“What a waste of that bum.”

Louis studied the card for Jack McQueen, Personal Consultant.

“I fuck old men for a living. Of course I golf.”

“So many questions,” Jack purred, his eyes dancing with light. “Are you sure you work here and are not undercover for The Sun? Sorry, love, I don’t kiss and tell.”

reminder: mum sleeps with the windows open. the woman who birthed you just heard you ask harry to come on your face. sweet dreams :)))

The water was a perfect neon blue-green.

"Fucking finally, Lou. Been dying here.”

“Told you you’d be humping my legs."

“I’m not humping your legs.”

“You can, if you’d like.”

Four hours, one nap, five dips in the water, and one massive sand castle with Maggie later, Louis had grown used to Harry massaging coconutty oil on him each time they dried off.

A black and white photo of long hair Harry looking into the camera in a jacket with a suede or leather collar, with a cream or white body, black shirt, and silver necklace. He’s kind of grimacing at the camera but it’s also hot. Who knows. This man is so complexly beautiful.

Black and white photo of Harry Styles in a leopard print(?) jacket with a black loose tie. His mouth is open and he looks hot somehow.

Jack McQueen is that you?

“Right,” Louis said, sounding strained. “It’s…” His half lidded eyes landed on Jack’s lips. “It’s good...”

“Be good for Daddy,” Jack whispered, placing George in Louis’ arms. He smirked and slowly batted his lashes, their toes touching. “Right, Daddy?”

“Mmm,” Jack tilted his head and approached from another angle, their lips brushing, “pull my hair again.”

“He’s fine, love. When Hazzy and I were beating your mum at Ziall-ympics, he must have accidentally bumped his neck. No worries.”

“Do you want my pretty mouth?” Harry whispered, his consonants fuzzy.

"Perfect ten, baby," Harry laughed, slightly out of breath.

“I’m not cuddly,” Louis scoffed, a laugh hidden in his voice. “I'm simply trying to instill team spirit.”

"This is Sir George Harrison Tomlinson the First, otherwise known as Georgie.”

“I’m Jack. Jack McQueen.”

"Jerking off together probably tired us out, as well."

“I rather enjoy your legs, so it was my pleasure.”

“Your knowledge of useless rubbish has finally paid off,” Louis said, both jogging to the final station.

“You don’t know what you like or you don’t know why you put pants on?”

“Do you think looking at you and sharing a bed with you and fucking smelling you for the past five days has been comfortable? My balls are practically purple, if they’re even still attached to my body.”

“Take me. Take me. Please, please, please,” Louis walked him backwards to the bed, their lips sucking together, “fucking take me, please.”

“Love?” he whispered, rubbing his hand up and down.

“It’s your legs, fucking hell,” he said, sounding in pain. He squeezed Harry’s thighs. “Your legs are turning me on.”

“You should probably go into your phone’s settings and turn off the shutter sound if you want to take photos of people sleeping.”