The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

six

Harry sits behind the shed, tucked away from others, working with some of his clay. With the notepad open, he does his best to start a basic mold of Louis' face. He uses his fingers to mold the clay, not necessarily worried about the smoothness of it for now, and uses the measurements he took to help the molding look proportional.

He's so consumed in his work that he doesn't notice the person approaching him. When he notices the bare feet, his eyes slowly scale upwards to see a flushed muse with unfocused eyes— clearly intoxicated. Louis stumbles to sit next to him, and lays his head on Harry's shoulder. The sculptor stops, and finally takes notice of the night sky. He's worked his day away, completely wrapped in his work. He stares at the stars above them, accenting the large moon, and the shadows of trees make the scene before him truly beautiful.

He looks back at Louis, and gently removes the glass of wine from his hand. Louis blinks, and turns his head to look at him. The smell of wine hits Harry's nose, but he resists the urge to coil back. Louis looks at the clay in Harry's hands, and sighs.

"Harry," the sculptor hums at his name, "have you ever had to be something you aren't?"

Harry sits the mold on the other side of him, and leans back. Louis slides himself down, and lays his head in Harry's lap. The sudden movement makes Harry's cheeks turn pink, and he turns his head to cough.

"I don't believe so." Harry lays on the grass, and Louis turns to face him. "Who gave you this wine?"

Louis bats his lashes, and mumbles a drunken response. "He always gives me wine when he spends the night. I don't think he knows that I can't handle my alcohol."

"Who?" Harry holds up the glass, and Louis reaches for it. When Harry moves the glass away, Louis sits up to reach over him. The thin, half-opened blouse falls open to reveal Louis' chest and upper torso. The small mound of the muse's chest suggests slight muscle but his skin looks soft and supple like a woman's breasts.

With a twitch in his trousers, Harry wraps his other arm around Louis' thin waist, and lifts his head to brush his lips across the exposed skin. Louis shivers, and gasps softly. Harry doesn't look up, too afraid to see Louis' expression, and opens his mouth to drag his tongue over the skin. He tastes sweet.

"Harry." There's a hand in his curls, tugging slightly, and Harry grunts as the lust inside of him boils more. Slowly, the chains of self-control begin to disappear. The sculptor uses his head to push the blouse away as he trails his tongue, and kisses over Louis' left nipple. "Ah—!"

Harry wraps his lips around the erect nub, and flicks his tongue over it. Louis continues to quiver, and Harry feels his body become hotter. The hand in his curls tug harder before trailing down to hold his face.

"Stop, I—What are you doing?" The small sniffle above him causes Harry to pull back slightly. He sees Louis covering half of his face, but the expression is clear: a man who has yet to lose his innocence is being aroused for the first time, and he's confused. Tears are in his eyes, his entire face and even his neck are painted red, but his eyes are begging for more. Harry's sure Louis is just as excited as him, but the sculptor reminds himself of who he's with. "Harry?"

"My apologies." Harry sits up fully, and sits his client down with some space between them. The glass is spilled on the grass, long forgotten. "I overstepped my boundaries. I was accidentally tempted, and I should have known better—"

"I should return to my room." Harry looks at Louis to find him wiping away tears with a stern look. He stands, fixes his blouse, and sighs. "Good night, Harry."

He stumbles off without a response, and Harry looks back out at the moon. "Good night, Louis."

Harry places the head to the back of the desk, examining it from every angle and fixing some small imperfections. Clay stained hands anxiously dance over the mold to create the pretty man that visited him two nights ago. With about a week left until Mr. Tomlinson arrives back home, Harry has gotten all his sketches, notes, and measurements of Louis' body done. Now, he can move further along in the process, but that would involve less time spent with his client. The next planned meeting is after Harry finishes molding the clay, to see the outfit Louis wants to wear for the statue and pick a pose.

"Okay." Harry whispers as he forces himself to stop touching the head. The hair needs work, as do the ears, but rooster is crowing and Harry's stomach is answering with its own noice. He leaves his shed to use the well for washing his hands before approaching the kitchen. When he walks in, Louis is no where in sight. Mary looks at him as she beats the fresh batter, and stops to motion to the two plates.

"The boy hasn't eaten for two days." She explains. "Bring that to him."

"I don't think that I'm the best option." Harry takes his own plate. Before Mary can respond, Zayn walks in. He's well dressed for the day, and wide awake. He stops to look at Harry before greeting Mary. The chef side-eyes him before motioning to Louis' plate.

"Make sure he eats it. He can't afford to lose anymore weight. At this point, he's thinner than the women in the house." Mary orders, and Zayn grabs Louis' plate as well as his own. "Thank you, Mr. Malik."

"My pleasure." He sends Harry a cold stare, but smiles. "Good morning, Mr. Styles. I hope you slept well."

"I did, thank you." Harry bites a piece of apple so he wouldn't have to keep talking. Zayn seems to take the hint as he chuckles, and leaves.

"That man has known Young Master Louis since they were boys." Mary informs Harry as she pours the batter into a baking bowl. "He's Young Master Louis' first, and only friend. During that time, I worried that Mr. Tomlinson was too isolating and protective of his only heir. When Mr. Malik came along, I didn't have to worry any longer."

"Is that so?" Harry leans against the counter.

"Mr. Styles, I know you and I don't live a life that requires multiple... masks, if you will." Mary opens the oven to place the baking bowl inside. She closes it, wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron, and approaches him as the maids continue to cook. "It's different for those in the higher classes. Some fair well under the pressure and facade, like Mr. Liam Payne, but others... do not."

"Louis handles himself well." Harry mumbles, and puts his plate down. Mary hums.

"That may be true now, but it wasn't always like that. You see, Young Master Louis has little experience with people and the world. For that reason, he has no confidence and is easily shaken by new experiences." Harry's mind wonders to the night he almost violated Louis for his own pleasure, and hopes he isn't blushing. "Someone who can't satisfy their father's expectations constantly faces ridicule within the home, and even more outside. Do you know what that does to one's mental state, to feel constantly trapped and drowning?"

"With all due respect," Harry crosses his arms, "what does this have to do with me?"

Marry pokes his chest. "The boy has a tendency to make distance with things that make him happy. However, Mr. Styles, I have not seen Young Master Louis so free until you started treating him like a normal person."