Take Me Home

Take Me Home - Part III

Harry snuffles in his sleep. It's not a snore, more like adorable little puffs of air on each exhale.

Louis isn't entirely sure Harry Styles wasn't crafted by the gods as the perfect man, just for him.

The snuffling is yet another new and endearing revelation about the man lying next to him that just piles on top of every other endearing revelation he's had about Harry since he turned up on his property and started to burrow into Louis' heart.

There's the way Harry persists in eating everything tongue-first, or how he pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, brows furrowed, when he's trying to work out the mysteries of the universe like how to operate Louis' coffee machine.

Or there's the way he stands, slightly pigeon-toed, with that goofy look on his face, when he's gazing at Louis like he can't believe that Louis is real. Or even when he chats away happily with Gerald and Agnes while they splash about in the bird bath. Louis is pretty sure Harry wants nothing more than to shrink to bird-size and get in the bath with them.

But all of that barely scratches the surface of what makes up the enigma of a man buried under their cocoon of blankets beside him. It's an inevitable conclusion at this point, and no matter how much Louis might be scared shitless about what he's feeling, no matter how much this goes against all of his life experiences to this point, and no matter how much this might spell disaster for his poor heart, he's simply helpless to resist. In short: Louis is totally, completely, and irrevocably fucked.

He sighs and burrows his face into the nape of Harry's neck, breathing him in, and accepting his fate.

After a quick shower, they'd collapsed into Louis' bed and promptly fell asleep, naked and warm, with Harry wrapped around Louis like a koala. They'd shifted during their late-afternoon nap though, and Louis had woken plastered to Harry's back, a mouthful of Harry's hair, and a dead-arm where it was trapped under his body.

Harry's currently got a vice-like grip on both of Louis' hands, which are pressed over his heart, with Louis taking the role of big-spoon, and even though Harry is taller and broader, they somehow fit together perfectly.

The storm has passed over them now, just the remnants of light rain as a reminder of what came before. The power is still off and Louis should really go and sort it out, but the thought of waking Harry and relinquishing the heat of his body is too much to bear right now. Besides, he's pretty sure if he just closes his eyes, he might be able to fall back to...

~*~

When Louis next wakes, there's something prodding into his thigh, warm air tickling at his neck and down further to ruffle his chest hair, and fingers are trailing circles around his belly button and across his lower stomach. Blinking his eyes open, the room is dark, only a hint of moonlight casting silvery shadows.

"Hi," Harry says, voice rough from sleep, chin resting on Louis' chest.

"Hi, yourself."

Harry grins at him, slotting his knee between Louis' legs and pressing his hard cock more intently into Louis' thigh. "Good sleep?"

It's been a long time since Louis woke up naked in bed with someone. He's missed it.

"Mmmmm... Quite lovely, thanks."

Harry shifts up and pecks a chaste kiss to the side of Louis' mouth, pulling back and his grin turning into something slightly more devilish. "I dreamt about you."

Louis quirks a brow. "Oh, did you now?"

Harry waggles his eyebrows. "I did."

"Exactly how filthy was it?"