Work Text:
Louis moves in tandem with the surging motion of hot bodies surrounding him. Sweat drips down his spine, and the tremors of the music's bass runs up his leg, beating his heart for him. His dancing never stops, and his intoxication just keeps growing. His focus on reality only comes to him in flashes of purple LED lights when he briefly opens his drunkenly closed eyes. His sweat-slicked fringe might be cause for concern, if Louis hadn't already lost himself hours ago in the ecstasy of the dance floor.
How many minutes?
Who knows the actual amount of time Louis has spent on this makeshift dance floor in the middle of the frat party. But it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Sweat-slicked or not, Louis is having the time of his life forgetting the existence of the world.
A pair of hands grab onto his waist, not for the first time tonight. His new dance partner breathes on his neck, sending a shiver down Louis’s spine. He leans into it. His body changes gears, no longer following the swaying of the crowd, instead allowing this new stranger to guide the movements of their forms. Hands hold his waist tightly, pulling him in, Louis back entirely encompassed now by said visitor’s chest. Louis lets his head fall back onto the man’s shoulder as their hips grind together to the quickened bass of the deep house track playing.
They only get a few more moments together before said stranger is ripped away from Louis. He turns around to see what may have caused the departure, but all he sees is the man's back weaving his way through the crowd and a short blonde haircut.
~~~
“LEWIS?”
Louis is quick to follow the hollering of his best friend’s alcohol-laced voice. He stumbles right into what looks like an about-to-be heated game of beer pong.
“What the fuck Neil? You were gonna play without me?” Louis points a raised brow and challenging smirk towards the blonde boy leaning against the wall.
“Well, I wouldn’t have to, now would I. If you would stop trying to hook up with all my frat brothers for a second?” Niall grins back at him.
“Tell them to stop being so hot, and we’ll have a deal.”
Niall looks around at the gathering of people throughout the house. “No can do.”
“Well, I guess no game.” Louis shrugs his shoulders and goes to walk away.
“NO, Louuuuiiss, please.” Niall runs over and grabs his shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes, or at least he seems to be trying to. His gaze is a little more focused on Louis’ nose. “You’re my secret weapon.” He mutters.
It’s true. Very few people know him here, and even less know of his beer pong prowess. “What do I get for winning this for you?”
“Beer.”
“How many beers?”
“As many as your heart desires,” Niall states, waving his arms exaggeratedly. “But we both know your competitive ass would do it for nothing.” Niall smacks him on the shoulder. “So final answer? No beers.”
Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Fine, yeah, obviously I’m down.”
“WOOHOOO,” Niall screams. “Let’s kick some ass!”
~~~
“ONE!”
How many tequilas in this place?
“TWO!”
How many shots without a chase?
“THREE!”
Too many, apparently.
Louis, along with a kitchen full of heavily intoxicated people, shoot back another tequila shot. He lost track of what they were toasting to around the third. And this one, like the past few, slips down his throat with zero struggle. It’s entirely possible his throat has just yielded to the fact that it exists as a conduit for tequila now.
Slamming his shot glass down on the sticky, beer-stained countertop, he watches as most of the tequila shooters start a slow exit from the kitchen. That shot was the final one, apparently. Probably for the best, given the fact that Louis’s sight is a bit doubled at the moment. He runs his hand along the countertop seeking a portion that doesn’t stick to his hand. Finally, settling for a spot with minimal stick, he hops up, his denim-clad legs swinging back, hitting the cupboard below.
“You seem happy?”
Louis swings his head around, locating the inquisitive voice. An adorable brunette boy is leaning against the fridge, opening a beer bottle, staring at him.
“I reckon I’m just a little drunk,” His words slurring together in what he can only assume is an unattractive way.
The boy moves over to stand beside Louis swinging legs, facing him. Up close, he can see the boy’s rich brown eyes and wide smile.
“You also look happy,” Louis claims, bopping him on the nose.
The boy giggles. “Yeah, well--”
“LOUUUISSS!”
