he really is just not able to shag someone without bestowing some meaning to it and when he became such a sappy little shit.


So he detaches his lips from the ridiculously pornographic collarbone of Harry, and with a cheeky smile, he walks away, swaying his hips just for a little show, and missing the confused expression painted on Harry's face.

Dammit he needs to prove himself he can do it.

On his way to the loo, hoping his boner would disappear, he catches sight of a dopey brown-eyed guy wandering seemingly lost in the crowd, eyes flickering around, probably looking for someone. Without a second thought -because probably he would realize this is a really awful idea- he grabs his hand and urges him to follow him inside the bathroom. He hears some vague protest coming from the other guy's mouth, but he can't bring himself to care, so he just yanks him inside a stall, and promptly drops to his knees. He fumbles with the bottom of the guy's loosen jeans, tugging down the fly in a swift motion, and lets them shift along his legs and pool around his ankles.

His eyes are gladly welcomed by the sight of something huge still brief-coated. He hopes his mouth won't hurt . Ouch.


He doesn't even bother to see the face of the guy he's going to blow off  to have some kind of faint memory tomorrow –not that he really minds- or ask for permission, considering he went far ahead for that anyway.

And it's not like Louis loves to suck cocks. It's just that he does.

He briskly throws down his briefs still concealing what Louis' eyes and hands could easily estimate as pretty massive, and fortunately  his expectations are exceeded. He wraps his little fingers around the newly presented cock in front of him and, wasting no time with pleasantries, wraps his lips around the already leaking head.

“Oh my fucking god,”  the guy gasps in surprise and, while squeezing his eyes shout, with an almost unintentional motion his hips buck inside Louis' mouth , who groans around him in appreciative response.


He laps at the underside, trailing his tongue on a prominent vein running along the entire length, eliticing a loud moan from the guy above him, which echoes in the nearly empty bathroom. After teasing the head with the tip of his tongue, he starts to bob his head, up and down on a steady rhythm, forcing his mouth to take him further and further down, cock grazing the back of his throat and his nose nearly brushing against the guy's pubes. He thumbs the slit of the head spreading precome and spit all over the length to ease the friction of his quick strokes, and now Louis takes advantage to actually see the guy's face, and he has to admit he is really handsome, broad shoulders and toned torso, but his face is far too innocent for Louis' taste, even if in this precise moment the groan slipping from his fleshy lip has his face looking almost pornographic.

“Is this something you are used to do?” the guy asks, out of the blue, but he doesn't wait for an answer, just keeps focused on the series of courses slipping from his mouth, lost in the heat of the dirty bathroom stall.

Louis' hand follows in its slick path before sucking and moving back down, twisting his hand around him. He repeats this move fast against him until he can feel the guy's stomach tensing, his fingers curling behind Louis' neck, carding the soft hair at the base. Creating more suction, he pulls the head back until it pops from his lips with an obscene sound and the guy  moans, his neck arching back and thudding against the wall.

“Fuck,” he breathes out,  tightening his grip on Louis' neck, “'m gonna--”


His  face looks almost in pain as he keeps panting in the empty air like he's going to pass out from the exertion, “shit, I'm close.”

Louis is still pretty drunk, so he doesn't effectively know how much they have stayed here, but he remembers distinctively the muscles of the guy's stomach tensing and clenching under the hand holding him pinned against the wall, a cock pulsing inside his mouth and something warm dripping from his lips and probably staining his jeans. After he swallows up what he has in his mouth and wipes out an escaping droplet down his chin, he gently pulls up the guy's briefs and trousers before standing up, and with a friendly pat on his chest he leaves him there, gobsmacked in a post-orgasm haze with unfasten trousers barely resting on his hips and flushed cheeks.

“Hey, I don't even know your name,” he yells from the stall, still pressed against the wall, hands in the air like he doesn't know exactly what to do with them.

“Louis,” he grins, lingering on the door way.

“Ah. Okay. Mine's Liam,” he says shyly, eyes falling to the dirty ground, as if he hasn't just had his cock inside some stranger's mouth.

Liam rises briefly his eyes back to Louis, who smirks and with a exaggerated wave of his hand storms out.

“Bye Liam.”



                                                                                          ~*~*~*~



Louis wakes up at 3 and something in the afternoon, feeble light philtered through the shitty shutters, with a too well-known steel taste in his mouth, resembling something, like, dead and ewww.

After considering for about ten minutes the idea of dying there wrapped in those blankets or maybe just induce some kind of temporary coma to himself  and hope to wake up in another dimension where hangovers don't exist, he finally gets up, accepting defeat, just to nearly fall face-first down on the floor. Fuck you, whoever invented alcohol. And floors.


He shuffles up to Zayn's bed and crawls disgracefully into it, curling himself around Zayn's seemingly dead body. He pokes his crotch – scientific method, or whatever - just to make sure he isn't actually dead.


Zayn moans. Okay, he's alive.

Zayn grumbles when Louis rolls him onto his back and tugs the duvet down enough to expose his belly, one eye cracking open the tiniest bit.

"Lou?" he asks sleepily, blinking his bleary eyes.

“You smells like sex mate,” Louis says, bugging at him repeatedly on the stomach, and then tracing slowly his fingertips over the hair on his toned navel which fades inside his briefs. Louis hears Zayn's breath hitching in his throat and then Zayn clutches his hand around Louis', squeezing with force.

“Don't tease me if you are not gonna fuck me, Lou,” he says breathless, sending a shiver down Louis' spine, who smiles down dirtily at him. He leans over Zayn to get the lube that is still where they left it yesterday night/this morning/whatever, too worked up and horny that they nearly ravished each other against someone's car on the way to the hotel.

He's sure something happened in the meanwhile to induce them to do otherwise. He remembers vaguely a police's siren, but he's not in jail so yay.

He opens up the little tube, and slicks two of his fingers, rubbing the liquid substance with the tips to warm it up. He traces one over Zayn's rim, relaxing the clenching muscles, and then slowly pushes it inside, crooking it to reach his sweet spot.

“You looked so fucking sexy with braces. You know how much they turn me on--” the last words come out as a whimper, as Louis' finger become two, repeatedly rubbing against his prostate in a restless path, dusting hungry kisses on his collarbone where Louis' dry lips love to ghost over Zayn's chest tattoo, where Zayn inke up Louis' lips, near his heart where he will always belong.

The kisses become bites and hard suction, leaving purple-bruised blotches all over Zayn's neck and pecs, the usual affection turns into that bit of desperate urgency whenever they give up on the constant need to be closer, always closer, even when there is no more space between their bodies. Louis pulls out his fingers, that between moans and breathless nonsensical words became three, and slicks his cock with what remains on them.


Zayn is still loose from their previous rendez-vous, so the muscles of his rim don't put too much resistance to the intrusion. Louis slips the head slowly inside, teasing his already abuse hole, but then slams the entire lenght forcefully inside till he bottoms out completely, letting Zayn feel full and Louis' whole body completely enveloping his. He stills for few seconds, littering open-mouthed kisses on Zayn's jaw, the slight stubble tickling his swollen lips. Then he starts to move, thrusts becoming frantic and unrhythmical with each of Zayn's moan slipping from his mouth, Louis' name molding on his lips like a pray.Louis' mind gets foggy with zaynzaynzayn  and all the world narrows down to just they two, limbs tangled up together and breathes becoming ragged and broken inside each other's mouths.


