Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

i'm talking about you in my sleep

Written by:aceofdiamonds
Summary:
another one of those fics where louis is a footballer and harry is a popstar.
They really should have met under better circumstances because Louis gets very into the game and shouts a lot and maybe Harry really didn't see him when he ran straight into him; he's really very tall and Louis is really very not. They fall to the ground, Harry right on top of Louis, his stupid big arms on Louis's face and he's giggling like this is some sort of game -- it's not that sort of game, okay. He laughs a lot, and apologises a lot, and Louis rolls his eyes and struggles to remember that this is for a good cause.

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Work Text:
They first meet at a charity football match.
Louis's the professional; one of the best in Britain the papers are saying like they know everything, all the clubs want him all over the world. Harry's the clumsy, tall popstar in the pretty pop boyband who has girls fainting at his feet but can't control his own limbs and apologises every time he, miraculously, steals the ball.
They really should have met under better circumstances because Louis gets very into the game and shouts a lot and maybe Harry really didn't see him when he ran straight into him; he's really very tall and Louis is really very not. They fall to the ground, Harry right on top of Louis, his stupid big arms on Louis's face and he's giggling like this is some sort of game -- it's not that sort of game, okay. He laughs a lot, and apologises a lot, and Louis rolls his eyes and struggles to remember that this is for a good cause.
After the game is over, though, and the trophy is presented to the winning team -- to Louis's team -- Harry catches his eye and beams. He looks at Harry properly then; takes in the chocolate curls, the big green eyes and broad shoulders and skinny hips. There's tattoos littered all over his arms and more peeking out the neck of his top. Louis smiles back.
It's a case of opposites attract.
--
Two weeks later Louis finds himself several shades past tipsy and watching every video ever made of One Direction.
There's three of them: Harry, Liam and Niall. He vaguely remembers his sister's background on her phone being the blond one last time he saw her -- Niall. He's Irish, he learns. And Liam, Liam only has one kidney but then something happened and he can drink now. See, Louis's all clued up.
But it's the one with the curls -- those stupid curls that smell of vanilla and the tears of teenage girls -- that he met at the football that he can't get out his head. Harry. He pours himself another large glass of wine -- the wine makes him feel at least a little grown up even if the activity is quite the opposite -- then clicks on a video titled "EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT HARRY STYLES".
The next morning he wakes up with his head pounding and scribbles all over his arm that look suspiciously like bad attempts at replicating Harry's tattoos. His phone is ringing telling him that some time last night he had the brilliant idea of changing his ringtone to One Direction's latest single. He groans and chucks it on the floor where it continues to ring, getting louder and louder, lyrics about taking it slow and kissing girls mocking him.
--
It works out that the world of showbiz and tv want them to meet again just as much as Louis does. He's on the celebrity panel for The X Factor the same week as, guess who, One Direction.
Half an hour before showtime Louis is starving and, because everything about the world is cruel, no one has anything to eat around here. He whines to Zayn, his best friend slash publicist, about it, pawing his arm and distracting him from breaking his high score on Doodle Jump until he rolls his eyes and digs in his pocket for a quid, telling Louis to "go get himself something nice". He forgets a lot of the time that Louis actually pays him and could fire him one day and then what would he do?
But, unfortunately for Louis, they both know that Zayn's not the more dependant one in their relationship and that's how Louis finds himself skulking in an empty corridor somewhere near the pits of hell by the smell of it, kicking a vending machine and hissing at it to give him his Twix; he's paid, goddammit. A hard boot at its side makes the machine groan and then give up, spitting out his Twix into the tray at the bottom.
He whoops and bends down to get his biscuit; sure it will taste all the better now he's had to work for it. He's giving the vending machine an apologetic pat on its number pad when he hears the clip-clop of fancy shoes which makes him whirl round, his mouth full of chocolate.
It's not the police coming to lock him up for assault, Louis sees with a sigh of relief. It's the very opposite, actually.
"Louis," Harry says, giving an easy smile and holding out a hand for Louis to shake. "Nice to see you again."
"Likewise," Louis grins, his hand dwarfed by Harry's in a way that sends pleasant tingles down his spine. His gaze sweeps over the popstar from his noisy shoes to his charcoal suit that looks like it was made by angels just for him and the white shirt that is just see-through enough for Louis to make out the sparrows and butterfly tattoos on his lovely, lovely skin. His curls are flatter this time; less sweat, he guesses. He wonders if the smell of vanilla is still as strong. He really wants to check. "You'll be glad I'm not shouting at you this time."
