By:@/DirtyLarryStylinson on AO3
Summary:
Harry comes home from the gym one evening, back muscles stiff from his workout. His childhood best friend and flatmate, Louis, agrees to massage them out for him. It goes too far.
Work Text:
One way to sum up Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, was: two 19-year-old university students who were barely getting by on the money they scraped together from their part-time jobs, which was somehow enough to pay rent on their shared flat. Bit of a mouthful, but it was them to a T. Louis was more the thespian himself, studying a Drama and Theatre course, whereas Harry was more into Sports Science; either way, despite their differing academic interests, they had been best mates since they were just four years old.
It was a Wednesday evening, and as usual for this certain evening of this particular day of the week, Louis was left alone to study in the flat while Harry was at the gym. He was sat on his swivel chair in front of his desk, in his bedroom, one foot folded beneath himself and the other planted on the carpeted floor so that he could sway idly from side to side as he read his drama playbook. His clock ticked away on the wall to his left, a rhythmic ticking that managed - despite its rather quiet presence in the room - to jolt his thoughts into a whirlwind of procrastination. No words that he read were really sticking, and they should have been sticking considering these were the lines he was meant to be remembering for the upcoming play (which he happened to be playing a lead role in.)
A few minutes later, he was relieved to hear the front door of the flat open from outside his ajar bedroom, because it meant he had an excuse to shut his book to go and greet Harry, who was arriving back the same time as usual: ten minutes past seven. Louis sprang up from his chair and tapped out of his bedroom, the door creaking into the silent flat, strolling into the open-plan kitchen/living room to find Harry kicking off his trainers and placing his gym bag on the arm of the sofa. His chest was heaving lightly, sweat visible around the underarm and chest areas of the light grey fabric of his t-shirt.
"Hey," He panted, with a casual wave. "Jogged home again, as if an hour and a half in the gym wasn't enough."
"You're crazy." Louis giggled. "You definitely look like you've pushed yourself."
"You don't say." Harry chuckled, pushing his sweaty fringe back and out of his eyes, though it just flopped straight back down in a feathery mess. He rolled his shoulders backwards, hands locking together behind his back, and his face contorted in discomfort. "Oww, shit."
"What have you done now?" Louis chirped, wandering over and scooping Harry's trainers up, placing them neatly by all the other pairs by the front door.
"Done something to my back, I think. Must have been on that stupid rowing machine. I rarely use them, I think the pain in my back now is a reminder why." Harry strained, once again slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. "I'm gonna take a quick shower, maybe some hot water will do it some good."
"Yeah, you're probably right, mate. I guess I should get back to learning my lines, anyway," Louis rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't put it off again - he had been doing that all day. Harry waltzed off into the bathroom, so Louis returned to his bedroom and slumped back down into his chair, scooping his book back up and returning to the page with the folded corner.
He managed to get quite a lot of his lines read and revised, reciting them like a total idiot in his desk mirror, over and over, until he knew his lines from at least four pages of the play. At least that was better than where he was at the start of the day: literally knowing zero. The soft running of the shower had aided his remembrance of the words, somehow, as if it had induced some sort of calming effect. And he would have managed to learn even more, had Harry not come bursting into his room fifteen minutes later, in his pyjamas, bringing a fresh scent in with him.
