Young & Beautiful

But Harry’s nodding, he’s nodding and moving in again, mouth latching onto Louis’ collarbones
and fuck this actually is sort of terrifying, isn’t it?
This is real. This is Harry, his Harry, and it’s happening.
“Okay,” he finds himself saying, breathless, his heart picking up speed (is he going to die?) and
jerking his hands unsteady. “Okay,” he says again and calms his breathing, focuses his vision,
focuses his thoughts.
Because this has to be special. This has to be monu-fucking-mental and this has to be careful
because this is their last night together for awhile, the last night before summer and everything that
it may bring, and it’s Harry—the only boy he’s ever properly loved, the only boy he’s ever cared
enough about to fight for.
There have been others, yeah. There have been flings and month-long ‘relationships’ and enough
flirting to fill the oceans and major lakes but there’s never been that single, shining person. There’s
never been that one. And it had never bothered him because he’s always put himself first, has
always loved himself first and foremost, but now here’s that single, shining person, here’s the one.
And he’s got to do this right, lest he scare him away forever.
Fuck.
Very terrifying, indeed.
So Louis fully intends to take this slow. To take the scenic route, if you will.
“I love you,” he mumbles, lifting Harry’s head to meet his lips and Harry makes an indecipherable
noise that’s a complete mixture of adorable, romantic, and fucking irresistible and so Louis says it
again, enjoys the way the words affect Harry’s body, the way it quickens his heart.
“Yeah,” Harry breathes, nodding a bit frantically, and Louis smiles, brushing back his hair and
trying to catch his eye as he rubs his hands along Harry’s skin soothingly, slowly, taking his time
as much as he can and—
And Harry’s unzipping Louis’ pants, sitting up to straddle his legs, lips caught between his teeth,
eyes covered in shadow as the night haloes his body.
Which.
Uhm.
Wasn’t Harry the one who wanted to…take things slow?
Louis glances up at him, trying to read his face despite the darkened room, but all he can see is the
determined set to Harry’s mouth as he slides his fingers inside Louis’ jeans, his other hand tugging
the waistband down eagerly and, okay, it’s certainly not unpleasant, but Louis’ trying to grasp
what’s happening.
He’s beautiful, so beautiful, and Louis reaches out to brush the hair out of his eyes, to still him
with a lingering kiss, but Harry pulls away, hands reaching to palm Louis through his briefs—that
Harry’s already peeling off with practice, silent and focused.
It’s a bit… Off, to be honest. Something doesn’t feel right.
“In a rush?” Louis laughs breathlessly, trying for light, but Harry doesn’t laugh, just peels the
briefs further down and no, this doesn’t feel right.