When dinner is over, we move away from the table. Weirdly enough, the only other place to sit is the bed. I'm starting to think Louis might have planned this. Just in case. Maybe he didn't, not if he's making up for distracting me because knowing the bed was here was another distraction. Maybe he did, I can't bring myself to care. Not now, not ever.
"Whoa, this is soft," he says, surprised. "This room is good."
"You mean, you didn't test it out before you brought me here?" I joke.
"No," Louis gasps, sounding as though he's offended by my fake accusation. "I made the room, gave instructions to the house elves and helped sort the food. Because unlike you, Ciaran James, I am a good boy. Most of the time," he adds cheekily, bumping my shoulder.
I laugh, loud and hard, until I feel like my chest might burst, and fall back into the wonderfully soft sheets. I lift up my arms and fold them underneath my head, my darkened gaze on the ceiling. "It's no fun being good all of the time, Louis. It gets dull."
He snickers. "That's why I said most of the time." His second one is softer, quieter. I ask him what he finds funny. "I have many nicknames for you, but apart from the odd times you've called me 'darling' because you hoped you'd get a reaction, you only call me 'Louis'. No nicknames, not even 'Lou', just 'Louis'. It's kind of strange, that's all."
"I like 'Louis', 'Lou' just doesn't sound right when I try to say it," I admit quietly. "I'd rather call you 'Lewis'."
"Please don't," he groans.
"Why do you hate it so much? It's the English version of your name with the same spelling, even though Lucy told me she spells it differently."
I feel the bed dip and Louis' voice is now very close to my ear. Literally. He's lying on his side, that's the only way I can imagine him. His fingers flick the stray strands of hair that cover the tip of my ear, then move along to graze the growing stubble along my cheek. I've been meaning to shave it off for a few days now, but haven't gotten around to it
...There may be an ulterior motive involved, but I won't dwell on that.
"We went to daycare, my cousins and I." I raise an eyebrow, both in surprise and to show interest. I didn't know there'd be an actual story behind it. Louis chuckles, probably at the look on my face, and continues. "It was just a couple of days a week to give my grandparents some space; my Dad said they insisted they were okay to have us all the time, even though there's so many of us. Anyway, it was a daycare in Diagon Alley, privately funded and for children of all ages up until they went to Hogwarts. Some families, with two working parents for example, sent their kids there while they were still babies, but my family let us go when we were three."
I nod along, and then make the mistake of asking how the story has anything to do with the name. He hits me, more like a light tap on my arm really, and tells me he doesn't have to tell me. I shut up. "I didn't go until I was four, I was always ill; chest infections," he elaborates. "On my first day, a new teacher did the register, she didn't know my name and pronounced it wrong. I'd never met many others except my family and a few neighbors and no one had said it wrong before, so I corrected her and I was a little loud about it. Lucy found that hilarious in itself, but my overall reaction even more so. I didn't like it and, being stubborn, I sulked about it. I ran out into the play area and hid in the tunnel, refused to come out. Lucy's teased me about it ever since."
"Ohh," I murmur, finally getting why he hates it so much, but is so willing to give others, especially me, so many nicknames himself. "So, really you don't care about the name, it's just the principle."
"Pretty much," he agrees. "I admit, there's some blame on myself because of my reaction, but she kept it going and now I have to hate it. She needs to stop."
"Are you going to stop calling me 'baby'?" I ask.
He pauses for, like, half a second, then answers. He doesn't understand the sudden subject change. "No, probably not."
"Then she is never going to stop." I nod my head seriously; it's true. I won't let it.
He hits me again, even lighter this time, and the bed dips on both sides when he rolls on top of me, his legs pushed against mine gently. There's a gap between our fronts; Louis is hovering over me, not touching me apart from the light pressure against my thighs. Despite the intimate position, I sense another serious moment. "I'm sorry," he apologizes again. "Not for not telling you until now, because I just wasn't ready, but for the way everything happened; I could have handled it better. It was another bad reaction."
"You can never know what you may have done, so if you apologize again I'll have to hurt you."
Louis' hands go to my wrists, long enough to pull them from beneath my head, and moves up to thread his fingers through mine. He doesn't move any further. He still keeps that annoyingly safe distance from me - is he trying to be safe? I have absolutely no idea - and doesn't speak for a long while. I'd count the minutes, but I'm more focused on the feeling I have; he's watching me, not intently, I don't feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Cautious, maybe, because I don't know what's about to happen. I didn't notice he'd tensed up until he flexes his fingers, relaxing, and his breath closer to my face.
