Firelight
Pairing: Larry Stylinson
Word Count: 2003
Warnings: SMUT. This is rated R. Do not read if you are not mature enough.
Summary: Based off the (very detailed) prompt by sosyerface, over on tumblr. Harry and Louis are having a night around the campfire with their mates. They get their happy ending.
The fire is warm on your face, and he is warm against your back. His legs are stretched out around yours, his arms tucked securely around your waist. His chin is resting against your shoulder, his curls tickling your face. You lean closer, resting your temple against his.
There’s an assortment of chatter around you, Liam and Zayn clutching each other as Niall roars with laughter, Danielle and her friends giggling into each other’s shoulders at something one of them said. Harry chuckles into your ear, the sound vibrating through you. Your stomach flutters, giddiness bubbling in your chest at the sensation. You’ve had a few beers, the alcohol creating a pleasant buzzing between your temples, and slight blurriness around the corners of your eyes. As far as you can tell, your judgment isn’t too far gone, at this point in the evening.
Niall leans over, his chest heaving, and scrabbles at the air. His mouth moves as if he’s trying to say something, but all that comes out are more howls of laughter. He eventually leans a little too far, falling off the log altogether, sending everyone, including you this time, into stitches.
Niall gets up, and the laughter subsides, everyone smiling at each other with contentedness tingling in your stomachs. Harry’s head lifts from your shoulder, leaning back against the log and pulling you back with him. You have no choice but to melt into him, relaxing against his firm chest. You tilt your head back, finding the crook of his neck. Harry shifts behind you, and there’s suddenly something warm and wet pressing against your neck.
You push back further, allowing Harry to continue his ministrations. It doesn’t even occur to you that you’re surrounded by your friends, who all have a clear view of you and Harry. All you know is that Harry’s mouth is slowly trailing down your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
He reaches the junction of your neck and shoulder, and pauses. You squirm involuntarily-you can feel his lips brushing against your skin, and his breath on your neck, and dammit, you just want him to get on with it. You feel his lips cant up in a smirk, before they part and press firmly against the flesh of your neck, his teeth scraping against it and drawing the skin up into his mouth. His tongue smoothes it over, his saliva doing little to soothe your suddenly burning skin.
And then it’s gone, leaving traces of moisture on your skin, and arousal in your blood.
“What d’you think, Lou?” Niall’s voice startles you out of your confusedly aroused state, and you lift your head up to blink blearily back at him.
“Sorry, mate, didn’t catch that. What do I think about what?” Your voice sounds strained and raspy to your own ears, and you can feel Harry chuckle and turn his face into the back of your neck. Niall smiles back at you genuinely.
“No problem, Louis. Liam was just trying to convince us that Toy Story is the greatest movie of all time, and I told him no, because I don’t really even like Toy Story that much. I prefer Finding Nemo,” he stated haughtily, “and Zayn says he just doesn’t care, so we wanna know what movie you think is better.”
“Grease,” Harry answers for you, “You guys know Louis likes Grease. And the Notebook. He’s not big on cartoons.” Niall looks affronted, glaring down at you like you’ve just offended him personally.
“Louis! How could you not like Finding Nemo!?” He asks incredulously. You shrug.
“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just don’t love it. I’m neutral on this one, boys. As Harry said: I’m not a fan of cartoons,” you tell them, lifting your hand up to push your fringe out of your eyes. Niall turns his nose up at you, turning away to continue his conversation with Liam. You lean forward, dragging the blanket at your feet up around your waist, and settling back against Harry.
“Cold, boo?” Harry’s voice caresses your ear, and a shiver dances down your spine. Your jaw suddenly feels wired shut, and all you can do is nod jerkily as your eyes slip shut. His chuckle rumbles against your back. “Shall I warm you up, then?”
His fingers are tracing circles into your thighs, teasingly. The circles become wider and wider each time around, bumping the seam of your trousers, and just barely missing the zipper. You whine lowly in the back of your throat, canting your hips up into his hands. Your hips fall softly back again, brushing his own, and he groans into your ear. You can feel his hard on pressed against your back, and your pants tighten in response. His fingers are still dancing along your hips, grazing your groin briefly before falling back again. And repeat.
“You take pleasure out of tormenting me, don’t you?” You ask hoarsely. He smiles against your neck and pushes his fingers inside the hem of your trousers.
A small, choked moan climbs out of your throat, and your brain chooses that moment to wonder what the hell you’re doing. People can see you, it reminds you as you sit up a little. This is Harry, it whispers desperately as you turn your face towards his. Stop it, you’re straight, it cries as your lips meet softly.Make him do that again, it moans as he pries your lips open with his tongue.
