Larry Stylinson Dirty Imagines

Shattered

The door of their flat slamming shut had Harry's head lifting up from its leisurely resting place on the arm of the sofa. His eyes widened, startled, and his voice caught in his throat, having been mid-conversation with longtime friend Nick Grimshaw over the phone.
"I'm gonna have to call you back, Grimmy," Harry explained, confusion coloring his tone. The radio host understood and expressed a pressing need to get together with his younger friend; it had been so long since they had talked things over.
Nick Grimshaw had been the figure in Harry's life to which he turned in times when the situation got too heavy for the 18 year old to hold on his own. It was incredibly hard having a secret boyfriend, but the boy handled it well. Still, advice from his older, wiser friend always made things seem a tad more optimistic.
Harry was at a high point when he called Nick. Louis had gone out with Eleanor, as usual, but for once Harry wasn't hit with depression. Louis hated knowing Harry was upset so the boy was doing his best to think of the positives of their relationship, how, at the end of the night, it was him snuggling up to hisBoobear. Instead of his usual pep talk from Nick, the two were happily chatting about an upcoming movie they'd both like to see when the loud noise from the front door drew Harry away.
The phone clicked shut and Harry perked up in his reclined position on the couch. He could hear Louis making his way through their kitchen, the telltale clanks and slams expressing the haste and carelessness with which he was progressing. A resounding thud signaled the dropping of the shopping bags, which he had undoubtedly purchased a similar load for El, to the kitchen floor. Again, no gentleness was given to the purchases and Harry could practically hear the contents spilling out.
Figuring he had been in the dark too long about the entire situation, Harry cautiously rose from his seat and headed toward the open doorway adjoining the kitchen to the living room. Peering around the corner, Harry caught sight of Louis' back where he was hunched over their oven.
A hand was raking through feathered caramel hair, shoulders shuddering in deep, shaky breaths. His face was cast downward on his free hand gripping the edge of the sleek appliance so tightly his knuckles had lost all circulation. Louis wasn't saying anything, too overcome with whatever emotion—Harry couldn't make a guess without seeing his lover's face—had him in such a state.
"Lou?" Harry ventured softly, ashamed at how scared and hesitant his voice sounded. Louis did not turn around, however. He didn't seem to even hear the sound.
Harry took a few brave steps into the kitchen, noticing absently that there were dishes overturned on the table and a mess that would need to be swept littering the floor. The kitchen itself was dimly lit; no light filtered in through the windows on account of it being past 9 p.m. and the only other light came from the under-counter fluorescents the boys had chosen and had installed for "ambiance."
"Louis?" Harry tried again, within a few arm lengths of the trembling boy now. The other lad whirled around so he was facing the hesitantly approaching figure. His blue eyes seemed to be lit from within by a passionate fire, something that stopped Harry in his tracks. Those piercing blues darted about his form, taking him in warily but rapidly. Something about Louis' appearance reminded Harry of a frightened woodland animal—on the verge of running away if the newcomer made one wrong step, snapped one branch out of place.
Harry's hands flew up, signaling he meant no harm. It was curious, seeing Louis in this state; Harry had never seen the older boy so worked up over anything and so he approached the situation as gently as possible.
"Talk to me, Lou," Harry all but whispered, knowing that at the proximity they were now, Louis would hear him.
"Talk to you? Talk to you?!" Louis snapped with a sneer. "You're the one I'm not allowed to talk to! The only one I want to talk to is the one I'm not allowed to!"
Harry wasn't following Louis' logic and an eyebrow quirked up curiously. "What are you talking about, Boo—"
Louis cut Harry off with a sharp laugh. "No, no. Don't get too used to saying that because what if you slip up in public? People already suspect us; no need to have management on our asses stopping you from even addressing me. Not like they haven't done enough already. God, do you see what they've done to me? To us?"
The Doncaster lad leaned back on the inlaid oven, both hands clinging to the sharp ledge of the counter. He tipped his head skyward, looking at the darkened fixtures on the ceiling.
Harry was just starting to catch on to Louis' ramblings. Clearly, this was about their relationship and the restrictions on how they could act. What about his forced date with Eleanor had spurred such a violent outburst now? It wasn't as though they weren't both aware of how it had to be.
"Louis, I don't understand," Harry responded, brows crinkling in concern. He extended a hand toward his boyfriend but once Louis' gaze caught onto the offer, he was immediately looking away.
