; adjective; exquisitely beautiful

Niall is very loud and Louis can't figure out if his talkative behavior is due to his high intake of alcohol already or if this is just his personality. It can't be the alcohol, though, because Niall wrapped Louis up in a bear hug and rambled on about how Louis smelled like vanilla and, "reminds me of me Mum's kick ass baking," all while he was completely sober.

Harry had picked Louis up around 7 in the afternoon on Friday to bring him to Niall's flat. Turns out, Niall is the cute blonde Louis had seen that day in the pharmacy, the day he met Harry. Everything was normal between him and the older lad. As normal as two friends could be after a Daddy kink confession. Harry tried, and partially succeded, to make it seem like just an ordinary outing between the two of them. He struck up a conversation about the new Finding Dory movie as soon as Louis was properly buckled up in his car. Louis, though. Louis was a mess. He couldn't make genuine eye contact with Harry without the word Daddy threatening to worm it's way between his words. He did, however, appreciate Harry's effort to avoid the topic. It really helped him feel less embarrassed.

Currently, Louis was sitting on Niall's living room window sill, cup of apple juice in hand (luckily, it looked like alcohol so he didn't feel out of place (though holding the red solo cup did make him feel cooler)) and crinkles apparent in the corner of his eyes. Some friends of Harry and Niall had come over to hang out with them. Ed, Stan, and Luke were playing a game of Fifa on Niall's large flat screen. Niall was sitting on a large sofa, Eleanor and Caroline and other people he didn't bother remembering the names of sat along side Niall as he retold the story of, what he called, "Evangaline Greenwald and The Tree Incident."

"So, there we are, my hand halfway up Eva's skirt to the point where I could feel the material of her lace panties--!"

And then there's Harry. Harry with his glassy green eyes and boisterous laugh. Women-all-over him-but-too-oblivious-to-notice Harry. Harry that had curly locks and Louis' heart. Cheese and rice (because Jesus Christ is a dirty phrase), he was totally gone for Harry.

"Helloooo, Blue Lou."

Speaking of which...

"Hi, Hariboo," Louis looks up at his friend and slides down a bit to give him some room, just in case he wants to sit.

Harry accepts the invitation and places himself beside Louis, groaning quietly. "Really, Blue? I buy you one pack of Haribo Gummy Bears and you give me a new nickname."

Louis giggles and his shoulder brushes Harry's, his clear skin brushing the inked arm, "C'mon, Hariboo. You know you like it."

"I cannot tell a lie, " He takes a long gulp of his beer (Louis definitely does not watch the way Harry's Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows). "It's... It's pretty cute. But I have yet to find a stellar nickname that I can call you."

That's a lie. Harry has called Louis Poppet, Blue, Lou, Love, Lil' Munchkin, Lewis, and so many more names that Louis couldn't bother to remember (He only recalls the ones he finds the cutest). Though, he's not complaining. He finds the nicknames immensely flattering.

A heavy arm lays itself across Louis' shoulders and before he knows it, he's being pulled into a warm chest. Harry smells like slight sweat, fruity perfume (that's not mine, Louis notes in contradicting jealousy), and cinnamon. He doesn't smell very Harry-like but it'll do.

The blue-eyed boy lays his head against Harry's chest, cup of apple juice in hand as he looks around. Unfamiliar (he has a feeling they'll become more familiar as time passes) faces, all smiling and happy. Unfamiliar furniture and pictures on the wall (Louis definitely doesn't have a portrait of the Queen of England naked above the TV in his living room). Unfamiliar laughing and voices and Louis is so out of his cough-drops-and-stuffies element that he should feel more fear than he does. But within the hazy smoke and loud shouts of, "Goal," there's a very familiar Harry.

"Y'know, Niall is so full of shit. He tells this story every time he throws a party and every time it gets more far fetched than the last." Dirtywords, dirtywords, dirtywords.

