Your Name is Tattooed on my Heart || L.S

Chapter Nine

It wasn’t a surprise when Harry showed up at the tail end of Louis’ work shift on Wednesday, because he’d shown up on Tuesday, too. It was ridiculous for him to make Sam drive him all the way from Teasdale’s to Cuppa just so they could ride the bus home together. It would make much more sense to meet at Harry’s flat, but Harry seemed to have lost all interest in making sense since Sunday night.

The new level of intimacy born in Harry’s bedroom had bled out into the rest of their little shared world. If they’d had trouble keeping their hands to themselves before, it was now torturous to not touch. They snogged shamelessly anywhere they happened to be – on the bus, in the crisps aisle at Tesco, in Cuppa last night, up against the front counter. The last of which was inadvisable, as it was now all Louis could think about when he looked at it.

He’d spent the last ten minutes wiping down the exact spot that he’d pressed Harry down onto before rucking up his shirt and sucking bruises along the jut of his hipbones. It had taken an inordinate amount of restraint to stop himself from blowing him right there, right between the pastry case and the napkin dispenser. Louis groaned at the memory, and the memory of finally getting his mouth on Harry once they’d gotten back to his flat, so impatient that they didn’t even make it to the bedroom, tumbling to the living room floor in a pile of overheated limbs.

He was distracted enough already, just trying to finish his end-of-day duties so he could go home, and Harry wouldn’t quit sending him dumb text messages. Stuff like:

I want to lick every inch of u .x

and

send me dick pix haha just kidding (unless u’ll do it???) .x

He let his phone buzz three times in a row before checking it.

ur like mad hot dude .x

mad hotttttttttttttttttttttttt

I want 2 write poems 2 ur bum .x

Louis sighed in frustration and sent back,

BUGGER OFF U LITTLE HO I’M TRYING TO WORK

and then, despite himself, added:

wot kind of dick pix do u want, just a general willy shot or do I have to be wanking? x

He snorted when he read the reply.

DON’T TOY WITH MY EMOTIONS, TOMLINSON.

He didn’t bother responding, because it was funnier to leave Harry hanging. He wielded his dishcloth with renewed gusto, and was polishing one final tabletop when the bell above the door jingled. Within seconds, he was tackled and pulled backwards into a bear hug.

“Hey,” he wheezed, patting the arms snaked around his waist, and when they loosened obligingly, he turned around for his hello kisses; forehead, nose, and mouth. His eyes slipped closed as their lips met, intending to greet him properly, but snapped open again when he realised they weren’t alone.

There stood Sam, with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

“Hey!” he said, and tried to push away Harry, who made a small, displeased noise and squeezed Louis closer mulishly. He thwacked Harry’s shoulder until he released him.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said.

Louis smoothed his fringe to the side, feeling all-around ruffled. “No, you’re not. How are you, babe?”

“I’m good. I was just hoping I could get some of them lemon poppyseed muffins Harry’s been bringing in to the shop,” she said. “If you haven’t closed the till yet?”

“Yeah, no worries. We’ve only got a few left, though,” he said, hurrying to serve her. There was clear amusement in her eyes, and he wondered what she saw when she looked at him; when she looked at him with Harry.