Masked - A Larry Stylinson Fan-Fiction

Chapter 22 - Masked

Chapter 22

I spread my hands across the map of Louis's bare chest. Water ran down the skin of my hands, and fell back to his chest. He arched his head back as I rubbed my thumb along his left collarbone. I slowly moved my hands up the path of his neck, my thumbs still grazing the skin of his collarbones. He breathed out a small sigh, as my hands rubbed against his neck, before I laced my fingers in his wet hair. I pulled gingerly at the ends of his hair that rested at the back of his neck. He let out a gentle moan against the water that trickled across the canvas of his face. I pushed my hands up his feathery hair, combing it from his face. He kept his eyes closed as I moved my palms against his forehead, to his thin eyebrows. My fingertips traced the crinkles by his eyes from him grinning so much. I smirked, he was always so happy.

Was - past tense.

I sighed softly, as my fingers brushed against his closed eyelids - hiding the beautiful gems of his eyes. I let my finger slide down the bridge of his nose, which he crinkled slightly, as I did so. I felt the soft prickle of his facial hair that was beginning to grow just above his upper lip. I then lifted both hands to his face, cupping his cheekbones - my thumbs gently rubbing the dark bags that indented the skin beneath his eyes. I dropped one of my hands back against my hip, as I let my index finger trace the soft curves of his lips. He smirked slightly, whilst my index finger linger across his bottom li.

"Harry," he whispered, once I finally moved my finger.

"Yeah?"

He smiled slyly, opening his eyes - battering his eyelashes against the water. "What'd you do that for?"

I bit my lip, and let my gaze fall to our feet. "I don't know," I mumbled. "I just. I just find you beautiful, Lou. And, I don't wanna forget any part of you. I - I don't know. I want to always remember just how beautiful you are."

I lifted my eyes to see the expression on his face. He was now sporting a sad smile. The corners of his mouth hid some secret I can't solve. "You're never going to forget me, Harry."

The way he said it, the way he couldn't keep his eyes focused on my face, made me worry about this secret. It sounded more like he was convincing himself of something, rather than convincing me.

My heart wouldn't allow me to look at his sad features anymore, so I let my head fall downwards and the water drench my curls. "I know, Lou."

I felt his index finger touch the tip of my chin, as he lifted my head. He laughed lightly, when my wet curls covered my eyes completely. He pushed them from my eyes, so could look as his beautiful, beautiful, eyes as he spoke. "You're not every going to forget me, Harry," I was almost convinced until his voice cracked. "I p-promise you won't."

I smiled weakly at him, and he forced himself to smile back. And, like that I wanted to capture this moment, and keep it in the front of my wallet. But, as my smile disappeared, my eyes unwilling fell to his lips. I watched then as his fell to mine. The rest though, despite the countless times I force my mind to play it back to me, moves only in slow motion.

His chest rising and falling in my hands. His fierce eyes, as he moved closer and closer. My spine hitting the wall. His hands cupping my wrist, moving my hands behind my head. His fingers pushing my elbows in line with my spine. The blackness that hugged my vision, when he told me to close my eyes. The taste of his breath surrounding my lips. The sensational feeling of his lips against mine. Our lips dancing amongst each other to an unheard melody. My arms loosing from my behind my head. My hands draping against the skin of his neck. The moan that he released against my lips, as I turned our bodies. The smack of his back against the wall. The hot water that tried it's best to squeeze through our closed bodies. His begging moans. My lips staining his skin. His arched head. More un-kissed skin. His arms snaking against my waist. The water running cold against our exposed skin. His desperate, desperate eyes. His soft pants. Our unspoken pleas.