Work Text:
It had started out simply enough: Harry had come home one day to find his roommate Louis scowling at his laptop. Which wasn’t unusual in and of itself – Louis was a writer, and to Harry’s untrained eye, the writing process seemed to involve a lot of other activities such as:
- staring at the screen without touching a single key
- falling down Wikipedia rabbit holes
- complaining loudly about not wanting to write
- complaining loudly about wanting to write, but not doing it
Harry toed off his shoes, hanging his jacket on the peg by the door. When he looked back to Louis at the kitchen table, Louis was staring at him.
“What?” Harry said. “Do I have food on my face or something?”
“Can I ask you a favour?”
Harry blinked. “Um. Depends?”
“It’s nothing weird,” Louis said quickly. “Well. It’s a little weird.”
“Very illuminating,” Harry deadpanned. He had no idea what Louis was going to ask, but he had a pretty good idea that he was going to say yes regardless. Louis had that effect on people.
Louis chuckled. “It’s just – God, bodies are fucking stupid and I can’t visualize the physicality of this fight scene, so I was wondering if I could. Well. Use your body.”
Harry resisted the urge to make a joke about how utterly filthy that sounded. Barely.
“Uh, sure, I guess,” he said. “What do you…” He trailed off, not even sure what to ask.
Louis stood, walking over to Harry. “Put your hands around my neck,” Louis said. “And then I’m going to punch you – not really, just moving slowly – and then… I don’t know, we’ll see what makes sense.”
Harry obediently let Louis talk him through a sequence of moves – punches, kicks, holds. He felt almost detached from his body, puppeted by Louis’ words, barely aware of his own movements. Instead, he watched Louis. Focus and determination were etched in every line of his face as he choreographed their fight, and Harry could almost feel him taking mental notes. It was a dance and it was a story and it was art, through and through.
Eventually Louis stepped away, nodding. “Okay,” he said. “I think I’ve got it. Thanks.” He drifted back to his computer, fingers tapping away at the keys before he’d even sat down on the chair.
Harry blinked a few times, flexing his arms as he settled back into his body. That had been… weird. Not bad, just strange. But from the way Louis was still furiously typing, it seemed to have worked, so that was good?
He shook his head, walking towards his bedroom. “Glad I could help,” he said.
“Yeah,” Louis said absently. “Very helped.”
Harry chuckled and kept walking.
~*~
It had started simply, just one fight scene, but before long it seemed that Harry had become one of Louis’ favourite writing tools. Almost every week, Harry found himself pulled into another scene – mostly fight sequences, but after a month or so it started to branch out.
One time, Louis wanted to slow dance together. He hummed vague tunes Harry didn’t recognize under his breath as they swayed and twirled, hands wrapped around each other. Harry wondered if Louis could feel his heartbeat as their chests pressed against each other. He felt Louis’ breath tickling his ear and ruffling through his hair.
Another time, Louis said he was writing a hospital scene, and asked him to lie down on the couch with his shirt off. Harry shrugged and obeyed, and spent several relaxing minutes feeling Louis’ hands roam gently over his ribs. He almost fell asleep on the couch, and wound up having to splash some cold water on his face to wake himself up again.
About two months in, Harry was sitting on the couch knitting and Louis was slumped in the armchair, scowling at his computer. He’d type a few words, then let out a huff through his nose, slamming his finger on the backspace key. Harry watched his eyebrows furrow deeper and deeper into his frown, cataloguing every grunt of frustration. As he reached the end of a row of stitches, he set down his needles on the table.
“What do you need this time, Louis?”
Louis started, his eyes jerking up to Harry’s and then darting away. “What?” he said. “Oh, uh, I don’t know.”
“Louis.” Harry fixed him with an exasperated look. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Well.” Louis’ cheeks were starting to flush. “This isn’t, like. An action scene. I don’t think you’d want to help.”
“Louis, you had me slow dancing with you,” Harry pointed out. “It’s no big deal. What is it?”
“I, um.” Louis’ cheeks were fully red. “It’s, like. The characters’ first kiss.”
Harry blinked. “Ah.”
“Yeah,” Louis said. “And, well, it’s just been a while, you know?” He gave Harry an awkward smile, and Harry responded with an equally awkward chuckle.
“Right,” Harry said. “I can see why, um. You probably don’t want to invite me to re-enact this one.”
A heavy silence hung in the air between them. Harry picked his knitting back up, trying to remember whether he was supposed to knit this row or purl it. Louis typed and deleted a few more words.
Harry tried very hard not to think about what Louis was writing. He tried very hard not to think about kissing Louis. He tried very hard not to think about all the other moments they’d acted out together, their bodies pressed against each other as they grappled, the warmth of Louis’ skin under his hands, Louis’ voice soft and gentle and yet so commanding and confident.
Okay, maybe he didn’t try that hard.
After a few minutes, he glanced over at Louis. He expected Louis to be glaring daggers at his laptop, but instead, his eyes were fixed on Harry. There was something in his gaze that made Harry’s breath catch in his throat.
“Would you?” Louis asked softly. “You don’t have to. But. You’ve been such a help with everything. It might… I don’t want to make it awkward, though. But I just… I don’t know.”
Harry swallowed. He took a breath in, and let it out slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was bone dry. He swallowed again, and at last managed to force sound from his vocal cords. “Okay.”
