@syliune surprised me this morning with the beautiful drawing of Kissy on the right, so I hopped to the chance to draw a Syliune for her (on the left) to match! They’re so cute, I love seeing them together. Kissy needs more cute nelf friends. XD
This was supposed to be a quick one. I don’t know what happened…. My hand slipped I guess. O.o *Shakes fist at Solas*
Daily art submission. Full image and then a close up. This was inspired by @nipuni stunning man bun Solas, one of which can be found here. I also used screenies from @liderfin to help with getting Solas face right ;)
Of course I went ginger with his hair because… I just couldn’t not make him a ginger. I had to do it.
FF# 40: It’s Christmas Eve, Carter Bowen (Step Away)
This is my first attempt at one of these Flash Fic challenges. The prompt was Christmas Eve. I hope I’ve done it right!
Who invited Carter
Bowen to this Christmas party? That was foremost in Oliver Queen’s mind as
he entered Queen Inc.’s lobby and spotted his childhood nemesis on the other
side of the room. It was the first official social event, post-renaming, and
the room sounded like a beehive accompanied by seasonal music.
Rather than making it a stuffy gala affair, Felicity had
suggested something different – a two-hour informal gathering for a last minute
toy drive. Everyone was asked to bring a wrapped gift and afterwards they would
be distributed to the local hospitals in time for Christmas morning. Since the event
would be short, people could get back to their usual traditions. The room was
festooned with white trees and silver garland with pops of red glass balls.
Oliver’s day had been crazy, filled with grocery shopping
for Christmas dinner, last minute wrapping, a workout with Digg and then a
quick stop home to clean up and dress for the occasion. That made him
approximately 30 minutes late – fashionable by some standards, unforgivable by
Felicity’s. She was the CEO now and while she was perfectly comfortable in the
boardroom, she was still unaccustomed to being a hostess. She was counting on Oliver
to step up and deploy his Queen charm to take the rough edges off the social
awkwardness she swore she had, but no one actually noticed.
Why was Carter Bowen
standing so close to Felicity? That was second-most in Oliver’s mind. Why
was he flashing his expensive smile and preening in a Hugo Boss suit, like Hugo
Boss was still alive and he’d sewn it especially for his favorite client,
Carter Bowen? Felicity looked fetching tonight in a green blouse and black
skirt, decorated with snowflakes.
just touch her arm? Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen again. Unfortunately,
the crowd was so dense and people with familiar faces, he knew he wouldn’t make
it across the room in less than ten minutes.
The tinkle of frantic tapping on a champagne flute drew
attention. Felicity, grateful for any distraction from the overly-attentive “TV
doctor,” turned with everyone else. Her eyes lit up and her mouth took on a
There was Oliver, perched atop the Security Desk, holding
his drink and a pen he was using to tap the edge of the glass. He was wearing
it – the penguin sweater she had given him as a Hanukkah gift a few nights earlier.
She laughed so hard when he opened it and held it up to his frame to model it.
She hadn’t expected him to wear it in public, but then it was just like him to
stare danger in the face and wink at it.
He scanned the crowd and finally locked eyes on Felicity. She
bit her bottom lip and he smiled broadly. There was a silent acknowledgement of
his outfit. The bastard looked handsome in everything. The room finally hushed
and he held court. Like Oliver Queen.
“Hey everybody! It’s me.” Oliver projected his voice like he’d
been taking lessons his whole life, because he had and his winning small
already won over the room. “I hope you won’t mind, but this will only take a
minute. First, I know you are all jealous of my sweater, right?” Oliver’s blue
eyes sparkled and the room erupted in laughter at the face of the penguin that decorated
his expansive chest.
“Well, you can’t have it. It was a present from my girl and
I love it.” He grinned at Felicity while faces in the crowd turned, smiling at
her. “Hey, Carter! I see you over there.” Carter Bowen looked at him quizzically.
Oliver waved his hand, indicating he should step away from the blonde. Carter
sighed, now informed, and shifted toward the open bar. Mission accomplished,
Oliver nodded to Felicity with a smirk.
Niall wakes up to find his daughter and his boyfriend sitting at the window watching the first snowfall of the season.