"They want me to move out," Louis said dryly, all animation and life drained from his voice in a single sentence. "Haven't they done enough?" With a heart wrenching shudder, all of Louis' rigid tension brought on by anger seemed to wilt in on himself. Louis' shoulders pitched forward, his head dropping to his chest. His entire body language went from confident but livid to meek and upset.
Harry watched on in horror, not quite registering what Louis had said.
"Haven't they done enough?" Tears sprung into those deep, azure eyes as he lifted his gaze weakly back to Harry. For his part, Harry felt his throat closing, thick with emotion channeled from the boy he held so dear. "Don't they see what they've done to me? They're making me change. I was the most comfortable with my sexuality, the most confident. They crushed that, smothered it with her. I was the one who told them about you and me, Haz. They make me deny us time and time again. I had a bit of an attitude, in a fun, playful sort of way. They played me up as this inconsiderate asshole on "Twitter" and beyond just so I can seem myself when I cut down the people who believe in Larry Stylinson." Louis was openly crying now but shook away Harry's attempts to draw closer.
"And you know why I let them do that, right Hazza? You know why I let them change who I was into who I am? Because I wanted to protect you. Everything I've done, everything I hated having to do, I did because of you.
"I knew how unsure you were of your sexuality at first so I overcompensated in confidence in my own. I knew pretending to be interested in someone you weren't wasn't your style so I let them give me the fake girlfriend. I knew how much it would shatter your happiness to have to lie about you and me, so I vouched to answer questions about Larry. I knew how much fan support means to you, so I become the douchebag who blocks fans and defends her. I didn't want you to be hated, discouraged, upset, hurt. Now look at me. I don't even know who I am anymore. And then they ask this? Hazza, I cant!" Louis' voice cracked pitifully on the last word and he had taken enough.
Pitching forward, Louis flung himself into Harry's strong arms, his entire being quivering like a leaf in autumn, barely clinging to its weathered branch. Louis clutched at Harry's body like a lifeline; it was strong whereas he felt weak.
Louis didn't care that his tears were sure to stain Harry's crisp white T-shirt. He didn't care that his entire rant sounded so self-pitying and self-righteous all at once. All Louis cared about was being close to Harry, hisHarry, for the time they had remaining—time Louis feared was running thin as management worked their spindly grip even further into the personal lives of the band mates.
Harry held Louis through his sobs. It wasn't as if they had never discussed the steps the higher ups were taking to keep the relationship secret. Harry knew the changes Louis was making were a strain on the poor boy. What Harry didn't know was that so much of it, Louis stepped into voluntarily. Harry had, not unfoundedly, assumed that management had simply elected Louis, the better actor, to handle the denial in all aspects. He hadn't thought that maybe, Louis was doing it all for his sake.
Guilt swept over Harry in waves. If he had been stronger, more confident, he and Louis could have shared those responsibilities. If he had been equally involved in the role of denying their relationship, Harry wouldn't be wrapping his arms around the broken boy weeping against his chest.
Louis seemed smaller than usual, childlike, as he nuzzled against Harry's body. His sobs still shook his entire person, overwhelmingly large, trembling breaths sucking the words out of his throat.
Harry's arms found a natural place around Louis' neck as the older lad shifted to grip the front of Harry's shirt tightly in his fingers. Sharp nails briefly made contact with the skin of Harry's shoulders as Louis constricted his hold on the flimsy fabric up by his collar.
Noticing the slightest tensing, Louis moved his hands away from the exposed skin as if struck by fire. The last thing he wanted to do was cause the younger boy any more distress than he already had so far tonight. It was enough that he was using his friend and love as a pillar of strength.
That certainly didn't mean Louis could contain his bottled up emotions. Sobs that made Harry's heart constrict painfully overtook the shorter man's slight frame, making him seem infinitely more weak and delicate: a doll.
Not wanting that porcelain to shatter, Harry was obscenely gentle with his emotionally broken lover. His hands, where they rested near Louis shoulders as his arms were crossed around the boy's neck, brushed lightly at the dark fabric of the other's shirt. He muttered reassuring nothings into Louis' ear, allowing his nose to bury in the warm familiarity of Louis' hair.
"I'm so sorry, Hazza, so sorry," Louis was chanting like a busted record player. As much as Harry tried to cease his string of apologies, Louis was having none of it and kept up his mantra incessantly.
