You Take Me Over, You're the Magic in My Veins

chapter 7

Breakfast the following morning is an exercise in self-control. Louis arrives before Harry, and he sits hunched over his tea and stares at the door, willing it to open and reveal Harry's pretty, smiling face.

He's only been down there long enough for his tea to cool and the sun filtering in through the windows to warm the tips of his fingers, but it feels an age before Harry finally appears, sleep-ruffled and lovely. His eyelids are still heavy and there is a crease on his cheek from his pillow, but his smile stretches wide and he makes straight for Louis, never taking his eyes off him as he rounds the table and pulls out his chair. It takes Louis a full minute to be able to tear his eyes off Harry's face and realize that he's wearing the shirt Louis had given him the night before. It looks beautiful on him, just as Louis had suspected. He can't wait to peel it off of him later.

"Good morning," Harry murmurs, leaning in close. He smells of roses and a hint of cinnamon, and Louis has to remind himself that his sisters are in the room to stop himself from closing the distance between them so he can see if Harry tastes as good as he smells. Harry's voice is raspy and thick with the remnants of sleep when he asks, "Did you sleep well?"

"No," Louis grins, dropping his gaze to Harry's mouth. "I slept terribly. Couldn't stop thinking about your mouth."

He watches the bob of Harry's adams apple as he slides his foot up the side of Harry's leg, giggles when Harry snatches up the mug of tea a server has just set in front of him and gulps it down, heedless of how hot it is. Harry drops the cup back on the table, cheeks flushed bright red and pulse fluttering anxiously at the base of his throat.

"I think," Louis hums, wrapping a casual hand around Harry's wrist so that he can feel the way his pulse is thundering against his fingers, "that we will stay in today. I could go for a story, how does that sound?"

"You want me to read to you?" Harry turns his hand so that the tips of his own fingers are resting lightly against Louis' skin. Every point of contact between them feels like an open flame, simmering and snapping and threatening to consume.

"Please," Louis nods. He squeezes Harry's wrist, then lets it go so that servers can set their breakfast plates and fresh cups of tea down. As soon as the servers have retreated, he slips his hand under the table and rests it lightly on Harry's thigh, doesn't move it until his sisters have cleared the room to go to lessons and both of their plates have been cleaned of food.

Given the amount of time they have been spending in the library, Louis has taken to leaving the curtains pulled wide so that they don't have to feel around in the dark every time they walk in. The first thing he does upon entering the room is open all of the windows, ready for the smell of the salty air and to feel the cool breeze rolling off the ocean on his face. Harry has already chosen a book by the time he turns around, Troilus and Criseyde this time is already sprawled out on a divan with his shoes kicked off and a pillow beneath his head. Heat rumbles pleasantly in Louis' belly, but he pushes it back. He slips out of his own shoes as he makes his way over to Harry, acutely aware of Harry's eyes on him as he tracks his path across the room.

Harry shuffles his legs aside as Louis nears, making space for him on the cushion, but Louis ignores the gap, knees up onto the divan, and crawls over Harry until he can drape himself across him and line their bodies up, chest to toe. Harry doesn't breathe for a minute, just stares up at Louis with wide eyes and lips parted until Louis taps a finger to his chin and asks, "Are you trying to catch flies, love?"

Louis grins when Harry's mouth snaps shut, hums when he parts his legs so that Louis can settle between them, hips notched together. Louis likes the feel of Harry beneath him, all long, slender lines and strong thighs, the steady, calming pattern of his breaths. Humming quietly, Louis tucks his face into the curve of Harry's neck and breathes him in while Harry finds the first page of the book. He smells even better this close, sweet and a little bit spicy, like summer and autumn combined. Louis wants to open his mouth, wants to taste his skin, see if he can get Harry to make the same noises he made the previous night. He does want to listen to Harry read, though, knowing that if he starts now, he will not stop. Regretfully, he lifts his head, rests his chin on stacked hands, and waits for Harry to start the story.

Harry's voice curls around the words beautifully, his deep, slow voice a perfect fit for the poetry, the tragedy. Louis closes his eyes and he can see the story in his mind, transported by the gentle rumble of Harry's voice against his chest and the subtle lilts and dips in his tone as he speaks. He doesn't pause until they've finished book three.

"You know," Harry muses, setting the book down on the floor so that he can loop his arms around Louis' shoulders, "stories like these make me pretty grateful for my life. Not that it's without its complications..."

He trails off, slipping his fingers into Louis' hair. The low buzz of arousal that has been simmering just under Louis' skin all morning crackles and fizzes, and he tugs the collar of Harry's shirt aside, ducks his head so that he can press a kiss to the jut of Harry's collar bone. Harry hums appreciatively, arching up against Louis' mouth, so Louis scrapes his teeth along the skin there. He closes his mouth over the curve of bone and sucks hard, reveling in the way Harry gasps and squirms beneath him.

When he pulls back to admire the purpling bruise, Harry's cheeks are flushed a hectic pink, eyes overbright, intent on his face. He looks beautiful, pleased and content and a bit overwhelmed, and Louis hasn't even gotten started with him yet.

"I wish I could paint you like this," Louis murmurs, though he doesn't even know how to paint. He loops one of Harry's curls around his finger and tugs gently. "Just like this, so that I could keep this memory, keep you here forever."

"You could," Harry whispers.

"Could what? Paint you?"

Harry shakes his head, lashes fluttering. His cheeks are still flushed, hair a wild tangle of curls around his face, and his voice is just barely audible when he says, "Keep me here forever."

Louis' heart slams into his throat, threatening to choke him. He has never wanted anything more in his life.

"You need to stop saying things like that," Louis whispers, tucking Harry's hair behind his ear. His hand is trembling. It hurts to breathe.

Harry wraps his hand around Louis' wrist, holds it loosely, just for the added contact. There is a slight frown on his face, a hint of hurt in his voice when he asks, "Why?"

"Because you're going to make me fall in love with you."

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, eyes uncertain, and Louis wants to wipe that look off of his face, never wanting him to feel unsure about Louis' feelings for him again. It's just...

"Harry, I -"

But Harry cuts him off with a rapid shake of his head, hands clutching tightly at his shoulders, and urges, "Kiss me, please."

Louis only hesitates for a fraction of a second before ducking his head and closing his mouth over Harry's. Harry strains up into the kiss immediately, lips parted and breaths already coming out in short pants. Louis tucks his fingers into Harry's hair and scratches lightly at his scalp, delighted when Harry shudders and his legs close around Louis' hips, holding him in place, though there is no need. Louis isn't going anywhere.

The world narrows down to just Harry and Louis, the only noises that of their mouths moving together as they kiss, the whisper of fabric when they move, and the soft huffing noises Harry makes every time Louis shifts against him. Louis can no longer feel the cool ocean breeze, only a subtle prickle of desire, like fire dancing just underneath his skin. He feels powerful everywhere he's touching Harry as if Harry is feeding him energy, as if they are stronger together.