Strawberry Milk 2

5

Morning starts with dust in his eyes and wet lips decorating his bare thighs. Louis sighs into his pillow, turns his face into the soft plush of it, and inhales the delicious scent of Harry as he smiles bonelessly but oh so happily. He turns his face back out, feels his boy's lips trailing higher and higher, hands kneading his bum, and he lets out a small moan, arching his back as he feels a hot mouth press against the junction between where the rounds of his bum meet the bottom of his thighs.

The early morning sunlight filters through the pink curtains, creating a warm illumination across the soft edges of the cornered room. It's so hazy- content and hazy and that is how Louis feels; mind dazed as he feels thumbs edging his cheeks apart, hot breath grazing his skin, making it horripilate and send shivers right down his spine to Harry's lips. Harry's lips that are pressing teasing kisses to his tight hole, making the muscle flutter, and also making Louis' eyelashes do the same, a high pitched and beautiful giggle falling from his lips for no reason other than that he feels really fucking happy right now. Content, really. If he could choose any moment in time to press pause on, it would be this one. Where it's all soft edges and glazed eyes. Content, perfect.

Neither of them speak. They say everything that needs to be said through subtle brushes of skin, and little sighs; the intentional placing of hands into skin, into sheets, into mangled shudders that are so intangible that they feel them, sinking, sinking, oh god.

It's so gentle, everything. The little touches Harry spreads across him, making his heart swell just as much as his dick. Louis' so in love, he is, and Harry gets him intoxicated like no other. Makes the world fuzzy and light and perfect, especially in these moments. These soft moments in the morning when they just touch and kiss and love each other, so delicious, so gentle, like they've finally slowed the earth's spin simply by existing so close to one another.

Harry's tongue circles his fluttering hole, trailing hot licks between his bum cheeks and up to the bottom of his spine. Louis arches his back, feeling Harry's warm hands trail from his arse to his hips to his waist, palms soft against his incitement skin, kissing higher, higher, higher until he's up to Louis' neck and the tips of his hair tickle Harry's nose. He kisses wetly to his ear, breathes hotly over his neck, his cheek, Louis' head pressed into the pillow, slack-faced with upturned lips.

Harry's hips straddle Louis' arse, and he grinds down, slowly, making Louis rut into the sheets- making him really feel it- and out comes a fluttery moan. Harry bites at his ear, sucking on his lobe gently before releasing it.

"Morning," he whispers, hand on Louis' waist tightening.

Louis hums, "You can continue."

He does, starts to suck wine-coloured blotches into the golden flesh, little nibbles leading back to his ear, biting softly one last time before breathing heavily, "Sorry, gotta head to work," and Louis feels that stupid smirk pressing into his skin, "and you have to wash the holiday clothes."

"Harry," Louis whines, digging his face into his pillow and groaning loudly.

Harry snickers above him, slinging his leg over and getting off of Louis and the bed, "You always say that's your favourite way to wake up."

"Yeah," Louis drags out into the pillow, "when it leads to us getting off."

"I did get off," Harry laughs, raising his eyebrows, "you're the one still just lying there."

Louis turns his head so he can look at Harry, all dressed for the library in his tight jeans and button up shirt, a special addition to the outfit tucked into the front of his pants awkwardly, and god, does Louis wish he could take care of that. He squints up at Harry, pouty lips and all, "Get out of here and take that awful cheek with you."