And Boys Will Be Girls, Harry/Louis, 3/4
Title: And Boys Will Be Girls [3/4]
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. Title taken from Lola by The Kinks.
Word Count: 1, 323 [5, 000 + total]
Summary: Burlesque club!AU. He’s boldly beautiful. He’s half naked and Harry’s heart is betraying him, just as his eyes are, near enough cracking his ribs with it’s beating. Harry’s never seen a boy exude such elegance before, so smooth and fae with each ballet toe point perfectly controlled. He’s never seen a boy with sparkling stars pressed over his nipples and feathered fans laid below him like clouds, and although Harry has looked a little too closely at guys who’ve stood beside him in bar queues or grazed up against him in mosh pits before, he’s never found one to be so alluring it’s clawed at his lungs.
Warnings: Slurs and other language, alcohol, explicit sex [in later parts].
A/N: Inspired by this prompt at 1dkinkmeme.
After Louis’ performance, the bar becomes a regular night club. A couple of staff rearrange the tables and chairs so that there’s a dance floor and a dj booth lights up in the corner. The music isn’t Harry’s thing really- lots of electronic beats and Girls Aloud medleys, but his new drag queen friend shoots him warning glances every time he makes a move to leave. So he shrugs, and he orders more iced whiskey and at least drums his fingertips against the bar top when Duran Duran begins to play. The atmosphere is comfortable, anyway: a chilled drink with his own [maybe nearing filthy] thoughts, rather than his university friends and their constant efforts to one up Nikki Sixx.
Three Jim Beams in and Harry has to rest his cheek in against the bar. Secretly, he’s somewhat of a light weight and the wood is cool, if a little sticky with beer rings. His curls slip forwards and he hums, muses briefly on how many of his mates would disown if they found out he’d visited Erotique again on Louis’ night. It’s probably telling that he wouldn’t much care if the number was two or ten.
“Hey Astrid love, could I get my usual?”
Harry knows that voice. He closes his eyes briefly and chews his lip as he reopens them, squinting past his curtain of hair. Indeed, Louis has hopped up on a stool a foot from his, dressed down in a t-shirt not to dissimilar to Harry’s and worn jeans, but still with scraps of stage make-up on his face. Sparkles brushed over his cheekbones; eyeshadow pressed like thumb prints below his eyes and stains from the red gloss which make his lips look bitten. Harry expects the boy’s usual to be something fruity and decorative, but it’s a foaming draught beer and a motherly pat to his wrist-
“You did well tonight, dolly. Much cheerier than last week, too!”
“You know how it goes.” Louis says, cryptic, but Astrid nods solemnly with one hand keeping her beehive in place. “Don’t worry though, you know. Never worry, Astrid. Got my Zayn and Liam if anything goes too wrong. They keep me in tea and cuddles.”
Astrid clucks and Harry thinks of her, for a second, as some version of Mrs Weasley interpreted by Warhol. Then he sits up straight, fixes his hair and turns himself towards Louis-
“I thought you were uh, like super good. Liked your hat, your hat was cool.”
“Oh really honey?” Louis begins- a smile curving over his lips. It’s sudden but Harry knows it’s real because of the make-up dusted creases at the corners of his eyes, “I made that hat myself you know, took forever sticking them little bastard gems on but I feel like it added a certain-” Louis pauses, turns his head just so, and his smile is instantly a frown. “You’re one of those boys from last week. Those obnoxiously heterosexual ones.” He states.
Harry gulps and feels a hotly ashamed flush rising up on his cheeks.
“Shit, yeah, sort of. They’re my mates... like, but they’re tossers. Dicks, really. I should of said somethin’ at the time I know but like. Yeah. They’re just idiots,” Louis looks more understanding than Harry would of expected him to be. He continues on anyway, rubbing at the back of his neck and attempting to turn on some of that patented Styles charm, “Like, I came back though because I thought you were amazin’. At dancing. And things. Fucked ‘em off to come here, instead. To see you. Oh- and uh, I’m Harry by the way... or Hazza.”