The first thing Niall’s aware of when he comes to is that it’s way, way too early - in fact, it’s way too dark to even be morning yet. The second thing he’s aware of is the hushed voices - not just one, his boyfriend’s, but two - from somewhere across the bedroom behind him.
He rolls onto his back, letting his arm fall to his side as he turns his head to look towards the window. He has to blink a few times to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
The curtains have been pushed open a bit in the middle, just enough to let a little bit of moonlight into the room - it only reaches halfway across the hardwood floor, not quite touching the bed. And tucked between the curtains, silhouetted by the moonlight, Niall sees his four-year-old daughter, Erin, accompanied by his boyfriend. She’s sitting on the bench, her knees tucked beneath her and Harry’s sitting next to her, facing her, with one leg crossed between them and the one closest to the window bent in a way that has allowed her to wrap her little arms around Harry’s leg and rest her chin atop his knee.
Niall’s chest swells with pride and adoration and he’s pretty sure his heart skips several beats. He turns onto his side, tucks one hand under his pillow and uses the other to hold his blanket underneath his chin as he watches the pair whom, in turn, are so busy staring out the window they don’t even notice he’s woken up.
“Look, Hazza,” Erin whispers, her voice full of wonder as she reaches out to press the tip of her finger against the glass window. “Snow.”
Niall can practically hear Harry’s smile from across the room. “Snow, huh? How do you know it’s not rain?”
"B’cause it’s fluffy, silly,” she giggles quietly.
“Oh, silly me - how could I forget?” Harry whispers, playing along.
“‘s so pretty,” she whispers - and Niall can only just see the crooked heart she draws into the fog on the window from their breaths. “Daddy hates snow - but I love it. Like you, Hazza.” She tilts her head sideways to look at him, a toothy grin filling half of her face.
Harry smiles at her, brushing her hair away from her face with his fingers. “I know you do.”
Another wave of pride tugs at his heartstrings. It wasn’t all that long ago that Erin was very reserved around Harry, not knowing exactly what to make of him or if she even liked him. And now, with only a little bit of coaxing on Niall’s end and Harry’s hard work and dedication - also known as his natural charm - the two of them are inseparable. Erin is completely smitten with Harry, just as Harry’s always been with her.
“I want to build a snowman.”
“It’s way too early to build a snowman, munchkin,” Harry says softly. “Your daddy would have my head.”
Erin pouts at him and even from his angle, Niall can see the exact moment that Harry caves.
“Tell ya what, cherub,” he starts, adjusting his legs as he reaches out to pull her into his lap, “I’ll get you up bright and early and I’ll make your favourite pancakes for breakfast and then we’ll spend the rest of the morning making snowmen and snow forts and snow angels - and anything else you want to make. Okay?”
Erin’s eyes are wide and bursting with colour when she looks up at Harry excitedly. It’s almost the exact same look she gets on Christmas morning - especially is it’s snowing. “Promise?”
“Of course,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Maybe we can even talk daddy into joining us. What do you think?”
She shrugs dramatically. “‘s worth a shot,” she whispers.
“That’s my girl.”
Erin smiles tiredly, rubbing her right fist into her eye before burrowing herself against Harry’s chest. She rests her cheek on his shoulder so she can continue to look out the window. “Hazza?” she whispers a moment later.
Niall watches the confusion flicker across Harry’s face as the brunette looks down at the little girl in his arms. A confused frown settles on Niall’s face as well as he waits, with bated breath.
“For what, babe?”
“For making daddy happy,” she murmurs distractedly, like she’s fighting off sleep. “Mommy always made daddy sad but you always make daddy happy.”
Niall’s heart sores, then, like his heart is trying to beat out of his chest.
“Well your daddy makes *me* very happy too,” Harry murmurs - and Niall can hear the lump of tears in his throat. He dips his head, buries his nose in Erin’s fine, dirty blond hair. (Niall can also tell, by the lack of reaction, that Erin has fallen back to sleep.) “You too, cherub. You make me happy too.”
“Haz,” Niall calls out softly, finally finding his voice.
Harry turns his head to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips. “I knew you were awake.”
“Come back to bed. And bring the munchkin with you.”
Harry gets up, then, cradling the four-year-old to his chest with one arm as he closes the curtains with the other. He makes his way across the room - Niall’s gaze following him all the way around to the other side of the bed.
