Larry fics

lips are like the galaxy's edge

Summary:

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.

Work Text:

Louis’ head is swimming, warm and lazy and Caribbean blue, and it feels absolutely glorious. He’s high – really fucking high and he can’t stop giggling because wisps of Harry’s curls are tickling the apple of his cheek.

They lay like parallel lines, not quite touching – except for the wisps – feet pointing in opposite directions on the unmade king bed. Louis doesn’t have to look at Harry to know that he’s absolutely stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. All sorts of adjectives like that. He always is – every second that he’s breathing.

Louis doesn’t like parallel lines. He wants to be perpendicular, he wants to touch. God, Harry is beautiful. His eyes are wide and glazed and green like sea-glass and he’s so so beautiful. His limbs lay like noodles at his sides, but like, they’re pretty noodles. Elegant noodles.

Elegant noodles. Louis barks a laugh.

“Hmm?” Harry mumbles at the ceiling.

“Elegant noodles,” Louis giggles again. He can’t stop giggling.

“Elegant noodles?” Harry repeats, and Louis feels the bed move.

“Your arms, s’what they look like.”

Harry’s throaty laugh curls through the room like smoke and Louis want to catch the sound in his mouth, breathe it in.

His face appears above Louis’, suddenly, and Louis thinks he looks ethereal. His lips are close, so close. Not close enough.

“Harry,” Louis exhales. He likes how the name rolls off his tongue.

“Lou.”

Harry’s mouth is so nice when it moves, when it forms his name. His lips look like cherries. Cherry rhymes with Harry. Louis giggles again.

“M’gonna kiss you Harry. Harry Cherry.”

And he does.

Harry’s mouth is soft and warm and it moves slowly against his own and time stills, then. His tongue curls gently around Louis’ own and Louis’ brain goes all cloudy because Harry tastes like weed and cherries and it’s delicious. He thinks Harry tastes like cherries, at least. It might just be weed.

Louis doesn’t care though, because Harry is kissing him and this is all he’s ever wanted, really.

“Lou,” Harry whispers into the skin at Louis’ neck and it’s an awkward angle because he’s upside down but it feels like fire anyway. Good fire, though – slow-burning embers sizzling just beneath his skin. It’s warm and it’s nice and it’s Harry. “So pretty, Lou.”

Harry’s never called him pretty before. Harry is the prettiest boy he’s ever seen and he thinks Louis is pretty too and he thinks he blushes, at that. He can’t really tell though, because he’s hot all over.

He wants Harry to touch him everywhere.

Harry’s lips are gone from his neck, then, and Louis whines because they leave cold behind them. He wants them back on his skin. He wants them on his neck and his chest and his tummy and his hips and his thighs and every inch of him. He wants bruises, blooming and purple and pretty. He wants to remember.