Zayn comes with a silent groan, warm thick spurts hitting his own stomach, smeared with the last languid movements of Louis' hips before he comes too, his body spent and worked out for the exertion. He doesn't want to pull off yet, so he just rests his head in the crook of Zayn's neck, inhaling deeply the scent of his skin, kissing the spot under Zayn's ear that Louis know has him always squirming and arching his back obscenely over the mattress.

It's the “I love you” escaping from Zayn's lips that urges Louis to actually make an effort and detach from Zayn, who whines for the sudden sensation of emptiness, while Louis buries his head into his pillow, hoping this will hopefully stop happening one day.

 
*

Louis wakes up three hours later, a warm and sturdy body pressed against his back and hot breath caressing his neck.


He doesn't know what time is it and he doesn't really want to, either.

So when he feels a callous hand trailing each bump of his spine, sending a shiver through his body, any already non-existent attempt to live slips away from that maze of crumpled sheets, and Louis just falls back asleep, feeling strangely loved, like he really shouldn't.
 

*  


Louis is dancing on the dance floor, music pumping through the wall of bodies around him.

When he opens his eyes, there are brief, quick flashes of colour, of people, blurring in the background. Disorientating flickers and flares as he struggles to stay conscious and not to black out in the middle of a goddamn club.

He feels a strong sense of nausea, and probably he can blame the greasy burgers Zayn made him eat, or probably the eight shots of tequila they gulped in the first five minutes they entered the club, or maybe the two spliffs they smoked, or – and tintintin jackpot – it's the deadly mixture of these three factors.


He feels fairly stupid realizing this, but he's young and being stupid can always be forgiven when you are 21, single, and horny, right?

Did he mention he ate 3 burgers? Right.

Anyway, he's too drunk to feel stupid, in particular since there are two huge hands clinging to his hips and steadying him and whoa the fuck?


He turns around, and two wonderfully red-rimmed eyes meet his, a hint of green circling his blown pupils.

Dammit.

“Hi err--” he trails out, his memory betraying him right there when he needs it. Useless stupid thing, why do I even trust you.

“Harry. You've already forgotten?” he asks, but the fondness in his voice and the light of smile give him away.


Harry tucks his face into Louis' neck, inhaling the perfume of cigarettes and the musky cologne he stole from Zayn just to annoy him, because he secretly hates it, fingertips pressing harder into Louis' hips.

Leaving bruises, Louis hopes.

“I don't even know where I am mate. Don't be pretentious,” Louis manages, words slurred slightly, while he sways his body at the rhythm of the fast music. Harry's laugh reverberates all over Louis' body, whose hands tighten their grips on Harry's arms to steady himself.
 
Louis feels inebriated, elated, up above th sky and free to do anything he wants, like there won't be a tomorrow, with all its consequences and the duty calls, with its expectations and regrets. And now, there is just Louis and Harry, hot breaths and hands trailing along the curves of their bodies in an already traveled and known path.

Louis knows Harry's still the same boy who made Louis' stomach squirm yesterday night, nothing can change that. But when he rises his eyes and sees Zayn pressed against a wall, hands curled around someone (else)'s neck, lips moving and bodies searching desperately for friction, he suddenly forgets any self-imposed coercion. He spins around slowly and presses firmly his ass against Harry's crotch, eyes closed because he doesn't really want to see what's happening around him. Harry grinds hard against him, hands clinging to Louis' waist, and loud moans slip from his scarlet lips, lost in the shell of Louis' ear. Louis feels goosebumps rise all over his body and he shudders at sensation of Harry's cock twitch against is arse.

Louis turns around and grabs Harry's hand, urging him to follow him toward the bathroom with a mischievous grin. He doesn't even have the time to process what's happening, because the second the door closes, he's shoved against it, Harry's body pressed solidly against it. Louis' cradles Harry's face in his hands, mouth attached immediately, and pushes him backward till with some difficulties they enter a free stall.The kisses are messy and hungry, Louis' mouth sucks on Harry's bottom lips and occasionally digging his teeth in its plump and swollen flesh. Louis spins him around, placing a hand flat on his neck, and the other clutches Harry's waist, pressing into his lower back to make his body shift to slightly bend it over against the wall.  Louis circles Harry's waist then and opens the fly of his too tight jeans and shoves them down around his thighs.


Harry stays there, pliant and ready to give himself completely to Louis, who is more that willing to wreak him havoc and get what he wants.

But then Harry says “fuck, I haven't  been able to stop thinking about you since yesterday,” cheek pressed against the wall, eyes closed, and Louis wants to die.

“Fuck,” he breathes, winding a hand through his already destructed quiff, and then stumbles away form Harry's waiting body.

“Sorry Harry. I--” he waits for Harry to turn around, “I can't do this I'm sorry.”

“Wait, why?” Harry asks desperately and somehow shyly, while turning around and tugging up his jeans.

But Louis doesn't respond. Instead he shakes his head while keeping staring at Harry and feeling like an utter son of bitch.


“Is--is this for the black-haired bloke you are always together with?”

Everything is always about Zayn, Harry.

“No Harry,” he manages, words trapping in his throat, finger rubbing his nose bridge, “it's because you are a nice guy and I'm not looking for any of that.” He pauses, “I'm sorry.”

He walks out of the bathroom, conscious of the fact that Harry is still inside trying to fasten his jeans.

Bloody hell he needs a drink.

He walks past a couple of girls making out furiously and grabbing each other boobs. Sometimes, he thinks, it would be easier to be straight and enjoying such display of affection. But tits are strange and Louis doesn't really like them. You know, they are all, like, out there, and vaginas are gross and Louis shouldn't really be thinking about this right now.

He enters the ladies' bathroom, not giving a shit at all about the judging glares he receives in the process, probably because he's sporting a ridiculous hard-on that's so painful his cock is probably going to explode. He closes the door behind him, and shoves his hand in his back pocket to finally find the little plastic bag Niall gave him yesterday after what felt like a chaste goodbye kiss.
He takes a deep breath, and then pours a little of the content on the counter. With his credit card he organizes the white powder in two equally measured line, and creates a little tube with an old bus ticket. He takes another breath, willing his hands to stop shiver for the anticipation, then lowers his head and within few seconds he sniffs both the lines in rapid succession, throwing his head back at the end.

He rubs gently his nose, which as usual tingles a little, and shakes his head, feeling the rush already taking over his body.

He exits the stall and walks to the bar, his heart pounds harder with each step. He takes a seat on a vacant stool and rests his head on the cold counter, asking himself when this became his life, when he feels someone tapping against his shoulder. He rises his head and - of course - there is an hipster with the tallest and dumbest quiff Louis' ever seen towering over him with the gayest pink drink  handed to Louis in his hand.

There is just a promise written on his grinning face: binge drink! And Louis isn't surely a person that would ever deny such a pleasurable thing to such a fit bloke.


The only problem is that just said bloke turns out  to be a massive dick-head and a pompous little twat with anger-control problems, and it makes Louis fall in love with him just a little bit too much and fast.

And even more eager to shag him senseless, of course.  

The guy - Dick, Flick, Nick whatever- offers the next round of shots, and if Louis were more sober, he would probably say no because he can't really promise his legs will cooperate with his brain to walk him home.

But he is wasted, so not such luck.

He looks around searching for Zayn, just to make sure that he, unlike himself, isn't dead hugging a chair like two summers ago in Valencia. Tequila turns men in monsters. Or idiots, as you prefer.
Anyway, no sign of him, but in this moment it doesn't really matter because there are two hands on his waist and a musky perfume creeping  inside his lungs that aren't definitely Zayn's so he can't really be happier.