Niall reaches out to take her and lay her down carefully in the middle of the bed under the covers so that Harry can crawl in beside both of them. He brushes the bangs out Erin’s face with the tips of fingers before reaching out to tangle them on Harry’s hand as the brunette settles, facing him. “How long did she have you up for?”
“She only came in about half an hour ago,” he whispers. “Said we had to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake you up.”
“You’re so great with her.”
Harry shrugs. “She’s a great kid. You’ve got a great kid, Ni.”
Niall shakes his head ever-so-slightly, stoking his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “We - we have a great kid.”
Harry’s not quite sure who’s more excited for Christmas morning: his husband Niall or their six-year-old twins.
Harry’s groggy when he wakes up to a face full of the pillow his husband throws at him. He groans, grabbing it off his head before tossing it back across the room, not caring where it lands, and rolling onto his side to face the man standing across the room. Niall’s already dressed, clad in a pair of black skinny jeans and his brand new elf’s sweater. He watches Niall fluff out his hair in the long mirror above the dresser, pouts when he catches Niall’s gaze. “That wasn’t very nice,” he mutters, his voice rough from sleep.
Niall smirks as he crossed the room. He crawls on top of Harry, over top of the covers, as Harry rolls onto his back and props himself up with his hands on Harry’s chest. “Sorry,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips against the tip of Harry’s nose. “I just can’t believe you’re still not up yet.”
“It’s 7:30 in the morning,” Harry groans.
“It’s Christmas morning is what it is.”
Harry smirks, gazing up at Niall fondly as he glides his hands up and down Niall’s thighs. “I can tell.”
The blond tilts his head curiously. “How?”
“You mean besides the fact what we were up late putting gifts under the tree instead of fucking-”
“Making love-” Niall interjects.
Harry smiles up at him; he loves when Niall corrects him - because there was a time when Niall never would have admitted it was anything more than just fucking. “You turn into a bit of an excited child on Christmas morning,” he explains finally.
Niall’s jaw drops and he pretends to look offended.
Then, suddenly, the sound of hushed voices and the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet slapping against hardwood floor echo in the hallway outside the bedroom door. Niall, despite his silent protest, flops onto the bed next to his husband, struggles with the blanket - much to Harry’s amusement - to get underneath it and slaps at Harry’s chest gently. “Pretend you’re asleep,” he whispers, pushing on Harry’s shoulder to roll him over on to his side.
“What? Why?” Harry whispers back, confused.
“So they think we’re asleep.”
“I realize that, but why?”
“Because it’s more fun for them if they think we’re asleep,” Niall replies softly, wrapping one arm around Harry’s waist.
Harry smirks, hugging Niall’s arm to his chest. “More fun for them or for you?”
“Shhh!” Niall hisses, burying his face into the back of Harry’s neck.
The door opens a moment later, just as Harry closes his eyes. He hears it creak open, hears two sets of feet tip-toe across the floor.
“Shh, not so loud, Parker,” Annabelle whispers.
“Why? We’re waking ‘em up anyway,” Parker whispers back.
“But not yet.”
They shuffle towards the bed, then, and Harry can feel the bed dip in two places where they climb slowly and carefully on to the mattress. Niall has yet to move, so Harry keeps his eyes closed and struggles to keep his breathing even. And then it happens: Annabelle starts screaming at the top of her lungs, “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” at the same time that Parker starts chanting, “It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, it’s Christmas!”
In one fluid motion Niall comes to life, grabs Annabelle mid-jump off the bed, pulls her down against his chest and tickles her ribs gently. She erupts into a fit of giggles, squealing and kicking her feet happily.
Parker, meanwhile, drops himself on top of Harry’s chest and Harry lets out a breath as he wraps his arms around his son, pulling him in snug and tight.
“Santa was here, daddy!” Annabelle exclaims once things have settled down and both six year olds are cuddled in the middle of the bed.
“He was, was he?” Niall asks.
“He was, daddy,” Parker agrees enthusiastically. “We went to check.”
Well then we better get downstairs, yeah,“ Niall says, sitting up.
Both twins scramble out of the bed and land on the floor with soft thuds.
