Mr.Styles

How the tables turn

Okay so Louis was fucked. Not literally (he wished that was the case). He just, after working for a week for Mr.Styles , he realised he just really wanted to be fucked by him.

Now don't get Louis wrong, he wasn't a slut. But then there was Mr.Styles. Louis almost called him daddy once. It wasn't a pretty sight. Thank god Mr.Styles has a good concentration and doesn't hear what anyone says when he's going through a file.

Louis thought of it as an infatuation, thought that once he gets fucked by Mr.Styles it would all be good. But the question was how to get fucked by Mr.Styles.

Ofcourse Liam and Niall came to know about Louis' obsession, it might have slipped from his mouth that he wanted to sit on Mr.Styles' face while they were laughing about something irrelevant and Mr.Styles had just passed by.

They didn't really want to know the details, but it just kind of never stopped from that day. Yes he also complained about how he wanted to punch Mr.Styles. Go figure.

So there was Louis groaning, because he just didn't know what to do or how he felt.

"I think this is a mild case of a crush." Niall said, taking a bite of his pizza.

"What? I'm a grown man, not a high schooler. I don't have crushes." Louis snapped.

"Definitely a crush." Liam said, nodding his head in agreement.

"But I don't like him like that!"

"You said you wanted to sit on his face."

"Also that you wanted to lick his jawline—"

"Okay okay I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?" Louis groaned, chewing on his sandwich.

"I think I've got just the right plan." Niall said, smirking.

"Oh boy."

***

Louis gulped, standing in front of Mr.Styles office.

Why are you so nervous? You've done this a million times. Louis said to himself.

Which wasn't true. He hadn't written his number on his boss' coffee cup, like ever. Or anyone's glass for that matter. But here he was doing what Niall asked him to do just for this man called Me.Styles.

He turned back, giving Niall and Liam a scared look as they stood behind the wall looking at him.

The motioned him to go forward with their hands.

"Okay Tommo it's either getting fucked or rejected. You can do this." Louis whispered to himself, before knocking on the door and walking in.

Louis breathed in taking in his boss' form. Mr.Styles was hunched over the desk, writing in his file, his hair in a bun and he looked gorgeous. Louis wondered how a man could pull off a bun so well.

"Good Morning, Mr.Styles." Louis greeted placing the coffee on the table.

He stared at the cup of coffee, as Mr.Styles picked it up and took a sip of it , his gaze not lifting from the paper once, his gaze not falling on Louis' number sprawled on the cup.

Louis almost whimpered when Mr.Styles crushed the plastic cup and threw it in the bin near his feet.

Louis made a very strange noise at that, making Mr.Styles look up from the paper.

"Is something wrong Mr.Tomlinson?" Mr.Styles asked.

Louis wanted to scream but instead he smiled and replied, "no." And turned on his heels and walked out of the office and to his cabin.

"How did it go?" Niall asked once he was at his desk.

"He didn't even notice it!" Louis says, his hands gripping his hair.

Niall's smile falls and he places a hand in Louis' shoulder.

Liam and Niall exchange a look as Louis shakes his head and gets back to work.

***

Louis picks up his bag and sighs, walking towards Mr.Styles office to tell him he was leaving.

He knocked on the door and entered, "I'm leaving." He said.

He was so ready for a weekend of loathing in self pity.

"Oh Mr.Tomlinson hold on!" Louis' boss calls him.

Louis sighs, waiting for him.

"Here," Mr.Style says handing Louis a piece of paper, "that's my phone number, message me and your address. I'll pick you up so we can go shopping for your new suit."

Louis gaped at the paper, all day he was moping around because Mr.Styles didn't read his number and now Mr.Styles was giving Louis his number even skipper his lunch because of that, oh how the tables turn, soon a shit eating grin made its way on his lips and he replied to his awaiting boss,

"Sure thing Mr.Styles."

And if Louis wrote about twenty to thirty messages and erased them all just so he could send Mr.Styles that one perfect message of his home address, no one has to know.

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