Nick suddenly actually demands for his number, between a drink and another, and Louis looks at him suspiciously because he hopes this guy isn't planning to leave any time soon and not to give Louis the shag he really thinks he deserves since he's dealing with a drunk hipster while he's high on coke so sue him.


So he writes it on an old bill forsaken on the cold counter, folds it in a little airplane and then throws it at Nick's face, who doesn't even react, face impassive. And Louis feels the strong desire to wrap him with something soft and send him to some sort of hipsters' museum because the world should preserve such wonderful endangered human subspecies.  

“You are so cute, aren't you?” Nick says and punctuates each word with a pat on Louis' head, who's already changing his mind and planning how to exterminate him and his dumb useless race.

“Are you sure I can't like, keep that wonder of ass you have there in my pocket and use it whenever I want? It'd be convenient, you know,” he smirks, letting his hands drop lower on Louis' waist, skimming the soft skin underneath his shirt.

“This ass belongs to the world darling,” Louis nods seriously while grabbing firmly his ass as to demonstrate his point. “A public property,” he finishes with a very annoying pedantic expression.

Nick leans downward, his lips ghost over Louis' ear teasingly, causing a shiver to run down his spine and land somewhere in his groin. “Then can I have a ride?”

Louis lets out a little moan and feels his cock twitching inside his pants, which are starting to feel a little too tight and constrictive for his own comfort and pleasure. He smirks fondly at Nick and then takes his hand, making his way through the throngs of people filling the little club, dedicating just a little glance around for Zayn, who's surely equally occupied.

When they stumble outside, Louis turns around and with almost pleading eyes says “please tell me you have a car, a room a whatever when you can properly fuck me because I'm hard as a rock an-” Nick cuts him off with an hand over his mouth, breathing out a little snicker, “yeah honey I got a car.”

Louis looks at him through his long lashes, which he bats with faux-innocence while he licks Nick's hand, who releases his mouth and kisses it, smacking his ass just for the hell of it.


This time it's Nick who grabs his hand and leads them towards what Louis can -with the very low cognitive capacity he owns in this moment- identify as the beach.


*



Louis doesn't exactly knows how he ended up bouncing on Nick's cock in the back-seat of his car.

Okay, he does know and he's sure it has something to do with Nick fossicking around in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and a packet of lube and Louis saying “what are you, a fucking boy scout?” and yeah.

But again, there is a thick cock brushing repeatedly against his prostate with each hard thrust so give him credit for the effort at least.

Louis thanks the Gods above for the hands keeping him up and steady because he's sure he'd collapse on Nick's lap otherwise, and he's not ready for such embarrassing memory to rush back at him  while he will probably be lovingly snogging the toilet tomorrow morning. Aah, old boy.

Nick licks Louis' swollen lips, while pounding inside him fast and hard, and digs his fingertips into Louis' hips, gripping the soft flesh till it turns white.

“Shit, you are so bloody tight,” Nick gasps, throwing his head back against the head of the seat, exposing the column of his throat, where Louis promptly attaches his mouth to, sucking and biting the stretched skin while he keeps bouncing relentlessly on Nick's thick cock.

With a loud groan Louis comes hard all over Nick's stomach, hot spurts slipping from Louis' untouched cock, who feels Nick's cock pulsing inside his ass and slowly softening. Louis' name falls filthily form Nick's lips, who trails his index finger over the come smeared on his belly, and then with it he nudges Louis' lips to lick it clean. Louis eagerly sucks on it, moaning around the finger and enjoying how Nick's eyes darken again. Louis rests his head in the crook of Nick's neck, trying to catch his breath back while riding out his orgasm.

“I swear to God, if you tell someone that I begged you to fuck me with a blowjob in the middle of the kerb, I will rip your cock off and set it on fire,” he says pointing his finger at Nick's face and the poking it with an horn sound.

Nick gapes at him with a smile creeping on his face. His eyes are fond, flickering over Louis' face, adoringly soaking up all the freckles on his sunkissed skin. But Louis is glaring at him now, and he pulls a face almost worried.

”I swear. If you say you love me I will punch you straight in the face.”

Nick barks out a loud laugh, then closes his eyes and rests his head on Louis' shoulder, his whole body trembling with laughter.“You really are something else, aren't you?”

Louis waves his hand dismissively, “yeah yeah I'm wonderful and my ass is perfect blablabla now can you gently pull off so I can go home and sleep and hopefully forget about having fucked with a fucking hipster gran--”

Nick cuts him off licking inside his mouth and grabbing firmly his ass, making him shift on his cock in a languid movement.

Louis feels Nick's cock twitching inside him, and his own refilling again. With a sense of futility he tries to will his cock to relinquish to this temptation that it's surely going lo lead to a regretful hangover tomorrow.

He fails.

And so he will have to forget about having fuck with an hipster granny twice, but he will accidentally avoid to mention it to whoever will ask.



                                                                                           ~*~*~*~



“You shouldn't be here. No no, don't laugh, ahah really you, you shouldn't be here. Damn, get you arse up!”

Zayn's voice is fucking  annoying  in the morning. Like, really really annoying. If he had any kind of will power he would  just strangle him against the sink and hide his body in the boot of Nick's car and it's to early for evil plans.


He needs alcohol to carburet. Or at least food. Like, those delicious stuffs Nick bought him this morning to placate his post-orgasm starving. He doesn't remember their taste. But he's sure he liked them.

He thinks. Oh well.

“And you shouldn't be able to walk today after yesterday night but I'm not compl--” a second distinctively unknown voice says.

Louis stands up and walks out of his room. He wonders briskly how the hell he is able to walk but life always surprises him so yeah. He enters the kitchen and stops frozen in the doorway. Zayn's hand is definitely covering the other guy's mouth and whoa, hold the fuck up.

“Liam?” Louis gaps impossibly wide, feeling suddenly too awaken and sober for this.

Zayn leans carefully slow to Liam, whispering annoyed “err--that's why I told you to leave,” but his fond voice gives him away. Just to make things worst, Liam smirks at him in response and Louis really, really wants to punch him.

“Are you fucking kidding me Zayn, what, is that a new game we are playing now? Sharing also the shags? For god's sake,” he throws his hands in the air. “I haven't even shagged him,” he says, before storming out of the kitchen, and if he hadn't been so brisk he would have  surely heard Liam whispering I wouldn't have complained and the embarrassing guttural sound he made when Zayn elbowed him straight in the stomach.

*

At some point in the early afternoon Liam leaves with a lingering kiss on Zayn's cheek on the doorway and Louis feels this sudden and urgent need to smear the walls of the entire room – and possibly Zayn's bed- with vomit just to demonstrate his annoyance, but then he remembers he is supposed to have something that sounds vaguely like dignity and so decides otherwise.

For now.

He buries himself under the lumpy sheets, hoping Death will come to get him and put an end to his sorrow, when he feels the bed dipping, and the smell of Zayn and someone else's fills his lungs.
Louis feels a hand creeping under the sheets and skimming his arm soothingly. He feels this other urge, always there and persistent, to tell  him to leave or rather fuck him senseless because he can't stand the idea of someone else's perfume clinging to Zayn's skin.


But then his eyes widen, he rolls over and throws up all over Zayn's feet.

And somehow, the moment passes.


