; adjective; showing, feeling, or relating to sexual desire.

"Tell me want you want, Lou. I can't help you if I don't know what you want."

The smirk on Harry's plump, pink lips suggest that his intentions for the rest of the evening plan to go as they've been all day and Louis doesn't think he could take another second of his teasing. His lips were red and wet from how much he'd been biting them and his eyelashes were clumped together with frustrated tears. His panties were damp with precum as Harry's thumb stroked the underside of his cock gently and slowly, his touch barely there.

And Louis wanted to tell him, wanted to beg for Daddy's mouth and Daddy's fingers and, "Pretty please, Daddy? Wanna mess my panties for you," but Harry. Harry with his sinfully long fingers and sinfully long hair and sinfully dominant voice told Louis he had to be quiet. In the room over laid Zayn and Liam, doing who knows what (Probably watching one of the Avengers movies). All it took was an unusually loud noise for them to come rushing out of their bedroom and into the living room.

In the living room, they'd find Louis in Harry's lap, wrapped in a fluffy white blanket with flushed cheeks and wet eyes. It didn't take an expert to notice the way Harry's hand disappeared under the blanket and the way Louis was letting out soft pants of hot breath to put two and two together.

At least, that's what Harry told him to keep him quiet.

They'd been enjoying a nice evening watching one of the recent Disney movies, Teddy, a bear stuffy, in Louis' lap, Louis in Harry's lap, and Harry on the couch. It was one rare night that Harry didn't have to work or hang out with Niall, Zayn and Liam decided to go to bed early, and Louis could slip into his headspace easily.

He was sucking on his two fingers when he first felt the soft lips against the back of his neck. Harry had been doing this all night when he had the chance: Resting his hand dangerously low on Louis' back, pressing up against his ass when he reached into the cabinets, kissing him on places other then his lips. Whatever game he was playing at, Louis did not appreciate it one bit.

And maybe if Louis shifts down and to the right a little more, he can get the perfect angle to begin to cant his hips up against Harry's hand. Two can play at this game and Louis decides he's the one that wants to win. And by win, he means cum. And by cums, he means cum, get cleaned, and cuddle. He would also deeply appreciate it if Harry restarted the movie.

He grinds his hips up once, twice, three times before there's a hand wrapped around his hip and a frustrated whine falling from his open mouth. The fingers dig into his skin through the cotton of his onesie, one of Harry's fingers pressing the metal zipper into the soft skin of his tummy. He glances down at the wet spot on his pretty panties, Teddy laying face-down on the floor between Harry's feet ("He's too innocent for something this naughty," Louis whispered as he bent down to place the bear on the floor before letting Harry continue the assault on his neck).

And Louis couldn't, just couldn't, process what happened next without a clear head. The way Harry sneaks his hand down into the front of his panties and when did the human touch begin to feel this gosh dang good? The contrast of Harry's rings and warm fingers against the burning flesh of his needy cock drove him crazy. And then Harry's hand is guiding his hips into a slow pace, rocking up and up andupandupand as his lips lead a slick trail to the base of Louis' flushed neck.

And all Louis can think about is Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry--

"Louis, get up, mate. Hurry, I think Zayn's gone mad."

And this Harry sounds a bit different. Harry doesn't have an Irish accent, Louis remembers his English drawl. And his voice used to be deeper.

Louis rubs his eyes open with a closed fist, a pillow tucked between his legs. His curtains are wide open but instead of light, dark floods his room. The hall light illuminates Harry's face, but it's not Harry at all. It's Niall. And Louis feels it again, the stone in his chest that makes him want to cry, want to shout, want to beg for Harry to come back.

But instead of doing just that, Louis just groans (half in exhaustion, half in relief as the soft pillow presses into his hard cock) and pulls the blanket back over his head. He half-hopes Niall will disappear and turn into Harry, but Harry wasn't very nice the last time Louis conversed with him and he'd hate to go through that again.