Harry sits up as well, the blankets pooling around his waist. "Hey,” he calls out as Parker and Annabelle make a run for the door. “You can go through your stockings while your father and I get ready but it’s breakfast before presents, just like every year. Okay?”
“Yes, dad,” Parker calls back as they disappear into the hallway, their little feet carrying them all the way downstairs.
Niall jumps out of bed next and makes a beeline for Harry’s side of the dresser. Harry sits back, rests his shoulders against the headboard and watches his husband pull article after article of clothing out of the drawers before tossing them backwards. It’s not that Harry isn’t excited, he just really likes how excited Niall gets.
“C'mon, Haz, get dressed,” Niall says hurriedly as he pushes his sleeves up to his elbow.
“Hey,” Harry says softly, pushing himself to his feet and reaching out to grab Niall’s wrist as the blond goes to walk past him. He pulls his husband towards him so they’re chest-to-chest, his arm curled delicately around Niall’s slim waist, fingers rubbing gently at the small of his back. “Hi.”
Niall grins, leaning up on the tips of his toes to press his lips against Harry’s. “Hi,” he breathes.
“Happy Christmas,” Harry whispers.
Niall opens his mouth to reply when Annabelle’s high-pitched yelling voice carries up the stairs from the living room:
“DADDIES! Hurry up, please!”
The blond snorts, dropping his head to rest his forehead against against Harry’s shoulder. “At least she’s polite.”
“Go,” Harry laughs. “I’ll be down shortly.” He drops his arm and turns around, then, only for Niall catch his hand. He looks back at him and is met, once more, by Niall’s lips.
Nine-year-old Annabelle sees her daddy kissing Santa Claus.
She’s sitting at the top of the stairs, watching through the iron bars of the railing, as Santa Claus - otherwise known as her father, Harry Styles - sets gift upon gift under the Christmas Tree off to the side of the fireplace. His suit is still a bit loose, despite the pillow he’s got stuffed up his red jacket, and his baggy pants keep falling down so he has to pull them up after every time he bends over.
It isn’t the first time Annabelle’s peeked through the railing on Christmas Eve. In fact, when she was four years old she’d made it all the way downstairs before both of her parents caught her; she’d cried because they were putting presents under the tree instead of Santa and daddy had told her they were only helping rearrange them and that Santa had already come and gone. The following year she’d sat on the stairs and watched Santa, himself, put the gifts under the tree.
It was only last year, when she was eight, that she found out that what the kids at school were saying was true: Santa Claus isn’t real. And she’d found this out because the man in the red suit and her daddy had started to wrestle one another, poking and prodding each other until daddy had snatched Santa’s hat and wig to reveal her dad, Harry.
Annabelle smiles fondly, her legs tucked up under her chin, as daddy saunters into the living room, a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. His blond hair is a bit of a mess, like it always is, and his cheeks are still a bit flushed from the cocoa they’d made earlier.
She watches, quietly, as Niall sits back on the couch and sets the plate of cookies on his lap.
“You know what I can’t figure out?” Niall asks out loud.
Harry hums from where he’s knelt in front of the tree, rearranging the gifts he’s already placed on the floor.
“How cookies and milk taste so much better on Christmas Eve.”
Santa snorts, craning his neck to look back at Niall. “You know what I can’t figure out?”
"Wha-?” Niall asks through a mouthful of cookie.
“How I’m the one in the Santa suit and you get first dibs on the treats.”
"I have a faster metabolism.”
Harry pretends to look offended. “Are you calling me fat?”
Niall smirks back. “If the pillow fits.”
Annabelle watches, burying her chin against one knee as though to hide her smile - despite the fact that nobody can see her - as Harry sticks his tongue out at Niall and then turns his attention back to the wrapped boxes tucked neatly under the trees. She loves it when her dads get like this, all goofy and playful, bantering back and forth. And she loves it even more that they do it in private as well as public.
“Haz,” Niall says softly, leaning forward to place the plate on the coffee. There are only two cookies left. “Harry, they’re fine, babe. C’mere.”
“Just - it looks lopsided,” Harry mutters absentmindedly.
“I highly doubt the kids will care if it’s ‘lopsided’, Harry. Now come here please.”
