Deep in Thought: A Larry Stylinson Story

Release, Guilt, and Avoidance

    A noise roused him from his not-quite sleep, and he waited for a moment. He heard it again, and went to investigate.

     He opened the bathroom door, not expecting to see Louis there. But Louis was there, and as soon as Harry opened the door, he realised that the noise had to be Louis. Louis tried to hide his face, his red rimmed, bloodshot eyes, but Harry had already seen. Louis had been standing alone at the bathroom sink, sobbing. He buried his face in his hands, and Harry rushed to him. He gathered him in he arms, and did what Louis had done for him the night before: held him until the shaking stopped. They stood there for a while, Harry comforting, Louis sobbing, Harry afraid that Louis' tears were his fault. Why couldn't he just remember everything already and fix this? It was all his fault.

     He stroked Louis' messy hair. When Louis stopped crying, he spoke, hesitantly. "Louis," he cooed softly, "do you want to tell me what this is about?" He felt Louis shake his head against his chest, and heard a muffled, "No." Harry pulled back to look him in the eye, and stopped him from turning his head down. He made him look into his eyes, forced frantic, worried green eyes to meet tragic, swollen, red rimmed blue eyes. "Louis," was all he said, and then Louis started- slowly- leaking information.

     "It's just that..." he tried, then cleared his throat and started more strongly. "We have always been so close," he said, desperately. "We always used to... You know. Hold hands in the movies. We sleep with each other because, well, it's... Normal. It's not weird. Did it feel weird the first time we did it?" Harry thought about it. It hadn't felt weird. It had felt right. He shook his head, signaling Louis to continue. "And," he went on, "we kind of... We..." he seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. "We are a pair, you and I. We never kept things from each other, we always spoke our minds, no matter how difficult the truth was. Now... Well, now I can't tell you things because everyone thinks it's for the best. But you know what I think? I think that I should just tell you, and to hell with them!" He was rambling. Harry didn't know how to stop him. Turns out, he didn't have to. Louis started crying again, and that stopped him crazed speech. Harry gathered him back into his arms, and a few minutes later, Louis was calm again.

     Harry, without thinking, laid a soft kiss on Louis forehead, intending for it to be brotherly, but it didn't feel that way. He felt like he was... Consoling a lover. Louis' pleasured sigh at the brief touch was enough to drive him wild. Louis' hands left the spot on Harry's shirt where they had balled into fists, and circled around his waist. Harry could hardly breathe through the want that was building up within him. He stopped thinking, pushing away thoughts of sexuality and wrong and right, and just acted on instinct.

     Harry smashed a kiss into Louis' lips before he could pull away from him. He wanted to make it last as long as he could, as long as Louis would let him, so he held him tightly. Louis yelped in surprise and pleasure, surprising Harry himself, and threw himself into the kiss. They pressed against each other, their mouths working in a way that made Harry dizzy.

     He had never felt anything quite to wonderful, quite so pure. It sent shivers up and down his spine and made him moan from sheer pleasure. Louis' hands were running up and down his back, and at some point they had found the edge of his shirt and went straight to skin. Harry couldn't believe it, but he tried not to think. He needed this. He pushed his thoughts away, again, and just felt what his heart and his hormones wanted him to feel.

     His body was practically aching with need, with want. The sweetness that came off of Louis' skin was intoxicating. The desperate way their lips smacked together was like music, hypnotizing and pure and sweet. Louis whimpered, and the sound was so surprising and so sexy that he back Louis against the bathroom wall, pressing him against the cold, hard surface. Louis was clutching onto him under his shirt, and they were both panting. Harry buried his right hand in Louis' hair, breaking the kiss and pulling his head back, exposing his neck to Harry's lips. The sounds Louis made, the whimpers, the heaving breathing, just made Harry hungrier for more: more Louis, more kissing, more of this, always, all the time.