Sodalite and Aventurine (Larry Stylinson au)

CHAPTER IV

EMERALD

Louis woke slowly and peacefully. There was something warm against his cheek, something almost too hot. It was comforting though, like sun through a window or the flicker of fire on a shore. It was so comforting in fact that Louis made no effort to even lift his head and see what it was, preferring instead to groggily smack his lips and rub a knuckle to the inner corner of his eyes. Gently, he let his hand fall back down and let the warmth consume him entirely again.

It wasn't until something shifted beneath him that he began to stir again, began to let his eyes flutter a mere moment. It felt like ribs, like skin, shifting. Louis licked his lips and blinked his eyes apart.

Harry came into view, blurry and close, and Louis came to the realisation that he must have fallen asleep atop him. He couldn't work out how long it had been but as Harry came more into focus, Louis could see that his eyes were shut too. They had fallen asleep together.

Louis tucked an arm around Harry's waist and quietly pulled himself closer. It was almost silent around them. Louis could hear nothing bar the distant creak of wood and mast, of chatter and laughter. No one knew that he was here like this. No one knew that Louis lay in the arms of a beautiful rival. Harry had fallen asleep with the knowledge that Louis was on him, but he would not know that Louis had woken and drawn himself closer.

It felt like Louis was taking something for himself, stealing something from Harry, as he thumbed the edge of Harry's shirt. It was such a mindless act, but it felt too intimate. Something that only the betrothed would do. Louis considered pulling his hand away, pulling himself away altogether, but in Harry's slumber he allowed himself to stay. If Louis closed his eyes and listened only to the snap of sails in the wind he could pretend he was sailing towards the horizon, a honeymoon on the other side. The warm body next to him would be a husband, someone he were allowed to love in a perfect world. But that was not Louis' world, and he was not allowed to love nor marry the only kind of person he would be happy with. So he didn't try to pretend at all. Instead he allowed himself the only kind of respite that came with living as a sodomite in this life, he felt the comfort and the intimacy and did not think about the future. About what would indefinitely come next. He took his stolen love and held it to his chest for the short moment he was allowed to pretend he had it.

Louis curled closer still to Harry, excuse already on his lips that he'd merely moved that way in his sleep, and drifted away into unconsciousness again.

When Louis woke the third time, it was with a jolt. Like thunder had struck him, a storm in the middle of a sunny afternoon. He wasn't even sure what caused it, but one minute he was asleep and the next he was blinking away the thudding of his chest.

The first thing that caught his eye was Harry. He was still lying underneath him, except now he was giving Louis a curious look. Like he had questions of what mare Louis just endured. Not only that, though, he had a hand curled around the book on his chest and one in Louis' hair.

Harry's fingertips were soft, delicate spindles in the end of his hair, stroking with the same meandering daze as Harry's nap-heavy eyes.

It took Louis too long to realize what that meant.

Harry's hands weren't tied up.

Louis shot back up, hand catching the edge of Harry's shirt as he struck it out. He looked at Harry like he'd just pulled a flintlock on him, shock and confusion and fear streamed through him.