This Feels A Lot Like Love

4. Red Lips And Rosy Cheeks

Harry and Louis have been shagging for quite some time now. Three weeks to be exact, almost nearing to a month.

And every time after they would both come and they were hazy and slow, Harry would crawl to Louis' chest and breathe him in, the moment intimate. Harry would trace patters on Louis' sweaty, flushed skin, his cheek sticking to Louis' chest. He wanted to ask, "What are we?" even if it was the most cliché of all cliché phrases. But the words would always get stuck inside his throat.

Each time Louis would smile softly at Harry or fall fast asleep with shadows dancing across his features, Harry never worked up the courage to confess to him that sex somehow felt bigger for him. More momentous. Every touch, every kiss, every press of the fingertips felt like an ode to Louis.

But Harry was a selfish coward and he was afraid that if he told Louis the reality, Louis would get frightened and push him away. And that scared him most of all. So, he would swallow down the words and accept whatever Louis was willing to give him. Hell, he was so smitten and endeared that he would do anything Louis asked, his wish was Harry's command.

Louis had a reputation to uphold. He clearly told Harry the first time they "hooked up" that he was straight and not out of the closet yet. Harry had nodded weakly and kissed Louis on the cheek, assuring him that he was fine with a closeted hook-up. But it didn't hurt any less. Especially when Louis played up his hetero big persona. Louis would call Harry dude-bro-pal-laddy-lad in front of Niall, Liam and Zayn. Harry would catch Louis flirting obnoxiously and kissing pretty brunettes on their cheeks in the busy hallways. It would sting, inevitably.

Harry only played it to his advantage. Afterwards, when they were alone or in the dark, Harry would tease Louis until he knew Louis was seconds away from coming, always making him beg for it. Always making him say, "I only want you Harry. Only you," with quivering lips and badly shaking legs.

They had secret hook-up places too. Places that were normal to the public eye. Like the locker room, for one, smelling of sweat, grass and excessive cologne where Harry pushed Louis up against the lockers and fingered him open. Or the ratty old sofa used as a prop in the middle of the theatre's center stage where Harry's arms draped the back of the sofa, a plastic crown set atop his head while Louis sucked him off like a king. Or places more intimate like the back of Louis' car or Harry's bedroom where they got to be wrapped up in each other with no prying eyes. Just the two of them. Those were Harry's favorite spots.

Sometimes they challenged each other. Harry would work two fingers inside of Louis, Louis begging pathetically for a third. He would whisper into Louis' ear that if he won tonight's game, then Harry would eat him out all night long. Louis would run to the pitch all sweaty and pink-cheeked, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Obviously, they would win. Later, Harry would lap up his tongue on Louis' clenching hole in the showers at the lockers, Louis' moans echoing off the tile walls. Sometimes, Louis would take the lead and tell Harry that if he passed his exams with solid A's, he would blow him off in the boys' restrooms or the janitor's closet whenever and however much Harry liked. Harry would stumble from the classroom with sparkling eyes, clutching a marked paper with a big bold letter A. Afterwards, he would straggle out of the janitor's closet with flushed cheeks and his fly open. Ten minutes later, Louis would stroll on by with a wet and flaming face, his eyes shining and his lips red, wiping his swollen mouth with the back of his hand.

They challenged each other to be better, work harder, play faster. Harry very much liked their mutually beneficial 'situation.' They made it to a month on Louis' big football match.

Harry felt the nerves radiating off Louis in sparks. He thumbed Louis' neck and massaged the tender skin in slow, wide circles. Louis lolled his head on his neck, his eyes fluttering shut. He moaned in pleasure, his head rolling to the direction of Harry's digging thumbs. Harry had the self-constraint of Hercules, pressing the heel of his hand to his hardening length due to Louis' moans. He couldn't contain himself. Louis was so pretty and so pliant.