~~~
A burst of fresh air clears his mind the second he steps outside. The back porch is home to the few party-goers who would rather avoid the chaos of indoors, and Louis can’t say he blames them. Personally, being in it is the thing Louis loves most, but the second he needs to think, it becomes a little overwhelming.
Hence, being here, the back porch with the fresh air and offering of space to let his brain think. Hopefully, his brain will take advantage of such an opportunity.
He stumbles over to a railing free of people and leans onto it. His body is still pulsing to the rhythm of the party inside. But, his heart is starting to slow, and he can hear himself a little better.
Giggling from his left washes over him, he glances over and notices a group of people watching as someone walks towards him. The boy in question is walking forward on unstable feet; his eyes lowered as if he needs to make sure each step hits the solid ground. He observes the entire process until the boy is standing directly in front of him.
The boy releases a breath before looking up; his unfocused green eyes startle Louis. “Hi,” the boy murmurs, waving his hand broadly.
“Hi,” Louis parrots back, a little confused by both the approach and the greeting of this boy.
“Um… Sorry, I--”
The door slams open as someone rushes off the deck; the noise of retching quickly follows suit.
Louis turns back around to see the curly-haired boy pulling a joint out from behind his ear.
“Do you want a puff?” He asks.
“Fuck, yes.” Louis sings. He’s always down for a puff, and honestly, he would do almost anything right now to find out more about this mystery boy.
He sidles up beside Louis, leaning against the railing. Then, lifting the joint to his puckered lips, he lights it and pulls in. Louis follows this sequence, mesmerized by the shape of his jaw and the plumpness of his lips wrapping around the joint.
The boy coughs softly, going for another puff.
“What’s your name, Curly?” Louis asks, shaken from his trance.
“Harry,” he says, turning and handing the joint to Louis.
Louis nods his head in thanks, taking the joint and pulling in, mulling over in his head the boy’s name, Harry, Hazza, Harold. Okay, yeah, he can have fun with that. He takes one more puff before handing the joint back to Harry.
The fresh air that was working so hard to clean out his brain, swiftly getting fogged up again by the inhalation of smoke. He chuckles a bit to himself, limbs feeling free and inhibitions loosening. “
So Harold, were you going to ask my name? Or do I get to keep that a secret?”
Harry chokes on the inhalation he had just been in the middle of, startling Louis. He takes to rubbing his back while Harry coughs up several lungs and a burnt esophagus.
“Shit, sorry,” Louis mumbles.
He coughs one more time before finding his voice again. “No, it’s okay, sorry, I’m a bit nervous… weirdly.” Harry trails off at the end as though he doesn't want Louis to hear him.
“Why?”
“Um… Okay, this is gonna sound embarrassing… Promise you won’t make fun of me?” Harry mutters, burying his head in his hands.
“Yeah, promise.” Louis states, giggling. Something about Harry is so damn endearing, and he doesn’t know what to do with that besides giggle.
Harry slowly hands him back the joint, still not saying anything else, clearly stalling as much as he can.
“Get on with it, Harold!” Louis laughs again, scrunching up his nose.
“Okay, okay…” He starts, smiling along with Louis. “I may or may not have tried to talk to you several times tonight.” He says, spoken so quickly Louis’ crossfaded brain can barely keep up.
“What?”
“I promise it wasn’t in a creepy way… or maybe it was creepy… I don’t know to be honest…” Harry continues to ramble on until Louis pokes him in the shoulder.
“You’re not creepy curly unless someone could call a baby cow creepy.” Louis confidently states.
Harry cackles at that, the contagious nature of Harry’s bellowing laughter catching him. Soon both of them are crumpled over, laughing about a forgotten joke, clutching their stomachs.
How many puffs?
Maybe just enough.
~~~
He ends up on a couch, with Harry sitting beside him. His lanky arms making expansive gestures as he tells the story of how he fell off the deck at a frat party a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, his hand-eye coordination is already hindered sober, and the addition of alcohol only makes it worse.
Louis feels a touch transfixed by this human, okay, maybe a lot transfixed.
“I woke up in the morning with blood on my shirt and had to call my friend to ask what happened! I barely even remember it.” He concludes, face pinched up in laughter at what he clearly thinks is an amusing story.
