Summary:
And so Louis jerks him off slowly and Harry moans into his neck with muscular arms braced on either side of his head, letting out grunts of satisfaction at having those lovely hands on him finally, those which he has desired so long. He wonders if Louis knows this, if this will become a thing after they're safe from the snow. Maybe they will spend the rest of winter in each other's arms surrounded by candles, drinking chocolate and bring heat to each other's cheeks.
Maybe.
For Karukara's picture and prompt because she's the embodiment of Jesus
**
hey sorry to bother but i'm at gran's and won't be home until tomorrow so could you please pick up lou for me? :))
Harry wonders why, of all people there is in the world, that Zayn would text him. That icky Harry even popped up as a real person in his head and that he decided to act on it, thinking "oh, maybe Harry can pick up my boyfriend because he has nothing to do!" Now, it isn't like he has anything to do, but he doesn't treasure the fact that he has become one of those people with cancelled yoga classes that sulks in his ratty living room accompanied by a large bowl of chilli cheese. So, he's a bit jealous.
There is an address underneath the sentence, Harry notices as he rolls of the couch and stomps out into the hallway to slip into his jacket. For a sweet moment he contemplates whether to actually reply to the man, snaking his sock clad feet into a pair of warm boots and regarding the view from his fifth-floor flat over London. It's a rather simple design that pervades his home with the living room walls gone and replaced with thick windows, a minuscule ebony square table in front of his telly and assembly of various chairs; the kitchen drawers and cupboards made of sleek walnut with the black tones sliding in like mist in the morning; his bedroom holds a single bed with a white duvet embracing him in his sleep, paintings decorating the walls adequately; and the hallway is stocked with shoes, coats, and beanies.
Before he leaves, and after he has texted Zayn that sure he can pick up "Lou" for him, he glances down at his phone and the picture displaying a laughing Louis on it. It had been unintentionally captured, as the two had been out for a day in town and stopped by the park, dropping their light packing into the grass and relishing the sunrays beaming at them from blue skies. Louis had wanted to take picture of them both and their lovely surroundings - which he did - and as Harry was going to take the phone after half an hour of master photography Louis had cracked up and the phone had clicked.
So, naturally, Harry made it his background picture.
He sighs and lets his head drop to the wall, tugging at his curls and tucking the phone away again deep into his the back pocket of his skinny jeans. Therefore he misses the raging storm outside and the millions and millions of ice crystals swirling around in the harsh wind.
It hits him like a train when he steps outside the apartment complex, clawing at his reddening cheeks and cutting his eyes alike an army of needles. His long lanky legs carry him forth through the gradually thickening layer of snow, steps crestfallen and dreary. The white around him is too intense, even though everything else outside lies in complete darkness with the city lights as a one and only source of warmth. Had he just gone out for a quick stop to the supermarket down the street to get some cereal he would have changed his mind in the matter of half a second upon being met by the turmoil on the other side of his door; but this is something he's doing for Louis, and it's not like a little snow has killed anyone.
There is a garage three floors deep under the building he lives in, to which he has to actually go outside and around to a backdoor to reach - eight minutes - and inside there is a slow-running elevator that hisses with each shift as it rides up and down the first and second floor - three minutes at the minimum. Once he gets down to where the fifty lines of cars stand he has to find his own by following the ridiculous beep it makes in the big hollow space - six minutes - as to then finally getting in and out into the wilderness by slippery roads resembling ice-skating rinks. Thing is that it has gone at least twenty minutes until he gets properly on his way, stress coursing through his veins in thick lumps and all the many joys.