*



"What can I do for you love?" Zayn asks from above him, soothing the tensed muscles of Louis' shoulders with his thumb.

"Kill me," Louis responds and okay. He really likes to be dramatic sometimes.

Louis clutches his stomach, feeling the need to throw up again, and his head spins terribly. Sensing his discomfort, Zayn crunches next to him, brushing his lips against Louis' neck, who relaxes almost immediately under the careful ministration. Louis turns his head to look at him but freezes when he basks in the way Zayn is looking at him. It's strangely familiar but he hasn't seen it in months and he isn't sure he can cope with it now, or ever.

"Don't look at me like that Z," he glares at him.

Zayn startles, shaking his head "like what?"

"Don't fuck with me, Z. Stop it. This is unfair." Louis stands up and the room spins around him again and he has to breach himself against the wall with both arms. "You still smell like another guy that, fuck Zayn, I sucked off two days ago and you fucking can't look at me like that," and now Zayn understands.

"Sorry. It--it's just. This reminded me of that night I thought you were gonna die of ethyl coma," he laughs shyly, eyes falling to his fumbling fingers "that you told me--"

"Stop Zayn. Fuck. Stop."


That night is an off-limits topic, Zayn knows that. Because it was the first time they had sex, locked in Stan's room while he was probably throwing up in his own pool. And they both know it was nothing like sex. Never has. Always something more. And that was the first time their “I love you” tasted so much differently in each other's mouth.

 And that's why Zayn can't look at him like that.

Like he's falling in love. Like he's already fallen hard. Like he's on the ground, picking up the pieces of what remains.

Plus, his head is pounding and his stomach hurts, and he can't really deal with feelings.

Louis' phone rings, and he storms out of the bathroom without hesitation, glad he is bailed out of this discussion. Louis pretends not to hear the soft "sorry" Zayn says when he passes him by, sighing heavily. He can keep pretending to be angry with him like this.

An unknown number.

"Hello?!" he says tentatively while rubbing absentmindedly his temple. There are strange noises coming from the other line.

"Hi nice bum."

It's Nick. Louis groans.

"Hungover?" Nick laughs, and it's not funny. Like, at all.

"I'm sore,"  Louis responds and he hears Nick muffling a laughter.

Why the hell does he always put out to the weirdest people and why did he give his number to this insufferable twat, who has the courage to call at this godamnish our of the mor- okay it's 3 pm but who cares?

"Poor thing," Nick says on the other line, failing horribly to sound sorry.

"Did you call me to pity me and piss me off or something?" his head aches.

"No, actually I wanted to see you" and he wants to rip it off his body.

"Oh." It's the only thing he can think of,  "yeah, but you won't have my bum mate."

Louis hears another laugh. "I wanna see you, not your bum”.

Ha, liar.

"Okay, when and where?" He sounds defeated but he's actually very glad to get out of here and see other people whose name don't start with z and end with ayn.

"Now and--I'm gonna pick you up in fifteen minutes. So go take a shower and have a wank coz I ain't gonna fuck you. Too tired." Louis pulls a face because really. What even is he.

“I got off yesterday just because I was drunk. Don't be to hopeful, you and your little prick.”

"You son of--" Louis hangs up. He's fairly pleased with himself. Yep.


The line goes off and Louis notices an unread message. It's from Greg, but precisely it's the one he received two days ago and just now he realizes this is the first time in two days that he has used his phone.

You deserve to be loved Lou it reads.

Louis stares at his phone as the screen goes off, then throws it against the wall, watching it shattering in pieces on the floor. He chews the inside of his cheek, willing himself to leave it there, broken and useless, but  then goes to pick up the pieces and piece them together.

Ha, what an analogy.


*

When Louis makes a quick tour around their flat, he realizes Zayn is not there. And he isn't surely going to panic. He got to snap the fuck out of it and move on.

So, instead, he keeps his resolution to let him go, with the frazzling sureness he will always come back.

He hopes.

*

Nick arrives 20 minutes later, with his stupid quiff all styled up and his stupid tight jeans and he drank as much as him so why does Nick looks so good and Louis looks like a truck passed on him a couple of times. Life is unfair.

Nick takes him to get something to eat - considering he woke up at 2 in the afternoon and all he had in his stomach was brutally rejected in the toilet - and on Zayn's feet ha - and tells him that he and his friends are organizing a bonfire on the beach tonight, promising tons of booze and some white lady if he's interested. He thinks he'll pass this time.

Nick, aside from his obnoxious and twatish essence – which Louis can't help but being completely endeared by -  is a very nice guy - sometimes - he has to admit, and somehow the way their characters clash so beautifully together makes them just fit. They get some horrendous glares from some grannies walking by – probably trying to give Nick a piggyback and ending up face-first against a palm has something to do with it but who knows -  and he wonders why aren't they at home doing, you know, grannies' stuff.


They talk a lot about their families and jobs and Louis discovers Nick's is to talktalktalktalk on the radio and Louis thinks it suits him perfectly because he doesn't seem to be able to stop talking – even if he won't ever admit to him or anybody else that he enjoys it – and before they even acknowledge it, the sun is already setting.
 
They arrive at the bonfire with Nick wearing a purple feathery boa Louis burrowed from a shop across the road and pinching each other's sides like twelve years old boyfriends. There are already people collapsed around the fire with joints dangling from their sun-dried lips, others making out furiously and probably planning on repopulating the world with little hipsters  – Louis imagines thousand little Nicks trotting all around and doesn't know whether to feel pleased by his wonderful imagination or disgusted for the product of it -  and then he allows himself just a second to wonders where Zayn is.

"Don't worry, some of my "normal" friends," he actually makes the quote commas gesture and who does that, "are coming soon. You'll love them,” he concludes with an endearing smug face, that Louis loves, even if he wants to slap it off his face so desperately.

Nick guides him towards a small group, his hand resting on Louis' small back, among which a guy is pouring and mixing some drinks – very Spartan.


A couple of guys start strumming some random Bob Marley's song with a guitar and bongos – can they be more cliché? -  when he hears Zayn laugh echoing in the distance.

He turns around and freezes.

Not only he's holding Liam's hand, but there is Niall. And Josh. And Harry. Walking behind them.

“Fuckfuckfuck, fuck,” he breathes under his breath, but the last “fuck” comes out as a loud scream.

Everybody turns to look at him questioningly and he's just waiting for the sand to swallow him up and choke him painfully. Zayn lets Liam hand the second he sees Louis, and  runs – he fucking runs and why – towards him, literally jumping on him, who falls backward and feels the wind knocked out of him when Zayn's body crashes on his stomach. He can't help the laugh that escapes from his mouth, guttural and some octaves lower than normally, lost against Zayn's neck. He crawls away from Louis and they both get to their feet, dusting away the sand clinging to their clothes.


Finally Louis looks up, and yeah, they are all looking at him. Wonderful.

“Hi,” he manages, before abruptly turning around and running over Nick, who is currently bent over near the fire to – supposedly – warm his ass, but Louis is not sure he wants to know.

Louis rises Nick's arm and tucks himself under it, as a human shelter from the evil men he shagged who decided to unit together to make his life a damn nightmare. He extracts his phone from his back pocket, scrolling through the thousands of contact for Zayn's.

He needs help.

Under the protection of Nick's armpit Louis relaxes just a little bit, the warm radiating from his body soothes away the tension, but then “Nick, fuck here you are” and Louis wants to die. He mashes the keyboard, and with a final sdoifjodaffffff to Zayn and lets out a very manly squeak.