"Problem is I have the overwhelming need to keep people happy so they don't ask me questions, and you've been asking an awful lot of questions lately," he tells me, sounding somewhat serious, but I imagine he's grinning.
"Apologizing won't make me happy," I point out.
"What will?" he asks, genuine curiosity mixing with his teasing tone.
Louis is so close now, it'll only take one small movement upwards to kiss him, even with my hands pinned under his own. So I do. I catch him by surprise, but it only lasts about a second before he moves his mouth to my own - I missed - and a few moments before his kisses are so demanding, rough, that I'm left more than a little breathless. But it doesn't slow us down or even stop us. Not even a little. Louis' hands move from mine to my face, allowing me to sit up and him to sort of slide down my stomach, so he's straddling my legs and not waist, where he'd ended up when he'd moved closer. Moving my hands up his jeans spurs him on, his kisses harder and longer, but getting to his hips, touching skin, makes him pause.
"We don't have to do anything," Louis says, just as breathless as I am. Good.
He means what he says, he'll stop if I say so, but he won't exactly be happy about it. He wants this... I can tell. His body is betraying him and he can't hide that, he's not even trying to. And he knows I want it, too... He can tell.
"Stop and I'll hurt you," I growl, making a similar threat to the one I made when he apologized again.
Louis doesn't answer back, his bruising kiss is answer enough. Shirts come off first and I move my hand up his lightly muscled chest, feeling them tighten beneath my fingers. I break the kiss to trail downwards, leaving them all over. His responding moan is enough for me to continue.
"I love you," he says softly, barely heard. I probably wouldn't have if my hearing weren't so damn good.
I think about saying it back, but it's hard somehow. Nothing is stopping me and he knows I feel the same, otherwise this wouldn't be happening. Maybe I'm just not ready to say it because I'm still new to all of this. Until that day comes, I show him physically. "I wish I could see you," I tell him when we break apart.
Louis puts his hand over my eyes and closes them. I wonder why, contemplating asking him what the difference is. But he answers my unspoken question anyway. "I don't want you to see, I want you to feel."
With great effort, I keep my eyes closed, trying to stay natural rather than look forced, even when he pushes me upwards on the bed. I fall into the silk sheets and soft pillows; they're cold against my skin, but I don't care. There's a pause and movement, and then hesitantly, Louis' hands move over my body and the rest of my clothes are removed. He's back on top of me in an instant and I know he'd moved to undress first. Next he trails kisses down my chest and stomach before coming back up to kiss me properly, his hips pressed against my own. I pull up my legs to keep him in place.
Louis wants me to feel, so I feel. I lose myself in it.
The first thing I notice when I wake is that I'm lying on my back. Of course I would, I never sleep on my back. The second thing I notice is the reason why and I suddenly don't care that my normal habit changed during the night; much like in Paris, Louis is fast asleep, only instead of me moving first, his head is already resting on me. He's on my chest this time, his hair tickles my chin and his hand is over my heart. I wonder if that's a coincidence.
I lift my arm up; it's a little stiff because Louis is sleeping on most of it, but I can move and bend it enough to wrap around his waist. Then I slowly trail my fingers upwards, using the pace to get my arm out from under him without waking him, until I reach the back of his neck. My fingers find their way into his soft, thick hair and I pull him closer without meaning to, not consciously. I think. Louis responds after a few moments, waking up. I almost regret waking him, even if it was unintentional and therefore not my fault, but I love that he returns my hug and that removes any trace of regret from my mind. I leave a chaste kiss on the top of his head, practically in his hair.
"Morning," he says, sounding more awake than he really should. He can't have been awake all this time, his breathing had been too light. Maybe he's just a lot better than me and doesn't need all that long to wake up.
"Morning," I copy, choosing not to think about it. "I enjoyed last night, it was a very nice surprise. Thank you."
"I really wasn't expecting the end, but it was the perfect touch. This room really does know everything," Louis chuckles. One half of my mind, I'm not sure which half yet, my whole brain usually works together in its quest to try to confuse and embarrass me, thinks he's at least partly joking about that.
The room could not have known we'd need the bed...
No. Now he's just making me paranoid... And as crazy as I sound.
"Sure," is all I say, still keeping the laid-back tone of voice I've got going on, which is an extremely unusual tone for me to have first thing in the morning. I'm way too happy to care about time and all-knowing rooms.
I'm also a little sore. I try not to think about that either.
"How are you feeling?"
Damn you, Louis Weasley.
"I'm good, I promise. A little sore, but it's nothing I can't handle. I'll live." I only tell him the truth because we've got that honesty thing still going on. Not because he sounds a little concerned and I have this overwhelming need to make it go away, no matter how small, so he's not sad in any way. Definitely not because... Because I don't. So there.
