larry smut

angelcake (you wish i was your poundcake)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465020

I love the way this author Dallas larry , gosh brings back memories,,, Enjoy!

America is a strange and interesting place. He's really rather fond of it, really. The fans are fun, really creative and chill, sometimes. And there are hotels, a lot of hotels, and he's fond of hotels because Louis gets to stay with him, and whenever Louis stays with him Harry feels like he actually has some semblance of normalcy in his life.

They've gone to Dallas for promotional purposes, which means a lot of walking and talking and doing things that don't involve relaxing and sleeping, or having Louis touch Harry when he thought no one else was looking. Though he did that regardless. Some days were better than others, some days Louis' fingers just brushed against Harry's briefly and other days Louis would be a possessive little monster, holding onto him and whispering horrible, terrible things in his ear.

("Did you wear those for me, princess?" "Maybe if you keep it down I'll let you come later." "Do you want me to fuck that little hole, angel?" "Put that mouth to good use.")

Harry sunk into the bath, pink water swirling around him in the tub. He rather liked this hotel room. The blinds were thick enough to keep out light, and by light he meant nosy people, which was all he wanted. In this hotel room, they could be HarryandLouis. They didn't have to be anything other than two normal people outside of these four walls. Outside, they were Harry! Louis! Look here! Sign this! I love you!

Baths were his favorite place, because in the bath they were only one person, two halves of something bigger. And even if he was alone, if he poured some of Louis' soap in the water, he could close his eyes and pretend Louis was with him too.

*

It started, incidentally when Harry was hanging out with Lou and Gemma, and he'd started painting his nails out of boredom. The polish was soft, peachy pink and almost nude and thin enough that one coat really wasn't that visible unless he was up close to someone. Later that night, while Harry and Louis were watching a film, Louis held up Harry's hand and peered at it, curious.

"Do you like to paint your nails, princess?"

Princess. Harry's cheeks flushed, and the rest of the guys were asleep in the back, on their bunks, oblivious, but he still felt vulnerable and exposed. He wasn't a princess. He wasn't a girl, and he shouldn't have liked the praise or the pet name but there he was, growing hard in his trackies because Louis was kissing his neck and telling him he was pretty.

*

Harry liked pretty things. He liked being pretty.

He didn't just like how they looked, though he did enjoy the aesthetic to a certain degree. Harry liked how they made him feel. He started shaving his legs and arms because he liked feeling the soft sheets underneath his body whenever they stopped somewhere for the night. It made him feel ethereal and like he was something special. (Granted, Harry knew that most people thought he was special, but sometimes it was difficult for him to feel that way. And doing that always made him feel relaxed, soft and sleepy and pliant.)

Shaving and dipping into the bath was, for Harry, a special time. It was his time to feel special and adored, to love himself. He loved so many other people. He spent all his time showing kindness to everyone else, and he didn't mind it at all.

Harry was, by nature, a very kind and loving person, and very giving, and selfless. All he wanted was for other people to be happy too. He didn't take very good care of himself, was the thing, and learned the importance of self-care and self-love after he spent a whole night crying over what people were saying about him online. After that, he realized that he couldn't love other people if he didn't love himself, take care of himself, adore himself first.