Out Of Nowhere - A Larry Stylinson story

Dinner Invitation

For God's sake, why had he not taken in the significance of all Harry's remarks, signals and flirtations all these months until now? Had he thought Harry was kidding around? He'd been sleeping in the same bed with Harry for days now, at Harry's invitation, yet he hadn't absorbed the true meaning of it all.

Harry wasn't an impetuous person. He wouldn't have asked Louis to stay in his bed recklessly. He wouldn't treat something like that lightly.

Louis wondered why he'd been in denial, if that's what it was. It seemed too good to be true. Louis had been the one to begin flirting in the first place, and Harry had joined in, but maybe he'd thought Harry had been just wanting to fool around, whereas Louis had been hoping for more.

Going back into the house was frightening. Louis wasn't afraid of anything specifically – he just didn't know what to expect. So he played it safe and didn't say a word. They undressed and got into their sweats and t-shirts again. It struck Louis as a little comical when they turned their backs on each other to change clothes. But he was much too tense to laugh, and then have to explain why.

Back in bed, Harry turned to him. "You've gone quiet. That makes me jittery. Wanna tell me why?" he asked.

Louis swallowed, trying to lubricate his parched throat. Harry handed him one of the two cups of water they had been bringing to bed every night from the nightstand. Funny, how this was already a ritual. Louis smiled his thanks and took a sip. It helped. A few sips more and he was ready to make the effort to say something.

"I'm . . . um, I guess . . . a little in shock right now." He was proud of himself for conquering the hurdle of getting past the first word.

Harry cleared his throat, looking down at the covers as if the words might magically come to him.

"Me too," was all he managed to say. Then he compelled himself to say more. "It's been a long time for me, and . . . I guess I've kinda . . . lost my touch," he confessed.

"No," said Louis quickly, and perhaps he sounded a little too hasty and harsh. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"What I meant to say was," Louis continued, "no, you haven't lost your touch." His voice was quieter this time. He had to look away from the drilling insistence of those mesmerizing green eyes. Embarrassed again. Only now worse than ever. Now that they'd kissed.

Harry blushed himself, making things a little less painful for the both of them.

"I just . . . I just never expected for you . . . to be the way you were . . . tonight," Louis added.

"What were you expectin'?"

This tied Louis up in knots. What a loaded question, and how was he to answer it? Honestly, of course. He'd just have to bite the bullet.

"Um, maybe . . . rougher? Not so . . . tender." Louis wished he could stop flushing with almost every sentence. His ears were hot, and the blood pulsed there.

Harry pondered this briefly. Then, uneasily, "And is that what you would prefer? Rougher?"

"No," Louis replied so quickly that Harry knew he was telling the truth. "It was . . . perfect."

There! He'd said it! Exactly how he felt. Louis was proud of himself despite the embarrassment.

One thing was for sure. He had been downright bewildered at being treated with what seemed to be tender adoration.

Harry grinned slightly, and Louis could tell he was pleased, but trying not to look like it.

"I'm glad you like my . . . style," said Harry shyly.