Hold me close {{Larry one-shots and drabbles}}[ON HOLD]

Somewhere in between

Harry’s a fighter; he likes to think of himself that way.

He’s always been this way, walls built strong around him, secrets carefully guarded, pushing back everything that could hurt him. But he realizes he can’t fight Louis.

He simply can’t.

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Harry thinks he’s falling but not quite- the ground is still underneath his feet. He somehow craves for the way he knows he’ll break when Louis pulls him in, gentle yet strong at the same time, like he’s taking Harry apart and putting him back again.

He feels vulnerable, open like all of his defences are pulled away from him. But then he feels Louis’s touch on his skin- every press of his fingers burning into his skin until Harry knows every part of him is marked with Louis’s handprints.

He’s learning to laugh with Louis; he’s feeling alive when he’s with Louis. He’s breathing when he kisses Louis- slow, unhurriedly letting Louis’s taste linger, and letting their breath mingle as one.  It’s this slow, slow descent that drives him mad.

He’s alternately being pushed  to the edge with so much  want but then Louis just blankets it completely with every delicate touch, every word. It’s like there’s a fire simmering inside of Harry- he can feel the burn, he can feel the heat as it builds up.

So when he traces Louis’s skin, Harry is determined to memorize every line, every curve. He doesn’t want to forget not when Louis is like something out of a beautiful dream but feeling so much more real, so tangible.

 Harry knows he’s falling but then he isn’t- he’s back in that crazy opposing world-where desire sparks so bright but then there’s that gentle  touch, that slow, soft whisper in his ears and Harry sort of lets go.

He simply can’t fight Louis, Harry knows that.