Your hand comes up to clutch at the back of his head, tangling in his unruly curls, as the other grips his that are still wrapped around your waist. You stretch your mouth open as wide as you can, sucking his tongue into your mouth. He groans lowly, pushing closer and shoving his tongue in further, as if he’s trying to climb inside you. And there’s the desperate notion lingering in the back of your mind that you just might let him.
You pull back a moment, shifting your hips so that your resting on your side more, and tilt your head again, shoving your mouth back over his. You bring your other arm up, the one that’s not already attached to his head, and caress his jaw with it. Harry pulls back forcefully.
“Lou, just turn around all the bloody way, please,” he rasps desperately against your mouth.
So you do, you turn around all the bloody way, and straddle him. As soon as you do, his mouth is back on yours and he’s sucking on your teeth. You shove your hands through his curls again, tilting his head back and rising up on your knees for a better angle. His hands grip your hips, sliding around slowly and caressing your arse. An aborted groan tears at your throat and you unthinkingly grind down into Harry’s pelvis. Harry whines against your lips, panting a “god, Louis” into your mouth.
“Alright, that’s it. I draw the line at grinding,” Zayn’s voice barely registers in your sex addled brain. “Oi, tossers, stop snogging for a second!” You tear your mouth away from Harry’s, turning a bit to glare hotly at Zayn. He glares right back, his cheeks flushed and embarrassed. After a few moments of glaring, your knees begin to ache, and eventually give out, so that you land in Harry’s lap, rather heavily. This brings your groins together, the bliss of the accidental friction causing you to groan, your eyes slipping shut once again, and you bury your face in Harry’s neck. You’re both achingly aware of your arousal, desperate to take care of it. “For god’s sake! Go to the bloody car, lads! We’re tired of watching you get your rocks off with each other!” Zayn cries exasperatedly. Harry’s mouth is right by your ear.
“Shall we, then?” And you’re up and out of his lap, pulling him up and dragging him back over to the car, Zayn’s indignant shouts about not staining the carpet following the two of you over.
You throw the door open, and he slides into the passenger’s seat. You climb into his lap, shutting the door forcefully behind you. It takes less than a second for his lips to meet yours again, and you groan into his mouth, canting your hips into his. Your fingers tangle in his hair again, and one of his hands leaves your hips to pull the lever on the side of the seat. The seat falls back, startling you both, and your noses bump briefly. You grunt at the contact, before your priorities shift back to the aching in your groin and you seal your lips to his again. He keens, untucking your shirt and tugging at the buttons. You lean back, ripping a few at the top in your haste to get the bloody thing off. He’s next, shifting into more of a sitting position to pull his jumper off.
Once they’re gone, landing somewhere in the back, you lean back down. Your chests are sweaty, and it’s new, there being flat, hard muscle, where you’re used to soft, raised flesh. It’s not bad, though. In fact, you almost like it better. You’re closer this way, and you can feel all of him, all the way down.
All of him. That’s new too. You’re certainly not used to feeling his excitement pressed against yours. With girls, you can never tell if they’re actually aroused, or if they’re pretending, until you actually get to their knickers. Here, though, you can feel just how excited he is. And boy, is that a boost for your ego.
These thoughts are pushed from your head as his hips come up to meet yours again. All you can do is moan and thrust back into him desperately. You brace your hands against the window and the seat next to you. You’re done with finesse, at this point, you just want to fucking come.
His hands come up and fumble blindly with your trousers, scrabbling at the zipper and the button, before finally getting them open. Your hand slips against the window as his fingers make contact with your erection. He cups you, applying a gentle pressure that makes your stomach drop and a whimper tear from your lips.
You remove your hands from their places, leaving an imprint in the condensation on the window, and move to Harry’s trousers. The two of you fumble for a moment, giving up once your trousers have made their way to the floor, and his are stuck around his knees.
You bend down again, grasping his face between your hands and shoving your tongue down his throat. His hands come up, sliding into your briefs, cupping your arse gently. This rips another moan from your mouth, and you grind into him harder.
Every time your groins brush, arousal shoots though your stomach. You just keep going, thrusting and panting and groaning. Kisses are intermittent-less of a priority now, and they’re sloppy. Harry’s very vocal you notice, and every “fuck” and “Lou” and “holy mother of-ah” and “harder” brings you that much closer.
It hit you like a train-you aren’t expecting it at all. Your muscles lock and your eyes clench shut, and Harry arches into you, following you in your release. Your pants are soaked, and it’s sticky, and slightly uncomfortable. You flop back down onto his chest, and he wraps and arm around you. You turn your head up, exhaustion settling in your bones, and meet his eyes.
“Did that really just happen?” You ask quietly. Harry chuckles.
“Yeah, we did,” he answers.
“And we’re okay, yeah?”
“We’re more than okay, Lou,” he chuckles. You smile back at him, settling into his chest and breathing him in.
“Good.”