Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire)

deuxxxxxx

'And you don't want me to look pretty?" Louis teased, catching Harry's lips briefly as they passed over his face from one side to the other. Bravely, he grabbed hold of the buttons on Harry's shirt and popped open the first two.

Harry didn't seem to notice his shirt, and instead busied himself with nipping at Louis' neck, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to have him hardening in his pants. "You're always pretty," Harry said, lowly, "but you aren't interviewing tomorrow anyways, because you'll be with me."

"Hmm," Louis mused, unbuttoning another two buttons so that nearly all of Harry's chest was exposed. Then Harry seemed to wrap around him, enveloping him in that intoxicating thing that was Harry. He eased Louis back onto the bed, and for a moment leaned over him, between his legs, before climbing on top of him without breaking their kiss. He set his arms on either side of Louis' head, suspending himself just far enough above that Louis had to chase his lips with every touch. He felt his way down the smoothness of his chest, fingertips capturing every dip in his skin until he finally caught onto Harry's shirt.

Their kiss broke as Louis pulled desperately at it, until the shirt came loose from Harry's dress pants and Harry let out something of a chuckle while Louis finished with undoing his buttons. The sides of his shirt fell open to reveal the big butterfly tattoo on Harry's chest. He didn't resist the urge to reach out and touch it.

Harry waited for a moment, allowing Louis to take his time with his skin. Then, he looked Louis up and down and smiled as he sighed, "I'd never seen anyone look sexy in PJs until you."

Louis leaned up into a kiss first before tossing his head back onto the sheets and teasing, "I'll have you know that these are the very best PJs money can pay for, all financed by your family, so I'll take it that your parents wanted me to look hot."

Harry's face scrunched up like he'd smelt something awful, "don't talk about my parents!" he exclaimed, "you're killing the mood." Even so, he still leaned down to kiss Louis again, this time leaning onto one elbow and using his free hand to play with the hem of Louis' shirt.

They both had to sit up in order for Louis to pull the pajama shirt over his head. Harry rolled off where he was seated on Louis' thighs and pulled at the sleeves of his own shirt before tossing it into a pile with Louis'. Then, in some move of either bravery or entitlement, Harry undid his belt and let it unfurl like a snake around his waist and slither into the pile too. Then he. Shimmered from his pants and let them fall too. He was wearing underwear, thankfully. But still it was jarring to see him so naked. Louis hadn't seen his that naked before. Even in the shelter –when what Louis had decided was insanity caused by confinement took over- he had only seen the vaguest outline of cock.

Louis felt overdressed after that, so he shucked off his pajama pants too, and let Harry have a good look at the briefs Perrie had so painstakingly picked out. He felt that her work deserved to be appreciated.

Harry took one look at him, and with a whispered "fuck" under his breath he grabbed both of Louis' hips and hauled him into his lap. Even without his clothes on, Harry was warm against Louis' skin, his thighs seemed to radiate heat from where they touched the insides of his. Not in a passionate, caught-in-the-moment kind of way, but rather in a comforting, cozy kind of way. Harry let his hand rest at the small of his back, just brushing the band of his briefs with the tips of his fingers.

Louis hadn't kissed many people in his life. In fact, he'd kissed two. One of which was currently attacking his mouth like it was the first meal he'd had in a week. The other was Eleanor, who he'd taken to prom after his Gay Awakening and had been incredibly awkward to explain to her that he just wasn't into her while toeing a careful line of not revealing his all consuming gayness to her and not making her feel bad about it. He guessed that Eleanor at least understood now why he hadn't been invested in their relationship. He hoped it made her feel better, and not worse. Anyways, he'd only kissed two people, and so he had very little knowledge of how one was meant to make out with someone. Namely, he was unsure of where he was meant to put his hands. Hair seemed to be a consistently safe bet, but it was certainly not the most exciting thing, and Harry had this habit of rubbing circles into his skin wherever he touched, was Louis meant to be doing that? No one had ever explained it to him. Logically, he knew that the trick to being a satisfying partner was communication, but he was also a million times too much of a coward to actually say something.