Harry laughs. "It was all deserved. No idea what I was thinking attempting to tackle a player like you."
He flushes, pleased that Harry even knows who he is at all, to be honest, even after the charity match and the compliment. His face isn't on the face of magazines every week, after all, just the sport ones sometimes and that's only because he's the youngest player to do this and that. He doesn't think Harry reads sport magazines. "You weren't thatbad."
"You can admit I was shit; my boys tell me all the time." It's nice, the way he talks about the band like that. Louis wonders if they're like a little family the way he is with the boys at Man U.
"With the right training we'll be fighting for you," Louis says, imagining running drills with Harry, Harry in the kit with knee socks and the red of the strip against his pale skin.
"Yeah? Know of any footballers willing to give up their free time for a worthy cause?" Harry's eyes are sparkling, and Louis's just as starry-eyed.
"I can think of one," he says slowly, tilting his head to the side. "If it's for a good cause."
"The very best," Harry assures him.
Before Louis can say anything else a crew member comes round the corner, rushing them to their seats. Harry sits beside Louis on the red couch; his thigh pressing hot against Louis's for the entire hour. He whispers witty comments about people passing and barks a laugh when Louis breathes them back. The presenter remarks on their closeness and doesn't believe either of them when they say they've just met.
--
"Zayn," Louis sings, leaning over the back of the couch to stare at him making tea in their little kitchen. The walls are a very bright yellow that can be painful on a hangover. Louis should have paid more attention when Zayn was decorating.
"What?"
"No need to sound so worried," Actually, Zayn has every need to sound worried. Louis doesn't have the best track record when it comes to relationships. But still. Some optimism would be nice. "What if I wanted to meet someone?"
"What if you did," Zayn says, still sounding wary. The kettle whistles loudly.
"What if they were in a boyband and they were very pretty and funny and nice and I wanted to marry them?"
"Is this Harry Styles?"
Louis scrambles into a sitting position. "You know him?"
Zayn laughs, carrying two mugs over to Louis. He settles beside him, taking a sip of his tea before answering. "Everyone knows him, Lou. I thought you two had already met."
"He's shocking at football," Louis wrinkles his nose, ignoring Zayn. "Even worse than you."
"I thought you said that wasn't possible," Zayn says dryly.
"Shocking," Louis says again, remembering the way Harry had run straight into him, his feet tangling with Louis's and sending them crashing to the ground. "I think I love him."
Zayn rolls his eyes. He does that too often around Louis. "What did we say about stalking pretty boys."
"If you must know," Louis sniffs, choking on his tea on the inhale. He shrugs off Zayn's pat on the back before he continues more weakly than he was intending. "If you must know, he's the one making all the propositions. I'm the stalkee in this situation."
"Mhmm."
"You're not listening to me, are you," Louis sighs, shifting to rest his head on Zayn's shoulder, his feet pushed under the couch cushion. "I pay you to listen to my troubles."
Zayn nods, it's possible this have this conversation once a week. At least. "Lou, you pay me to organise your life. There's not enough money in the world that would get me to tackle your love life too."
"Hey," Louis says half-heartedly. He watches Zayn flick all the way through the Sky menu and then back again, scrolling too quickly to take anything in. "Stop. I saw Recess somewhere."
Zayn stops halfway through the radio channels and goes back the way to the kid section. It's the one where everyone finds out Spinelli is an Ashley.
"T.J's always the fucking hero," Zayn mutters. Louis tilts his face up to see Zayn glaring at the screen. "Give Vince a chance."
"I think Harry Styles likes being a hero." Louis hasn't seen any explicit evidence of this but on his video trawl everyone seemed to think he's a saint so he can't be far off. "Maybe I should be a damsel in distress so he can come and rescue me. He has lovely arms; very manly. Zayn, do you think he would carry me in his big strong arms?"
"No."
Louis hums. He shuts his eyes and hopes Zayn is planning to have a nap too. "I think he would."
It's possible he dreams of Harry Styles and his big strong arms and his big everything else, actually, and it's possible that he wakes up more flustered than he was before. It's worrying, maybe, how much Zayn is used to waking up with Louis hard against his thigh. Louis doesn't pay him enough.
