17 Black

Flowers Blooming at Your Touch -- Chapter 5

 At first, all Harry could do was stand frozen to the spot. Louis's lips crashed hard and fast against his, a torrential downpour of emotions and bliss and everything Harry had always wanted, making the flowers deep in the recesses of his mind finally begin to bloom.

And then, just like that, he found himself within his body and began to move.

Harry felt as though his whole world was blossoming beneath his fingertips. His hands dragged up and down Louis's body, flowing like a river, wanting nothing more than to get to the source of the heat beneath his skin, to jump his bones, in the most intimate way possible.

Their bodies responding to one another as though they were puzzle pieces; Louis pushed as Harry pulled, his body responding to him in just the right way, holding him just the right way, and touching him just the right way, and as Louis's hands glided down his chest to grip his hips, to try and dip lower, Harry was suddenly struck with the realization that he had never been touched this way before, that he might not make it much farther until—

And, just like that, there was a knock at the door.

"Lou!" A deep, male voice boomed through the weary wood, loudly in Harry's ear. "Why's the door lock?"

Louis jumped back from Harry almost immediately, and if Harry had had a little less pride he would have whined, his body still screaming for his touch. But the smaller man almost didn't seem to notice, didn't even seem to care, simply tapping Harry on the shoulder for him to step aside to let the other man into the room.

Until, of course, just as his hand slid across to grab the doorknob, he looked directly into Harry's eyes and winked.

Harry could feel the relief so palpable throughout his body that he didn't even take the time to notice the other man entering the room until he was already taking up the mirror in the center.

Louis noticed him not noticing and smirked, crossing the room to meet the man in the middle. "Harry, this is Troy. Troy, Harry."

Harry gulped and nodded a hello, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with Troy, who was now stripped almost nude as he changed costumes.

Troy didn't seem to notice nor care for Harry's presence much; instead, he immediately turned to face Louis. "You go on after Chris, right, love?"

Love? Harry felt his stomach bottom out with an emotion he couldn't identify—jealousy? desire? lust? —as he heard the word drip out of Troy's mouth. He felt like the world was once again spiraling out from underneath him, his chest heaving waves down to the ocean beneath his feet, leaving him to lose something he hadn't even realized he'd had until it was slipping so swiftly out of his fingers.

"Yeah," Louis breathed, gazing up at Troy for what Harry felt to be a second too long before turning back to Harry and smiling. "We work together," Louis said, as though that was any explanation, any consolation, to him.

"Right," Harry sighed, struggling to maintain his composure as he settled, nearly slid, into the couch low on the floor. "Of course I knew that."

"Just making sure, love."

Troy looked nearly as surprised as Harry felt at the word. As Troy's eyebrow raised in suspicion, so too did Harry's hopes as he watched Louis's gaze quickly flit from Harry's crumbled body to Troy's neatly composed one.

Louis, ever so nonchalant, rolled his eyes. "Relax," he assured Troy. "He's a good one—I can tell."

Harry's mind boggled even more at that comment, but, before he had time to respond, time to decide if that comment was a compliment or something he needed to defend himself from, Troy whisked himself towards the door.

"Sure," he called over his shoulder as he left, almost as quickly as he'd came. "That's what they all say."

And, with that, the spindly wooden door slammed shut behind him.

Louis shrugged, looking all together unbothered by the interaction, but Harry, as he had many times that night, felt as though his world was crumbling once again. He had flung himself into a world he didn't understand and was wondering if it was possible to feel regret over something that had barely begun.

And, just as Harry began to contemplate getting to his feet and excusing himself, Louis crossed the room, and, in one fluid motion, climbed into his lap and kissed him again.

All thoughts of leaving left Harry's mind in that instant, pulled out of his head by Louis's hands in his long curls, every worry and regret bitten out from Harry's mouth before it even had the chance to form. He knew in that moment that any disaster, any outrage, any despair and confusion would be worth it, if only it meant to feel like this every once in a while.

Just as Harry began to push himself further, to swallow every anxiety whole and bury it in Louis's body, he once again pulled back. This time, Harry fought, if only slightly, gripping his hands tightly on Louis's thighs, noticing almost absentmindedly that his whole hand nearly covered the entirety of his leg.

Louis sighed. "As much as I'd like to stay, love, I do have a job, you know. One that I would much rather do for only you, but I have a commitment to the performance. It's an art, you understand?"

He did, of course he did, but a whispered "Stay," buried itself deep in Harry's throat, threatening to spill over if he even opened his mouth.

Louis seemed to notice his hesitancy, and, quietly, pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the base of Harry's neck. "Later," he breathed as he pulled away, sending Harry's heart fluttering in his chest.

"Get drinks with me after?" Louis asked as he got to his feet, and, although it was phrased as a question, Harry could hear the insurgence, almost the desperation, clear in his voice. Despite Louis's nonchalant persona, some part of him realized—hoped?—that Louis felt the same way he did, at least a little bit.

Desperate to chase the high, to find out for sure how Louis felt, he nodded his agreement. "Of course I'll stay."

The grin that broke through Louis's face was like staring directly at the sun on a summer's day; his face squished up perfectly, framing his eyes into small half-moons that Harry couldn't have looked away from if he had tried. "Excellent," he said, and even his voice couldn't hide the slight tremble of excitement. "I had hoped you would say yes—otherwise, we might have had to have a bit of a conversation, yeah? Now, come on, get up, you can go waste time with Julian at the bar while I swing my hips around a little bit."

Harry felt his mouth go dry at the thought of watching Louis again. "But I wanted to watch you dance."

Louis looked startled, almost pleased, but played it off well. "Eh, you're not missing much, trust me. I've only just started working here recently—there's guy's here who have been doing this for years."

Harry couldn't have cared less about any other guy. "I want to see you, though."

As Louis opened the door, Harry would've sworn if not for the light that he saw the hint of a blush crawl up Louis's cheeks. "Well," he said as he led them out into the main room, "If you insist, there's a certain seat at the bar where you get a fantastic view of the stage. Just tell Julian I sent you and what for and he'll set you up, yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Sounds good."

With one last look at Harry, brushing his knuckles over Harry's hand, he smiled. "See you around."

And, with one last wink, he disappeared into the neon twilight.