Sidemen Shots

Carnival ~ Minishaw

The prompt for this belongs to not_alisson.

-A tiny bit of sexual language.

Simon shivers, his shoulders hunched up to cover his ears and his hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets.

"I want that." He hears Harry say, and when he turns to his maybe-boyfriend he finds him pointing somewhere in the distance, face as serious as his voice.

Smile already forming, Simon turns in the direction that Harry is pointing. What he sees is some carnival game that is guaranteed to be a scam. Although the delicately stacked cans look like a fun game, Simon knows that's not what Harry's pointing at. If he had to guess, he'd say it was the giant blue and white unicorn plushie hanging above the sets of piled cans.

Simon turns back to Harry, burying his hands deeper into his pockets (if that is even possible). He still has his shoulders raised in a bad attempt to keep his ears warm. He smiles when Harry pulls the hoods of both his hoodie and his coat up for him.

"Does that mean I have to win it for you?"

Harry's bottom lip had been pushed out, like he was ready to have to convince Simon, but he abandons that plan at Simon's words.

"Yes." He nods hurriedly as he grabs Simon's hand, using the connection to drag him along, over to the empty stand with bright lights.

Simon chuckles, nodding to the worker of the stand with a smile when they reach it. He thinks nothing of the way the man's eyes had immediately drifted to Harry as they approached. He only really looks away as Simon starts talking.

"Can we have the, er," Simon looks down at the list taped to counter. "Nine for five pounds, please."

The man nods, taking the fiver Simon offers him, stuffing it into the main compartment of the bum bag strapped rather loosely around his hips.

He only manages a 180° turn Before he's turning back to face Simon, looking confused.

"Five what? Turtles? Vanilla candles? petal-less daffodils? You gotta be a bit more specific, mate."

The man's voice is gruff, spitefully teasing, and the feeling it causes inside Simon's stomach is dreadful.

Simon's not a violent person - he prefers biting words over physical contact - but the way this man is staring at his Harry (almost officially), seeking praise, stirs something evil inside his chest. His mind has to chastise his heart when he gets the urge to jump over the counter and throttle the man.

Harry giggles; the cold is getting to him, and mixed with the possibility of getting a new plushie, his emotions are heightened, as is common for Harry.

In the state he's in, cold and probably a little tipsy (Simon saw him bribe a group of about 4 or 5 women for their drinks when he thought he wasn't looking), everything is a little too funny to Harry. At this point, he'd probably laugh if he saw a duck doing paperwork.

Simon only now bothers to read the name on the man's name tag, but he doesn't bother remembering it. He actually purposely forgets it as soon as he looks away. When Harry giggles, the man's face alights with pride.

"Bean bags." Simon grits out. "Nine bean bags. It's pretty obvious."

"To you maybe." The guy mutters, making Harry cackle. He looks a little embarrassed when it's over, cheeks a little pinker than what the cool air caused.

With a green bean bag in hand, eight others of varying colours spread out before him on the counter, Simon shakes his limbs, does a shimmy with his shoulders, preparing himself.