The Strawberry Milk Fic

PART 2: CHAPTER 5

cause all that you are is all that i'll ever need

Chapter 5: and in that moment i knew you

i.
Morning starts with dust in his eyes and wet lips decorating his bare thighs. Louis sighs into his pillow, turns his face into the soft plush of it, and inhales the delicious scent of Harry as he smiles bonelessly but oh so happily. He turns his face back out, feels his boy's lips trailing higher and higher, hands kneading his bum, and he lets out a small moan, arching his back as he feels a hot mouth press against the junction between where the rounds of his bum meet the bottom of his thighs.
The early morning sunlight filters through the pink curtains, creating a warm illumination across the soft edges of the cornered room. It's so hazy- content and hazy and that is how Louis feels; mind dazed as he feels thumbs edging his cheeks apart, hot breath grazing his skin, making it horripilate and send shivers right down his spine to Harry's lips. Harry's lips that are pressing teasing kisses to his tight hole, making the muscle flutter, and also making Louis' eyelashes do the same, a high pitched and beautiful giggle falling from his lips for no reason other than that he feels really fucking happy right now. Content, really. If he could choose any moment in time to press pause on, it would be this one. Where it's all soft edges and glazed eyes. Content, perfect.
Neither of them speak. They say everything that needs to be said through subtle brushes of skin, and little sighs; the intentional placing of hands into skin, into sheets, into mangled shudders that are so intangible that they feel them, sinking, sinking, oh god.
It's so gentle, everything. The little touches Harry spreads across him, making his heart swell just as much as his dick. Louis' so in love, he is, and Harry gets him intoxicated like no other. Makes the world fuzzy and light and perfect, especially in these moments. These soft moments in the morning when they just touch and kiss and love each other, so delicious, so gentle, like they've finally slowed the earth's spin simply by existing so close to one another.
Harry's tongue circles his fluttering hole, trailing hot licks between his bum cheeks and up to the bottom of his spine. Louis arches his back, feeling Harry's warm hands trail from his arse to his hips to his waist, palms soft against his incitement skin, kissing higher, higher, higher until he's up to Louis' neck and the tips of his hair tickle Harry's nose. He kisses wetly to his ear, breathes hotly over his neck, his cheek, Louis' head pressed into the pillow, slack-faced with upturned lips.
Harry's hips straddle Louis' arse, and he grinds down, slowly, making Louis rut into the sheets- making him really feel it- and out comes a fluttery moan. Harry bites at his ear, sucking on his lobe gently before releasing it.
"Morning," he whispers, hand on Louis' waist tightening.
Louis hums, "You can continue."
He does, starts to suck wine-coloured blotches into the golden flesh, little nibbles leading back to his ear, biting softly one last time before breathing heavily, "Sorry, gotta head to work," and Louis feels that stupid smirk pressing into his skin, "and you have to wash the holiday clothes."
"Harry," Louis whines, digging his face into his pillow and groaning loudly.
Harry snickers above him, slinging his leg over and getting off of Louis and the bed, "You always say that's your favourite way to wake up."
"Yeah," Louis drags out into the pillow, "when it leads to us getting off."
"I did get off," Harry laughs, raising his eyebrows, "you're the one still just lying there."
Louis turns his head so he can look at Harry, all dressed for the library in his tight jeans and button up shirt, a special addition to the outfit tucked into the front of his pants awkwardly, and god, does Louis wish he could take care of that. He squints up at Harry, pouty lips and all, "Get out of here and take that awful cheek with you."
Harry snorts.
The night before was spent in bed, tired mumbles of, "Babe, just take tomorrow off," and, "We literally just got back, you need to rest," and his most convincing one, "I'll give you blowjobs all day."
And despite Harry desperately loving the idea of being sucked boneless from Louis' pretty lips and watching his dainty hands work his cock, he still presses his toothpaste fresh kiss to Louis' pouting lips and leaves the flat, calling behind him a "please do up the dirty laundry."
The excruciating process of dealing with his hard dick comes first, ha. Getting off on his own has become a thing of the past, so rubbing one off on the mattress feels more like eating day old French fries; they're good, but they're not hot and greasy with an abundance of salty goodness, and c'mon, who even has leftover fries? Who doesn't eat all their fries? "Harry fucking Styles," Louis moans as he ruts his hips into the mattress. That's who.
