Girls? [xxxxxxx]

T E N

thank you so much for reading xxxxx much love ((sorry for any mistakes))

"Louis Tomlinson," he breathes out, soft, small fingers fluttering on his neck, and then a palm drifting down his back, stopping short at the small curve, "You bastard."

"What?" Louis whispers back innocently, wide eyed and questioning.

"Absolutely not. I refuse to enter this sort of establishment."

Louis smiles. "Come on, H."

"No, no, no... no."

"You sound like me when my nan asks me if I'm engaged."

"Do not," he hisses, "patronise me."

"It's just a picnic! Niall told me you like picnics," Louis says, his voice sweet and lovely.

Harry's heart aches for a dozen seconds, because Louis most possibly asked Niall about his romantic preferences, but then he gets frustrated, because-- "I am not breaking into a cemetery."

"Why not?" Louis frowns, looking adorably cute.

He wets his lips a few times, his lips not able to function with the minor distraction that is Louis Tomlinson. "It's a cemetery."

"Are you scared?"

"Absolutely not!"

Louis then links their fingers together, one by one. "I'll protect you, H."

"Louis," he stutters out, completely in the trance of adoration. He snaps out of it with a shake of his head. "There are bodies buried there."

"Are you scared of zombies?"

"Why are you smiling like that? Stop smiling. This isn't a smiling matter."

Louis groans rather loudly, and the sound embarrassingly travels down to Harry's groin. "I've already set up the picnic though. I have fairy floss!"

"Really? The blue one?" He asks, perking up a little bit. He's intrigued, that Louis has gone to all this trouble. Breaking into a cemetery, setting up a picnic, supposedly asking Niall what Harry likes etc.

"Yes," Louis sighs, tightening his grip on Harry's hands, their fingers tangled within each other, "Please, come on."

"You know, this isn't a very classy second date."

"Shut up, you ungrateful prat."

"Hey," he whines, watching Louis as he fiddles with the lock linked with the high, black gate that looms over them, "Louis."

"If you stop complaining, I'll give you a kiss, even grind against your leg a little."

"Louis. I am not getting off in a cemetery."

"Who says you're getting off," Louis says lowly, almost in a threatening voice, "I'll use you to get myself off, maybe your thigh, or even your mouth. And then we'll go out for ice cream with you hard in your pants."

Breathless, he dabs his lips with a small swipe of his tongue, "Yeah?"

"Come on, the pizza is probably cold."

*

Louis' also packed grapes and he's also throwing them at Harry, who has his mouth wide open, trying to catch them. But Louis is purposely hitting his eyes, chest and even aiming to rolls down his shirt, giving him an uncomfortable to shake away a few times. The whole time he grins, however, remaining in contact with the blue eyes that he'll never get used too.

He's still nervous about the graves, but they're a few hundred metres away from them, perched on a little hill that over looks the tombstones. Still not romantic, however.

A grape hits him on the crease of his collarbone just as he reaches for another part of fairy floss, so he sits back and pouts, "That one actually hurt, because I wasn't expecting it."

Louis just laughs, throwing another one.

"Louis."

A purple grape hits him right under his eye.

"Louis."

The whole basket of grapes rains on him. He shrieks out loudly.

Louis shushes him, "Do you want to get caught?"

"Do you?" Harry counters back.

"Do you... have a small dick?"

"Do you... even have a brain?"

"You're so weak."

He pouts again, "You're weak."

"Stop pouting, baby," Louis says softly, shifting closer, so that their thighs are pressed together.

He pouts even more, jutting out his lip further. He lets out an embarrassingly loud whine when Louis leans over and gives the bottom lip a small nip, all teeth and then a wipe of his tongue. He immediately snakes his arm around Louis' waist, pulling him closer. He's always been a clingy kisser, hands everywhere and tongue subtly licking into his partners mouth--but with Louis, Louis is the leader, the guide.

Louis has a harsh grip in his hair, and he tastes like grapes and sugar, the light flavour of lemons and fizz in the background. His tongue is soft against Harry's mouth, careful with a pinch of harshness that matches the small tugs of the curls that Harry sports.

"Louis," he breathes out in an adoring way, right into Louis' mouth.

His lip slightly stutters when teeth drag along them, landing on the underside of his jaw. Louis litters light, and then hard, kisses along his neck, just soft enough not to bruise. A small hand presses against his cheek, urging his mouth open. Blue connects with green, and then Louis gives the top of Harry's lips a very hard kiss, sucking on the skin and then licking it, as if to soothe it. It's such a strange place for a hickey, but Harry moans loudly, right into Louis' chin.

He shifts his leg in-between Louis' knees as a jerk reaction when the invisible spot of his dimples get involved with the warmth of Louis' mouth, and he knows that whenever he smiles, he'll feel the same thing, the ache of the bruise.

Louis leans in surprisingly closer, his body pressed tight against Harry's. He whispers against Harry's cheek, "I'll work on that later. Might need your thigh--"

And then a flashlight blinds their eyesight.

thank u for reading i love writing kissing scenes it's my favourite thing to do i'm sorry.