--
It's another chance meeting that gives Louis the confidence to actually do something about this interest which is bordering on infatuation. They run into each other at a club; Louis's out celebrating their latest league win and Harry's just finished their first show of the tour. It's odd, in a way, that Louis seems to be meeting Harry almost every place he goes now in comparison to not knowing his name a month ago. He vaguely thinks about fate.
Louis's a bit drunk; the room is spinny and he lost Zayn a few songs and several shots ago to a girl with purple hair and a slightly manic smile. He's dancing with a tall blond with a tattoo curving up his neck when he feels a hand on his hip and a smile in the "Louis" that is breathed hot on his neck. He twists away from the blond who looks put out for a second, mouth turned down, before a girl wraps around him and sets Louis free.
"We need to stop running into each other like this," Louis yells, a hand reaching out to rest on Harry's arm to steady himself.
"What?" Harry is too tall; Louis too short; the club too loud.
Louis threads his fingers in Harry's curls -- of course they're so soft -- and pulls him down so his mouth can fit against his ear. The smell of vanilla is overwhelming. "We need to stop meeting like this."
He feels Harry's chest rumble in a laugh before he hears it; throaty and loud in his ear. "I was hoping we could meet more, actually."
"You were?" Louis plays dumb, pulls back to look up at Harry through his eyelashes like the very idea had never occurred to him. "And how were you going to make that happen? I'm very busy, you know."
"I was going to take you up on your offer of training, and then charm my way into your pants."
"So forward." So delightfully forward.
Harry smirks. "I like getting what I want."
Louis suppresses the urge to grab Harry's shoulders and kiss him right there and then and instead fits himself against him so their hips are aligned, moving to the steady bass thumping through the club. He feels Harry's hands big on his hips, pulling him closer, Louis moving all too willingly. More of the sparrows are peeking out of the scooped neck of his shirt, their wings curving up over his collarbones. Louis wants to lick them, wants to see if they're sensitive, if they make Harry shiver.
"I have to admit," Harry drawls, his breath hot on Louis's neck. "I wasn't expecting you to be as good at dancing as you are at football."
"And I was hoping for better moves seeing as you're in a boyband," Louis replies, his fingers twisting at Harry's sleeve, unfolding the hem. Harry's skin is very hot beneath his fingertips. "Is that not a requirement?"
"Not with a face like mine," Harry says with another smirk. Louis supposes he can get away with anything with a face like that.
A couple of songs later, Zayn appears beside them. He has a drink in his hand, one that's tilted to the point where drops of liquid are splashing out on to the floor every time he sways. "Sorry to break this up," he grins, not sorry at all. "But you've got a curfew, Tommo."
Louis grimaces, pulling back from Harry. "You make me sounds like such a child, Zayn." Run away back to Doncaster for one night once two years ago and that's you labelled a liability for life. "Harry, this is Zayn: my delightful best friend and part-time mother. Zayn, Harry."
"Full time, actually," Zayn corrects, swapping his drink to his other hand to shake Harry's hand. "Nice to meet you. My sisters love you."
Harry's other hand moves from Louis's waist to holding his hand, threading their fingers together. "Thanks, we get that a lot," he laughs. Louis sees his eyes sparkle at having fans, knows without Harry saying that even after a world tour and countless broken records the whole fame thing is still shiny and overwhelming for him. Louis wants to pet his head and coo. After the tattoo licking, of course. "Lovely son you have here, Zayn. I can see where he gets his good looks from."
Zayn laughs. "Cheers, mate," Louis can see Harry has passed the initial best friend test; it's a hard one so credit where it's due. "Right, I'm off. You're in capable hands by the looks of it, Lou. Just make sure he's home before two, Harry, yeah?" And then he's gone, dancing through the crowd back to the purple-haired girl, a trail of Jäger flavoured drops following him.
"Give me your phone," Harry says, wriggling his hand into Louis's jeans and pulling it out himself before Louis can blink. "You have five missed calls from bradford bad boi."
"Mm," Louis rocks onto his tip-toes to watch Harry key in his number and then tap into messages to send himself a hi, i'd like to see you again :). Here is where he should tut and tell Harry he's being presumptuous but he's just reading the signs right and so Louis smiles, pleased. "I'll get back to him later."
"Remember to tell him about our date tomorrow."