Louis didn’t move for a long moment. Neither did Harry. They just looked at each other, as if giving the other a chance to take it back. Harry wondered if Louis could tell how fast his heart was beating. He wondered what was running through Louis’ mind. He wondered what Louis’ lips would taste like.
Then Louis stood. He set his laptop on the table, and Harry did the same with his knitting, trying not to let his hands shake. Louis took a step towards him, then another, until he was standing right in front of the couch. Harry wondered if he was supposed to stand up or stay sitting, but before he could form a coherent thought on the matter, Louis sat down beside him.
There was a softness in his eyes as he looked at Harry. His hand rested on Harry’s knee, fingers gentle. “Are you sure?” he said. “This doesn’t change anything. We’re still friends.”
Harry couldn’t breathe. “Of course,” he said, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. “It’s just, like, research. What are friends for?”
It felt like the world was in slow motion as Louis leaned in, his hand delicately cupping Harry’s cheek, and pressed his lips to Harry’s.
For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do. He sat frozen, his hands clasped in his lap, as Louis’ mouth moved against his.
“Come on, Harry,” Louis murmured, his voice rough and low. “You can do better than that. Kiss me.”
It’s like his voice unlocked something in Harry, and almost without thinking his body sprung to life, responding to Louis’ touch. His lips parted, breathing Louis in like oxygen, and he could feel Louis gasp against him. His hands rose, sliding along Louis’ sides and scraping across his back.
Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but kiss Louis. He didn’t want to do anything else. He just wanted to feel Louis’ hands on his skin, Louis’ fingers in his hair, Louis’ breath on his tongue, just Louis for the rest of his life.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, Louis pulled away, walking back to his chair. “Thanks,” Louis said, bending over his laptop. “That was… helpful. I think I’ve got it now.”
Harry swayed slightly, feeling like his entire world had tilted off its axis. “I… no problem,” he said. “Glad I could help.”
“You did,” Louis said, fingers flying. “You, uh, helped a lot. That was… yeah.”
~*~
It had been three days, and Harry was going to lose his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Louis, about his hands and his lips and his voice. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, about the taste of Louis’ tongue and the tenderness of his touch and the warmth of his skin.
He couldn’t stop wishing Louis would kiss him again.
It had been three days, and the feeling would still strike him in random moments. They’d be sitting on the couch watching TV, or he’d be cooking dinner as Louis chattered away from the table, or he’d be lying in bed on the verge of sleep… and suddenly, his mind would be consumed with the memory of Louis’ mouth. And if he wasn’t careful, the imagination that played through his brain would go further, too, wondering where else Louis’ lips could land, what else his touch could make Harry feel.
It had been three days, and Louis hadn’t asked Harry to help with any new scenes. Which, like, wasn’t an unexpected interval, but also Harry craved the feeling of Louis’ hands, he craved Louis’ soft orders, he craved feeling connected to Louis’ art. Oh, who was he kidding, he craved Louis. He craved being important to him, being a part of his life – a bigger part, as big a part as he could have.
It had been three days. When Harry let himself into the apartment, Louis only looked up long enough to give him a quick smile and a greeting before returning to his typing. Harry tried not to let it sting, busied himself with putting away his things in his room, returned to the living room to read on the couch for a bit.
But he couldn’t focus. The words swam before his eyes. He glanced up at Louis, intent on his work, then turned the page. Still, the letters seemed to be sparring, or slow dancing, or – fucking hell, this was ridiculous.
Something in Harry snapped, some kind of resistance or reluctance or willpower. He flipped the book shut, tossing it onto the couch beside him. Louis looked up at the sudden movement, and Harry’s eyes felt locked in his gaze.
Harry wet his lips. He swallowed. “Can I ask you a favour?” he whispered.
Louis’ eyes widened, just a bit. He said nothing.
Harry’s heart felt like it might pound right out of his chest, but dammit he had to try. He had to know. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
For a long moment, they both sat frozen. Harry felt like his heart might explode, his head might explode, his entire body might explode. He counted his breaths, in and out and in and out and in-
And then Louis moved. He stood, setting his laptop on the table, and walked over to Harry in steps that were only a little bit unsteady. As he sat down, Harry could see his hands trembling, just a little.
Louis swallowed hard. “For real this time,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
Harry nodded. His hand brushed across Louis’ cheek, fingers sliding into his hair. And then he leaned in, and the world caught fire.
Louis’ lips were soft and lush, and they tasted like honey and ginger. His hands twisted in Harry’s shirt, his nails scrabbling at Harry’s skin and making him gasp. Harry’s fingers tightened in Louis’ hair, pulling him closer and deeper and Louis welcomed it, moaning softly against Harry’s mouth.
“God, Harry,” Louis murmured. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Harry laughed breathlessly. “Maybe a bit of an idea,” he said. “If it’s anything like what you’re doing to me.”
“You’re electric,” Louis whispered. “You’re fucking sensational, you’re liquid gold and I could drown in you.”
Harry shivered, letting Louis’ words wash over him like rain. “What do you say we take this to a different location,” he said, “and we’ll see if I can rob you of all your pretty words, leave you speechless and insensate.”
Louis groaned, kissing Harry harder and deeper. “Yes fucking please,” he said. “I thought you’d never ask.”