Larry Stylinson One Shot Collection.

Fraternizing The Enemy.

Author: Gillianidk from A03

“And that’s it folks! Doncaster has beat Manchester by a solid thirteen— three penalties all shot by the ever loved number 17— Mr. Tomlinson, hats off to you!”

“Hats off to you,” Harry mocked. He took his head and took off his ‘STYLES 36’ jersey and threw it into his bag on the bench. “No one ever says, ‘number 36— Mr. Styles, hats off to you!’” He took off his cleats and threw them in his bag, scattering dried mud on his jersey (because stupid Doncaster played on real grass). He sat down on the bench and continually ran his hands through his sweaty hair, waiting for the locker room to empty out.

And then when it finally had, a smaller, funnier, adorable-er person than he dashed into the locker room still wearing his full uniform, cleats and shin-guards and socks included.

“Hey there, ‘star of the game’,” teased Harry, pressing his lips to Louis’.

“I’d rather you refrain from calling me that,” he said, kissing him back.

Harry, although grateful he had Louis, knew he was risking his career by doing so. Opposite team members couldn't be, and he quoted his coach, “more than friendly associate themselves with another team member, on your own team or that bloody Doncaster team.” And that was that, though freakishly unfair since, truth be told, Louis was the most attractive male football player in all of Britain, and the United Kingdom, and Europe, and the eastern and western and northern and southern hemispheres, and possibly (very likely, honestly) the entire fucking universe, and possibly beyond.

“Why not? Too bad I wasn’t wearing a hat— it would’ve been off,” he leaned forward and took off his imaginary hat, “to you.”

“You bloody well know I hate it when Nick does that— and you know he does it to annoy us,” he said, smiling at Harry’s cute little act.

“But you love it when I do it,” teased Harry, lunging to grab Louis’ nipple and laughing when he fell over sideways trying to dodge him.

“Nope,” he said, getting off the floor and back onto the bench opposite Harry. “Still quite hate it.”

“Sure,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. He cleared his throat. “You looked really fit today,” he said, blushing.

Louis laughed and smiled big. “Thanks Harry. You looked… hot today.” Harry leaned over and hit his thigh but laughed nonetheless. “You know,” said Louis, getting up and sitting on Harry’s lap, which only had on tight, tight blue briefs. “This whole ‘behind the coach’s back’ thing makes me feel utterly badass.”

“You,” he said, putting his nose in his hair, “are the farthest thing from badass.”

“I am so badass,” said Louis, moving his head so it was leaning against the cool wall where Harry’s was, so he could at least sort of look at him. "My entire team is jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of my badass-y-ness,” he said. “Remind me why we’re here and not back at my flat?”

“Because it’d be fucking hot to have sex in a locker room,” said Harry, turning Louis to face him, “with most of your uniform on.”

“Kinky,” he teased, loosely putting his arms around Harry’s neck, and putting his mouth to it. “Your wish will be granted.”

And so he was at it, in full uniform and Harry wearing nothing but his briefs, sucking at his neck till he left angry red marks and a few purple ones, and kept coming back to his sweet spot to make the mark bigger.