After waking up in his dried fucking spunk, he bonelessly drags himself from their bed and pulls the sheets off. He throws their dirties onto their bags from the trip, an empty laundry basket placed conveniently- also suspiciously- right next to them. There is a note on the tea cupboard telling Louis to 'please, do the laundry babe. please.' and he rolls his eyes, tearing it off and crumpling it in his fist. He's not going to forget again, his boy needs to have a little more faith in him.
He ends up stretched on the couch, still naked, still having not done the laundry, still having not done a damn thing except make his tea and grab his laptop.
Laundry is the last thing on his mind at this point. Because there's this one thing that has been floating through Louis' mind as of late. Something pretty and delicate, a gentle kind of braveness that makes Louis feel that one feeling. That feeling like when you watch someone catch something they didn't think they'd catch and their face lights up in this self-proudness. It's overwhelming. Overwhelming to the extent of utter cold sweats, and hot sweats, and burning love that makes it all drizzle back in in a sugared sweetness. Harry is a walking, running, leaping example of better things to come.
Louis spends almost three hours on his laptop looking at lingerie. And okay, he was going to do the 'nice dinner' thing instead. Take Harry out for Thai food and sit under the dim, golden lights; watch Harry's eyes shine and sparkle, reach across the table, take his hand in his own, and say, "I'm glad I belong to you, and I'm even gladder you are starting to belong to yourself again."
But whilst on the restaurant's website he sees an ad for lingerie, and before he can tell himself not to, he is clicking it. The website is a mix of pink and white, soft and delicate like smooth glass over fragile lace. The background of the white page is a shade of pink that resembles chapped lips on a winter day, and you can select items through fabrics, colours, shape, size, type, and appeal. Louis' heart feels just a bit strangled.
If you told him a year ago that he would soon be so in love it would bring tears to his eyes, he'd laugh in your face. Now though, Harry is the main occupant to his mind, almost like a more conscious subconscious. He pours himself a glass of strawberry milk, and he pours Harry a glass too, buys himself a new toothbrush and he gets Harry one too, except with soft bristles since his teeth are much more sensitive. He puts his course schedule together to match Harry's as closely as possible. He use to go through thrift shops looking for band t-shirts, but now it's for band shirts and the weird hipster trinkets Harry's obsessed with. It's even down to the simplest of things, like when he needs to go get a quart of buttermilk and finds it to be habit to pick up a bag of the Orange Circus Peanuts. It's the type of routine you want to never forget, one you want to live forever.
Louis buys six items from the lingerie store. Six pretty and lovely items for Harry that will arrive in a neat little box with a customised note, and Louis feels so giddy over it that he makes a small noise and shakes his naked bum in a little dance. He can't wipe the grin from his face, not even as he continues browsing the web for something else he can do for his boy. There's dinner ideas, more dinner ideas, and mostly just dinner ideas- Harry's the master chef though, definitely not Louis. There are movie ideas, with actor themes, or genre themes, but really, they spend 80% of their time watching TV together. Board games- Louis thinks they might own monopoly, but he isn't going to risk their relationship. None of the ideas sound romantic or sensual, good enough, really.
He's on his 11th list, most of the ideas repeating itself, when a picture of a fancy bathtub shows up, bubbles everywhere with candles sitting on the side of the tub. It looks so relaxing, definitely romantic and definitely sensual.
So he mouses over the link but-
-but he has to swallow the acidic guilt that bubbles in his throat before he can click it.
His stomach lurches, tongue pressed between the sharps of his teeth. He reads over different mixtures, eyes flickering from pictures to captions and over the benefits of each one. There is a lot that pours through his mind, a constant, static, buzz of Harry and only Harry. Harry this, and that, and what if. 
And then there is them. Them as a whole, but still completely two. There are so many more connections to make, more synapses to reconstruct, bridges to burn, and highways to tear, and rivers to block. He still thinks about it, being able to walk up behind Harry, wrap his arms around his waist and whisper into his ear. He wants to be able to move without thought, like weeds growing in a crack, and chapped kisses to a throat that is still asleep.
He has a list of things he wants to do with Harry, with the sole purpose of it just being about them, together.
Louis wants to try something.
