Amaryllis

33

When Louis finally slumps to the side and pulls out, Harry, as expected, feels empty. He's cold, too, soaked sheets sticky on his skin, but none of that actually matters when he realises that he's got Louis's come leaking out of him, making a mess. His breath stutters in his chest, and he thinks that, if either of them was up for another round, he could come just from thinking about this for too long. It feels so intimate, like Louis is inside him still even as he crawls closer and wraps himself around Harry.

They're silent, for a while. Harry doesn't think much of anything, just lazily contemplates the difference between life as he's known it before and life now. Louis's breath is pleasantly cool on the underside of his jaw, and the way their skin sticks together is the way Harry wants it to stay for as long as possible.

It's Louis who speaks first. "Fuck," is what he says.

Harry hides his smile in Louis's hair, whispers, "Yeah."

Louis pushes on Harry's shoulder, lying him flat on his back, and pulls himself up until he's got his chin resting on Harry's chest just below his collarbones, so close their heartbeats sound perfectly in sync.

He looks perfect. His hair is an absolute mess, sticking up every which way and curling from moisture at the back of his neck; he's got shamelessly red cheeks and his eyes – they're absolutely brilliant. Harry can read everything in the changing colours, in the sparks that dance in them, so bright Harry thinks for a moment they might spark down Louis's eyelashes and spill across his chest. He feels the same explosions of happiness underneath every inch of his own skin.

"I love you," Louis says. "Thank you."

Harry grins at him, tugs on his shoulder until Louis moves up and they're nose to nose. "You're ridiculous."

When they kiss, Harry is reminded of New Year's. Louis had called him ridiculous then, and his lips had tasted every bit as new and exciting as they do now. It's a chaste kiss, soft, with Louis's arms wrapped loosely around Harry's neck, and it says more than words ever could.

"We should clean up, you know," says Louis twenty minutes later, still draped all over Harry.

"Too late now," Harry says. The mess they're lying on has mostly dried up, leaving the sheets crusted and disgusting, and Harry's own legs are sticky and uncomfortable. A shower sounds like too long a time to be upright, though, and he is so not up for that.

"Mhm. Your room, then?"

"Isn't it a guest room?" Harry asks as he begins the process of untangling them.

"It is if you're a guest," says Louis, smiling. He's the first one to get up, and Harry is treated to the incredible view of his back muscles and bum as he stretches with a drawn-out moan. He's not too sure he can get up, himself.

"Come on, Haz."

"Nrgh," is Harry's eloquent response. He turns his face into the pillow. "Carry me."

He doesn't expect Louis to actually carry him; he's just waiting for his legs to start cooperating, really, wants to come into the room to Louis already sprawled out and deliciously golden in the sheets, but he doesn't get the chance.

Louis picks him up, just like that, and walks out of the room.

"What are you doing?" Harry squeaks, arms wrapped tight around Louis's neck.

Louis's smile is brilliant when he looks down and pecks Harry on the forehead. "I'm carrying you, silly."

Harry blushes. He blushes so hard his cheeks actually feel like they're on fire, and during the short walk between Louis's room and his, he curls up in Louis's arms like a cat.