He was trying to imitate a seagull. Yeah, he will use this one.

Nick and Louis turn around and he doesn't surely miss the deep frown on Harry's face as he asks “am I missing something here?”

Louis closes his eyes and abortabortabort no, no, absolutely no, abort mission every man for himself, release parachute, motherfucking eject.

“Ah, this is the twink  I told you about this morning,” Nick sniffs and continues nonchalantly as if Louis wasn't there mentally thinking about cutting in little bits Nick's cook and what is he ideal way to stew it. Zayn probably knows, he briefly thinks.


“You know, that I shagged in my car,” he concludes with a grin that screams self-realization.

Louis looks at him with his head still bent down through his eyelashes, hoping glares could kill because Nick would be already dead, agonizing on the ground and pleading for mercy.

Ha, denied.

Harry's face drops and he looks even more confused and incredulous when he asks “you--you shagged him?” and Louis doesn't know who the question is directed to, but he's got a feeling he wouldn't have responded anyway.

Louis feels anger and an impellent urge pooling inside him to throw himself into the fire, and before he even realizes it, he's shouting at Zayn.

“What the fuck is this bullshit?” he pauses, throwing his arms in the air, breath ragged.


“You already came here with another guy and you had to do this too? What game are we playing at, huh? Oh, let's assemble all Louis' shags, let's make him feel like a little slut. Thanks, I really needed it,” he finishes sealing shut his lips and feeling tears staining his burning cheeks.

All the guys look at each other, eyes flickering to one another, realization washing over them. Louis lets out a loud groan followed by a for fuck's sake almost imperceptible and walks away, heading to the shore.

In the meanwhile, Harry is looking at his friends expectingly, hands on his hips, when Niall finally says “he kissed me two days ago,” shrugging nonchalantly, because really. It isn't that big of a deal.

Then Liam speaks, “he sucked me off--the same night?!” and he sounds slightly disgusted when he realizes the implication of what he just said.

“Well, I already told ya,” Nick chimes in, even if no fucking one is looking at him, “for the record, nice fuck. Really,” he nods and scrunches his nose all to himself.

Everybody then looks at Zayn, exasperatingly waiting for him to say something to fix this.

“Err, well--err, I've been shagging with him for three years so I don't think I count,” Zayn shrugs, and then Nick high-fives him with an idiotic face and Zayn lets out a loud laugh. Harry and Liam don't laugh. But, well.

The sound of the two hands clapping makes Harry wince and gap at his friends,  and he looks like there is something so painfully wrong about all this.

I was falling for him.

He has nothing real to say. So he shut up and walks away too.

*

Half an hour later, when the group joins the other people already there and finally the first commotion subsides, Harry is nowhere to be found.

Niall's already having the time of his life. He's on a rock shouting at the top of his lungs - in some language that probably in a normal state of sobriety would resemble Irish, but nobody can assure it -  surrounded by a group of people clapping at him – and really, do not foster him -  and he's well on his way to shamefacedly passing out on it.

Zayn climbs on the rock too – because trust Zayn bloody Maliz to tag along with every bloody psycho they find on the road - and winds his arms around Niall's neck, holding his drink out carefully so it won't spill all over the both of them and joins him with his equally slurred and incomprehensible attempt to talk in a thick southern American dialect, shouted for not a real apparent reason, and if Louis were here he would say something like how this scene resembles vaguely “Lion King”, with far more alcohol and monkeys.

 Okay the comparison sucks but sssh.

*

Louis is sat down on the shore, head turned lightly toward the fire, watching fondly Nick and Niall engaged in a swords duel with empty vodka bottles and dirty plastic plates as shields. They have fantasy, he has to admit. He shouldn't enjoy it so much.

But he does.

And he doesn't feel sorry a bit for having hoped just for a while that Nick's hair would set on fire. He's only human after all.

But in process of  willing his eyes to look away, he's stuck there, mesmerized. The wonderful beauty of the impetuous and  restless nature of the fire, both destructive and cathartic.

And Louis can't help but compare it to Zayn.

To the heat spreading mercilessly from his body, pooled gracefully in his eyes, hiding in every crevices of his mouth. To how it is like to love him. Consuming, but in the same time vital. You need to get closer, to relish the warmth.

And you know. You know you'll get burned.

But you''ll do it anyway.

Because when Zayn loves, he gives everything he has. It fills a person-shaped dent you didn't even know you had. It leaves you bare and naked, displayed in front of you to be loved and craved. It’s all-encompassing and overwhelming. It fills up the spaces between your bones, the grooves in your heart  until Zayn is the only thing that you know.

Louis turns back to face the ocean, eyes wandering, lost in the depth of the sunset dying light, feet occasionally touched by the bravest waves. He wonders how much it would take for the sea to swallow him up and let him drown. If there is a chance that the flames bursting deep inside him from loving Zayn so much would extinguish, somehow, one day.


If there would be scars littering on his body or just memories riddling his heart.  

His train of thoughts derails precipitously, when a running Nick with a very displeased and kicking Harry on his shoulder pass Louis by and land disgracefully in the water, sending water and wet sand all around, shoutings and laughter filling the spring air, and something, deep inside Louis.


Louis closes his eyes. He wants to tune out the world, just silence and secretive smiles around and nothing else.He perceives something heavy slumping next to him. He has a strangely familiar scent, something you shouldn't remember. But you just do.

“Are you gonna punch me if I ask you what's the deal with you two?” Harry says, eyes locked to where Louis assumes Zayn and Liam are. Probably eating each other's face.

Anthropophagy, really. He didn't put it past Zayn.

He squeezes his eyes, letting out a long and quivering breath. This is one of the few memories related to Zayn that keeps holding an inexplicable painful facet. ' Cause it feels like it's the beginning and somehow the end of everything that really matters.

“We met when we were eight. We weren't actual friends, you know, we just saw each other 'coz our mothers were friends. An then dunno, I'd say it happened slowly but it felt like all of a sudden bam we were there and we just clicked.”

Harry nods and presses his lips tight together.

“We grew up together. Always, constantly together. We discovered who we were and who we wanted to be and in our future the other was always a constant in the equation. We never had the big gay freak-out almost every teenage has. Zayn simply came to me an evening and told me he really wanted to kiss me sometimes and I told him that it was the same for me and we just kissed.”

Louis laughs humorlessly, eyes focused on his fidgeting hands, “everything was always so easy with him, you know? And it still is, in some ways. But--,” he rubs a hand over his face and closes his eyes again. There's something so liberating about tearing all this off his chest, but it hurts.

It feels like losing. Like being deprived of something you carefully hid somewhere private. Too selfish to share.

The ocean is still tucking bubbling waves over their toes and a map of their story written in beer cans across the sand that will be far too many in the morning, littering the beach like all the memories Louis is going to leave here.

“But--” Harry supplies, startling Louis and making his eyes snap open again.

“Here is where I don't know how to go on,” he smiles close-mouthed, turning his head to Harry, who is staring at him confused.


“Has it ever happened to you that like, when you see something so beautiful that you have to stop and keep looking at it to soak up every detail, but it's never enough and you don't know how to love it properly?”

Harry keeps staring at him, the shadows carve out the sharpness of his face and the droopiness of his eyes. Louis thinks he probably doesn't know.

“Well I feel like this when it comes to him.  I feels like I can't breathe with how much I love him but somehow it will never be enough.”

