#48 He takes care of you when you're drunk
Louis:
"Baby girl," Louis called behind you flipping the fringe out of his eyes. "You need some water." You shook your head, you were fine! The night was young, you felt great, and you had a sexy as hell boyfriend. You were living the ultimate dream. You sipped your drink instead, relaxing against the bar. Louis walked over, his eyes dancing with humor as you continued to drink. "Can I have a water?" he yelled over the noise to the bartender. Seconds later, Louis was pushing the ice cold glass into your hand. "Drink," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. You did as you were told, gulping the liquid down. It felt good on your throat and the fuzziness of your head evaporated instantly. "Better," you admitted sheepishly. He pressed a smacking kiss to your forehead, grinning. "Let me take care of you, it's what I'm here for." He smiled, his hands running along your legs. "Is that all you're here for?" You asked innocently, sending those blue eyes of his into that deep, dark shade you loved. "I'm here," he said hotly, his lips moving against your jaw, "to please you, anyway that I can." You sighed, his teeth biting down on that sensitive spot below your ear. "And if that means getting you water when you're too drunk, than yes." He drew away, leaving you breathless and in desperate need of more. "Tease," you shot back, disappointed. He shrugged, eyes dancing. "I'm not going to do this when you're drunk. Sober up and we'll talk," he said winking. Damn him, damn him for always being so sensible. "Dance with me, for now." You pulled him onto the floor, finishing the rest of your drink. Every twenty minutes Louis would leave and come back with another glass of water, making you drink the whole thing. By the time you got in bed hours later, you were sober and headache free. He delivered on his promise, though. He finished what he started earlier at the bar, and it was damn worth the wait.
Zayn:
He hated when you drank. Not that he had any control over it. He just hated seeing how sick you got every time afterwards. You were a fun drunk though, he had to admit that. You were game for anything and he loved it. You always got him to try something new and it was empowering, testing his limits. "Zayn!" You yelled, twirling down the street. He grinned, watching your dress flare out around his legs. That was the other thing. You were frisky as hell when you were drunk and he loved that. You weren't afraid to beg, be dirty. It was so hot. He turned up the collar of his leather jacket and jogged to catch up to you. Just because you were a fun drunk didn't mean you had any general sense of direction. He steered you left back towards the apartment. Your arm slid around his waist, your hand in his back pocket. Once inside you started stripping, your dress landing on the stairs as you made your way to the bedroom. He grinned, picking up pieces of discarded clothing as you went. He stepped into the bedroom, marveling at you. Tiny little red bra and panties, aching to be torn from your body. He cleared his throat, he couldn't do it though. You were too drunk, he wanted you to remember how good he'd make you feel, how amazing it is. He shook his head pointing to the bed. "Sleep." Damn, did he deserve a medal for that. You stuck your tongue out, letting the bra fall to the floor. "Oops," you said innocently, grabbing a shirt off the floor. He grumbled, feeling his defenses weakening. "Come to bed," you called hoarsely, your throat thick with drink. "Behave," he admonished, stripping down to his boxers. You threw your leg over his, pressing up against him. "Good night," he said finally, silencing your protests. You huffed out a breath, you couldn't be too mad. He was just looking out for you. He respected you too much to take advantage of such a situation and secretly you adored it. You were always safe, always so well looked over.
Liam:
"She's gonna hate herself tomorrow," he said to Louis, watching you throw back another shot. This was three tequila shots in a row and you didn't have a high alcohol tolerance. He liked watching you though, those pretty little pink lips wrapped around the glass, the long column of your neck exposed as you shot it down. No, he didn't mind watching at all. You shot him a grin, swaying lightly on your feet and he shook his head. "Careful," he warned, his arms snaking out to draw you into his chest. "I'm fine," you insisted, but you weren't feeling fine. Your head was swimming, the lights blurring together into one giant one. You were drunk. You hated being drunk though, so you didn't know why you did this to yourself. "Tell me that tomorrow when you're hungover," he chuckled, his lips pressed to your shoulder as you swayed against him. "I will," you shot back, wanting desperately to prove him wrong for once. But you knew already how long of a night was ahead of you. "Wanna go?" He asked, reading your body language. You nodded, admitting defeat. He led you home, his long fingers laced between yours. Once inside, he sat you down in bed and disappeared. You could hear him singing in the kitchen, the cabinet doors opening and closing. Twenty minutes later he returned, a glass of water balanced on a tray. He made you toast with butter, accompanied by several pain killers. "It'll help," he said smiling softly. You pressed your lips to his, lightly tasting his beer from earlier. He was so sweet, so endearing. He couldn't stand to see you suffer and Liam did whatever he could to lessen it. You ate it greedily, feeling better moments after. When you woke the next morning hangover free, you rolled to face him. "I'm fine," you grinned, making him laugh. "Because I took care of you," he said, his hands sliding down your naked body. "Exactly, I told you I'd be fine," he laughed again, sealing his mouth over yours.
