Gods & Monsters

Chapter 15 (Part 4)

Harry's laughing just as hard, crumpled on the ground like a ball of used paper. He lifts his head, trying to glare; he's near crying, his face split with amusement, brows pulled firmly together. It's quite the vision—if Louis was a more poetic man, he'd probably scribble sonnets onto the snow-sprinkled pavement about it.

"I thought you were going to cushion me!" Harry reprimands in a shout that's punctured by guffaws. "Where's that bum? Where's my bouncy castle? I was looking forward to falling on that." And, without warning, he scoots towards Louis, hands reaching for his hips, trying to smack his bum.

Harry is such a shit. When did he become such a shit?

Delighted, Louis scampers out of reach, sliding expertly atop the ice in his shitty shoes with no traction. "Well, well," he grins mischievously, laughter on the edge of his voice, fingertips stretched in the air expertly. "Isn't that a sentence."

More laughter, more grabby hands.

At long last, Harry groans out a "I think I'm bad at this," before flopping backwards onto the ice, breaths punctuating the air. His cheeks are pink, his hat's slipping off, and his limbs are sprawled, making him look like a starfish. The breath puffing from his mouth twirls and curls upwards, drifting toward the large, circular moon cushioned by stars and very tiny planets. A puffing starfish beneath a sky full of stars.

Louis' little starfish.

"You are truly as bad as I'd predicted. Probably, in fact, worse." He grins as he takes a few sliding steps closer. "And I wouldn't change a damn thing." He says it syrupy and sweet, bopping Harry on the nose.

Harry cracks one eye open, smiling. It widens before he puckers his lips, eyes begging for a kiss.

Louis, of course, rolls his own. "Yeah, alright," he fake-grumbles, lips tugging as he kneels down and obliges. Icy mouth on icy mouth. Even their spit feels frozen, gums and teeth and tongues frozen and numb. So fucking cold.

Louis' cheeks sting with it. His hands ache against the scratchy planes of ice and his knees are digging into it painfully as well; everything is discomfort and pressure as Harry leaves white-cold trails of saliva along Louis' mouth and jaw, little dabs of saliva on his chin and nose, cold fingers pressing into the warm bits behind his ears.

Inexplicably, he's never been more comfortable in his life. Hah. Funny, that.

The thought cascades down his spine and rolls across his shoulders as he hums a smile, hums something that feels like possibility and maybe even reality, into Harry's lungs. Into his own lungs.

**

It's a little after midnight when they finally return to Harry's house, skin buzzing and numb, mouths sweet from the cocoa they'd purchased on the way back. Louis tries to tuck Harry's hat further on his head—his hair is so smooth it keeps sliding right off—but Harry keeps kissing him, all mischievous and playful, hands everywhere.

"You'll catch a deathly illness," Louis chastises.

"We're already home, though."

"Besides the point."

Harry just smiles, leaning his full weight against Louis who "ooph!"s as he catches him, clasping his hands around his back. "Come inside?" he questions, a little whiny and very hopeful, hands resting atop Louis' shoulders.

"It's late, Harry. You should be sleeping." He pecks a kiss to his neck, just because. He does things like that lately.

"Please?"

"Sleep."

"Pretty please?"

It shouldn't be this easy, Louis thinks wryly as he eyes Harry's endearing blinks and puffy lips. He sighs, relenting.