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Summary
Louis doesn’t know what comes over him. “Please H-Harry, take me,” Louis looks back at the farmhouse, swallowing once as his skittish eyes fall onto the master bedroom window, “Take me with you, please.”
Harry’s scent flares, the tinged anger so noticeable that Louis draws back out of the alpha’s space.
“Is he hittin’ on you?”
Louis’ right hand rests briefly against the bruise forming rapidly over the right side of his rib cage, the darkness of the night hiding the movement. “No.”
Or, When Harry comes around, it’s the coldest time of year. Louis, for once, just wants Harry to take him away from colder weather.