Harry doesn't move. “I don't understand,” he shakes hid head slightly.

“Welcome to he club Haz,” Louis says, but the nickname feel so bitter and acre in his mouth.

They settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of  the waves crashing against the shore and of the fire bursting the only noise around - if you are able tune out Nick's boisterous and obnoxious voice reverberating all around, good for you.

“That's why you practically shagged with all of my friends? To make yourself believe you don't really need him?” Harry asks, sounding not at all accusing but just genuinely curious.

Louis jaw hangs open in indignation, letting out an outraged sound, “first of all I didn't know they were your friends and,” he trails off, “how the hell is it possible you didn't see me and Nicholas that night?”

Harry's usually dimpled cheeks blush, and he tries to hide his face behind his unruly curls. “Err, you know,” he stops and looks at Louis who ducked his head and is looking at him with wide expecting eye and a goofy expression.

 “You left me there half-naked, painfully hard and I couldn't come back inside with a boner.”

Louis gaps, but briskly he smiles smugly. “You got off thinking of me?” he says the last word before cracking up, clutching his stomach and resting his head on Harry's shoulder, who shoves him hard, making him lie on the sand, but his eyes are fond, glistening under the starry sky.

“Why didn't I see you lot together not even once before?” Louis asks, because just now has it occurred to him its strangeness.

“We arrived in different days and with different groups of mates.”

Louis looks at him confused with furrowed brows and so Harry adds “we were best friends at school but with Uni and other stuffs we took different roads,” he gives a little smile, that Louis knows what it means, then continues, “and this was the perfect occasion to get back together and get trashed for old times' sake,” he laughs, somehow privately, just for himself, and Louis feels eighteen all over again.

Trying to look for something worth breathing for, and always finding it in Zayn's eyes.

When silence settles back down, they stare briefly to each other, but then their eyes drop to the sandy ground.

“I wanna make you happy,” Harry blurts out cutting the heavy silence. And it sounds painfully evocative of other thousand times he heard this same exact words.

Louis slowly turns to look at him. But doesn't say a word.

“It's just so easy to love you, you know?” he brushes the sand off his hands “like, it's the simplest thing you can do in your life, like you were always meant to.”

He pauses. Louis hears Zayn's laugh echoing from the distance. He can't help relating those words to him.

“Do you think you could let me?”

Louis knows it's a dumb question that doesn't really have to mean something. But it does, and it hurts. He lets his eyes fall to the ground again, the sand swirls away with the wind. The offset sound of a whistling ocean dances in the distance even though it’s so close.  It feels like the world slid away a long time ago and it’s just them.  It’s just the dark, the moon, and the love that's hiding somewhere in the crook of Harry's mouth.

He stands up and says “do you think there's still something left to love of me?” but he doesn't wait for an answer. He feels strangely dramatic. Zayn has a awful influence on him. Whatever.

He walks over the little group where Zayn is now nursing Louis' personal bottle of Rhum - for emergency, he says, drunkard it means – and he pouts making grabby hands because mine. He crouches in front of him and laughs when he sees that Zayn's eyes are bloodshot red-rimmed and heavy-lidded, happy and twinkling like the stars above. Zayn hands him the bottle and stands up, clutching tightly Louis' hand and then they start to dance around the bonfire, laughing for no apparent reasons.


They give Niall a wonderfully uncoordinated lap-dance, using Josh as a pol when he dares to approach them, Zayn nearly falling face-first into the sand and Louis hopes someone is recording this because everyone in the world should be able to witness such beautiful display of idiocy, something Louis plans to treasure somewhere hidden from indiscreet eyes and take benefit from it during Christmas' dinners with the family or maybe Liam and Zayn's wedding and maybe Louis is just thinking a little bit too much ahead.

After an embarrassing session of Truth or Dare that had Liam licking Josh's armpit, Niall trying to put as many fries inside his nostrils as he could – ending up voraciously eating them afterwards – and Zayn confessing his undying love for Spongebob  - courtesy of Louis thanks mate- Zayn tugs Louis closer, hugging him tightly.

“I love you so much Loueh,” he slurs, eyes semi-closed and he looks so fucking beautiful it hurts.

Louis loses himself in the depth of Zayn's eyes, parting slightly his lips and then sinking his teeth in his bottom lip.

 “Will you ever forgive for having loved you so much?” and it doesn't sound at all dramatic, a little desperate, a little tired, a little sorry. But his eyes are pleading, and the the sky is darkening even more above them.

Zayn furrows his brows in confusion, but then his expression softens, basking in the single tear running down his cheek, collecting dry salt and sand dust on his way down.

“You are my home Lou. I won't ever have to forgive you for making me the happiest person in the world. Because I don't  regret loving you more than my own life. Never has. Never will.” He tightens his grips on Louis' waist, his sugary shampoo scent pervades his lungs. “You belong to me, Lou. And I'll always belong to you”.

Louis kisses his cheek, catching the teardrops running down his face and pooling in he corner of his mouth, tasting salt and Zayn's aftershave. And then he smiles, feeling his eyes watering again.  
Because they are here. Grasping nothing, and everything at the same time. The world around watching them but feeling like nothing else exists.

Everything seems smudged around the edges, flashes of  bright red and oceanic blue blending together, and coming back like a kaleidoscope of colours and memories. Louis releases his arms around Zayn and starts dancing around the fire again, taking sips from strangers' cups, smoking the ends of other peoples' cigarettes, his hand tangled with Zayn's, warm and callous. They launch themselves in a round of very coordinate valzer that has them both stumbling continuously on the sand and Louis literally jumping on Zayn, his legs around his waist and arms winded around his neck, with the  “stop hugging me, you ape, we’re not, Louis, do not lick me, dude, I swear-” that sends them both on the ground, crashing disgracefully and laughing so hard they both end up crying.


And strangely, in that moment it hits him, that Zayn's hand isn't only his anymore.  It touched someone else's skin and claimed it with his mouth. And it hits him even harder how that thought doesn't scare him anymore. Maybe because every time Zayn made him twirl around he saw flashes of green looking at him. A green that comes along with  a sense of levity and something new that tastes like spring and happiness and so beautifully Harry.

So he stops, and kneels down over Liam, urging him to stand up, and then latches his hand with Zayn's together, and leaves them with the hugest and most genuine smile in what feels like years. He walks towards his blanket, flips Nick off with both hands – it feels like he always deserves it, no matter what he does. Just in case - and offers his hand to Harry sat next to him.


Harry eyes the gesture, with that kind of look like he is trying to wrap his head around what this means.  

I'm letting you.

Finally he accepts it, allowing it to guide him in Louis' arms. A gesture so much metaphoric that he should win the Nobel prize for, you know, something.

He feels himself break apart completely, crumbling inexorably only to reform into the shape of Harry’s hands around his waist and heart against his chest. Harry cups his face, his eyes boring Louis', as if he is searching for answers, as if he is trying to convey all the words still left unspoken and lingering on their salty skin.

And somehow the kiss they share afterwards actually does it.

They kiss like the world around dissipated with the wind through his fingertips, bringing the scent of old summer nights and stumbling parties that go on until dawn. And with Harry in his arms, it doesn't fell anymore like drifting away or being detached. It's everything all around there, moonlight dripping down Harry's pale skin, leaving behind a path Louis will trace with his tongue and lick it clean. It feels more like getting tangled in all the the little things you thought you had all sorted out in your life. Like tripping over all the worst bits of yourself and felling so utterly human, fucking up your neatly organized life, and just love, because it's the only thing  you can do.


