you're cold and I burn (on hold)

Louis' body all to one spot.
With Harry’s nails digging into the skin to repress a gag, the darkened color of Harry’s lips <strong>and</strong>
the feeling of his flattened tongue on Louis’ shaft, he comes without warning, spurts flying down
Harry’s throat as he takes Louis deep once more, not even flinching at the salty taste. The mess of
curse words that string from Louis’ clenched mouth is incoherent <strong>and</strong> impossible to make out.
“M’sorry, I should’ve warned you” Louis says when his voice is even enough.
“It’s fine,” Harry smiles, his lips glossed, “I like it.”
“Damn,” is all Louis can manage to get out in a short, heavy breath. Harry just laughs, licking the
remainder of come from his lips <strong>and</strong> tucking Louis’ back into his jeans.
When Louis looks back up, the “art” piece in front of him makes him snort out a half-hearted
laugh. It looks like a hot fucking mess. The petals are uneven <strong>and</strong> sloppy, the yellow center is
swirled into a glob <strong>and</strong> overall it’s a work any mom would love to hang on their refrigerator to
honor their five year old child.
But all it represents is Harry’s lips on his tingling skin, so he’s going to let it dry then keep it. All
memories.
“You were supposed to inspire me,” Louis says, keeping a sarcastic smirk on his face as he
watches Harry come to a st<strong>and</strong>, knees a little wobbly. Like Bambi. “look at this mess.”
“Mess?” Harry’s h<strong>and</strong> flattens over his heart, “this is art, Louis Tomlinson.”
“Art my ass.”
“Your ass is-“
“Harry,” Louis interjects, stopping Harry directly in his tracks, “if you try to hit me with that corny
line, you’re sleeping on the street.”
Full, swollen lips pout out from Harry’s face as he mouths a ‘not nice,’ before shimmying deeper
into his scarlet sweater. He’s so purely beautiful that Louis could easily stare at him for the rest of
eternity, <strong>and</strong> then more. His curls are even messier, his face bloomed in a red blush, pupils blown
into a wild forest green. Every inch of him just glows, radiates, Louis can feel it all the way to his
bones.
Harry’s true self shines brighter than any star in the sky <strong>and</strong> puts anyone else to shame. It’s tragic,
really, how he had tried to dull <strong>and</strong> hide himself when beneath the surface was someone so perfect
it didn’t seem real. In fact, if Louis hadn’t watched Harry shed away his shell, he’d think this was
some sick joke someone was playing on him. Because no way, no way, someone could be so
attractive, funny, charismatic, sweet <strong>and</strong> at the same time actually have a thing for Louis.
Louis.
Who spends too much time shopping for decorations when he doesn’t have the money to spend.
Who doesn’t feel at ease unless he’s surrounded by c<strong>and</strong>les <strong>and</strong> cocoons himself in blankets when
the world has become too much. Who has great fashion sense but doesn’t care to be around
people who would admire it. Who tries so hard to be something so impossible, so rare. He’s kind
of an embarrassment, but with the way Harry’s looking at him he feels like the most amazing thing
on planet earth.
You could say that, yeah, Louis’ starting to go a little crazy for Harry Styles.