Niall:
"Dance with me!" You shouted over the noise. That last shot was not a good idea. Your mind was clouded, everything around you blurring slightly along the edges. Niall drained the last of his beer, standing unsteadily to his feet. It was Friday night and everyone was out. Even Zayn, who hated to dance, was on the floor bumping his way along. Niall made his way over to you, his eyes unfocused as he wrapped you in his arms. You danced for a bit but Jesus, you felt sick. "I don't feel good," you yelled over the music. You saw Niall's eyes clear briefly, enough to figure out what was going on and he nodded. He disappeared, grabbing both your jackets. "Let's get you home, Harry knows we've gone." You let him lead you outside, your stomach rolling with every step. Why oh why did you let Liam buy you that shot of tequila? Oh right, he'd dared you and you were too stubborn to walk away from a dare. As always. Now you were paying for it. "You gonna make it?" He asked, picking up his step. You just nodded, your fingers tightening around his. "Hang on, princess," he muttered, shoving the key into the lock. You bolted straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. "Let me in," he hollered, banging so hard the door shook in the frame. You emptied your stomach into the bowl, full of self-loathing. "Go away!" You moaned. "Think I won't break down this door," he threatened. He would too, you knew that. Niall, when it came to you, was nothing but a worrier. It pleased you though, how much he cared. Once your stomach settled you unlocked the door. He was leaning against the wall, his massive arms folded across his chest. "You okay?" he asked eyes full of concern. "Bed," you managed moving past him. He followed behind, Tylenol and water in hand. You swallowed the pills dutifully and slid into bed, your head weighing a ton. "Never again." He laughed, climbing into bed beside you. "I'm here, I've got you." He kissed your forehead, his own head swimming just a bit. You needed him which meant whatever he was feeling he would put aside, you came first.
Harry:
"C'mon baby." He said slipping his arm around your waist. You curled into his chest, hiccupping. He grinned, you were an adorable drunk. You didn't drink often, but tonight you were out celebrating. They'd just won a massive award and you had one too many glasses of champagne. "Harry, I'm tired." You said curling into his chest. His hands steered you down the street. The flat was just a few streets away and he had hoped the cool night air would help sober you up. You were really drunk, more drunk than he's ever seen you. He was buzzed himself, but if you drank than he made sure he stayed sober enough to take care of you. He led you down the street, supporting your weight in his hands. You were singing some song from the club and he grinned, listening to your slurred voice fumble over the words. Your eyes were bright and unfocused as you went, happily bopping along. Damn, you were cute. He finally got inside and you stumbled in, leaning against the couch. He went straight into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and aspirin and made you take them both. You were going to have a wicked hang over in the morning and he felt sorry for you. "Bed time, baby," he said softly. You just nodded, letting him lead you upstairs. He slid you out of your dress, swallowing thickly when he saw the small scrap of lace covering you. "Jesus," he muttered, praying for patience. "I wore this for you," you giggled, your fingers running along the top of your bra. "Do you like it?" Your eyes got darker, your tongue darting out to wet your lip. "Yes," he said hoarsely, his pants tightening. "Sleep though, you're way too drunk." You pouted, climbing into bed. Harry knew he couldn't sleep next to you as long as you wearing that. He took a shirt of his out of his drawer and slipped it over your head and crawled into bed beside you. Immediately, you curled into his arms yawning. "Sleep, precious girl," he said gliding his lips over your forehead. You were asleep before you could respond.