"He probably knows all about it," Louis wraps a hand round Harry's wrist, noting with a dopey grin that his fingers don't meet up. He tugs Harry through the dance floor, their joined hands low between them to hide from glazed eyes and mouths loose with alcohol, liable to spill anything they see to whoever asks. "He knows everything about my life; usually before I do."
"Sounds like some bad boy."
They're at the door now. Louis can see the flashes of the paparazzi falling over themselves to get a photo of an up-and-coming popstar, desperate to do anything to catch everyone's attention; a mission that is clearly not limited to forgoing underwear and clambering into the back of a taxi in front of a dozen men with cameras. He turns away from the clicking of cameras and shouts of face this way, love and give us a smile and looks up at Harry with a grimace only to see Harry watching the girl like he wants to reach out and help.
There's just more and more levels to him, Louis realises, his stomach fluttering pleasantly when he sees his hero theory come into play. He's met Harry a grand total of three times, watched a ton of videos about him, flirted outrageously with him, and he's still nowhere near working out the real Harry Styles: heartthrob extraordinaire.
"It's a shame, isn't it," he says when they're waiting for a taxi of their own. The men have noticed them now and are going mad, questions shouted over and over again (how do you know each other, when's the wedding) as if they'll take pity on them and answer. Louis stays the appropriate foot away from Harry but keeps his eyes on him, determined not to be swayed by the mess around them. There's a downside or two to doing what you love for a living, see.
Harry looks at him questioningly, his mouth bent into a frown. His lips are very pink.
"The girl before. Some people just don't know where to stop," Louis elaborates. He could be talking about both parties here but Harry picks up on the one he means.
"Yeah," he nods, his eyes flashing with anger, gone as quickly as it came. "They have no shame." Louis opens his mouth to agree but Harry continues. "They hound people like they have the right to do so just because they're in the spotlight. I'm in this for the music not the fame but you can't tell anyone that; they just assume that once you're well known they have every bit of access to your life."
"And then you're the criminal when you lash out or do the slightest thing wrong," Louis says, frowning. He's had some bad press over the years, mostly about binge drinking and falling out of too many clubs or the lack of women in his life and the various unexplained men he's been spotted with; none of which affects his game and therefore is irrelevant to the media, not that they realise that. He supposes it must be ten times worse when you're an international popstar with a target market under fifteen. "I take it you're not a fan of PDA."
A taxi rolls up finally and they scramble in, Harry stepping back to let Louis in first. Such a gentleman. "No," he says once they're halfway down the street. "It's not that; I'm all for a public snog. I just want the choice to announce a personal aspect of my life to the world instead of the tabloids making up their own theories, you know what I mean?"
Louis gets it. He's tired of rolling out of mens' beds at the crack of dawn and sneaking out before anyone can see him in the night before's clothes just because how he lives doesn't fit in with what he does for a living. It's shit, but it's life.
"Hey," he pats at Harry's arm. "This is getting a bit deep; should've guessed you're a philosophical drunk." He yawns and drops his head onto Harry's shoulder. Harry barks out a laugh, one that makes Louis smile to himself, and wraps an arm round his shoulder, pulling him closer against him.
"Now, about that date."
Louis pushes his face into Harry's shoulder, his skin warm and soft. He smells of beer and aftershave and something sweet; it makes Louis's head spin and want more and more.
He makes a decision that he's seventy per cent sure he's going to regret in the morning and tilts his head up, leaning to push his lips against Harry's, barely touching at all. His heart speeds up beating too fast too fast because Harry's been flirty and forward but he's read the magazines, he's seen the videos that show Harry's like that with everyone.
But before Louis pulls away and bumbles through an apology like he's an over eager fourteen year old, Harry lets out a tiny moan and kisses back, his arms coming up to wrap around Louis and pull him against him the best he can in the backseat of a taxi. His tongue licks into Louis's mouth, slides alongside Louis's hot and wet. Louis groans, too many thoughts running through his head at once and all of them cancelled out by the rush in his ears.
Of course Harry Styles is a phenomenal kisser; after all his research Louis should have expected it.
--
Louis blinks and he's dating Harry Styles. They keep it quiet, just Zayn, Niall and Liam at first, and then a few months in they tell their families. Keeping it quiet means lazing around each others' flats and carefully deflecting relationship questions in interviews. It means late night phone calls and constant goodbyes but this is the happiest Louis's been in weeks.