He's also still in his headspace, which isn't a problem unless Niall doesn't leave him to fall asleep and, hopefully, continue his dream.

But this world is a cruel one.

"Louis, please. I don't know what to do. He's crying and shouting and--" Niall is cut off by the sound off a loud thump and curses before storming out of Louis' room in a fit of stumbles and "Zayn, put that down!"

When Louis is soft, dressed in a pair of cartoon pajamas and slippers, with clean teeth and his glasses on, he stumbles into what used to be the living room, his head still fuzzy.

There are white sheets everywhere; over the television, covering the coffee table, hiding the couch (where Dream Louis and Dream Harry were just doing the dirty). Even the carpet had off-white and paint-splattered sheets protecting it. It reminds Louis of Zayn's bland, white bedroom that he refuses to allow Louis to paint. But the sight before him assures that Zayn is fully capable of painting his room for himself.

Their living room should be renamed to the Liam Room. Zayn's Liam Payne, to be exact. Located in every corner, every nook and cranny, is painting after painting of warm brown eyes, tall, puppy-resembling Liam. His abs are by the covered tv, his tattooed arms by the couch, his eyes blocking the way to the kitchen, and his face everywhere. Louis never thought something painted so many times in the most perfect way could be so beautiful with each glance. It was like he was seeing a different Liam. Painted, emotional, raw Liam looked nothing like the real Liam. But which one was the real Liam?

Coughing after subconsciously inhaling way too much cigarette smoke, Louis snaps out of his awe turns the corner, walking into the kitchen while plugging his nose. That's where he finds him. With shaky hands, eyes red-rimmed and frantically darting across the room, clothing painted and worn in the homiest way possible, there is Zayn sitting on the kitchen floor across from Niall. He's sucking on a cigarette desperately, a circle of ash dusted around his curled up figure. Apparently, it does the job it was meant to do because Niall doesn't look like he'd attempt poking a stick within the circle.

Older, mature Louis probably would've called Liam and convinced him to come over, walked over there and took the cancer stick from Zayn, then made him shower and wait for Liam. But this is not the new and improved Louis. This is tummy-rub-liking, Harry-lovin', stuffie-addicted Louis.

So, this Louis crosses the kitchen, his slippers softly padding against the uncovered hardwood floors as he makes his way towards Zayn. Niall watches him with protective eyes, a discolored splotch on his cheek turning dark red. With dainty fingers, he steals the cigarette from the shaky boy, his body tense but his mind spaced out. It's thrown into the sink and soon Louis is climbing into Zayn's lap with a soft sigh, taking his paint covered hands into his own tiny ones.

"You really do love him, don't you Zaynie?"

This had happened once before. An aunt of Zayn's had passed away and after three days of crying, not eating, and shutting everyone out, Louis had found him passed out on the living room floor with a paintbrush clutched in his hand and replicas of his aunt everywhere. Sometimes the amount of love that Zayn has for some people becomes so much that his cup spills over and splashes paint all over canvas after canvas.

To be painted like this by Zayn meant you were special, so very special.

"I do," he whispers, so soft and rough, as if he had to pull the words from his throat by force. Louis drags a hand across his bloodied knuckles and kisses them softly, Niall shuffling behind him. Soon, the three of them are mushed up, Louis moving to sit between the both of them, still rubbing Zayn's knuckles.

Niall is the first to break the silence that has grown around them. Louis is half asleep with his head on Zayn's shoulder, snoring quietly as his glasses slip down his nose, "You know you've to show these to him, right mate? They're so sick. Liam would love to see them."

"You really think so? I feel very much like a stalker."

Zayn shifts so he's looking at Niall, eyes so wide and dark and even though they're bloodshot and wild, Niall can see, nearly feel, the overwhelming love the dark-haired boy has for Liam. Despite Niall only being apart of their little friendly cult for a few months, he knows the two of them were meant to be. They're split-aparts, drifting across the country waiting to find each other.