Louis now understands why he was so scared of letting people in. He was afraid when someone made him happy because in his dictionary the term “happiness” came along with a life-seize photo of Zayn with his stupid sharp jawline and chiseled cheekbones, and he wasn't sure he could deal with another Zayn in his life, a person able to take away his smile even if he would never do it.

And Louis was afraid of Harry. Because Harry was just there. Wearing his heart on his sleeve and a smile that creeps on his face like a streak of moonlight.


And Louis wasn't sure if he had something to give. He has felt so empty for so long and he just wanted to feel full without someone else filling the void. Louis sees his reflection in Harry's vitreous eyes, lovingly boring his, crystalline and endlessly vast, and he doesn't see any cracks. Any wound, any bruise, if not the one left by Harry's lips and hands the night before.


He sees himself complete, whole, and somehow fixed.


Being with Harry creates a calm around him that consumes him. An ease and confidence that feels so natural and effortless. A sense of belonging. A feeling that is so incredibly empirical to Louis. A boy who’d always felt like he was just someone others put up with.

A burden.

Louis' eyes drop down away from Harry's lips, and watches their latched hands. There are no promises or secrets embedded between their fingers. Just open spaces, vast and endless. You can fill the gaps with chartreuse and cyan ink, yellow like the sun.

Or you can leave it white, like a blank sheet, for a new story to be written.


*



Harry and Louis take a little walk, talking about everything and nothing, because Louis realizes he doesn't really know anything about him, but they end up with roaming hands exploring their bodies, and limbs tangled together on a lifeguard tower or whatever they are called not so far from where the others are, probably still drinking and sharing Mary Jane's spliffs and horrendous past memories.

Harry's hovering over Louis, lips attached to his neck with the barest hint of teeth followed by leisurely suction, gradually intensifying until Louis' entire body is throbbing in synch with Harry's heartbeat, clutching Harry’s shoulders pleadingly for more. Harry grinds his hips down against Louis' and it feels so fucking good, the hot rub of Harry's cock against his own, both of them leaking with precome and painfully throbbing in anticipation.


The sensation of their cocks sliding slick alongside another, skin to skin, has Louis breathing out a long litany of fuckfuckfuck and his eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
 
Harry is bucking frantically between Louis' legs and thrusting right down against him while he digs his teeth into Louis' collarbone. Louis feels like a fire has been lit inside him, burning with his unrelenting persistence. The fire he needed to burst inside him, the one he craved to feel full, alive. And Harry is giving it to him so selflessly. Their kiss is messy, mouths slip-sliding against each other, Harry licking into Louis's mouth and rocking against him desperately, urging him to go faster. His head shifts against Harry's, whose  tongue pushes inside his mouth deeper as Louis' legs bend at his hip and allows his body to connect to his more. Harry takes both cocks in his soft slender hand, the delicious sensation makes both bucking their hips frantically to fuck themselves in Harry's hand. Harry collects the come leaking from Louis' slit, making him moan so loud he's afraid someone can hear them, and slick their cock to ease the  dry friction.

“I want you to come in my mouth. Do you want to come in my mouth Louis? Make me swallow all your come, huh? Do yo--”

Harry lets out a groan and can't finish his sentence, because they both come, so hard it seems fucking surreal, and moan in each other's mouths, chasing the taste of one another with a bruising kiss that almost hurts.

The post-orgasm haze gets completely disrupted when a very naked and drunk Niall with an equally trashed Zayn grabbing his hand run pass them by, yelling a slurred this is Sparta – which, you know, completely out of context – that fades in the distance when they land messily in the water. Louis and Harry both stare at each other for a moment trying not to laugh, their lips held tight and their eyes welling up with the pent in humor before they both burst into fits.

Louis spares just five seconds to the thought that Zayn can't swim for shit and he's afraid of the darkness and that in this current moment he is finding himself in a dreadful situation, mixture of these two factors. Zayn is probably going to die, and his body to be swallowed up by the mortal and unscrupulous  force of the ocean tides, lost in its depths, eaten up by grabs and, dunno, fishes and it will be all Louis' fault because instead of going there and save him he's currently licking Harry's cock clean and pressing two fingers against his prostate to make him come again and maybe then finally fuck him.

But then a wet sand ball hits the wooden wall just behind them, three inches away from Louis' face and they suddenly find themselves engaged in a sand bombardment, sieged by drunkards attacking from multiple angles fucking bastards and Louis wonders briskly when his life became a bloody remake of "saving private Ryan" and when cock-blocking a damn Olympics' sport.


                                                                                                    ~*~*~*~


Louis wakes up completely dazed, dappled shadows stretching along his salty skin.

There is a hand draped over his waist and and a soft nose poking his neck. His back hurts terribly, and when he tries to stand up, the noise his bones make has him worried him just a little bit. He's to young to have osteoporosis. And to, you know, generally die. There is sand in his hair and inside his ears and nose, scratching painfully his love-bites marked skin.

Zayn and Liam are already at work, collecting the garbage littered all around the now extinguished fire. Already a married couple. How cute.


He decides to be mature and help them – he will always deny to have thrown an empty coke can at a still asleep Nick's head – okay maybe not so empty – and in twenty minutes the work is almost done. Nick wakes up too, his tall quiff all smushed against his forehead, and the first thing he says is a fuck you to Louis and then makes fun of Niall and Josh who are probably unconsciously cuddling in the sleep. Louis convinces him to join he and Zayn to take a little swim while Liam go get some food, and the terrible hangover starts slowly to fade into a more bearable state of sleepy tenderness.

 Zayn always tells him he looks like a giant teddy bear when he's hungover. Louis always only hears fatfatfatfat, and promises that if he will become bulimic he will make sure to always vomit in Zayn's bed. As a reminder.

“You've already done it mate” Zayn adds, pulling a knowing face he knows Louis hates beyond human possible.

“It happened once Zayn. Once,” Louis says exasperated pointing his finger to him, but they both know it happened more times than they are willing to remember.

They wade inside the water, Louis cautiously lets his body adjust to its cold temperature when a gelid splash hits his back. He takes a long breath and turns around to glare at Nick – because of fucking course it's him – and with a pointing finger solemnly declares “I will have mercy of your wrinkled body just because you are old and going to die soon anyway,” to which there is no a real response, if not some kind of death threats and other childish splashes. Louis tries to stay afloat on the water but ends up inevitably sinking down, and Nick promptly - through a very scientific disquisition -  blames it on the heaviness of Louis' ass, to which Zayn almost drown from the force of his laughter – and surely Louis doesn't contribute with a rather failing homicidal attempt- calling treason and other stuff, like the numerous pinkies promises Zayn is currently breaking, together with Louis little heart.


There are bouts of conversation Louis would gladly avoid, or rather questions, like “you really like him , huh?” but he knows that if he denies it will just results in a whole lot of lying and he's got a hint Zayn does already know the answer but takes pleasure to see people uncomfortable. The little bastard.

They wade out of the water and attempt to test their fantastic skills in building a sand castle, which crumbles half-way but Louis decides to blame Zayn anyway so it doesn't really matter- while Nick keeps looking at them like a mixture between a proud father and a brash presumptuous little shit. Louis stands up, and rests a hand on his waist, shielding his eyes with the other. The tides creeps up to their feet and he feels strangely pensive. He startles when an arms circles around his waist and a smile tugs the corners of his mouth because he knows who it is.


