Work Text:
Harry wakes up to something very wet and very cold being shoved down the neck of his shirt. On principle, Harry almost always sleeps naked. It’s an atrocity to do anything but when he spends every night curled in bed next to Louis Tomlinson. But last night, in between flushing ice cubes down toilets and shoving spoons under pillows, Louis had insisted that Harry had to wear pajamas and he had to wear them inside out.
Harry is perfectly capable of saying no to Louis; he just tries to not make it a habit.
Anyway, being woken up at the asscrack of dawn with someone shoving ice down your shirt is always unpleasant, no matter the attractiveness of the aforementioned shover.
Harry grumbles loudly, pushing Louis away weakly and curling in his comforter. Louis doesn’t appear to care that much, because he just crawls back over to Harry’s head.
“Haz, Haz, guess what? It snowed! It fucking snowed! Isn’t that brilliant?” He sounds too happy for this early in the morning.
“Louis,” Harry groans pitifully, “Of course it fucking snowed. We’re on a mountain right now.”
“No! You don’t get it! It like, blizzarded! We’re snowed in, Haz! With nothing but each other for body heat.” For the last part, Louis climbs on Harry’s back and stretches fully. Even with his head pillowed between Harry’s shoulder blades, his feet only surpass Harry’s by a little.
“Yaaay,” Harry nods slightly, and buries his head deeper within the pillows, “Now that we’re snowed in and have nowhere to go, let’s sleep in a bit more.”
Louis snorts. “You’re such a lazy piece of ass, Harry Styles. Not that you really have one.” He heaves himself off of Harry and pats his bum lovingly, before scurrying off.
Harry would try to argue, but it’s early and it’s not like he can really be offended by Louis’s comments. His butt is pitifully flat. He dozes off again, snuggling up in the bed and zoning out. He prefers to fall asleep when he has a Louis to octopus around, but a pillow works too. Unfortunately, a pillow isn’t warm and lithe and pretty to look at though. Harry sighs and closes his eyes again. He drifts for a while, fragmented bits of dream and reality floating around in his head, until an entire bucket of snow is dumps on his head rips him from his half-asleep dream world.
Harry jack-knifes up, making a strangled yelping sound. “What! What the hell. Fuck. Oh my god! Shit, it’s freezing!” He wildly pushes the pillows and comforters off the bed, trying to salvage them from getting wet. The snow has begun to melt, and a steady drip of water falls from strands of his hair onto his thin tee shirt. He takes it off quickly, and daps at his sad, soggy curls. Then he slowly looks up to Louis.
Louis, who is bent over and laughing himself to death. Louis, who is wearing a heavy jacket and snow boots. Louis, whose cheeks and nose are light pink. Louis, who is still clutching a bucket with bits of snow stuck to the sides.
Harry is going to kill him.
With a lunge, Harry tackles Louis onto the pile of damp bedding and starts tickling him. Louis lets out this gasping shriek and thrashing against Harry.
“Oh my god, Haz, Jesus, your face. I can’t-” Louis throws his head back and cackles again. Harry growls and redoubles his efforts.
“That’s the only fucking bed in this cabin, you little shit! And we don’t have a goddamn dryer! Where are we suppose to sleep!?” Louis just shakes his head and keeps laughing. His face is bright red and he’s bucking around wildly, but Harry doesn’t let up.
When they were younger, their wrestling matches were much more equal. Harry rarely fought back, mainly because he was so enamored by the enigma of Louis Tomlinson and he also very secretly liked the feeling of being manhandled and roughed up a bit. Then Harry had shot up, stretched out, and started going on morning runs. Suddenly, their play fights were much less even, and Louis only won if Harry wanted him too. Most of the time, Harry had no problem being a bit more passive and pleasing Louis; but in situations like this, he used his strength to his full advantage.
With a heave, Harry grabs Louis’s hands and pins them above his head. He then straddles Louis across his thighs and refuses to move. Eventually Louis gives up, and lays still. He’s panting, and has a huge grin on his face that widens when he realizes Harry doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.
“Does the caveman not like a wee bit of snow?” His eyes are dancing and mischievous.
In response, Harry leans down and wipes his soaking hair all over Louis’s face. Louis sputters and frowns up at him, but Harry just flutters his eyelashes and says, “Does ickle Boo Bear not like a wee bit if snow?”
Louis harrumphs and pulls Harry down so they can properly kiss. Even though the angle is awkward and Harry mouth tastes slightly of death, it’s still really nice. Harry loves kissing Louis a lot. It’s like putting on an old jumpers and rereading Harry Potter. It’s familiar and comforting and-
Harry suddenly finds himself spread out on the floor, gapping at the ceiling while Louis giggles and runs away.
“Never let your guard down, Styles!”
Harry groans and wonders why he puts up with this shit.
❄ ☃ ❆
Revenge comes in the form of snow angels later that day.
At first, Harry was too busy to properly enact payback. After eating a big breakfast, Louis and Harry had gotten all bundled up and gone outside to explore the crystalline world. Harry made Louis go on a walk through the woods with him, and pose for a picture at every available spot. (“Lou! Look at that tree! Those branches are sick! Go stand next to it!”) (“Oh my god Louis this bush looks like a rabbit! It’s so cute! Lemme take a picture of you with it.”) (“Louis I found a snow cave! Come look rugged like Bear Grylles! Niall will love this, oh my god..”). It’s not his fault Louis looked like the goddamn god of snow and beauty, surrounded by frosty trees and piles of snow.
After that, Louis attempted to make snowmen outside while Harry actually made hot chocolate inside. Louis kept making the balls too big and having to call Harry out to help him lift them. Technically, that would have been a great moment to bombard Louis with snow and terror, but Harry had grown rather fond of their snowmen and couldn’t bring himself to destroy them.