After a few weeks they get brave and go on a date to the cinema to see the new Iron Man. They sneak it once the lights are off and spend most of the film whispering and giggling and pulling each other in for a kiss, the thrill of getting caught thrumming under their skin. When the credits start to roll Louis grabs Harry's hand and they run for the exit, dodging teenagers on dates and little boys in Iron Man t-shirts clasping their mothers' hand.
In the car on the way home Louis gushes about the effects and the surprises and yes, he's loved Iron Man since forever. He'll need to go back with Zayn, though, and watch it without getting distracted by Harry's lips on his neck and whispers of what they're going to do once they get home.
Keeping with a promise made in the darkened theatre, Harry's hand rests on Louis's on the gearstick for most of the way home, their fingers slotted together. Harry's giant hand completely covers Louis's, guiding him through the gears. But as they get closer to Louis's flat, his hand moves onto his thigh, fingers pressing hard enough to make Louis's breath hitch and his foot jerk on the accelerator. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry smirk and, as some sort of twisted revenge on himself, Louis takes a hand off of the steering wheel to remove Harry's hand. Safe driving, he tells his heart which is thumping at triple the normal speed. Don't want to crash, he wills his cock to understand.
There's a heavy silence for the rest of the ride and then they're tumbling out of the car and racing each other up the stairs. Harry plasters himself against the front door, giggling breathlessly so Louis has to nudge him out of the way to unlock the door, Harry kissing him before he can turn the key.
"Good night, lads?" Zayn calls out as they stumble past the living room. Louis tugs Harry's shirt off his shoulders and Harry loosens Louis's belt buckle. "Great. Glad you enjoyed the film."
Harry opens Louis up quickly and pushes in, fucking him into the mattress, biting and licking at Louis's neck to mark him up. "I'm glad --" he pants, fingers clutching at Louis's hips hard enough to leave marks that Louis will prod tomorrow, grinning to himself. Louis grabs his chin to pull him into a kiss, biting his lip. "Glad I met you --" Harry finishes, his hips snapping forward to meet Louis's thrusts.
Louis manages a breathless laugh. "Same, Haz -- fuck." He wraps his arms around Harry's neck to pull him closer, pressing kisses along his shoulder to his neck. "Touch me, yeah?"
"Yeah. Yeah I can do that." Harry wraps his hand, those giant hands that amaze Louis a bit more every day, around Louis's cock and tugs in rhythm with his thrusts. Louis moans, his forehead resting on Harry's shoulder, and thanks God for boybands.
--
"Have --" Louis turns the disc back over in his hands, stunned. "Harry, have you made me a mixed tape?"
"Technically it's a CD."
"Technically you're a giant Taylor Swift fan," Louis says, running a finger down the tracklisting and recognising most of them from that weird phase he went through when he was sixteen which he doesn't let anyone talk about. "Have you lost your mind?"
Harry grins, the big goofy one that makes Louis's heart grow three sizes. "Nope. Just wanted to make you something."
"Most of these are pining songs; I've already told you i like you. Also, you're actually in a band that has their own songs. Also, we're not fifteen." Louis is so confused.
"Just appreciate the gesture," Harry leans down and kisses him, his hand curving against his cheek. "Call me when you're done."
"You're right," Louis says when Harry answers the phone with a groggy hello at three in the morning. "I do belong with you."
"I know," Harry says.
"Don't worry, Haz, you're not just another picture to burn." Louis presses the phone nearer to his ear, smiling like an idiot.
"Don't take the piss," Harry whines, still sounding half asleep.
"I don't know about you but I'm feeling 22. Mostly because I am 22."
"No. Sto --"
"Marry me, Juliet."
"I try and do a nice thing and this is the thanks I --"
"You're fucking mental, Harry," Louis laughs, giddy. "I have no idea why girls love you."
"I must be doing something right if you're calling me up in the middle of the night," Harry murmurs.
Louis swallows, his body reacting to Harry's gravelly, slow voice. "To discuss how you're a massive weirdo."
"I can think of something else that's massive."
"You wanted phone sex out of this didn't you?" Louis says. "You made me a mixed tape because you knew in some twisted way it would lead to phone sex."
"I'm a bit of a charmer, yeah."
(They do end up having phone sex because Louis is weak. It ends up being equal parts hot and awkward. Louis thinks it would be a lot less awkward if he could get Taylor bloody Swift and her guitar out of his head.)