Mute Larry Stylinson Harry!Mute

Epilogue :'(

Louis awoke with an orange warmth spreading over his eyelids. His arm was tingling with specks of heat which burst like needled balloons. His whole right side felt like it was blanketed in sun and tanand yellow, almost like there was a sheet of translucent, orange tinted cling film draped over his exposed skin. His thin pyjama top had shucked up to his ribs and his black boxer leg had scrunched up around his thigh, but the way that the light and heat had wrapped itself around his skin and buried itself in between the fine hair which sprouted from his skin, it made it unnecessary for extra material.

As well as the heat from the sun which was no doubt blaring through the thin curtains, was the bodily heat of the boy lying next to him –or more like on him. An arm was splayed over Louis’ chest (which normally would have been bare, but Louis wasn’t going to push it too far; he was considerate underneath all his flamboyance) and a foot was tickling at his ankle. The pale skin most probably contrasted considerably with his tanned skin, and if he wasn’t still in sleep-mode, Louis would have liked to let his eyes meander around it. The bicep muscle which wasn’t all too defined was definitely lying heavily over his, and Louis could feel it more than anything. He was yet to open his eyes, let alone look, but every dot of skin which touched the cooler one of the other boy’s felt like the flame of a match being held to the area. He was hyperconscious, and so he had right to be with the rarity of the occasion.

Because the body lying next to his was Harry. He and Harry were in bed together. In a hotel. In Italy. On holiday. Alone. By themselves. Just them. Together.

And that, that was a pretty monumental thing.

His eyes creaked open, his upper eyelashes separating from his lower with reluctance. The lightblinded him as expected but the orange glow softened it to a mild stun. But what was more stunning than the contrasting difference of darkness and lightness, was the sight that he opened his eyes to. It was stunning in a different sense. Not shocking or surprising, no; stunning as in beautiful and angelic and strikingly handsome.

Louis didn’t think that he would ever get used to waking up to such loveliness, such splendour and such exquisiteness. And no, maybe he wouldn’t see such prettiness as the first thing his eyes set down on for many days more, but he sure as hell appreciated it while he could.

Two mornings of waking up to emeralds and chocolate was more than Louis’s bottle of ‘Harry’ could hold; the levels were teetering by the lip of the lid. And to think that he had two more days of such brilliance to go, the idea was astounding. He would have to invest in a bigger storage system, he thought, he couldn’t waste any drop of grandeur ­­for future use.

So there Harry was, all wide and bleary eyed, green swathed in glassy films of sparkling sleep. Strands of bed-hair were lying carefully over his forehead and tickling his eyelids with their fingers. His lips were pinked and looked utterly delicious, but what Louis focused on the most was the waythat Harry’s eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. The way that the strings of dark brown were delicately and carefully placed. They framed the green with pride. They looked like they were painted on with the finest of brushes, as if the most talented artist had taken Harry victim and taken its creative soul to flutter over Harry’s eyes.

A flash appearance of Harry’s tongue darting over his thickened lips drew Louis from his admiration. Harry was steadily staring at him, green eyes smoothing over Louis’ browned skin. The sun was doing wonders to Louis’ complexion, to Harry’s not so much. He had stayed the, almost translucent, white even after being under the sun for hours. Maybe that was to do with the thick layer of sun cream he had caked onto his skin, but the idea of having red raw shoulders wasn’t appealing for either of them. (But maybe the idea of massaging after-sun into Harry’s shoulder was veryappealing, Louis could almost melt at the idea of moulding Harry’s muscles with his hands, feeling it move under his skin and hearing the groans of appreciation tumble from Harry’s lips as-).