Smut and fluff

Sonic Sounds

Summary:

"Harry takes a deep breath, suitably embarrassed, "I'm just really..." and he can't say the obvious. He can't just say really wet."

Harry loves feeling embarrassed. Louis is happy to help.

Outside Harry's bedroom door, the X Factor house is loud and alive. Inside, where he's hiding away from the others, he can hear himself breathe. The unoccupied bed beside him lays unmade. Clothes are scattered across the floor and cascading down from the washing baskets. Harry had excused himself from the crowded lounge almost half an hour ago, patting Niall on the shoulder as he skipped up the stairs, his face a practiced calm. Nobody had raised an eyebrow at his early bedtime.

They'd spent the day in boot camp with the other contestants attempting to learn basic choreography. Privately, Harry had anticipated being at least halfway decent. Five minutes in, it was clear that he was abysmal. Nonetheless, he'd tried his best. He'd tried all day, and worked himself into an uncomfortable aching sweat doing so. He'd watched some of the other contestants take to it instantly and memorise the short routine and do it well, but however hard he concentrated, the rhythm in his mind just didn't match that in his feet and arms.

The low-level sniggering had begun almost instantly. As he was mentally counting through the steps and plotting the movements of his feet, he heard an unmistakable giggle. Harry had caught Liam and Louis in the act, greeting them with a whine of protest before dropping down onto the floor beside them where they were hiding at the edge of the room. "Why can't I do it?" Harry had pouted, toeing off his trainers to rub his feet back to life. Liam had apologised while still laughing, and Louis had fluffed Harry's hair while explaining just how funny Harry had looked out there. "None of us can do it," Louis reassured him - "you just look particularly daft trying."

Once they'd arrived back at the house after their disastrous day of dance rehearsals, the boys had piled onto the sofas around the TV in the lounge, passing a large bowl of popcorn between themselves. Harry had tried to keep up with their conversation but he was exhausted and soon found himself zoning out, picking stray kernels from between his teeth with his tongue. Before long, discussion had turned to their day and their apparent shared lack of any dancing ability and what it would mean for the band going forward. How they could ever really be a boyband if they couldn't do something so simple. It was the kind of thing that rattled them. Harry had woken up from his daydream then, ears burning.

"Maybe we could take lessons," Liam had suggested. "Proper lessons, not for X Factor, just for us. It might help."

"Did you see him?" Zayn had said, nudging Liam's arm to get his attention while nodding his head towards Harry. "We're beyond help."

They'd all started laughing at that. Harry's stomach had soared. The tension brought about by thoughts of their future had broken and all concerns regarding the band's impending doom had been quashed beneath the sound of Niall's cackle and Louis' fit of giggles. Harry had joined in, always the first to poke fun at himself. And really, they were right, he was awful. Niall hadn't been much better and Zayn could barely keep up, but they weren't laughing at them. They were laughing at Harry. Loud and full and unashamed. Each time they each caught their breath they were reminded of Harry's clumsy movements and awkward attempts to make his feet behave and descended back into whooping rounds of laughter. Other contestants had begun to notice them and join in, not sure exactly what they were laughing at but keen to relieve some tension of their own. And Harry kept up - kept up with the laughter and the jibes - because he could take it. His cheeks were hot, almost painful as they stretched into an uncontrollable smile. He fought to keep his eyes open and watch them all.