First sweats, then a t-shirt, then his vans. It's a quick motion of arms and fabric, tossing all the dirty laundry into the crossed basket. His stomach is in knots, tumbling in on itself whilst he drags the basket down the hall to the laundry room. He quickly shoves everything into an extra-large washing machine, and buys the goods. He mixes the soap and sprinkles in the detergent and makes his run down the stairs, taking two steps a time.
He jogs the block, takes a left, and gets to the local store. It feels dangerous, almost, when he grabs the gallon of milk and tub of honey. Feels like he's either going to strike the chord and produce a tuned melody or an unorganised tune of scared breaths. He reminds himself that this doesn't relate to that. There are quarter candles, and he's picking up a bundle of slightly wilted pink roses, and this has not a damn thing to do with anything other than them.
Before he takes the newly bought items back to the flat, he checks their laundry, finding that it is still on cycle and mumbling a 'thanks' to himself and ignoring the other person in the room who is eyeing him with amuse.
He stumbles into the flat with a sigh, kicking his shoes off into the hallway and nudging the bathroom door open with his hip. It's a delicate risk, dropping your heart on the doorstep of someone with lipstick smeared up their neck in the colour of blood mixed into dark wine. He gathers all of Harry's body washes from the side of the tub, and tucks them all safely under the sink in the cabinet, spitting out repugnant from between broken teeth, falling slack to dainty deducing. This is for Harry, and for himself, and for them. Just... them. Just... Louis' inability to not praise the efforts in his illustriousness. If Louis could give Harry a star, he would take Harry's hand and place it in his other hand, wrapping them around each other.
(There are romantic gestures and there are comforting gestures and Louis never knows which way they'll be taken.)
Unnerving is what it is, with the elements he's messing with. This is either a plus one or a minus one, and he can't bear the thought of setting Harry back, making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. It is just something he wants to be able to do, so small and simple but invasive. Crowding someone's space, candles and honey and skin against skin, it's not supposed to burn but- but it could, because after they bruise their skin they try and say they'll never do it again as they kiss over the spots, candles burning and dead flowers piling in the dumpster. He hasn't had time to rub the dead spots out of Harry's shoulders and from between his thighs. This is so big, bigger than the both of them, in spite of giggles clinging to sticky skin, water splashing against faces is all it takes to stop breathing. It's such a fine line Louis is walking; playing with vulnerability and the hot spots that settle beneath fingertips.
His fingers play with the faucet, edging only the heated temperature on. Once the cool water has turned to burning, he puts the plug in. He lets the water run, and goes back to the laundry room to check on their laundry. It's a quick glance and then back to the flat. The bathroom is already filled with light steam and warmth that tugs on the hairs on his skin.
Wiping his forehead, he grabs the tub of honey, spins the cap off of it, and holds it under the faucet that is spewing hot water, allowing it to overflow the honey and dump out into the tub. Despite how hot the water is, he quickly plunges his hand into it. It is all slick and sweet, and he mixes the honey so it matches in fluid consistency and doesn't leave the bottom of the tub slimy.
Next he grabs the gallon of milk, uncapping it and slowly pouring it into the steamy bath. The water turns to cream, lovely and milky just like Harry's pretty skin in winter time. The milk cools the water a bit, enough for Louis to stick his hand back in and to let his fingers run over the floor of the tub, mixing everything slowly and thoroughly.
Whilst waiting for the tub to fill up to a good mark, though, he takes the bundle of pink roses and pulls out the prettiest one, setting it aside on the counter. He takes the rest of them and pulls out the petals, carefully sprinkling them into the water to add the blush that rounds Harry's cheek in the winter to match his creamy skin. It makes Louis bite his lip, wondering between which intervals was it that he had done such good it made the line curve and send him to Harry.
Once the tub is filled just below normal, he goes back to the laundry room to find that the wash is done. He piles them all into different dryers, quickly putting them all on high heat. Whilst the clothes dry, Louis sets the few quarter candles out onto the counter, and also placing a few in the corners of the bath rim. He uses the lighter he bought for Harry's cake a while back to light each small candle, pausing briefly to admire the light glow, the softness.
He unpacks their bags, puts away their toothbrushes and half empty bottles of lube, and shakes their couple pairs of shoes out on the balcony to rid them of the beach sand.
Harry's alert ringtone breaches the soft vibe of the room, and Louis checks his phone to see a message from Harry.