She watches her dad push himself off the floor and walk over to stand next to her daddy by the sofa. He pulls off his red and white Santa hat, the white wig and the matching beard and tosses them all on the table before dropping down on the cushion next to Niall.
Niall stretches his arm across the back of the couch, then, and Harry immediately leans against his shoulder. “So…when do you think you’ll stop wearing this silly suit just to put presents under the tree?”
Harry shrugs. “When the kids stop believing in Santa Claus, I guess.”
"I’m pretty sure they’re catching on, Haz. If they haven’t already.”
“No they haven’t, Niall” Harry says, perhaps a little bit too quickly.
Niall snorts, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say,” he murmurs, carding his fingers through Harry’s long, brown curls. “Santa.”
Harry grins, craning his neck to look up at him. He presses a kiss to the underside of Niall’s chin.
Niall, then, looks down at Harry and kisses him properly.
And that, Annabelle knows, is her cue to leave. She climbs to her feet, using the railing to pull herself up, and tip-toes past her bedroom into her brother’s room. It’s dark, and she trips on the rug in front of Parker’s bed. “Parker,” she whispers, shaking his shoulders gently. “Park, wake up.”
Her twin groans and rolls over away from her.
“Parker,” she hisses, climbing over him to lie down in the spot between his body and the wall.
“What?” he moans.
“I just saw daddy kissing Santa Claus again,” she giggles.
“Oh c’mon, it’s funny,” she insists, burrowing herself underneath his Spider-Man covers. “‘s like the song.“
Parker hums his acceptance tiredly. “When are we gonna tell them we know Santa isn’t real?”
“Never?” Parker snorts, cracking one eye open to eye Annabelle.
Annabelle shrugs. “Dad just has so much *fun* with it. I don’t wanna break his heart,” she murmurs.
She can practically hear Parker roll his eyes. “You and dad are like peas in a pod,” he teases.
Five-year-old Lily can’t sleep because it’s Christmas and she doesn’t know why Santa hasn’t come yet, Niall has an app for that and Harry’s never been happier.
The sound of little feet slapping against the hardwood floor has Harry wide-eyed and panicky, staring across the space between himself and Niall, where they’re sat on either side of the Christmas tree. They’re putting presents under the tree, having decided it was finally late enough - except, evidently, it’s not because there’s a child out of bed.
“Shoot,” Harry curses, struggling to unbury himself from all the wrapped boxes.
Niall snorts. “You’re such a parent.”
“I’ve got it,” Niall murmurs, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve got it.”
Harry breathes a sigh of relief, smiling up at his boyfriend as the blond jogs up the stairs, and mouths, “Thank you.” He continues to watch, silently, as Niall meets Lily at the top of the stairs, scoops her into his arms and then spins around, all in one fluid motion, so her back is to the staircase as well as the floor below.
The five-year-old in Niall’s arms, non-the-wiser, rubs one hand against a tired eye and clutches the front of his jumper in the other. “Has Santa come yet, Ni?”
“Not yet, Flower,” the blond says softly, brushing her long, messy, brown curls away from her face. “And he won’t if you’re not asleep, remember?”
“But I’ve been asleep for so long,” Lily pouts, staring up at Niall with green eyes identical to her father’s. “How come Santa hasn’t come yet?”
“Well, he has to go to other places first, my love,” he replies easily. “He’s got plenty of time to get here. In fact, we can check up on him right now if you’d like.”
And, oh, Harry hadn’t expected that.
Lily’s eyes widen in excitement, staring up at Niall in awe. “How?”
Niall smiles, reaches one arm around to pull his phone out of his back pocket. “I have a little app on me phone, here,” he says, holding up the device in front of her; he smirks when her eyes follow it. “It lets me track Santa’s sleigh.”
“And don’t forget the reindeer-”
Niall glances over her shoulder, gaze closing with Harry’s for a brief moment in which the brunette nods. He looks back at Lily, presses his forehead gently against hers. “What do you say we get you back in bed and check in on Santa, hmm?”
“‘kay! Where’s daddy?” Lily wonders, staring up at Niall with wide, curious eyes.
