Harry is out to tell the world how much he completely and utterly, absolutely hates Louis, the problem is that Harry is completely and utterly, absolutely confuse about his feeling for Louis, and seems to keep finding himself in the wrong place at t...
September was competition month, and everyone buried themselves in training, the school classes were cut short, only the essential classes left to meet their GCSE curriculum, and little to no time to do anything that wasn't school or training.
But even though it was stressful, competition months were Harry's favourites, those were the months when he got to improve his jumping skills and spend time with Arctic, and also... It was when he got to see the most of Louis' arse jumping up and down in tight breeches, as he was always in front of him during the jumps, it was both heaven and hell, as sometimes his body reaction would leave him in excruciating pain during his jumps.
"Styles, you okay?!" Their trainer, Mr. Monet shouted as Harry fell from Arctic, his hands flying to his crotch.
"I'm okay." He grunted, his eyes shut tight. The fall hadn't been that bad and other than a small scrap to his shoulder he was fine, it was his manhood that was in pain, fuck Louis Tomlinson and his perfect tight arse.
"Alright son, maybe you should call it a day for today, yeah?" His trainer said. "And everybody else go back to your routines, please."
As Harry opened his eyes, he could see his trainer walking away from him, he sank his elbows on the floor and lifted his upper body back up, his painfully hard length still showing through his breeches. And as he came back to full focus he noticed that Louis was standing next to him, his eyes that were initially on his face were now travelling down his body, stopping in the middle, his face lighting up ever so slightly, and his head tilting to the side before he spoke.
"Don't try to get what you can't handle, Harold." He simply said.
Harry got up, ignoring the pain and pull in his trousers, wiping the dust off of the front of his breeches with his hands
"Don't be so full of yourself, Louis." He wasn't brave enough to look at him.
"It was you who asked me to suck your dick last week. I'm just warning you." He had some nerve.
Harry took a step closer to him and in a low voice said. "I would never let you touch my dick."
"You sure about that?" Louis said, his eyebrows rose and with a quick, out of nowhere, motion, he swiped his crotch with his hand making Harry bend in half and nearly falling to the floor again.
"Tomlinson, what's the matter with you?" Monet said, his french accent coming through.
After that Monet had helped Harry walk out of the arena, and made him go back to his room and rest.
*
It took a whole day for Harry to recover from that, having to skip classes. It was at lunch time the next day when he got a message from Niall.
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Harry reread the messages a few times, why would he be in a mood? He was the one that nearly left Harry unable to ever have children.
Suddenly he heard a key rattling outside his bedroom, out of pure curiosity and boredom he decided to go check who was in the corridors during classes.
When he opened the door in front of him was Louis, his back to him trying to open his own bedroom door.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked.
When he turned around the first thing Harry noticed was Louis' eyes, half open, blue covered in red, he didn't answer
"Are you high?" Harry said, and Louis giggled in response. "Are you giggling?" And at that Louis let out a throaty laugh his mouth closed lips pinched trying to suppress a smile.
"What's with all the questions?" Louis managed to say.
"Well, it's not like you answering any of them." Harry leaned on the frame of his door.
"How's your dick?" He grinned.
"Could be better if some idiot hadn't decided to nearly break it." The thought of it made his crotch tingle with pain again.
"I'll be more gentle next time." Louis was now leaning against his closed door, struggling to stand straight.
"What makes you think there'll ever be a next time?" Were they actually having this conversation?
"Oh, I don't think it, I know it. Your body language speaks to me, Harold." He was being cocky and... flirty?
"How can you be so self absorbed, not everything is about you, Louis." Harry was enjoying it, the teasing.
"Maybe not everything, you're right, but yesterday definitely was." He licked his lips. And Harry's heart rate started to speed up.
"You can't prove it." He said slightly breathless.
"But I can, because, you see... Right now, there's no one around us." He waved his hands around the empty corridor. "And yet, your body is talking by itself." He pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer to Harry, breaking all space between them. "Your eyes unfocused, your breathing erratic, and..." He placed his hand on Harry's waist making him stiffen and all air flow inside him completely disappearing. "Ah..." Louis breathed. "There it is. Sweet torture." He concluded.
"What are you doing?" Harry whispered, eyes closed and his head down, nearly resting on Louis' shoulder.
"I'm just proving you wrong, Harold." He brushed his lips against his cheek, touching almost unfeelable, like a feather. And all of a sudden he pulled away, pulling Harry slightly forward with the motion. "Now if you excuse me, I'm gonna go take a nap." He turned around and opened his door swiftly, closing it seconds after walking in.