Louis breathes in, the Irish accent drifting through his mind, "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. When we attend more of his parties you'll notice. Last weekend Eva's panties were 'white as me old gradmum's hair'!" Harry mocks Niall's accent, "Everyone's too drunk to--" But Louis' stuck on the fact that there will be more parties, more Niall, more apple juice in red solo cups, and more drunk, affectionate, uncensored Harry.

You're sappier than syrup, Louis.

Humming in response to Harry's deliciously slow monologue, Louis presses his face harder into the older man's chest. His heartbeat thump, thump-thump, thump-thumps against his ear. In return, he can feel a nose worm it's way between his feathery hair (He's so glad Zayn made him wash it earlier).

"Hey, Sunshine," one more to add to the list, "what if I decided to cut my hair?"

Louis' head snaps up, his head bumping Harry's chin causing his teeth to close around his tongue, "What? No way. Harry, you can't." He refuses to acknowledge the way Harry has stuck out his tongue so he can see if it's bleeding (drunk Harry is slightly less intelligent) because Harry wants to cut his hair. "I haven't even gotten the chance to braid it and stick pretty little flowers in it."

"Thanks for asking about my tongue, Louis. I'm fine, just so you know." Once Harry deems his tongue to be alright, he rests his a hand on Louis' hips, when did he climb into Harry's lap, and consoles his growing fear. "It was just a thought. Think I might miss it myself."

"Promise me, H. You cannot, under any circumstances, cut it. Even if Joan threatens you. Even if you get gum stuck in your hair. Even if the zombies insist they'll take your hair instead of your heart. Do not cut it." A dainty finger wags in Harry's face, Louis' nose scrunched up in disgust and intimidation. He looks like a lion cub, a little kitten. Harry doesn't even think it's weird that he knows who Joan is. The cunning shark stuffy sitting on Louis' bed (between Cooper and Chrysanthemum).

The older lad pretends to think about it, rubbing the nonexistent chin hairs that he wished he had. "I mean, I guess I can continue to grow it out for you."

"Pinky swear."

Harry's pinky almost covers Louis' completely as blue meets green. They hold eye contact as Louis playfully tugs on Harry's pinky. Harry grins, his dimples almost taking up his entire face, before tugging Louis' pinky toward him.

And if Louis has to drag Harry, unable to walk himself due to his level of alcohol intake, to his flat at 2am because, "No Niall. Wanna go home with Blue Lou. Though, he isn't really blue. Not like an Avatar. He'd still look cute if he were blue. Probably taste like a blueberry. Are blueberries in season?" it's okay. Falling asleep next to Harry, struggling to be the big spoon, is worth the trouble.

Okay, Louis comes to three important realizations the next morning.

One: Harry's hair does not taste as good as it smells. The shampoo bottle might say,"Rich Cinnamon Swirl," but it definitely does not taste like it whatsoever.

Louis pulls the tufts of hair from his mouth as he uncurls his arms from around Harry's neck. His legs remain wrapped around Harry's abdomen (He's not tall enough to do the cute tumblr relationship legs-tangled-up-under-the-sheets thing), though. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he yawns quietly.

Two: Harry Styles should be a sleep model. Like, they should put him in mattress stores and pay him to sleep on them to promote business. He knew Harry looked good while he was awake. But all that beauty has to end somewhere, right? Not for Harry. He looked just as beautiful unconscious as he did conscious, if not more. The way his eyebrows furrowed slightly and his lips slightly pouted.

Should he feel creepy hovering over Harry's face, eyes slightly narrowed, as he soaked in every detail of the sleeping face? Yes. Did he? No. He kicked every single one of his stuffies off his bed so Harry would fit. He was going to make the best of it.

And the third realization he came to (quite literally) was that he was hard. Like, dick-pressed-into-Harry's-spine hard.

The problem in his light pink panties turned his cheeks the same shade. He unwound his legs from around Harry's stomach, pinky toe getting caught on the hem of the sleeping man's cotton t-shirt for a brief moment, before he slowly inched away from Harry.

