Let's Make A Thing Of Cream And Stars || Complete

let's make a thing of cream and stars

Louis doesn't know how his life came to be like this.

He was a good person; he had partied hard in uni, yes, but he studied hard enough to make up for it. He's nice enough to leave at least a ten percent tip every time he gets the check, and certainly nice enough to drop coins in the tip jars of the baristas who make his coffee. He calls his mum a lot and he loves his sisters and he takes good care of his plant, a cactus he'd named Steve. He's hilarious and witty, his friends love him, and he makes a decent enough living.

So it doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(What can he say, he's consistent. The kid might change his look every few years but the dick wants what it wants. Or something.)

Anyway, the point is that, currently, Louis is looking straight into Harry's gorgeous green eyes and he can feel the heat of Harry's body radiating onto his. He can also feel one of Harry's soft curls brushing against his forehead, and he knows, that if he looked down, he'd see Harry's pink lips, quirked amusedly, like Louis is something of a particularly endearing animal.

In summary, Harry looks like something straight out of Louis' wank bank, and Louis is frantically trying to think of his nan naked in an effort to stop the stirring of his cock in his trousers. (It's not working.)

"Do you, uh, work out a lot?" He blurts out, his mouth temporarily disconnecting from his brain, and he watches as Harry blinks, his long lashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones.

There's a pause, and then he hears a snort.

"Is this a dating show, mate?" Nick Grimshaw, the twat, says, half-laughing from his seat at the radio console. He raises his voice in a poor imitation of Louis', stuttering out a do you, uh, work out a lot in between his giggles.

Louis turns his head to look at him and scowls. "Shut up," he says, trying to ignore the cute way Harry is giggling on top of him. It doesn't really work, but at least he tried.

Nick raises his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm bringing us back on track. You're supposed to be asking him questions about his new album, not asking him if he works out. You're tiring out the little pop star there."

"Nah," Louis hears Harry's low voice drawl from above him, and he turns his attention back to the hot boy on top of him. "'m not tired yet. Besides, I'm kind of enjoying the view." He shoots Louis a cheeky wink, and Louis feels his face flush.

"Okay," he says loudly, mostly for the benefit of himself. He vaguely wonders how red he looks on camera, and whether or not he can get the ground to swallow him whole right about now. Maybe he should retire after this. Radio 1 would just have to look for another person who won't choke in the vicinity of Nick's hairspray fumes.

Every day at one to four pm, Nick and Louis host "The Future is Now", a radio programme where they play music, talk about celebrity gossip and teasing each other. It's supposedly nothing special, just two gay lads making fun of each other and making fun of celebrities and their drama and occasionally talking about football, but apparently their banter has made it the most popular rated programme on BBC Radio 1. So popular that a few months ago, their producer sat them down and told them to "come up with more shenanigans", an order Louis was happy to comply with. He and Nick have then proceeded to do almost everything, from innuendo bingo with a twist to organizing a huge water fight in Radio 1.