"You could be a panty-stealing, toothbrush-licking, ski mask-wearing stalker and Liam would still welcome you into his life with open arms... And legs. You guys were so meant for each other, sculpted and shaped to fit each other perfectly. There shouldn't be any part of you that doubts that, just look at what you've painted. You can't tell me the raw emotion you portrayed in his eyes is fake. You can't fake something that real.

"So, you need to get your ass showered and dressed so you can catch a few hours of sleep before the party anxiety begins to set in. You know how Liam gets."

Niall grins, standing up off the floor before reaching a hand down towards Zayn to offer him help up. His face falls as he sees the bruise blooming on his cheek, knowing he did that in his craze of love and devotion but accepts the hand. They're patting each other on the back in a brotherly manner apologetically as Louis slides down the wall, unbeknownst to them. It's not until Zayn's mid-sentence apologizing to Niall when he hears the crash, the sound of plastic clashing against the floor.

"Shit."

And that's how Louis finds himself attending the anniversary party, dressed to impress with hot pink band-aids stuck along his hairline.

"Again, Louis. I am truly sorry for the whole 'letting you fall on your face' situation. Madly, truly, deeply--"

"Okay, Niall. You can have my last shrimp. Geez! You just ate a full plate, how are you still hungry?"

But it's a waste of breath because Niall snatches the shrimp off his plate before he can finish agreeing and launches into shoving it into his mouth. Louis has no idea how he's managed to keep his suit so clean throughout the evening with the several different food assortments Liam had ordered from the caterers.

The party was being held in a large reception area at a fancy hotel thirty minutes out of town. Louis had been with Zayn to look at it when it was bare and empty, but it looked foreign decorated with fairy lights, a mini stage and a live band for later, and the smiling faces of all of their friends and family.

Liam's aunts pinched his cheeks and Zayn's sisters messed up his hair time and time again. It was nice to see them, all of them, again after all this time but they weren't really who Louis was looking for.

Ever since the dream starring Him, Louis hasn't felt the same as he did before. He sang as he shaved in the shower, he put on a flowery perfume, slipped on a pair of lace panties under his dress pants (He says it's so he doesn't have a boxer-brief line, but it doesn't take an expert to realize the real reason he wore them), and he styled his hair a little different. A slight quiff that Zayn's sisters had knocked down like a stack of Jenga blocks.

He really should be focusing on Liam and Zayn as they flit around the room, introducing themselves as LiamandZayn, ZaynandLiam. They have yet to sit down and take a break from talking to so many people, but Louis and Niall had their seats saved at the table in the front and center of the stage. From here, Louis could practically see the hairs up the older guy's nose as he tapped on the mic, adjusting it just a bit. Liam had planned drunken karaoke for an hour from now. However, from the amount of bouncing laughter and glassy eyes Louis can see and hear, they might as well start it now.

Maybe he could make that his excuse for grabbing a drink. He can see himself explaining to Liam now, "Just so I can follow by the rules, Liam." He would sing tons of Christmas songs in the spirit of the upcoming holiday, and he'd probably have hiccups by the time he comes off the stage. Zayn will try to wrestle the next drink out of his hand, but after seeing the utter happiness and enjoyment in his eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, he'll let him drink it. Then Louis will continue to get drunk off his bum, seeing words and tasting colors.

Maybe he will go for that drink.

Blue eyes snap over to the serving table, breaking him out of his thoughts immediately as he watches Niall shouting at someone with two plates held in his hands. It looks like an aunt of Liam's, from where he is, and he can only imagine it's either over shrimp, lasagna (Louis has to admit that the dish is worth fighting for), or the mixed fruit cups.

Just when it looks like Niall, cheeks red and puffed, is going to explode, a chair scraping across the ground grabs his attention. Little Louis would push his hands over his ears but Big Louis just lets them twitch in his lap.

Both Louis' are stunned by the figure in front of them.

"Is, uh... Is this seat taken?"

