All I've Got Are These Photographs: Louis/Harry
Title: All I've Got Are These Photographs
Author: emap1515
Fandom: One Direction RPF
Character Pairing: Louis/Harry
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Sex, PG-13?
Word Count: 1,676
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, this didn't happen.
Also found on my tumblr....where you can also find my chaptered fanfictions
Louis liked taking pictures of Harry.
It didn’t matter when or where they were, Louis just really liked taking pictures of Harry. He guessed it had something to do with just how wonderful Harry looked from day to day, almost like if Louis were to not take a picture to document how beautiful his boyfriend was, he would simply regret it.
Well I guess it did matter where they were as Louis couldn’t just whip out his camera onstage and take that shot of Harry in front of the thousands of fans, where his eyes were lit up and his smile was bright and he looked as if the world could be powered by his happiness.
So he didn’t. But he did watch as Harry would perform, a light sheen of sweat apparent on his forehead, his dimples accentuated by just how goddamn happy he was in the moment, with this opportunity that the five of them currently had. He told Louis that everyday it seemed. That he was happier than he had ever been in his life because he got to do exactly what he loved, all the while making people smile and sing along to their words. And Louis would blush when Harry would whisper quietly, privately into his ear later in bed that night, “you make me happier then I’ve ever been.”
And he couldn’t take a photo of Harry at Niagara falls, with his curls damp from the water and the poncho around his shoulders two sizes too big, making him look small and cuddly and all together adorable. No he couldn’t take a picture when he had Eleanor clinging to his side, dragging him along to the next photo opportunity. He couldn’t even blame her really, she was all that was really holding him down from reaching across the other boys at interviews to plant a familiar kiss to Harry’s pink lips.
And so he didn’t, even though he felt the burn of his camera deep in his pocket, somehow begging to emerge and snap a quick shot of this beautiful, beautiful boy he was so lucky to have the privilege of calling his own.
--
It was almost as if his fingers were constantly itchy. Constantly squirming with desire to bring out whatever recording device he could get his hands on to capture whatever emotion Harry had at that moment.
Because it seemed that every time Louis looked over at Harry, his curls were a little silkier, the light of the sun making them shine and curl into those perfect ringlets that Louis so loved to tug. And Harry would be all smiles and twinkling eyes, that perfect laugh ringing out loud and proud.
And then when they were alone, Louis would get out the huge lug of a camera his mother bought him for his last birthday and search for Harry in their flat, usually finding him sprawled on the couch, giggling at an episode of friends. So Louis would come up and straddle Harry where he lay, pressing his lips into a smattering of kisses across Harry’s neck and collar, making him sigh and keen into the touch. And then he would smile down at Harry, who would send the same blissed out smile back, before flicking the camera on and snapping away shot after shot. Harry would giggle and put his large hands over his face, hiding away from the click of the camera and the whirring of the zoom. But Louis would reach down and take Harry’s hands in his own, fingers interlocking as he leaned down to kiss him deep on the mouth, all the while, pointing the camera down at the two’s embrace.
And of course, Harry would grow impatient with the incessant click of the camera and insist that it be taken away so they could go on to things more fun and naughty and Louis would comply, of course, but before he did, he would get one last shot of the flush in Harry’s cheek, his lips swollen from their kissing, hair messy and frizzy on the couch.
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And later, when Louis was still naked, lying next to a sated and sleepy Harry, he would pull out the camera and go through the pictures, smiling at the sheer amount of love he could see in every picture. He’d smile at the best ones and look down at his side, where Harry lay in the crook of his neck, curls tickling at his skin and eyes fluttering as he slept, mind whizzing with ceaseless thoughts that somehow always came back to Harry.
But then Louis will delete all but one or two, taking special care to keep the shot where Harry’s finger was still wrapped around his own and he’s smiling as if he has a secret, even though Louis knows just what it is. Louis would download the pictures onto his computer and gently set the camera upon a high shelf, content with keeping it hidden away in their flat, keeping it as a secret for himself.
He would take a lingering look back at the black Nikon that had somehow come to symbolize his and Harry’s lovelovelove, before shaking Harry awake and urging him to stand up, wrapping a warm quilt around him as he did. And Louis would intertwine their fingers once again and lead the sleepy Harry into their bedroom, his curls still splayed against his neck as they made their way upstairs. In turn, Harry would collapse immediately onto the bed, curling himself into a little ball under the covers. Louis would watch him for a moment, the way his eyes trembled as they fought and accepted sleep, the way his chest would move up and down rhythmically, his favorite necklaces tangling against his sculpted chest. And Louis would end up getting the camera back down from the shelf and snapping another picture or two before he heard the low mumbles of Harry urging him to join him in bed. So Louis would listen, smile and fold himself into bed, wrapping Harry against his own smooth torso, as close as he could.
---
The large Nikon camera was maybe the best gift Louis had ever received. Sure he had all the money in the world, but somehow he had never thought to buy a good quality camera. He thought he really didn’t need one, since their lives were already so documented. He could pick up a magazine and find a nice, high quality picture of him and the other boys performing, or call up management and ask for them to give him access to the countless stores of pictures they had.
It wasn’t until he was actually with Harry that he realized that the camera on his phone didn’t really cut it, especially when he just wanted to take a picture of Harry’s cheekbones or never-ending torso because it had always come out somehow blurry. And couple that with the fact that as the band had grown bigger and bigger, there was now the fear that someday, somehow he would lose his phone, or it would get stolen and then every private picture or message would be revealed to the world. So Louis didn’t really take many pictures of Harry on his phone. He had the occasional few, one of the two of them hugging, innocent stuff really, the worst being one that Niall had taken, dubbing it “the cutest motherfucking thing he had ever seen.” It was the two of them, cuddling on their couch; Harry curled his side, their hands interlocked tightly, with Louis pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. And Niall had been right. It was cute, too cute to ever get rid of, so Louis shucked it into the recesses of his phone, even going so far as to upload it to his own computer and email a copy to his mom, for “safekeeping” he told Harry when he noticed it framed in the Tomlinson household a few weeks later, a red flush covering his face as Harry smirked at him.
So when Louis’ mum had smiled as she thrust a very crudely wrapped package into his lap at Christmas the previous year (Daisy really liked to help), and he tore into the paper quickly and out emerged the Nikon, Louis was really quite pleased. He thanked his mum profusely and his mind began to swirl with the possibilities the multitude of different photos he could take of Harry with it.
It was safe to say that Louis was very very excited to reunite with Harry for their annual New Years Party at their own flat. So excited that he returned to London a day earlier than he had planned, just so he could be there before his boyfriend arrived back.
And he was there earlier. Early enough to hear the jingle of the lock in the door and turn on the camera hurriedly, capturing the first few pictures of his boyfriend as he came inside, with a smile so bright that Louis thought he was blinded by it.
Harry gave him a look before tackling him to the ground, kissing him furiously and whispering a litany of I love you’s and happy birthday twenty year old into his ear and then proceeded to blow him right there on the rug in front of their door.
And when Harry was done, and Louis’ chest was heaving as he came down from his high, he returned the favor, pushing Harry down sweetly and gently coaxing soft whimpers and moans from his pink lips.
After Harry came, Louis grabbed the camera once again and took a picture of Harry’s glazed, green eyes, his sweaty curls, and that dimpled smile. Harry protested and whined, wondering why the hell Louis was taking a picture of him after they had done that. But when Louis bent down and whispered wet against Harry’s ear that he was so beautiful that he couldn’t help it, Harry went silent and blushed profusely. Which of course, Louis took a picture of.