Dare To Love

11 - Polaroids

☆ Warning: Mature content...ish ☆

  . . . . .

Theory class was beyond boring, and Louis did everything in his might to keep from falling asleep. He sat in one of the uncomfortable desk, tapping his pen rhythmically against the hard surface of his desk. His professor had been rambling for nearly thirty minutes about Dramature theory, and staying awake was proving to be a harder task than he'd anticipated.

Staying awake was hard for two reasons; the first being that theory classes were always Louis' least favorite aspect of his endless lectures, and the second being that he hadn't gotten mush sleep the night before.

Theory classes were boring enough to bore him to tears; sitting in a crammed desk for an hour and a half was incredibly painful. Letting out a staggered breath, he glanced to the space beside him, watching as Maia rapidly scribbled down notes as their professor spoke, nodding to herself in understanding. He supposed that Elisa was right — with Maia being the smartest of the two and the most organized, and with Louis being the mess — they already acted like siblings so he supposed Elisa's theory that he and Maia could in fact be long-lost twins held some truth to it.

He started blankly at the board, watching as their professor scribbled words onto the board in the smallest font he'd ever seen. He let out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. As always, no matter how hard he'd tried to fight off the shadow, it only came back stronger in his dreams.

The dream still haunted him, tugging inside him.

After his walk in the rain, sharing an umbrella and wearing Harry's clothes, he'd made his way to his room. As usual, he'd walked into his room and thrown himself onto the bed and fishing out his computer to stare at the blank page of his essay. Without realizing it, he'd fallen asleep, letting way for the shadow to enter his subconscious.

It had been a while since the Harry dreams had returned, and his mouth fell agape as the memory rushed to the front of his mind without a warning.

That night, he'd dreampt of being alone in his room, and he could barely make out Harry's features as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, small slivers of moonlight peeking through the windows.

The air was thick and ripe with their silence as they simply stared at one another, taking each other in. The pull between them was almost magnetic, and neither said a word. Both young men shot off of their respective sides of the room to collide in the middle.

Hands landed anywhere they could, everywhere they could. Louis' fingers dug into Harry's curls as Harry gripped tightly at the smaller man's hips. The kiss was hot and rough, desperate and hungry, tongues slipping together.

Harry pulled Louis onto his body, backing himself up until they slammed into the bed, both young men releasing groans of pleasure. Hands braced against the mattress above Harry's shoulders, Louis sucked Harry's lower lip into his mouth and gasped when Harry gripped his waist and rocked his hips upwards.

Louis remembered hissed and cursing when Harry would do it again, and he couldn't help angling his hips to meet Harry's — needing the friction even through sleep, and loving the way it had Harry groaning into his mouth.

Lips hovering above Harry's, Louis shivered as Harry's hand moved lower, his large palm pressed against him, gently kneading. Putting a hand between them, Louis pressed his palm against the bulge in Harry's jeans, not knowing which he liked more — feeling just how turned on Harry had been against his hand or the choked moan he let out into Louis' mouth.