Larry Stylinson Smut

i got my angel now

Louis' not sure exactly when it started. He recalls the thought first popping into his head on stage, when he'd looked over at Harry belting out the chorus of Story of My Life, illuminated by the bright stage lights, his curls perfectly framing his face, the veins in his neck straining, and his flawless voice spilling from his gorgeous lips. He was radiant, Louis thought. Ethereal. He was an angel. Harry Styles was Louis' very own piece of heaven on Earth.

The first time he calls Harry an angel out loud, he whispers it like a secret into Harry's neck as they embrace, wrapped up in each other after being on different sides of the world for weeks.

"Missed you, angel," he says, and he feels Harry tense up in his arms. He hadn't meant to let it slip, hadn't meant to tell Harry this thought that he keeps to himself, but his worry melts away when Harry pulls away from the hug and smiles at him beautifully, uttering a simple, "Missed you, too," in return.

It becomes a thing after that. "Angel" joins "baby" and "love" and "darling" on the ever-growing list of pet names that Louis has for Harry.

When Harry steps out in whatever quirky outfit he's planned for the day and does a little twirl to show off, Louis will grin fondly and tell him, "You look gorgeous, angel."

When Harry tells a particularly awful joke, or cackles too hard at one of Louis', or trips over something, or deepthroats a banana, or just does anything remotely Harry-esque, Louis will kiss his cheek or his temple lovingly and mutter, "I love you, angel."

When they're spooned up in bed after a long, exhausting day, Louis pressed up against Harry's broad back and their fingers intertwined over Harry's stomach, Louis will whisper "Goodnight, angel" into his curls before drifting peacefully off to sleep.

On the rare occasions where Louis wakes up before Harry, like he did this morning, it's the first word that pops into his head when he looks at Harry.

It's always bittersweet when this happens, because while Louis despairs over not being coaxed awake by Harry's tender kisses and sweet voice or his mouth on Louis' dick, when he wakes up before Harry he gets to appreciate the beauty of the man sleeping beside him.

Harry's lying on his stomach with his head resting on Louis' chest, and Louis looks down at his angel slumbering peacefully, with unruly curls for a halo and prominent shoulder blades for wings. He strokes Harry's back gently, reveling in the feeling of the strong muscles beneath his fingertips.

In times like this (and at least 5 other times a day), he always finds himself thinking about how much he loves absolutely everything about Harry. He loves that he wears floral shirts that he doesn't button up all the way, loves that he tells the worst stories known to man, loves that he's become so confident in his own skin and doesn't care what people think of him like he used to. Louis feels like he doesn't tell Harry those things enough. He hopes that Harry can feel it the way Louis looks at him, the way he speaks to him, the way he touches him.

Harry stirs then, and Louis moves his hand to card through Harry's hair as his boy blinks awake. Harry looks up at him and smiles sleepily, leaning into Louis' touch. "G'morning, hubby," he drawls in his rough morning voice. Louis chuckles, because they're not married, not yet, but Harry has taken to calling him "hubby" as a sort of revenge for Louis calling him "angel." It's such a ridiculous nickname, but Louis would be lying if he said he doesn't get an immense amount of satisfaction from hearing it. As far as he's concerned, Harry's basically already his husband. And Harry won't admit it, but Louis knows that "angel" is his favorite term of endearment.

"Morning, angel," Louis replies softly. He tugs lightly at Harry's hair and Harry groans, shifting uncomfortably.

"Ugh," he says, squeezing his eyes shut, "It makes me so fucking horny when you call me that." He rolls off of Louis onto his back beside him, and Louis just stares at him for a moment before grinning wickedly.