As Harry finishes up his bumbling and endearing speech, Louis reaches right across and thumbs cautiously against the jutting bone of Harry’s wrist, over the little smattering of etched ink there. From somewhere beyond the beer pumps, Astrid quietly sing-songs something which sounds suspiciously like ‘he had tattoos up and down his arm and there ain’t nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm’. Despite themselves, both boys quietly giggle.
“Listen, Harry, Hazza, just shush maybe,” Louis suggests, and so Harry does. “You liked my hat, and you’ve gone all wonderfully pink, so you’re forgiven. Ask anyone, Louis Tomlinson can’t be arsed with grudges.”
“Really?” Harry asks earnestly.
“Really. Mostly. Anyway.” Louis’ blue eyes soften, “You wanna come find Zayn and Liam with me, so I can tell ‘em to stay out for the night?”
They locate Zayn and Liam out front- Zayn smoking, Liam absently nuzzled to his side and fiddling about on his phone. They’re no longer in khaki and something about them is quite darling and domestic. They both smile warmly at Louis when he slips through the door towards them, and Harry’s pretty sure the smile is for him too.
“Boys! This is Hazza- we met at the bar and we’re going to be hanging out tonight.” Louis flourishes his arm towards Harry, such a dancer about it, “He’s curly and I think Astrid’s given him the once over. So, it’s a splendid idea.”
Harry blushes again and bows his head, eyeing his own shoes and pigeon toes with far more interest than they warrant. He wonders if Louis’ friends will question his decision, because Louis certainly doesn’t seem keen on wasting any time, but they don’t. Zayn raises his eyebrow some, but only for a split second. Then he nods, and reaches across to flick the tip of Louis’ nose-
“Is that you’re way of saying you’d like to us to make ourselves scarce?” He laughs, all affection and smoke plumes.
“Oh, would you?” Louis beams, lashes-a-flutter, “Well of course, I’d never demand it but if you were thinking of treating Liam! How sweet.”
“You are a brat,” Liam chines in, but there’s nothing but love behind his tone and then the three of them are hugging. Squeezing and murmuring things like be safe and ring if you need to.
So, Harry finds himself in Louis’ flat hovering by the kitchen sink. He’s somehow barefoot and all too aware that he’s never actually pulled a lad before, now that the oppertunity to do something more than watch Louis has presented it’s self. Louis is stood right beside him, and if Harry’s not mistaken, attempting to count Harry’s eyelashes. Harry’s made attempts to count the flecks of glitter shimmering over Louis’ cheekbones too, but it’s quite impossible.
“Lots,” Louis says eventually, breath warm over Harry’s throat. “Lots of lashes. And you Hazza, are quieter than I’d like you to be. Is there a reason for it? Is it me? Is it you?”
“Shit, sorry. It’s me, it’s uh.”
“It’s your first time stood in a boy’s kitchen, Hazza? A boy that you’d like to fuck?”
“Perhaps?” Harry gnaws on his thumb nail and shrugs- not liking how the feeling of insecurity sits in his bones. He doesn’t feel like a lucky charm in the slightest and it’s jarring.
“Gosh, you’re not half as cool as you look,” Louis says, and then steps in until they’re touching, knocks Harry’s hand from his mouth and replaces it with his lips.
The kiss becomes quite something. Harry hurts where he jams up against the edge of the countertop but finds that he very much doesn’t care once Louis’ tongue swipes past his lips; Louis knots one hand in Harry’s Pink Floyd t-shirt and tugs, up on his tip toes. He’s so small and Harry likes that, so he loops an arm around Louis’ waist, up under his t-shirt, to feel where it nips in. He has flawless warm skin and a thrum of energy beneath that. Harry clasps the narrow of his back and their kiss deepens.
“Almost, Harry.” Louis whispers, once he’s bowed from it, “Almost, almost, hipster boy. Come with me?”