Harry catches with a kiss a droplet of sea water running down Louis' shoulder, who shudders and clutches Harry's hand brushing over his stomach.

“I need a beer.” Louis pauses. “Zayn bring me a beer”.

Zayn looks at him blankly, opening and closing his mouth and trying very hard to make annoying noises in the process.

“You owe me,”  Louis states.

“For what?” he responds, ducking his head and blinking he eyes faking curiosity.

Louis narrows his eyes and glares at him, considering maybe, and then “beer” and well. His argumentation can't really be argued, can't it?

He hears Nick stage-whispering “fat ass” and promptly turns his head around slowly, adding some horror effects hoping to scare him off, and glares at him. Then his face scrunches up in a distorted goofy expression and Nick points a finger to his face.

“Your arse goes against every physics law. I got proofs,” as though it's some kind of fault that Louis should feel guilty for.

Harry barks out a loud laughter, throwing his head back and clasping a hand over his mouth. Louis wants to bottle up that sound and get to hear it over and over again everyday when he wakes up. Wants to bottle up this moment, the smile creeping on Harry's face and his hands around his waist. How they feel when  he brushes them against Louis' scratchy skin and how possessively his grip tightens when Zayn or Nick talk to him.

He wants to remember how it's like to feel loved in a right way, when everything just fits and you can breathe.

Bu then trust the curly idiot to ruin such a poetic moment by leaning further down to whisper inside Louis' ear “your ass is mine,” making Louis' pull a face that can easily be the perfect epitome of seriously, the fuck.

“Oh my god,” Louis plants a hand on Harry’s face and pushes him away “what the hell are you.”

Zayn stands up and smiles, basking in the way Harry and Louis' bodies fit perfectly and so effortlessly and Louis feels Harry smiling against his neck and his eyelashes flutter close.

“Lou, Liam said that tomorrow they are leaving for LA, to stay by his uncle's mansion and,” he smiles wider while clapping his hands together,“ they want us to go with them,” he finishes, ducking his head lightly to shield his eyes from the sun.

Louis wishes he will be able to look into those smoldering pools of watery fire one day without feeling the overwhelming need to do anything and everything they ask him. Zayn is this compelling force for him, whose magnetism was there since they first met, when everything was simple and effortless, when there were just innocent hands held close and genuine touches. Louis would like to say he's thinking about the answer and considering the pros and cons, if Stan' car will die half-way or if maybe Stan needs it in the next future, but the way his heart  is pounding inside his ribcage is far more than an answer itself.


He says yes right away, pleased by the huge smile blossoming on Zayn's lips, who continues “I'm going with Li, Niall and Josh and Nick, and--” he trails off, “you know, Harry can come with you, if you want.”

Harry's arm tightens their grip around Louis' waist, who doesn't know if it's a gesture of reassurance or fear for a refuse.


So Louis takes Harry's hand laying on his stomach and brings it to his mouth to kiss it and then says “ obviously” because it really is that simple.

 

*


Louis and Zayn are digging around their room to recollect their stuffs littered all over the floor, and Louis feels just for an half-second sorry for the people who are going to clean it – he tries but fails miserably to remember a single used condoms they threw in the bin.

Possible progeny all over the place, yo.

They give the keys back to the old sweaty lady in the entrance with the money they owe her and with brief thanks and goodbyes they exit the motel, in front of which the other guys are already waiting for them.


Louis starts to hug each of them for no apparent reason considering they are leaving together - in fact they all look at him confused but smiling fondly - and when he gets to Nick, he rises his head, blurts straight in his face and then moves to Harry, who giggles proudly and embraces him tight. Harry kisses him, licking inside his mouth and brushing a hand against his sharp cheekbones. Louis puts his own hand over Harry's, latching their fingers together. With a pat on Louis' ass he moves towards the car, giving a thump up to the other before Nick can point out they got to go because plans and timetable and you are 28 not bloody 60 Nick for fuck's sake.

Louis turns around, his eyes looking for Zayn's. When they find him, Louis smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners, and feels like the world stopped spinning to watch them.That silence, of thousand unspoken words hanging there, keepsakes, reminders. We have been here, l loved you, when you and you only existed for me. Because they have never needed to say one. They have always spoken with  hands roaming over their young bodies and lips ghosting over their skin. Zayn smiles back, tongue poking against his teeth. They are both walking backwards, eyes still locked, afraid to look away. Then they start laughing and there is really no a reason but at the same times other hundreds to. His eyes land on Liam behind Zayn, looking unsure at him. Louis' smile grows even wider and somehow even they two share a silenced conversation because then Liam nods, shoulders relaxing.

It's strange, to see Zayn leave. Going away, giving his back to Louis in some sort of ways. Another boy, another story to write in the sand, another life to share. But the more Zayn is walking away, the more the thread making their hearts beat in unison is solidifying. It isn't going snap and hurt them. But just make them feel close even when they won't be.

I am terrified that one day I won’t be able to remember your fingers laced with mine, or your nose pressed behind my ear and your smile against my neck

Don't forget me

I won't

Louis finally turns back around, and seeing Harry placing carefully his bags in the truck of Stan's car, sunglasses low on his nose bridge, sunlight pooling in his dimples and eyelashes casting funny shadows on his cheeks, is everything he has ever needed.

A boy that burns brighter than the sun, that leaves ashes and dust behind him, but just love and light ahead.

                                                                                           ~*~*~*~

During the first six hours of the trip Louis pulled over just three times, twice to eagerly and messily  ride Harry in the back seat and the other to suck him off against the car door.

He considers it as a victory. It could have been much worse, if you don't consider when Harry tried to give Louis a road-head, which, you know, really nothing to complain about, but Louis was nearly crashing the car against the guardrail in the process of pressing with his free hand Harry's head further down on his cock, who gaged a little but then sunk down again and deep-throated him without even blinking an eye.

He stoically decides to leave his trousers open, for, you know, health necessities and good manners. His mother taught him well.

He doesn't know what to expect from this trip, where and what are they gonna do there in LA, if rolling through America, town after town whenever he'll sees someone in an torn leather jacket with ripped sleeves it will remind him of warm, drunk nights sex and cigarette-scented skin. But he’s okay. He will let those moments wash over him, drown him, and then he will pull himself back up. Because there is a boy holding  his hand over the dashboard making him feels anchored in a new beautiful place.

There is a loud horn sound making them both startle and turning around to see Liam's car overtaking his and yeah.


There is definitely Nick's ass pressed against the window and Niall on the back seat popping from the roof screaming “shower of cunts” to no one in particular with a hand clutching a beer bottle and the other in a fist wiggled menacingly in the air while the car speeds passed them.

Louis stays frozen in his seat, eyes still locked to where he has been able to see directly Nick's disgusting ass hole.


Then Harry coughs and Louis has a second time flash of lucidity that makes him countersteers the car back to their lane.


He glances briefly at Harry, who's looking at him like Louis is the most beautiful and perfect thing he has ever seen, and after few seconds there is a hand creeping over the dashboard and palming Louis already hard cock through his thin briefs, and Harry licks his lips in a motion that vaguely says round two, before he lowers his curly head and takes a mouthful of Louis' clad cock, damping the dark fabric with spit.

So yeah even if they are fuckfuckfuck gonna die in the next oh my god hours, he can't really I'm gonna come bring himself to care.