Harry did his best to nuzzle his boyfriend out of his shattered state. Placing sweet kisses everywhere he could reach, Harry tugged the shorter lad closer, holding him tighter. Louis responded with a weak moan, slender fingers curling tightly into Harry's shirt.
"I won't let you go," Harry realized he was repeating to match Louis' dismal recitation. "I won't ever let you leave." He put force behind his words now, realizing the validity behind him. The two had put up with the interventions for the sake of the band for long enough. "You are not moving out. Unless you ever want otherwise, your home is here."
Louis pulled back slightly, watery blue eyes peering up curiously into Harry's passionate greens. "What?" he murmured, voice hoarse and wrecked from sobbing so powerfully.
"I won't let them take you," answered Harry, pressing his lips to the top of Louis' head. Louis' brows creased into a tiny frown, his lips parting as if to protest. It was an endearing look on the boy, making him seem the very picture of childhood innocence despite his twenty years.
"It's out of our control," he pouted, tears threatening to spill up over his eyes. Harry noted absently how the roles had reversed. Usually, it was Harry getting emotional over the limitations of their relationship imposed by management. Louis was the calm one telling him to be patient, that their time would come. Now, Harry wondered how Louis had managed such a composed attitude at those times. Seeing the young man you had given your entire heart to hurting beyond belief inspired such a protective instinct that rage seemed the only option.
Fighting his desire to scream in the vain hopes it would change the situation, Harry took a deep, steadying breath. "It's our money, Lou. Our flat. You can't be forcibly evicted from our flat. We'll just say no."
"What if they never ask? Just one day, say while we're on tour or something, they decide to move me out. What then?" Louis bitter realization was expressed on his elegantly featured face, the corners of his lips the telltale sign of the wholeness of his distress.
"Then you just live off my stuff for a while. They can move out your things but not you. You can wear my clothes—I know how you like to anyway—or we can buy you a new wardrobe. Just so long as it's you physically here with me, I think we'll be okay," Harry was rubbing Louis' back soothingly now. The boy still let out the occasional hiccup as a byproduct of all his heavy crying but for the most part, the panic was melting off of Louis' being.
"So long as you'll have me," Harry added with a meaningful look into Louis' eyes, "I'm yours."
Louis' responding laugh cracked, sounding foreign in disuse. It was still closer to the Louis Harry knew than the bitter laugh from earlier. "Who in their right mind wouldn't have you?" joked the Doncaster lad, moving a hand to swipe at his dampened eyes.
Playfully rubbing his tearstained cheeks against the soft cushion of Harry's chest, a smile returned to grace the face of the pretty boy. "No one else will get the chance," vowed Harry, leaning down to kiss the tear tracks still visible on Louis.
"Ever?" Louis' eyes widened, a teasing glint coming back into his gaze.
"Never ever."
Louis was leaning up on tiptoes to crush his lips to Harry's. His arms fit easily around Harry's neck, pulling their faces closers and their bodies pressing up against one another naturally. The kiss was far too desperate and needy to be slow, teeth nearly clashing with the ferocity of the liplock.
Louis wasn't letting up, though. His eyes closed happily as he sought to memorize the way Harry's lips felt against his own. He always loved kissing Harry, the boy's full lips usually working his own into submission. Now, however, Louis had the floor and was leading the emotion driven kiss.
Fingers tore through curly locks and a pleased whimper came from Harry. Louis' own body responded with a shiver and his grip in the hair he adored so much tightened. Harry's arms were low around Louis body, clasping underneath Louis' arse to boost the boy up to match the height the younger boy had on him.
Having a bit of leverage, Louis deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue to the line of Harry's mouth. Harry's sinfully beautiful lips parted for Louis, allowing him to roam the inside of his mouth hotly. Evoking several groans from the younger boy, Louis shifted against Harry to work his tongue into the kiss, the emotions behind his outburst fueling his sexual drive.
When the need for air became too pressing, Louis regretfully withdrew his tongue from the cavern of Harry's mouth.
Sure to let their bodies linger together, Louis detached his mouth from Harry's while only pulling back far enough to let both boys breath raggedly. Panting their breath into one another, both pairs of eyes opened to allow them to look at each other levelly. Louis was the first to break into a smile. Harry's responding grin was ten times as radiant, according to Louis, and the older boy felt his heart swell happily.
"I'm yours," Harry repeated slowly, eyes never once straying from Louis' own.
"Always."