Chris Andersen is almost unrecognizable without his trademark Mohawk, instead opting for a shaved head. Birdman debuted his new look, which he stated is “less maintenance” last night as the Miami Heat faced off against the Mavs. With his new tresses he had a stellar game, getting hot in the fourth capping it all off with a rare three pointer; so maybe the new look is good luck?
But not to worry Heat fans you’ll still be able to spot him, in the words of Coach Spo ”I think he has quite a few other things that people can still look at.”
Although the Miami Heat organization has been classy despite the departure of LeBron James, someone’s feeling salty! One fan remains upset with the King and the fact that he neglected to thank the city and most importantly the Heat supporters.
In an effort to rain on the homecoming parade, a billboard has been erected in Cleveland that trolls James with the headline: “You’re welcome, LeBron. Love Miami” beside the Heat’s two Championship rings.
Making matters worse is that the text is in comic sans, the same font Dan Gilbert used to pen the letter shaming James when he left the Cavs back in 2010.
It’s their kitchen and their table and everything feels kind of perfect. From Louis’s mussed, feathered hair and too large jumper, to the nips and bites Harry still feels burning a trail along his jaw.
It’s wind and fog, and the squishing sand beneath them. It’s that walk in the cold, with the endless road before them. It’s summer nights and the trees, with buzzing lights around them. And it’s Harry. It’s always Harry.
Louis watches Harry’s body in rapt fascination, cataloging everything; the thin sheen of sweat that coats his upper lip, the plump redness of his kiss-swollen lips, the rosiness of his nipples. It’s just – everything’s still new for him. For them. During the show, their hook-ups were confined to crowded showers or dark bedrooms when Harry woke him up in the middle of the night with his mouth wrapped around his cock. Even at their own houses they had to save their private time for the middle of the night. But now, in a nice hotel room by themselves, Louis can finally take Harry in the way he wants.
He didn’t think it was possible, but he’s even lovelier like this, open and shameless as he rolls his body against Louis’.
[the first time harry rides him, louis thinks he’s seen god.]
“You actually ordered those?” Harry squeaks, his voice at least an octave higher than normal. He feels a strange thrill of fear run through him along with a debilitating wave of arousal that has him getting hard right at the table.
“Of course I did,” says Louis derisively, like he’s offended that Harry hadn’t taken him seriously. “Your nipples aren’t a joking matter.”
…or, Louis tries out nipple clamps on Harry for the first time.
Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.
Harry likes to think of the many different ways that he wants Louis to fuck him, all without knowing that Louis can actually hear him. Really, it’s a wonder that he never connected Louis’s sudden embarrassment or need to vacate the room to the increasing clarity and experimentation of his ideas.
It’s probably because thoughts are supposed to, y’know, be private.
Louis is a low level telepath and Harry has an over-zealous mind (maybe his thoughts aren’t really as secret as he thought thoughts were).
They’ve been cooped up in the tour bus for weeks now, only managing quick handjobs late at night when everyone else is asleep — huffing hot breaths into each others’ necks, choking off moans and trying to stay quiet. But now they have time to do it right. And Louis plans on making this last.
He’s had the ring for months now. It’s actually unbelievable that he hasn’t asked Louis yet, because the question pops into his head at least three times a day. Just last night, he’d arrived home to a sleepy Louis in bed, who’d mumbled, “fuck you you fucking wanker” after he’d made too much noise in the bathroom, and Harry’s first thought had been, Marry me.
(Or, the one where Harry’s going to propose to Louis. He really is.)
Nothing could comfort Louis now, though, not with his baby - his last baby, his little girl - going off to university. He feels hopelessly old and nostalgic and terrified for her. But he knows he has to let her go. She’s already the posh girl with the billion-pound trust fund and two famous dads, she doesn’t need to be the girl who had to call campus security to drag her crying parents away from her door. (At least that’s what Sammy, their eldest, said when he texted them pre-emptively this morning. ‘don’t embarrass her!!! she’ll be fine!!! she’ll be more popular and rich than all of us!!! stop panicking!!!’)
Or, the canon fic where Harry and Louis’ youngest kid goes off to uni and they so totally don’t have Empty Nest Syndrome.
Male pregnancy is supposed to, like, not be a thing. It’s a universal truth. Men don’t get pregnant. But there he is, at the doctor’s office with a troubling ultrasound and a nervous boyfriend clutching his hand.
or, the one where Harry defies all the laws of nature and gets pregnant.