One Sole Direction

One Sole Direction

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing3h 25m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jan 11, 2016
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Fanfic
1Direction
Cambridge, 1936 Louis William Tomlinson is the son of an English Lord. Marquis of Buccleuch and Queensberry and the Earl of Doncaster. Conquer some anonymous guy and have some anonymous sex: that's his tradition to inaugurate the academic year. Usually he chose a boor in the slums, and even if they are all queers , they exude masculinity from every flap of skin. But sometimes, something goes wrong. 'I had just be screwed by a stranger. In all senses. With all senses. And I was laughing.' 'Some smiles take your breath away. He, with a smile, took your life. Right after it was no longer yours. ' 'With one caress I give you what others can't have in a lifetime. They let me forgot the nights, you let me forgot the days.' 'He gave me his body by clinging to mine. He loved with sweetness I did not think existed. His eyes were dew, his voice the rustle of silk.' 'There is no corner around the world ,where what we are will be forgiven.' 'Then why did you ask me to believe in fairy tales?' 'Because maybe Wonderland is not where but when.' This story is a translation. The original One Sole Direction is by Edwill and is written in Italian. all the phrases you find in the story are traslated in english ( spoiler alert : sometimes they will speak french or italian, you will know, don't worry) The story is being translated also in French.
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"Yeah, well... I'm starting to think I got stood up." The bartender clicks his tongue, setting his towel down with a slow shake of his head. "Fucking tragic. Can't say I understand it. If I had a date with you, I'd be here an hour early, dressed to fucking impress, already working out ways to keep you entertained all night." I raise an eyebrow, half-smirking. "Smooth." "Don't flatter me yet, love. That was just the warm-up." He nods toward my half-finished wine. "Tell you what-since your bloke's clearly an idiot, this one's on the house." I blink. "Seriously?" He shrugs, like it costs him absolutely nothing. "What can I say? I've got a soft spot for beautiful people with shit luck." His smirk deepens. "Also, it's good fucking business. You stay longer, you order more, and I get to look like the hero. Everyone wins." I shake my head, laughing as he pours me another glass with the kind of effortless confidence that suggests he's done this a thousand times before-offered a pretty girl a free drink, flashed a dangerous grin, made her night a little less shit. He slides the glass toward me. "Louis, by the way." "Bee," I say, taking a sip.

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