It was just his luck to wake up with morning wood, for the first time since Junior High, while in bed with Harry. Actually, Harry was probably the cause for this, with all his casual touches and affectionate words from the previous night. Meanie Harry.

Zayn would laugh. Zayn would take one look at Louis in this situation and laugh right in his face. That's the type of friend Zayn is. But when Zayn cried to Louis, mortified because he humped Liam's thigh in his sleep, Louis was nice and consoled him reassuring him that Liam didn't think he acted like a horny teena--

There's shuffling behind him, a quiet groan, then a warm back is pressing against his. Harry sighs once he resumes human contact with Louis and stills, breathing deep.

Louis has two choices. He can either leave his warm bed and, "rub one off," (Zayn's term for handjobs, not his) in his cold bathroom. Or, he could stay and bed, where it's warm and comfy, to handle his little problem. He might wake Harry though, which would be worst than the Daddy Catastrophe (The Dad-strophe? Cata-dad-strophe?? Daddy-phe???).

Not to toot his own horn but Louis was vocal. He knew he was vocal compared to some guys. It wasn't his fault though. Granted, he wasn't as loud as Zayn and Liam, no one could be that loud, but he was sensitive; Like, everywhere. So, every little touch sent a pleasurable shock from his fingertips to his toes and made him moan, high and pretty, in his throat.

Besides, it wouldn't be that bad if Harry woke up.

Louis whimpers keenly as he bites his lip and hesitantly lowers his hand to his damp panties, palming his cock gently. He hadn't touched himself in awhile. Cum was hard to clean off his sheets and his arm often became sore after especially long sessions. On more than one occasion, Louis resulted to rutting against a pillow to get off, too lazy to do anything else.

Once his thumb actually brushes the slick head of his cock, hand pushed inside his panties and bottom lip worried between his teeth, any thoughts of stopping for Harry's sake are shoved out the window. This felt too good to stop.

They're just gentle strokes for the time being. Louis' fringe sticks to his damp forehead as he flicks his wrist, whining at the feeling of the palm of his hand dragging across his sensitive skin.

Louis bets Harry's hand would smother his cock. His cold rings would contrast with Louis' hot skin, making it feel so much better. He comes across as the type of guy to whisper dirty words in Louis' ear just to make him squirm. Something like, "Saw the way you licked the icing off your cupcake today and wondered how your tongue would feel licking up and down my cock."

"Ngh. F-Fudge. Please," Louis rubs his cheek into his pillow, biting the corner as he moans. He's begging. Begging for what? He doesn't know, but whatever it is, he so desperately wants it.

The younger boy throbs in his hand as his thoughts jump around from Harry's large hands to Harry's sinful lips to Harry's probably large cock. His back is still pressed into Harry's and he's practically chewing on the corner of his pillow now, his chin slick with spit. "Oh God, Harry."

Okay, that wasn't a part of the silent-handjob-against-Harry's-back plan.

He wonders if he woke Harry up with a particularly loud moan, would the older lad help him? Would he lend a hand (literally lend a hand)? Would he take things to another level?

Louis' back arches and he begins to fuck into his hand. He cries out into the hand cupped over his mouth as he swipes his thumb over his slit, causing a shudder to run down his spine. Feeling the familiar fluttering in his lower stomach, Louis' other hand tightens around his cock. A bead of precum bubbles out and drips down his knuckles.

This is so dirty. Jerking off in bed beside his sleeping best friend. He'd never do this with Zayn. Would rather pull his fingernails off one by one before he even attempted to get off within fifteen yards of Zayn.

But he supposes Harry is a bit more than a best friend.

He gasps out a shaky, "Sh-Shit," before everything blanks out and he's thrown into a spacey headspace of pleasure. His legs kick out and tummy tenses as he ruins his panties, ropes of bitter cum lining them on the inside. He sure he moans loud enough for his neighbors to hear but at the same time, his ears are only catching a faint buzzzzing noise and feel as if they've been filled with cotton.

It takes a few minutes but once his body stops trembling and the buzzing quiets, Louis covers his mouth in shock.

He said a bad word.