“Daddy’s busy at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”
Harry waits for Niall to carry her back into her bedroom to move, placing the last five boxes carefully and strategically under the tree. He stands back, then, to admire his and Niall’s work. He thinks it’s pretty well perfect.
By the time he makes it upstairs and finds himself lingering in his daughter’s bedroom doorway, Niall’s got her all tucked into bed under her Frozen comforter. The blond is sat on the bed beside her, his back pressed up against the headboard - and she’s got her head resting against Niall’s side so she can see the phone he’s got in his lap. They’re a sight to see, Harry thinks; his daughter and his boyfriend.
Lily gasps, pointing at the screen of Niall’s phone. “Santa’s sleigh!” she whispers excitedly.
“And look at where he is,” Niall whispers back, glancing down at Lily, who’s gaze is glued to the phone. He smiles fondly, looks back at his screen. “He’s in Ireland.”
Only then does Lily look up at him, pushing her hair out of her face. “Your country!”
Niall smiles brightly. “Yeah, my home country,” he murmurs. “And do you know what that means, Flower?”
“Santa will be at Theo’s house!”
“Santa will definitely be at Theo’s house, yes,” the blond laughs, reaching out to ruffle her hair gently. “But do you know what else it else means?”
Lily shakes her head, curls bouncing side-to-side.
“It means you better get t’ sleep, ya monkey,” he says, placing his phone on the little bedside table next to him. He leans back, looks at her looking at him. She pouts at him. “No, c'mon, no pouty face,” he coos, reaching out to tickle her gently; she erupts into a fit of giggles. “Santa can’t land his sleigh if you’re not asleep.”
Harry continues to watch, fondly, as Niall climbs off the bed and tucks her back into bed. He watches as Niall pokes her once on the nose, watches Lily poke him back - and then giggle tiredly as Niall blows a raspberry into her cheek. It’s their bedtime routine, Niall had told him shyly one night after Harry had gotten home from work late to find them doing the very same things.
He steps forward, then, just as Niall’s pushing his phone into his back pocket. “What’s going on in here, then?” he scolds playfully. Niall looks back at him and smiles whilst Lily tilts her head and giggles at him.
“We found Santa’s sleigh, daddy,” Lily tells him proudly. “He’s in Irel'nd. He’s so close>, daddy! He’s probably at Niall’s Theo’s house right now.”
“Then you better get to sleep, Lils, don’t ya think?”
“I know, daddy,” Lily insists. “Santa’s sleigh won’t land if ’m awake, right Ni?”
“Right,” Niall replies, brushing his fingers through her hair.
“Right then,” Harry laughs, “off to sleep with you, babe.” He leans down, plants a kiss on her delicate little forehead.
“'kay,” she mutters through a yawn.
“G'night, love,” Harry whispers, stroking her cheek gently. “See you in the morning, yeah?”
“Even Niall? You’ll be here too, right Niall?”
Niall glances at Harry, who smiles, and then smiles down at the five-year-old girl, who’s already half asleep. “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning, Flower.”
“Good,” Lily whispers tiredly. “I like it when he’s here in the morning, daddy.”
“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, slipping one hand into Niall’s free one - the one that isn’t still brushing through Lily’s hair. He looks from a curious Niall, to a sleepy Lily and then back again and decides he’s literally never been happier. “Me too.”
With the tour over the boys are all on break and Niall and Harry are finally going to get a nice, peaceful holiday. Or, probably not.
Harry wakes up to the softy gentle touches of lips brushing over his skin, trailing from his shoulder, across his collarbones and up his neck. He hums groggily and turns towards the warm body next to him, an arm already curled around his waist.
“Harry,” a voice whispers in the near distance.
He groans, burying his face deep into the crook of a cool, sweetly-scented neck.
“Haz, c'mon babe.”
“Go back to sleep,” he mutters, reaching one hand out to slap it against a mouth.
“Can’t, ’m afraid. C'mon, get up.”
Harry groans loudly, pushing himself onto his back as he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“We have to help your mum finish decorating.”
The giggle that follows, despite the fact that Harry wants to be grumpy, has a smile tugging at his lips. “Yours.”
Harry groans again, opens both eyes slowly for his gaze to land on a - fully clothed - blond-haired Niall, his bright eyes twinkling at him, an adorable smile residing on his beautiful lips. He takes in the grey sweatpants and dark blue jumper, unamused. “Why are you dressed?” he asks, sounding mildly offended.
