Harry Styles Dirty Imagine

Lirry

Liam shakes his head and tries to stifle a giggle at this lanky idiot walking around with a rolled up yoga mat under his arm.

His lanky idiot.

 Louis catches him inwardly teasing and follows his gaze to Harry spreading Lou’s pink mat along the industrial carpeting of their dressing room floor, toeing off his boots and yanking his socks off with the balance and coordination of Bambi on ice.

“Oi,” Louis calls, to which Harry turns and faces him with a scrunched brow, “new health regime, Young Harold?”

Harry knows he’s teasing, waving him off and turning back to staring down at the mat and trying to remember those positions he’d googled this morning before sound check. Louis continues anyway, as he often does, turning his attention to Harry completely, “Aren’t you supposed to attend a class of some sort? Looks like you might need a bit of instruction, mate.”

“Fuck off, Louis. I’m trying to concentrate,” Harry grumbles, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. Louis’ brows rise in amusement, his mouth tightening around a laugh as he watches on. Liam begins to regret letting Harry do this in front of them all, knowing Louis would rip him one for choosing this form of exorcise.

Louis jabs a sharp elbow into Niall’s side and he looks up to complain but stops when he sees Louis stifling a laugh behind his fist, pointing at a grunting and seemingly uncomfortably twisted Harry on the floor across the room. Now he watches too, barely containing his own mischievous cackling. Niall pushes at a napping Zayn’s shoulder earning a low sort of growl or grunt from him. He opens one eye to peek up at Niall from where his head leans against the back of the couch, looking at where Niall’s eagerly pointing to Harry.

This seems to catch his attention, rising up and rubbing at his tired face as a smile pulls at one side of his mouth. Harry’s resulted to doing some form of a planking position, except his legs are too far apart as if he’s going to do some star pushups. His pelvis is too low to the ground as well, and his face looks positively troubled; so much so that Liam is actually starting to feel guilty about bringing his actions to the rest of the band’s attention.

Well, he didn’t necessarily scream “LOOK AT HARRY!” but he also didn’t stop Louis from alerting the rest of the boys. They’re all cupping their mouths, trying to stay as silent as possible as Harry groans and falls to the mat, opting for a little downward dog since that seems to be a bit easier. Liam flicks his eyes from Harry to the rest of the boys and just knows something’s gonna happen soon, with the way their laughter is getting less and less inconspicuous and Harry’s getting more and more frustrated with himself and lack of flexibility.

Harry stands with his back to them and bends over, his tight jeans straining at the seams as he stretches himself to his limits, but his eyes flash open when a wolf whistle comes from the other side of the room, followed by two sets of childish chortles, later joined by a third. He stands upright and spins around to see three of his band mates folding over each other, cackling and slapping each other’s backs as their eyes water. Liam sees he’s offended, sees he’s about two more huffy breaths away from storming out and pouting in the hallway where Liam will have to convince him to come back inside and play nice.

Liam stands and walks over to Harry, reaching up to run a hand down Harry’s arm and clasps his hand with his own. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, stepping in closer and nudging Harry’s shoulder with his, “I think you were doing ok.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you have to,” harry mumbles, kicking at the carpet with his bare feet. Liam’s always loved the way his feet look when he’s wearing tight skinnies, poking out the bottom of each pant leg. He shakes his head, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Harry’s cheek.