Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

baby shut your mouth and turn me inside out

Written by:ballsdeepinjesus

Summary:
And it's good. It's really, really good. Except they haven't really talked about any of this and Harry can't muster the courage to bring it up. Niall's words at the bar run through his mind nearly every day. Fresh meat. Is this a thing Louis does, then? Find a toy to play with for awhile until he gets bored?

He knows Louis, though. He's been friends with him for months now and he knows that he's not just some heartless asshole. But he doesn't know if this is just a nice convenient hook-up to him or something more, like how Harry feels. And he knows he should ask, but he's not brave enough. Not brave enough to possibly ruin everything when Harry can take what he's being offered without complaints.


[harry and louis meet in a mcdonalds. louis is everything harry needs.]

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Work Text:
It's a Wednesday afternoon and Harry is tired and hungry and broke. The cashier at McDonalds waits patiently while he picks at the coins he's found in his jeans. He owes £1.57 and he only has £1.32. Right.
He feels eyes burning into his back as he glances around at the spare change dishes on the counter. It's just his luck that they're all suspiciously empty. He's about to mutter shamefully to the cashier that he changed his mind, he doesn't really want a small milkshake after all, when a hand reaches around him to place a five pound note onto the counter.
"That'll cover it, I think," a voice says. Harry turns and prepares to protest against the stranger's kindness, but all words die in his throat at the sight of the man behind him. He's older – not by too much, probably, but Harry thinks he might be closer to 30 than he is to Harry's 18 – and quite possibly the most attractive man Harry's met recently. Or ever, maybe. He's shorter than Harry, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in his confidently assertive stance. His small frame is clothed in an expensive-looking black suit that Harry feels like drooling over, paired with shiny black shoes that Harry suspects were handcrafted by some old shoemaker in some sweaty boutique in Italy. His face, though, that's what Harry's attention comes to rest on. He's tan, with a thin face and cheekbones chiseled from marble, probably. His pink lips are curved up in an easy smile, a smile that's reflected in his eyes.
"I'm..." Harry trails off while he stares. He comes to a distant realization that he's been giving this man one hell of a creepy onceover, but he's tired and hungry and he can't help himself. "Thank you."
"It's nothing, darling," the man assures him. Harry turns when he hears the cashier clear his throat, glancing sheepishly at him and taking the change and his milkshake. He tries to hand the change back to the other man, but he just waves him off, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels. "Keep it. You could tell me what's good here, though."
Harry looks wistfully up at the menu and sighs. "Everything's good here."
The man wrinkles his nose at that and cringes mildly. "Everything's grossly fattening here, more like. I'll take your word for it, though, babe." He turns to the cashier and offers him a winning smile. "I'll take one of everything, please." He pulls his wallet out and presents some shiny credit card while Harry gapes at him. He turns to Harry and raises an eyebrow in question. "Care to have lunch with me?"

***
Harry's sitting at a large table in the back of the restaurant when the man and three workers walk over with trays in their hands. The man sends a wink Harry's way as they sit the trays down. He thanks the workers and sits across from Harry who can only stare at the food in front of him.
"Let's dig in, then," he says.
Harry blinks and looks up at him in confusion. "I don't...even know your name?"
"Louis," he answers.
Harry nods and reaches for a french fry, feeding it into his mouth as he scrutinizes him. "Louis," he tries, testing the name out. He looks like a Louis.
Louis grins and Harry is momentarily blindsided by the smattering of crinkles at the corners of Louis' eyes.
"Well, Louis. Do you really think we're going to eat all of this?" Harry asks. He snatches up a box of nuggets and raises his eyebrows while he waits for his answer.
Louis shrugs and turns his lips down in response. "Probably not. We can try though, can't we..." he trails off.
"Harry," he supplies. "Good enough then. What do you do?"
"I'm a record exec for a label I started with my mate after uni," Louis answers. "We're doing well enough, I guess."
Harry narrows his eyes at Louis' suit and scoffs. "You're posh, mate. I'd say you're doing more than 'well enough.'" Louis laughs and shrugs his shoulders once more.
"Not posh. More of a Becks, I think, don't you?" he smirks. "You however, pretty boy, you're Posh." Harry smiles and shakes his head, fighting the blush making its way onto his cheeks. "What do you do then, darling?"
Darling. He keeps calling him darling. Well. Fighting that blush is a hopeless endeavor now, apparently.
"First year at uni," Harry offers. "Getting my degree in philosophy."
Louis chokes on his drink and squawks in response, "Philosophy? I didn't know they still offered degrees in that."
It's Harry's turn to protest as he drawls out a "Heeeeeey" at the perceived insult. "I'll have you know that Socrates, born in Athens in the 5th century BCE, marks a watershed in Ancient Greek philosophy." Harry finishes the statement with a small fist pump in the air.
Louis blinks at him owlishly and opens and closes his mouth a few times in succession. "That meant nothing to me, mate, but I'll take your word for it that it's all very important and relevant to the world in which we live in." Harry bows his head graciously in response. "But seriously what are you going to do with that degree?"
"Be poorer," Harry replies. Louis huffs out a laugh and flicks a french fry at his chest.