Louis is a big daydreamer drowning in the thoughts of his fellow band-mate. Lourry/Larry Stylinson. Oneshot. Word count: 831
I wrote a story about two homosexuals who happen to be in a band together called One Direction.
*All persons used belong to themselves - I do not own 1D nor do I own any of their faces. Events in this story are 100% fictional and anything similar to a real life situation is purely coincidence.*
A kiss so close yet not enough. Only a whisper near pink ear, often as it were. Always ripe at the temptation to caress his nape, fingers tangle into his curly brunette hair, navigating him close and allow an audience of a thousand witness their contact; their intimacy; their defiance toward a thousand females.
Impossible for countless reasons. Too shy. Not good enough. Girlfriend. Irresolute...
It's easy to act in front of a camera. Sometimes it feels too real, though, when his silver-olive stare captivates so seriously and bona fide. When he gets close enough to touch and explore. When he sweeps mock-kisses on unsuspecting skin. Holding hands for only a most cherished and miniscule moment, letting their fingers slide, trying to keep the touch.
Always in front of the camera where it feels so different. Fake? Planned? Teasing for the observers? Or does he truly return romantic intentions? Would he ever return 'I love you,' or would he but fake it to rouse their fans? To cover and create a wall of clandestine – to save themselves and their band from unravelling.
Does he enjoy playing along when a kiss hesitantly touches a soft dimpled cheek? An arm affectionately draped round his shoulder? His bold, austere eyes staring in a secret fondness – Is that true? Does he mean it when he wears those shirts – a little red heart between their names, his going first on top?
He's wearing it now – in their shared hotel flat with all the rest. Oblivious to a hidden sapphire stare. Friendly. Doting. He simply isn't aware of what's going on. He climbs into bed, ready to sleep for the quiet evening. Must he desire a partner to snuggle warm with? It'd be too obvious to join. Come next morning and everything would be over. They'd probably never meet again...
No...No, no. Let's not be so pessimistic. He's lovely. He deserves it. Approach the bedside without hesitation. Gently pat his shoulder. His slumbering face scrunches immediately. Olive meets with sapphire and two tender smiles flash quietly. Soft breath but bothered. Lead a hand into his and take him somewhere; he understands with knacker countenance, rubbing at his sleep induced eyes, following closely behind without doubt, fear or question. They leave a room of band mates and walk pleasantly down the dimly-lit corridor, hand-in-hand. Every window dark with only their passing reflection.
He squeezes fingers imminent to sweat and whispers groggily 'Are we there yet, love?' The stairwell sits a fair distance away. The swimming pool door swings open silently with extra care. They enter a secure mute room. A large plastic cover rests motionlessly upon tranquil waters, hiding away the faint cerulean light underneath. The grey walls glimmer in blue. Thin metal sheeting shrouds a theoretical window, blocking out the night.
'Something on your mind?' His words are casual but accidentally seductive. He's much more attentive, already at close proximity. Soft dimples lift a meaningful smile, attracting yearning lips, discreetly pressing closer, not releasing his compliant hand.
'Would it be all right...' His confidant whispered cautiously into his considerate ear 'If...If I meant what I said?'
A brief flicker of confusion within smiling eyes before he responded. 'Go on.'
'That I'd want to marry you...' An unconfident arm wrapped round his waist, stringing them together. 'That I truly do fancy you.'
A returning embrace. 'You've more.' He insisted, sympathetically cheeky.
'Do you the same thought?'
'Of course, love.' No hesitation.
'Whenever I said "I love you," I meant it.'
'Every whisper in my ear?'
'Do you want my kiss or don't you?'
They shared a giggle at each other, rising in confidence. Sapphire and olive quickly attracted to pale pink grins. Take the bait. Incline toward him, intending contact, and claim a most esteemed prize.
Eschewing. Tentative. Shy?
The room of blue flicked blinding yellow. Snap attention over to the left. Squint harshly. A thousand piercing inflamed screams. Feeling his arms unravel. Scared. Betrayal. Please don't...
Melting from a state of paralysis – in his left hand, a microphone. In front of his eyes – lights bright as the sun concealing a wall of darkness. It moves hardly. Blurred feminine faces appear one by one, focusing, all having an indistinct look of concern. Her face...Elean—
'Louis – You all right, mate?' Blocking out the pretend sun stood a figure all too familiar. A nice blazer...a dainty bow tie...curly brunette hair. He waited, illuminated, anxious, dropping his mike. Its thump echoed throughout the concert hall, speakers screeching, replacing the silence.
'Do you...' He began, mouthing the last indecipherable words.
'Love me?' Louis finished, voice cracking, sapphire eyes drunk from this heart-stopping view, almost veiled under caramel tresses. A dimpled smile, so sweet, caring, compassionate.
'More than anyone, Lou.' A hasty hand stole a settled one, fingers tangling into familiar curly locks. Their lips embraced. Hot. Quick.
Camera's flash. Takes them back.
This was all real?
Yes. I would never lie to you, love. Meet me backstage later.