“It’s not often I leave a party without at least one injury, I--”
He cuts himself off when he catches Louis’s stare, which Louis is sure is nothing short of creepy. You see, cute boys and weed are a deadly combination for him—kind of his kryptonite. Harry’s cheeks redden when all Louis does is continue to stare.
“What?” Harry asks bashfully.
“You know--”
A noisy banging disrupts them, someone running down the stairs, yelling. Uproarious enough, they can be heard over the booming music. Everyone in the room stops talking and turns to face the yelling. Everyone’s morbid curiosity, getting the better of them. Because who actually stays out of other people’s business? Not a bunch of drunk college students catching some drama.
“Fuck you, Sam.” A feminine voice shouts. “Fuck this place, fuck your life, and especially fuck you and your cheating ass!”
“Emily, calm down. You’re not thinking right,” An answering exasperated masculine voice yells.
A bottle smashes, followed by a screech, unlike anything Louis has heard before.
“You do not get to tell me to calm down.” She yells, soon accompanied by the sound of a slamming door.
Everything falls back into focus, the music feeling loud again and everyone’s chatter picking up—the new topic on everyone’s mind, the drama of Sam and Emily.
“Sounds like he deserved it,” Harry whispers to him before they burst into giggles again.
How many giggles?
An eternity.
~~~
Louis finds himself back on the dancefloor, this time with a cow-eyed cutie in tow. The both of them, breathless and pink-cheeked from the alcohol and marijuana-laced events of the night.
Louis can’t help but be enamoured by how Harry moves to the music, all fluid limbs and expressive movement. His eyes closed for the most part, save for the occasional moment, he pushes his body closer to Louis and takes a peek.
He moves to the beat, feeling that familiar experience of the bass riding up his legs, making them feel nearly numb, and his heart synchronizing with the pounding rhythm. This time, however, he doesn’t get lost in it. Instead, his attention is laser-focused on the boy in front of him. Hands brush across his back, invitations that he doesn’t feel a desire to accept any more.
No need; this boy has already captured him.
They spend one song swaying together, not holding back, just allowing the music to carry their bodies in whatever shapes it asks of them, Harry invariably resembling a willow tree in some form.
A few songs later, the music invites them to jump up and down with the rest of the crowd. Drinks spill left and right as people's cares run out the door, favouring a raging beat and a screaming chorus.
Through it all, Louis can’t drag his attention away from Harry. They scream, jump, sway and beam together. Every second they are together, building upon the last, creating a feeling of fulfillment within his heart.
Later in the evening, he sees the hungry eyes of who he assumes to be the blonde boy who had danced with him earlier, his gaze suggesting he wants far more from Louis than a simple dirty dance. Louis, however, feels no desire to give him anything. Glancing around, he notices as well the brown-eyed boy who flirted with him in the kitchen, and again, all Louis’s gaze does is snap back to Harry.
The song changes again, offering a much grimier beat, a rhythm that feels more akin to foreplay.
He moves in behind Harry, gripping his waist, hands vibrating with electric energy. Harry tenses for a moment before melting into him. His back presses fully against Louis' chest. Their muscles roll together with their body’s natural movements.
It’s hot.
Harry’s back is hot, Louis’ hands radiating heat up his arms and around Harry’s hips. His breath, steamy as it caresses the sweaty curls on Harry’s neck. Harry’s cheeks reddening as their hips move together, synchronizing perfectly. The energy of the crowd around them doing nothing to help lower the humid energy building between them.
Harry’s head falls back to rest on Louis' shoulder, his hands drifting up, seizing Louis' own and pulling him in, somehow closer. He can’t help but place a kiss onto Harry’s neck, the purple glow from the LED lights illuminating his neck in an impossibly inviting way. It’s a brief kiss, an invitation and a request of sorts—both asking and telling of the desires overriding Louis’ mind.
He looks up and sees the blonde boy shaking his head and finally turning away from Louis, understanding that his invitation no longer stands.
How many boys?
So many, but he only wants this one.