larry smut

we wreak havoc with our hearts

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786096

~✰~

Everything about Brazil is intoxicating – the scent and taste of everything, the noises and the colors and the salty tartness of the air. It makes Harry feel unconnected and loose, like the tension before the start of the tour and the tension that's yet to come are not part of his immediate timeline, like this point in space is isolated.

He bakes in the sun until the skin on his elbows is peeling and gets a stick and poke tattoo from one of the blokes frequenting the hotel bar. He shows off the laurels on his hips and messes around in the pool; he has too many fruity drinks and plays cards with Ben and gets up early for his morning run, then sleeps in the sun with a hat covering his face.

It feels like a proper holiday. The other boys are around, mostly Zayn, asleep by the pool, and Harry enjoys the comfortable silence between them, the heat and the drinks served in cups made from real fruit while the pool is virtually theirs with only the occasional elderly couple lounging nearby.

The second day, some time after noon, Harry wakes splayed out on his belly, disturbed by the light reflecting off the water. Zayn is gone, probably back inside, and everyone else is asleep around him. He rubs his eyes, drops his head against the chair, yawning, then turns onto his back and lets the sun blind him. He has to think of Louis suddenly. He would love all of this: the relative silence at noon, the strength of the sun and Harry wonders why he's not here, wonders why he hasn't seen him in what feels like days and days.

He stumbles to his feet, drops his pina colada coconut off at the bar and wanders back up to the entrance of his suite, where Preston opens the door for him with a nod and half a smile. It's much cooler inside, calling forth goosebumps that blossom all over his thighs and arms, the back of his neck.

He shimmies out of his trunks, showers quickly to rid his skin and hair of chlorine, and then, dressed in shorts and a shirt that he hasn't bothered to button up, sneaks out into the hallway and to Louis' room.

It's dark inside, the air-conditioning blasting and the curtains drawn shut tightly; there's a lump of blankets and pillows on the bed and Harry takes one careful step and then another, the expensive, polished hardwood floors quiet beneath his feet.

As he draws closer, the telltale glow of a phone screen betrays Louis' attempts at appearing asleep and Harry stops at the foot of the bed and knocks his knees against it, allowing his body to tip over bonelessly, earning an annoyed sound from Louis.

"Get off," he grunts, wiggles, and Harry digs his knees in and stays, burying against the warmth Louis is hiding away under the blankets. The too-cold air in here is making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, fingers growing icy.

"Why have you got the aircon on so high, Tommo?" he asks, trailing a hand up what he believes is Louis side and then poking a finger against his ribs. Louis squeaks a bit, bucks up, but otherwise does his best to stay covered. Harry doesn't quite understand why he's holed up in here with the air-conditioning on so high icicles might be forming soon, yet buried under what feels like every blanket available in the suite.

"'Cos it's hot outside," Louis replies stubbornly. Harry drops his forehead against Louis' back and groans, squeezing at his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he mumbles against him.

Louis seems to shrug and finally proceeds to extract himself from under Harry, squirming until Harry slides off. He turns on the light on the bedside table and pads over to the window to push one of the curtains to the side, allowing more light into the room.

Harry flops onto his side and watches him, the way he moves, the way his back curves in his loose vest and the way his trackies hang off his hips. His phone is propped up against his pillow, unlocked, and Harry is momentarily tempted to reach over to peek at the screen, put it back before Louis would ever know, but he doesn't.