Niall’s grin gets even wider. “Went downstairs to make a coffee, sat with your mum for a while. Then she sent me back up to get you. So c'mon, you have t’ get out of bed.”
Harry shakes his head stubbornly. “We’re on holiday), Niall. I don’t have to do anything,” he says, pulling his white comforter up to his neck dramatically. And, well, it’s true. He loves his job; loves touring and seeing new places, seeing new faces, meeting new people. He even loves the promo stuff. But he’s needed an actual, real holiday for months now and now, well, they’ve got it. They’ve got a proper two months off between the last week before Christmas Day and the first day of rehearsals for the new tour and, quite frankly, Harry doesn’t feel like doing a damn thing. It’s not going to last, of course, because he always says he’s going to lay low during their time off but that only lasts a few days before he gets bored. So, for now at least, he’d like to enjoy the fact that he isn’t bored of just lying around yet - and, well, he’d like to do that with Niall.
“Haz, you promised her we’d help with the last of the decorations,” Niall reminds him, scooting across the bed to get closer to him.
Harry looks at Niall silently, slips his arm around Niall’s waist and pulls him down, gently, so Niall’s torso collides with Harry’s and their faces are only inches apart. Niall looks back at him, his gaze flickering from Harry’s eyes to his lips and then back again and Harry smiles softly, brushing his other hand through Niall’s soft, flat hair. “And we will; just not yet,” he murmurs, tucking the hand around his waist underneath Niall’s jumper to scratch his short fingernails across the small of Niall’s back. “We’re on holiday, Niall. It’s practically illegal to get up before 10 o'clock.”
Niall giggles, rolling his eyes. He presses his mouth against Harry’s and then pulls back a second later bury his face in the long curls at Harry’s neck. “It’s almost 11,” he whispers.
Harry pauses for a minute before, “It’s 10 o'clock somewhere,” makes its way out of his mouth.
The blond snorts. “That was horrible.”
“Yeah,” the brunette laughs, “that was horrible.”
“Your mum’s gonna come looking for us,” Niall whispers a moment later, his lips brushing lightly against the skin of Harry’s neck.
“I just want a little while longer,” Harry murmurs, drawing circles now into the small of Niall’s back. “I hardly ever get you to myself.”
“What are you talking about? You get me to yourself all the time.”
“Hardly,” Harry scoffs. “When we’re on tour I have to share you with the crew and the band - both of ‘em, actually - and the whole world of fans we have. And when we get a couple days off I have to share you with whoever claims you for the day. Even at night, in the hotels, I have to share you with the studio or with the lads because they’re bored and they like to take you, my significant other, because they don’t have theirs.”
Niall nods. “Fair enough.”
“Even when we have alone time we don’t because someone always has to interrupt us - like, for wardrobe fitting or hair styling or recording or interviews or singing.”
“Tough life,” Niall murmurs softly. “Perhaps we should consider a career change.”
“Not in a million years,” Harry declines without a beat. “It’s just, we don’t - I just-”
“I know, Haz,” Niall whispers, pushing himself up carefully until he’s hovering over Harry, nose-to-nose. “I know. And I know this is our first holiday holiday - together. And we’re gonna make the most of it, yeah? Together.”
“Yeah,” Harry breathes, tilting his head up just-so to press their lips together gently. “A nice, peaceful and relaxing holiday together,” he murmurs against Niall’s lips.
As if on cue, and Harry wouldn’t put it past anyone that it is definitely on cue, there’s a loud, obnoxious knock pounding on his door. It’s then followed by a loud, obnoxious shout of: “GET UP, YA TOSSERS! Or I’m comin’ in!”
Harry groans, grabs the pillow from behind his head and then throws it across the room at the back of the closed door. He’s aware that it does absolutely nothing, but it releases his momentary frustration quite well.
“More like…a nice, peaceful and relaxing holiday together with about a hundred of your closet relatives,” Niall snickers, smirking at the muffled sound of multiple feet stomping down on hardwood on the other side of Harry’s bedroom door.
“That doesn’t even sound like an exaggeration either.”