Louis’ hand is small too, wrapped around Harry’s to lead him into his bedroom.
Part 4
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. Title taken from Lola by The Kinks.
Word Count: 1, 323 [5, 000 + total]
Summary: Burlesque club!AU. He’s boldly beautiful. He’s half naked and Harry’s heart is betraying him, just as his eyes are, near enough cracking his ribs with it’s beating. Harry’s never seen a boy exude such elegance before, so smooth and fae with each ballet toe point perfectly controlled. He’s never seen a boy with sparkling stars pressed over his nipples and feathered fans laid below him like clouds, and although Harry has looked a little too closely at guys who’ve stood beside him in bar queues or grazed up against him in mosh pits before, he’s never found one to be so alluring it’s clawed at his lungs.
Warnings: Slurs and other language, alcohol, explicit sex [in later parts].
A/N: Inspired by this prompt at 1dkinkmeme.
After Louis’ performance, the bar becomes a regular night club. A couple of staff rearrange the tables and chairs so that there’s a dance floor and a dj booth lights up in the corner. The music isn’t Harry’s thing really- lots of electronic beats and Girls Aloud medleys, but his new drag queen friend shoots him warning glances every time he makes a move to leave. So he shrugs, and he orders more iced whiskey and at least drums his fingertips against the bar top when Duran Duran begins to play. The atmosphere is comfortable, anyway: a chilled drink with his own [maybe nearing filthy] thoughts, rather than his university friends and their constant efforts to one up Nikki Sixx.
Three Jim Beams in and Harry has to rest his cheek in against the bar. Secretly, he’s somewhat of a light weight and the wood is cool, if a little sticky with beer rings. His curls slip forwards and he hums, muses briefly on how many of his mates would disown if they found out he’d visited Erotique again on Louis’ night. It’s probably telling that he wouldn’t much care if the number was two or ten.
“Hey Astrid love, could I get my usual?”
Harry knows that voice. He closes his eyes briefly and chews his lip as he reopens them, squinting past his curtain of hair. Indeed, Louis has hopped up on a stool a foot from his, dressed down in a t-shirt not to dissimilar to Harry’s and worn jeans, but still with scraps of stage make-up on his face. Sparkles brushed over his cheekbones; eyeshadow pressed like thumb prints below his eyes and stains from the red gloss which make his lips look bitten. Harry expects the boy’s usual to be something fruity and decorative, but it’s a foaming draught beer and a motherly pat to his wrist-
“You did well tonight, dolly. Much cheerier than last week, too!”
“You know how it goes.” Louis says, cryptic, but Astrid nods solemnly with one hand keeping her beehive in place. “Don’t worry though, you know. Never worry, Astrid. Got my Zayn and Liam if anything goes too wrong. They keep me in tea and cuddles.”
Astrid clucks and Harry thinks of her, for a second, as some version of Mrs Weasley interpreted by Warhol. Then he sits up straight, fixes his hair and turns himself towards Louis-
“I thought you were uh, like super good. Liked your hat, your hat was cool.”
“Oh really honey?” Louis begins- a smile curving over his lips. It’s sudden but Harry knows it’s real because of the make-up dusted creases at the corners of his eyes, “I made that hat myself you know, took forever sticking them little bastard gems on but I feel like it added a certain-” Louis pauses, turns his head just so, and his smile is instantly a frown. “You’re one of those boys from last week. Those obnoxiously heterosexual ones.” He states.
Harry gulps and feels a hotly ashamed flush rising up on his cheeks.
“Shit, yeah, sort of. They’re my mates... like, but they’re tossers. Dicks, really. I should of said somethin’ at the time I know but like. Yeah. They’re just idiots,” Louis looks more understanding than Harry would of expected him to be. He continues on anyway, rubbing at the back of his neck and attempting to turn on some of that patented Styles charm, “Like, I came back though because I thought you were amazin’. At dancing. And things. Fucked ‘em off to come here, instead. To see you. Oh- and uh, I’m Harry by the way... or Hazza.”
