Balance

Chapter 17

Trying to teach Harry basic ballet moves to his adamant protest had gotten exhaustive to the dancer and soon, after attempting, the blue-eyed boy was yawning and fisting at his eyes tiredly.  "You need to get home, Ballerina," Harry observed, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.  Louis let his lips fall into a pout and he rested his hands on his hips.

"And who are you, my mother?" retorted Louis with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a huffy sigh.  Harry didn't deem that worthy of a response and, in his smirk, Louis could almost see the beginning of some sort of perverted joke blooming in Harry's mind.  "Don't you dare answer that," Louis interjected with an expression of genuine worry crossing his face.  Harry laughed and his arms fell out of his ridiculous attempt at a port de bras and enclosed around Louis.

The hug was sweet and Louis thought, optimistically, that he had somehow dodged the dirtier part of Harry's teenage mind.  He was proved wrong, of course, when lips brushed along the shell of his ear and a low groan sounded that he could feel rumbling through Harry's chest.  "Not your mother," Harry whispered in a blatantly obvious seductive tone, almost overly so, "but if you wanted to call me Daddy, I wouldn't be opposed."

Louis swatted at Harry's chest, trying to wriggle out of the strong embrace halfheartedly.  "I said not to answer," protested the dancer, jumping slightly as Harry's hands fell even further to give his hips a squeeze.

"You make it so easy to rile you up," Harry offered in his own defense, leaning in to nuzzle at the crook of Louis' neck, far too sweetly to have uttered the dirty words only moments ago.

"It's only easy because I've got too much else on my mind for me to stop you," Louis answered, a hand tentatively moving to thread slender fingers into floppy curls.

"I think you could stop me if you wanted to," Harry purred, shifting downward to mouth at the skin at the hollow of Louis' throat, unaware of the fact that the shorter boy's thoughts were wandering far away.  The lack of answer, combined with the way Louis' fingers were brushing absently through his hair in contrast to the sexual undertones of Harry's last statement clued the skater boy in to Louis' distraction.

He unfurled to his full height in order to look down into crystal blue eyes with interest.  "Where'd you go, Ballet Boy?" Harry prompted with a light jostle to Louis' body.  Louis blinked in confusion, refocusing on Harry's gently smiling face.

"There's a chance they're posting the cast list tomorrow.  It'll be Wednesday at the latest but if their decision is mad, it's going up tomorrow.  My entire first year with the company is going to be determined by a few words of ink on paper as soon as tomorrow," whispered Louis fervently, willing Harry to understand.

Where a few of Louis' non-dancer friends of the past wouldn't have gotten it, though, Harry's expression seemed to soften in understanding.  His arms constricted to tug Louis' pliant body closer to his own and he tucked the dancer's head underneath his chin fondly.  "You're going to do fine, Louis, no matter where they place you."

Feeling Louis drawn in a breath to argue, Harry quickly continued to cut him off.  "And if anyone in that whole damned company has any shred of common sense, you're going to get that lead and you're going to absolutely kill it."  Louis' intake of air came out in a defeated huff, conceding whatever point he was about to make in favour of Harry's kind words.

He shook his head slightly, slowly, trying to piece his thoughts in order to thank Harry for the surprisingly believable praise—Louis couldn't bring himself to argue when Harry seemed so confident.  Before he could utter a word, Harry's lips pressed innocently to his cheek and the skater was drawing back.

"C'mon Ballerina, I'm taking you home.  I'm sure your Zayn will be worried sick," smiled Harry, moving to kick up his board into his hand and gather things back into his rucksack.