The Difference Between Light And Dark {Larry}•{BDSM}•{Hybrid}•{MPreg}

Chapter One

"So good, Daddy," Ryan practically purrs, threading his warm hand up Harry's bare chest.

Harry huffs and grabs his tiny wrist. "I have to go, Ryan," he sighs, his eyes stinging.

Ryan whines. "Why do you always have to do this, babe? It seems like you're using me..."

Harry shakes his head frantically. "I'm not. I just have to go."

"You always 'just have to go', after you come over. We don't do anything but fuck. I barely know anything about you, and you me. I've never been to your house. You've never taken me out on a date. We've been doing this for four months and we've barely even talked," Ryan pouts, his pink lip sticking out.

Harry cringes. He hates the boy. Everything about him. But he isn't about to upset him. He's a fairly good lay. Nothing like Louis, but he's okay. Better than most of the others. That's the only reason he keeps coming back. "Date? You think we're dating?"

Ryan lifts his upper body up on his elbows, his birds in flight tattoo rippling on his shoulder and collar bone. That's the only tattoo the twenty three year old has, but its absolutely gorgeous. He stares at Harry with wide eyes. "What? We're not?"

"Ryan...no. Just 'cause we fuck around doesn't mean we're dating. I'm not looking for a relationship right now," Harry says. Its not a total lie.

Ryan frowns deeply, lines appearing on his forehead. "But...you just got divorced. I-is...are you not over him?"

Okay, maybe that was a lie. He wasn't divorced. God no, far from it. He filed, but hasn't gotten the papers back yet. He thought it'd be easier and get it over quicker actually being work friends with the lawyer, but it really wasn't. Its really a nightmare. He now feels sympathy for all his clients going through it.

"I am. Really," Harry lies smoothly. He wasn't going to say 'no, and I need to get home to cry into my pillow over him' because that would be rude. The truth, but rude all the same.

Ryan pouted. "Alright, babe, but tex me soon, okay? Last time was too long."

Harry rolled his eyes. It was two weeks, suck it up. He rolled off the dishelved bed, completely naked. He pulled on his tight black briefs before slipping into his jeans and buttoning his shirt halfway up, Ryan's hungry eyes on him the whole time. He stuffed his iPhone in his back pocket along with his wallet and keys.

After sending the small dark haired boy a weak smile, he was off, in the elevator in no time and out in the hot June air. He took his sunglasses from his hair, letting the dark locks fall onto his face. The shades covered his eyes and he pushed his hair back to solve the problem, strolling across the sizzling pavement to his black SUV.

He got a new car. The old one held too many memories.

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"You're going to eat," Zayn commanded, slamming the plate of toast and eggs on the bedside table next to the small lump buried under the blankets.

"It doesn't matter," the lump vibrates as a small, weak voice cracks out from under it.

"Of course, it does. And I'm done with your mopey, dopey shit. If you want to talk to him, move your ass over there. No ones stopping you!" Zayn sassed, setting his hands on his hips.

"Everyones stopping me!" Louis exclaims. "Myself. These little fuckers. Even Harry and I haven't seen him in three months!"

"Well, stop sulking like a little bitch, eat something, and walk your ass over there. You think I'm not crushed? That dick won't let me see Niall. He changed Niall's number and his own. I can't see my husband because of something that didn't even happen. And you don't see me moping around. I'm crushed. You're not the only one who lost someone. I lost my lover and my children, just like you. If you want them back, you better do something about out and still being a selfish prick!"

The lump is quiet for a long while, just shallowly moving up and down with breath. Finally, a tiny sniffle sounds, followed by a small voice, "I'm dying anyway. What does it matter?"

Zayn sighs and shakes his head, sitting heavily next to the curve of the small mans stomach. He peels the thick black duvet cover off the boy, revealing his teary, blotchy face and watery blue eyes. "You're not going to die, darling. I'm not going to let you."

"Its not your decision, Zayn. Its inevitable. I've given up. Completely. I honestly don't give a fuck if I die, or not. I'm dead anyway. I can't live with three children that look exactly like him running around. I can't deal with not having him or my babies with me every day. I've barely coped for the past three months. I'm barely hanging on, what makes you think I can do this? Dr. said it herself. I'm too small. I can't give birth to three children. Especially in my condition. I don't even...I can't do this," he's crying again by the end of his speech, his hands balled up by his eyes as he takes deep, calming breaths.

Zayn clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and pulls Louis up, sitting him on his lap. The smaller is wearing a very large white T-shirt and plain black panties, his huge bump poking out.

Dr. Logan told them a few weeks ago that Louis should go on bedrest when he hits five and a half months. Being tiny, having triplets, and having them be large babies, is taking a huge toll on his body. He refuses to eat and refuses to do much of anything. His arms are tiny and pale, as are his legs and collar bones protruding, even more than they aleady, naturally were. His hip bones poke out under the sides of his belly. His curves are still in place, but more sunken in, his ribs visible.

He isn't beautiful, in his eyes. His prominent cheekbones and dull blue-gray eyes state back at him emotionless when he looks in the mirror and he'll cry for hours, considering the options. Maybe Harry knew that he and Zayn didn't kiss. He's just been looking for an out of his marriage with the disgustingly unhealthy looking twenty two year old.

Sure, Harry isn't like that. He would never, but in the Submissives depressed state of mind, anything is possible.

Zayn rubs his hand down Louis' back, feeling every little bump of his vertebrates. The tiny hybrids ears have been forever glued to the top of his head and his tail is tucked between his legs in shame.

He hates himself. He really does. And at this moment, and every moment ever since Harry spat those harsh words at him and slapped him across the face, he wouldn't mind dying. In fact, he embraces it. He's ready for it. He craves it.

I hate myself. This is terrible.

And I haven't updated for so long, but here you go. I started guitar lessons and moved some shit but I will be updating more often.

This is in honour of our little Hazel Nut turning 5.

Kidding, he's 22.

But he's 5 in my mind. :)

•M•