As Harry finishes up his bumbling and endearing speech, Louis reaches right across and thumbs cautiously against the jutting bone of Harry’s wrist, over the little smattering of etched ink there. From somewhere beyond the beer pumps, Astrid quietly sing-songs something which sounds suspiciously like ‘he had tattoos up and down his arm and there ain’t nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm’. Despite themselves, both boys quietly giggle.
“Listen, Harry, Hazza, just shush maybe,” Louis suggests, and so Harry does. “You liked my hat, and you’ve gone all wonderfully pink, so you’re forgiven. Ask anyone, Louis Tomlinson can’t be arsed with grudges.”
“Really?” Harry asks earnestly.
“Really. Mostly. Anyway.” Louis’ blue eyes soften, “You wanna come find Zayn and Liam with me, so I can tell ‘em to stay out for the night?”
They locate Zayn and Liam out front- Zayn smoking, Liam absently nuzzled to his side and fiddling about on his phone. They’re no longer in khaki and something about them is quite darling and domestic. They both smile warmly at Louis when he slips through the door towards them, and Harry’s pretty sure the smile is for him too.
“Boys! This is Hazza- we met at the bar and we’re going to be hanging out tonight.” Louis flourishes his arm towards Harry, such a dancer about it, “He’s curly and I think Astrid’s given him the once over. So, it’s a splendid idea.”
Harry blushes again and bows his head, eyeing his own shoes and pigeon toes with far more interest than they warrant. He wonders if Louis’ friends will question his decision, because Louis certainly doesn’t seem keen on wasting any time, but they don’t. Zayn raises his eyebrow some, but only for a split second. Then he nods, and reaches across to flick the tip of Louis’ nose-
“Is that you’re way of saying you’d like to us to make ourselves scarce?” He laughs, all affection and smoke plumes.
“Oh, would you?” Louis beams, lashes-a-flutter, “Well of course, I’d never demand it but if you were thinking of treating Liam! How sweet.”
“You are a brat,” Liam chines in, but there’s nothing but love behind his tone and then the three of them are hugging. Squeezing and murmuring things like be safe and ring if you need to.
So, Harry finds himself in Louis’ flat hovering by the kitchen sink. He’s somehow barefoot and all too aware that he’s never actually pulled a lad before, now that the oppertunity to do something more than watch Louis has presented it’s self. Louis is stood right beside him, and if Harry’s not mistaken, attempting to count Harry’s eyelashes. Harry’s made attempts to count the flecks of glitter shimmering over Louis’ cheekbones too, but it’s quite impossible.
“Lots,” Louis says eventually, breath warm over Harry’s throat. “Lots of lashes. And you Hazza, are quieter than I’d like you to be. Is there a reason for it? Is it me? Is it you?”
“Shit, sorry. It’s me, it’s uh.”
“It’s your first time stood in a boy’s kitchen, Hazza? A boy that you’d like to fuck?”
“Perhaps?” Harry gnaws on his thumb nail and shrugs- not liking how the feeling of insecurity sits in his bones. He doesn’t feel like a lucky charm in the slightest and it’s jarring.
“Gosh, you’re not half as cool as you look,” Louis says, and then steps in until they’re touching, knocks Harry’s hand from his mouth and replaces it with his lips.
The kiss becomes quite something. Harry hurts where he jams up against the edge of the countertop but finds that he very much doesn’t care once Louis’ tongue swipes past his lips; Louis knots one hand in Harry’s Pink Floyd t-shirt and tugs, up on his tip toes. He’s so small and Harry likes that, so he loops an arm around Louis’ waist, up under his t-shirt, to feel where it nips in. He has flawless warm skin and a thrum of energy beneath that. Harry clasps the narrow of his back and their kiss deepens.
“Almost, Harry.” Louis whispers, once he’s bowed from it, “Almost, almost, hipster boy. Come with me?”
Louis’ hand is small too, wrapped around Harry’s to lead him into his bedroom.
Part 4