The bigger one had gotten Harry’s fedora and favorite forest green headscarf. Louis’s snowman was wearing a beanie and a knitted monstrosity that was supposed to be a scarf from his Nan. They’d used baby tomatoes from buttons and coins for eyes, and little missmatched mittens that they found in the drawers of the cabin. They were pretty damn adorable if Harry did say so himself.
Louis had point blank refused to use a carrot for a nose because when he was eight, he told his family all he wanted for his birthday dinner was carrots. It seemed like a stellar joke to his eight-year-old self, but none of the adults seemed to realize that he had grasped the concept of sarcasm and was completely kidding. So, born out of a mixture of pity for the bad birth date and misguided affection, Louis’s entire birthday dinner was carrots dishes. He hasn’t been able to stomach the things since. Instead, Louis got a pepper as a nose. Harry got a carrot and two tomatoes, which Louis artfully arranged in the shape of a penis. To be fair, he did have a slight phallic shaped nose. He would have complained more, but right after the placement of the nose, Louis affectionately carved two small dents in the cheeks of Harry the Snowman. He flushed when he caught Harry watching him, and mumbled something about dimples, but it made Harry’s insides all fluttery with affection. He just smiled back, showing off his personal dimples.
To recover from the tiring snowy adventure, they nibbled on sandwiches and cuddled by the fire. Their clothes were sizzling by the fireplace and they had a big plate of chips and grilled cheddar and ham sandwiches between them. It was pretty heavenly. Harry took the opportunity and slept on and off for a bit while Louis watched “Elf” for the 50th time.
When lunch was over, it was back outside for more play. Louis was more lethargic than he had been in the morning, warm and sated from food and snuggling, so he insisted on snow angels. They both trudged along the path until they found a good field from snow angels. Louis immediately collapsed in the snow, spread eagled and celestial. He took his business snowman business very seriously.
Harry, on the other hand, wandered around the outside of the field, occasionally bending down to discreetly pick up some snow. He perks up when he hears his name.
“Haz! Will you come help me up? I don’t want to ruin Robert.” Harry holds back a manic chuckle. After bidding his time, he finally has the perfect opportunity.
Harry skips across the field and bends down to pull Louis up. Robert, or whatever his name is, has turned out very nicely. His wings are perfectly defined, and his skirt is more voluptuous than ever. Harry isn’t so cruel as to ruin Louis’s hard work, so he subtly positions himself in a way that if Louis were to fall backwards, he would land in a nice pile of untouched snow, instead of a snow angel.
Louis is still too busy dusting himself off to notice Harry’s movements. In fact, he remains totally oblivious until he looks up at Harry and seems him clutching something white in his hand.
“Harry, wha-”
A snowball hits Louis full in the face. He slowly wipes his face off and stares at his gloved hand in shock.
“Did you just-”
Another snowball hits him. The aim isn’t as good this time, so it just hits Louis’s shoulder, but the look on his face is worth it.
“Oh my god. Harry Edward Styles, I am going to kill you!”
The chase is on. Harry continues to pelt Louis with snowballs and Louis runs after him, jumping on his back and stuffing snow down his pants. They giggle and yell death threats into the cold air, and fall down everywhere. Harry isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to get fully hard again from the amount of snow surrounding his dick right now; but he’s also pretty sure it’s entirely worth when he gets to see Louis’s grinning, laughing face, bright red from snow and joy and so, so much love.
❄ ☃ ❆
Before dinner, they set about to making a gingerbread house. Louis is in charge of making three gingerbread men (there used to be four, but playing in the snow is more tiring thean it looks and alimentation is necesary), while Harry is the head architect and must make the house. Even though Louis points out multiple times that the proportions are way off, Harry won’t let him nibble the edges of the gingerbread men to make them smaller.
When Louis and Harry really want to get something done, they are a verified dream team. However, when they’re both tired and giggly and in front a whole heck of a lot of sugar, the quality of their work goes down significantly. Louis keeps eating the gumdrops lining the front pathway of the gingerbread house and Harry keeps getting frosting on Louis’s nose so he can lick it off. They don’t actually have endless amounts to gumdrops and frosting, and those are two components that are rather vital towards the success of their gingerbread house, but Harry can’t be arsed to care. It’s hard to care about much when you have a soft and sweet Louis Tomlinson leaning on you, licking stray frosting off his fingers.
In the end, they have two messy gingerbread men; one with fabulously curly hair and the other with fruit snacks as shirt buttons since they ran out of gumdrops; and a spectacularly lopsided gingerbread house that has more frosting on it then actual bread.
Louis takes one looks at them and says, “I don’t think those are actually edible to be honest.”
“Neither do I. But I am willing to die trying.”
Louis lets out a shocked giggle and smears chocolate sauce on Harry’s face. “You’re a dork, good lord. Want a gummy worm?”
❄ ☃ ❆
That night, Harry falls asleep curled around Louis in the middle of the living room floor. The bed was still wet, so they made a giant cocoon out of blankets, cushions, and pillows in front the fireplace. Of course, they had to extinguish the fire and all that, so (as Louis reminded Harry while he wriggled underneath the blanket) they only really have each other for body heat.
Louis had fallen asleep quickly, wrapped around Harry, snoring softly into his chest. Harry stayed up a bit though, watching the last embers in the hearth crackle and glow. There’s an overwhelming sense of contentment in his being. Even though his extremities are still a little frozen, his stomach is gurgling from the mass amounts of sugar he consumed that afternoon, there’s some water possibly permanently wedged in his ear, and Louis’s hair is tickling his underarm in the most irritating way, Harry doesn’t think there’s anywhere else in the world he’d rather be.