From The Heart (Larry Stylinson)

Smuturday

When Louis had received this week's prompt, sat happily in his chair at the coffee shop and in prime ogling distance from Harry as usual, he'd been stumped. 'Fluffy'. He'd gone over and over the word in his head trying to assign a possible storyline for Henry and Lewis in the next installment of his series but he'd come up empty-handed. Cats are fluffy. But Henry's cat, Tigger, didn't really conjure up a fluffy vibe with his orange and white stripes and sleek body. He thought about maybe creating a storm-based plot where Henry's hair could become wet and then dry fluffy but that seemed pretty lame and anyway, he's saving the stormy night with resulting blackout for next week. Socks could be fluffy, so could blankets, and cotton candy, and bread, but they're all so blah that he'd dismissed them. He wants something unique and quirky and cute, in keeping with the characters. He knows the idea will strike him when he least expects it, but it'd better hurry the fuck up because it's Saturday night, or Smuturday as he likes to refer to it, and he's still got nothing.

Saturday night is his smut writing night. Set aside each week so he can write unencumbered, no interruptions and the ability to stay up long into the night without the worry of having to get up for work the next day. The thing about writing smut is that isn't easy and anyone who pretends otherwise is having a lend. His tried and true method is simple enough though; cook himself a nice dinner, have a glass or two of red wine, and then mainline tea for the duration until it's done. Don't stop. Don't fall asleep. Don't get distracted.

Louis often equates writing smut scenes to a radio sports commentator calling the play-by-play for a footie match. It's an odd logistical mix of who is doing what, what position they're in, who's tackling who, whether they're about to score a goal, and, well... balls.

Leaving aside the sports metaphor, there are also other challenges around the ratio of text to dialogue, as well as the specifics of continuity and the scene and actions themselves. Are they still wearing any clothes? Is the light on? Where's the lube? Did one of them bring condoms? And don't even get him started on the words themselves. He might consider himself a bit of a wordsmith, but there are really only so many times he can write cock and dick and shaft and length before he wants to stab himself with a fork. Hands. Fingers. Moan. Groan. Trails. Slides. Glides. Moves. Runs. Rubs. Kisses. Licks. Sucks. Prods. Pokes. Thrusts. Slams. He ends up with so many synonyms tabs open on his laptop that he can barely make out the little icons on his internet browser bar.

But that's writing it. Reading it, however, is a whole other experience. Watching porn is all very well and good, but in Louis' humble opinion, reading a well-written smut scene is one of the most arousing things there is, and his readership seems to agree.

Louis scrolls through the shopping list on his phone as he steers his trolley down the aisle. He had a plan, see. A recipe all worked out until he was met with an empty shelf where the pine nuts should've been and now he's thrown. He loves to cook is the thing, even if it's usually only for himself. Loves the process of finding a good recipe and bending it to his tastes, but these nuts were the star of the show and he finds himself struggling to come up with a new recipe on the spot.

He rounds the end of the aisle and maneuvers his wayward-wheeled trolley past the milk fridge and into the frozen foods section to seek out his favorite soybean ice cream. Dairy has never been his friend, a splash in his tea is about all his stomach can take before the angry lactose-intolerant monster rears its ugly head.

Louis wanders forward, scanning the freezer compartments as he pulls down his beanie to ward off the chill. He spies what he's after and stops, opening the door and grabbing a tub of the mint choc flavour, the frosty air spilling out making him shiver.

"Louis?"

Louis snaps his head up, ice cream in hand, and is met with gorgeous green eyes, a beaming smile and... pink, fluffy ear muffs. Fluffy . Ohhhh... nice job universe. "Harry?"