No, no, nonononono. The smaller boy of the two jumps out of his seat so fast, you'd think it was on fire. His short legs carry him as fast as they can to the dinner table where he proceeds to grab and chug two glasses of champagne, the third one just sitting in his hand shaking back and forth.

He takes the seat anyway, looking entirely too cool in his sunglasses and suit. His hair is braided back in two fishtails, keeping it out of his dazzling face. The glasses do no justice to hiding the deep dimples in his cheeks that even Louis can see from across the room.

His suit is a cream color, or an off-white, and has grey flowers and vines decorating it all over. The blazer is unbuttoned to reveal a black button up shirt, all the buttons done up to the neck for once.

Harry Styles is officially the only straight man to ever rock a suit so feminine and look so straight but desirable to all of the sexes.

Harry Styles has also officially given Louis a semi in his pants.

Sipping on the third glass of champagne, feeling nothing short of a panic attack, Louis shuffles back over to the table with a thousand and one thoughts traveling around his brain at the speed of light. He's a little confused by the wearing sunglasses inside deal but he doesn't question it, doesn't question anything. Just sits back in his seat and stares at the little strings hanging from Harry's shirt collar around his neck.

"Niall's over there, if you're looking for him. He's stuffing his face with all the food he can."

"I know."

And the awkwardness continues as Louis glances up at the black glasses directed his way. Talking to Harry with champagne, anxiety, and adrenaline running through his veins while he's not in his headspace and is not looking directly into his green eyes makes things a little bit easier.

But Louis still feels an urge to climb into Harry's lap and smother him in kisses, not that he ever would. Pssh.

"How have you been?" Harry's bottomless pit voice reaches Louis' ears through all the static and he blushes. But when did Harry begin to care? He doesn't like Louis. He made that clear.

Louis wasn't about to pass up a chance to talk to the man who was going to make him cum on the couch in his dream.

He takes a breath, then two before responding, "Fine. And you?"

He can't look at Harry's lips, so he glances down at his hands but that doesn't help things either. Apparently champagne makes Louis a horny little freak.

"I'm doing well. How is Floyd? Still looking for the scaly love of her life?"

And just like that the tension is broken and they begin to laugh and Louis can see the colors of his and Harry's laughter floating up to the ceiling, blue and green and lovely. And it feels great, it feels amazing to feel this way around Harry after so much time away. He can forgive him. Louis can forgive Harry for everything and more. Harry could've stole his favorite stuffy and ran away with it and Louis would still find a way to forgive him. Harry is pretty, Harry is sincere, Harry is--

"What the hell are you doing here?"

And Harry is so dead if Niall doesn't sit down across from him.

"Niall! Uh, please sit. I'd love to see what you snatched from the table this time."

Niall doesn't budge, not even a smile, "Harry fucking Styles, I will not ask again. Why are you here? Are you here to start shit? Because I swear to whatever you love the most in life--"

"Niall, please. You'll cause a scene. I don't want Zayn and Liam to get mad."

"Get mad at what?" is heard at the same time behind them as, "What the fuck is that fucker doing here?"

Shit.

Harry relaxes back in his seat, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips and Louis doesn't like the look of that, the tensed expression after he had relaxed so easily. He stands up and puts his back to Harry, hands up in front of his chest as a surrender. Zayn looks about ready to tear the brunette apart, as does Niall. Liam looks conflicted whether to hold Zayn or Niall back.

"Guys, please. Harry and I were just talking and--"

"You're talking to this asshole after everything he has done to you? Are you kidding me?" Zayn whisper shouts, keeping his voice low but dangerous. There's a dark chuckle from behind the blue eyed boy but he doesn't dare look behind him. One small glance away could leave them all in the hospital.

"He is being civil and nice and I think he deserves a second ch--"

"Don't you dare, Tomlinson. Do you remember how he made you cry, how he made you feel? You couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Are you really going to forgive him right now?"

He doesn't get a chance to defend himself, eyes wide and watery. He finally wore his contacts and now he was going to cry them out.