By: pizzafeels on AO3
Summary:
Louis does not think he's perfect but when Harry sees him wrapped up in his huge sweater he can't believe that this boy does not know how perfect he is. So he tells him...
Work Text:
“I’m thoroughly exhausted” announced Louis as he and Harry entered their flat. He took off his coat and dropped on the ground in a crumpled heap. Harry came in behind him and hung his coat on it’s appropriate hanger, then picked up Louis’s and hung it next his, a routine habit.
“Me too,” said Harry, running a hand through his curls and flopping down onto the white comforter on the bed in their bedroom. “Lou?” he called.
“Yeah?” Louis replied from the kitchen.
“Will you make me some tea?” he asked, throat still a little sore from all the concerts they had been doing mixed with a case of the common cold. He tried to make himself sound pitiful as possible in the hopes that his boyfriend would comply out of sympathy.
“I’m already on it, love” Louis called immediately. He hummed a bit while he waited for the water to boil. Deciding he had a big enough time frame, he padded to the laundry room to change out of his tight jeans and button-up. He pulled off his pants and threw them towards the dirty pile. They landed just outside the basket. Louis decided it was good enough. He searched through the piles of his clean laundry that he had been putting off putting away. Nothing seemed to quite match his I’m so drained right now I just want to curl up in a ball and die sort of mood.
Then one of Harry’s cardigans hanging in the corner caught his eye. Louis pulled off his shirt and slipped into the knitted comfort of Harry’s sweater. It was dark greenish-grey and had big buttons down the front. He liked this sweater particularly because it offset the green of Harry’s eyes. The cardi hung loosely on his frame, skimming mid-thigh and hung low enough to see the words scrawled across his chest. It’s chunky fabric made Louis happy enough that he decided against pants and left the laundry room with only the sweater and his boxer briefs (not that you could see them).
He made the tea (two sugars for Harry and three seconds of honey for Lou) and brought the cups into their bedroom. Harry lay sprawled on the comforter, long limbs stretched across the white cotton. He had removed his brown boots that Louis resented but hadn’t gotten to his black skinnies and flannel shirt.
“Get up, you lazy bum” Louis huffed, nudging the mattress with his knee. “This tea is hot.”
Harry rubbed his eyes and sat up. When he looked at Louis his mouth hung open a little and he blinked slowly, taking in the god standing before him. Harry stared at Louis, who set the teacups down and put his hands on his hips. The bulky material that gathered around Lou’s hands made his little waist look even more prominent than normal. Harry bit his lip.
“What?” Louis demanded. Harry only continued to look him up and down.
“You are utterly perfect” Harry mumbled, still ogling. Louis shook his head a little bit and looked down at his feet. He was not perfect. Far from it actually. He was certainly not feeling anywhere near attractive today.
“ M’ not perfect” Louis mumbled, curling his toes in the carpet. He knew he wasn’t. He just wasn’t.
Harry stood abruptly, a few inches taller than Louis. “Christ, yes you are.” He said (and he really did mean it. Was Louis trying to kill him?).
“I’m really no-” Louis tried to argue but Harry had wrapped his arms around Louis’s waist and pulled him onto their bed, rolling until Harry was on top, pinning Louis down. Louis squirmed under his body but it was no use (it was all a show though, Louis lived for these moments).
“Louis William Tomlinson, you are the definition of perfect” Harry staid sternly, green eyes searching blue, “and I’m going to tell you exactly why.”
“One,” he began “you look criminally adorable in my sweaters.” He rubbed the material between his fingers, a devilish glint in his eye. “But,” he unbuttoned each big button slowly until Louis’s chest was exposed to him, “You look criminally sexy without them too.”
“Two,” he placed kitten kisses along Louis’s collarbones, not neglecting the purple bruises that peppered the tanned skin there, “because these bones, this neck,” he traced the words inked there with his tongue, “this tattoo...They belong to me.”
Harry began another love bite where Lou’s jawline met his neck. Lou shivered ever so slightly. Harry smirked. He dove back in and Lou tried his best to keep his composure but failed miserably, a tremble of pleasure arching through his spine. “Three,” Harry chuckled darkly, “is when you do that.”
Harry leaned down to kiss his boyfriend and Louis eagerly caught his lips, holding one captive with his teeth to watch it snap back. “Four” Harry sighed before attaching his lips to Louis’s again. His hands curled around Lou’s sides just under his shoulder blades and he dragged them down, caressing the hourglass shape that was Louis’s torso.
“These,” he said repeating the motion and settling his hands on Lou’s perfect hips, “your curves are perfect. That’s five.”
Louis couldn't contain himself any longer and pressed hurried kisses onto Harry’s lips, suppressing a grin from breaking out of him like a ray of frickin sunshine. He pulled his arms out of the cardigan and managed to pull off Harry’s shirt all without detaching their lips. Harry moved down Louis’s chest and spread kisses all over Lou’s stomach, nipping at his hipbones. “Six.” He breathed “Your tummy.”
Harry returned to Lou’s lips but before he could get in a kiss, Lou used all his strength ( this had taken him a bit of practice) to flip them over. He straddled Harry and sat on his stomach.
“It’s my turn,” Lou stated with a smirk. Harry wrapped his huge hands around Louis’s thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the skin there.
“Seven. I rather like these too,” Harry began. Lou snatched them away.
“No interrupting, Haz,” he commanded. (Harry wanted to say “Eight. When you’re bossy” but he held his tongue.) Lou took Harry’s large hands in his and kissed each of his palms.
“One, these hands and everything they've done for me, for picking me up when I fall, to patting me on the back when I succeed. Also, for everything they've done to me,” he added with a wink. Harry’s breath hitched a little in his throat and he forced himself to calm down. (Nine. Jeez, that effing wink.)
Louis ran his hands through the mop of curls on top of Harry’s head. “Two, these incredible curls.”
“Three, all your tattoos.” Louis kissed every single one of them. He kissed the birds, the words, the nails, the coat hanger, the ship, their matching tattoos and finally stopped, hovering over the might as well.
“Four,” he breathed before kissing the words inked into Harry’s hip. Harry tensed up, his hips bucking up to meet Louis’s mouth. Louis smirked because he knew it would happen. “That.”
“Five,” Louis said, running his hands down Harry’s thighs (Harry bit his lip and focused on breathing), “I rather like these.”
Louis rolled over and curled up against Harry. Harry rolled onto his side and draped an arm over Lou’s waist ( goodness, those curves). He loved the way that Louis fit into him. Louis loved the way Harry wrapped around him.
“Six,” Lou snuggled deeper into his boyfriend’s embrace. He felt the rise and fall of Harry’s chest, and his exhales on the back of his neck. Harry placed a kiss into Lou’s messy hair. “You make a pretty damn good big spoon, Curly.”
“And you’re my perfect little spoon, Boobear” Harry murmured into a grinning Louis’s ear.
