Smut and fluff

on a bed of roses when I wanna kiss your silhouette

By mercutionotromeo

Summary

Louis is always achingly sweet to Harry - even when Harry's riding his cock and calling him Daddy.

also known as: domestic, sweet sex with a side of light bdsm

Harry sighs dramatically, flipping the page of his magazine but not really reading it. It's nearing 4 in the afternoon, and he's been lying on his stomach in the middle of his and Louis' king-sized bed for hours - the last three of which have been spent idling between reruns of old Friends episodes and the stack of magazines that's been building in the living room.

Tucked away in the pastel hues of their bedroom, Harry feels like the protagonist of a '90s romantic teen comedy - like some bratty but lovable teenage heiress. He looks the part, too. His outfit is, admittedly, a little ridiculous for lounging around the house all day, but Harry doesn't care. He bloody loves it - he feels pretty as hell.

He's got on a sheer pink robe that falls to his mid-thigh, letting his tattoos peek demurely through the gossamer fabric. His rose gold silk shorts match the robe in hue, and he's got his hair up in a top-knot, flyaways secured by a thin pink headscarf. If he's being honest, he looks downright lovely.

Turning behind him to stare at his feet, he flexes his toes delicately. Harry hums in appreciation, happy that his nails are finally dry. He'd spent most of the early morning lounging in the bath, soaking in water that was pretty pink and scented like roses. He'd actually gotten a quarter way through the trashy romance novel he'd been dying to read, only stopping when the water went cold and his fingertips were too pruned to turn the pages. After that, he'd laid on the bed and eaten two cherry lollipops in a row, just because he could. Painting his nails with a soft wash of light grey had taken up another hour, but the boredom was building and becoming positively unbearable.

Usually Harry loves his days off, mainly because he gets to spend them in bed with his gorgeous boyfriend, but today is a tragic exception. Louis has been out of the house for absolute ages, helping an old school friend move all of his furniture to a new flat. Louis is such a good person. It makes Harry ache.

He rolls onto his back, holding his phone aloft, and composes a quick text to Louis.

Coming home soon? Miss you. A lot. .xx

He's been holding off texting him as long as possible, trying not to seem too needy, but he's been desperate to have him in his arms - in his bed - all day. Try as he might to avoid the stereotype, he really is just a spoiled baby waiting for his pretty boyfriend to come home and make him feel good. His phone dings and he happily opens Louis' response.

on the way darling x

Harry smiles smugly. He's so lucky - so goddamn lucky - to have Louis. In a very short amount of time, Louis will be pressed up against him, making Harry feel lovely, good things that Harry doesn't even have the words to describe. He practically squeals in excitement, flopping further back onto the middle of the bed.

He feels around for his magazine and attempts to return to his reading, but it's tremendously hard to focus on the candidates for color of the year when he can feel his nipples poking through the sheer fabric of his robe, already anticipating the way Louis' mouth will feel on them. Harry rolls his eyes at his body's eagerness, reaches for his phone, and types out another text.

I look pretty today. You've been missing out .xxxxx

He can't help but stare breathlessly at his phone, waiting for Louis' answer like a lovesick teenager.