Okay, so I hate it when he's sad. It makes me sad and I don't like that. A sad Ciaran is an unhelpful Ciaran. Unhelpful Ciaran annoys people, sometimes to the point where they want to hurt him.
"It'll pass," Louis says, no longer sounding as concerned. Because I sent it away with my words and now he's a happy Louis.
I think there's something seriously wrong with me this morning... I sound as cheesy as, well, Louis does when he's messing with Jack's head while occasionally being serious. It's unnatural.
"What are you thinking?" Louis asks, humor clear in his tone. He moves slowly upwards until I know he's hovering over me. I can feel his breath. I turn my head to the right; he knows exactly why and turns it back. "Seriously?"
"I have to be feeling really good to get past morning breath, you know. We're talking epic." I nod seriously, because he knows I'm not fond of that word. "And I was thinking random morning things. We shouldn't take my mind seriously."
"Okay," he tells me in a way that makes me think he's implying he'll get it out of me at some point. Hypocrite.
But I don't tell him that.
There's no conversation between us, only comfortable silence, which is a little odd for me as I know he's still hovering over me, watching me. Feeling a person's eyes on me usually freaks me out, to the point where I can literally run away and embrace solitude in fear of why they might be watching me, but after what everything that's happened between us, including losing my virginity to him last night, I don't think I could ever feel that level of discomfort around him again. Actually, I can't remember ever feeling that way around him before. I'd feel it and have a physical reaction to it, he's noticed that, but I always seemed to ignore it or make a joke when I've realized he was staring at me. The first time he held my hand in public, I only let go when I noticed everyone else staring. Logically, after knowing that, I think that not being uncomfortable with him watching me now shouldn't be odd to me. Maybe it isn't, maybe the fact that I'm just now realizing it's never been odd is what's odd right now.
"I can practically see the wheels in your head turning. What are you thinking?"
This time I do tell him what's on my mind. "Usually when people watch me, I get uncomfortable. But never do with you. That's a good thing, right?"
"I would think so, it would be kind of awkward if you were uncomfortable around me of all people, considering I'm your boyfriend. Especially after last night. I'm glad you listened to me," he says that last part softly, changing the subject.
"Feeling rather than seeing," Louis explains, leaning closer into me. He's on top of my side now, half on me and half on the bed, and he's got one arm on my chest. His other is folded up by my head, I guess; I know that's his elbow at my ear.
"It wasn't that hard to do," I reply, fingers 'playing' on his hand like a piano; I alternate between the two songs I played for him in Bordeaux.
Louis knows exactly what I'm refering to. He leaves a kiss right next to my ear. "Have. A little. Faith." Between each pause, he moves downwards, until he's buried his head into my neck and is holding onto me just as tight.
"What do you mean?" I ask, suspicious and just plain curious altogether; I know that tone. He's planning something, or he's been planning something. I've noticed it every so often for the last few months, but always forgotten about it, because this is the very first time he's said something that's practically confirmed that he's planning something. It's proof in itself. I need to know now. "Don't hold out on me, Weasley."
I feel his lips curve upwards when I call him by his surname; I only call it him when he's been absolutely annoying or I want something from him. This, right now, is both.
"Wait and see," Louis answers, obviously enjoying himself.
I hate this. This isn't fair. He should still be making things up to me, doing everything he can to not irritate me, and he's keeping something from me. Another bloody surprise, at least that's what this feels like.
And I hate surprises.
"Don't ruin what could follow a great night," I warn. I know it's an empty threat, this morning has hardly been ruined, but I hope it'll make him crumble and give up his surprise.
He doesn't budge.
"I'm not ruining anything." Louis catches me off guard and kisses my lips quickly, completely ignoring my rule. "You'll love it, I promise." He then moves away from me, the bed squeaks and dips. "Come on, you must be starving. We'll stop at our dorms to change, then we'll get breakfast."
My stomach rumbles, indicating that what he said is true and I'm definitely hungry. But I know he's only trying to stop me from asking questions and I just sit up, balancing on my arms. "You told me to have faith after talking about my sight; you can't expect me to not have questions."
"I expected it, I'm just not answering them," Louis points out knowingly. Well, he does know me better than most, so I knew he knew I'd ask. But still...
He pulls back that the covers and I still don't move, even though I have no clothes on. See what I mean about not feeling uncomfortable under his gaze? "Very nice," he says approvingly, then throws something at me; my pants. "Get dressed."
"I'll find out what you're hiding from me," I promise, finally doing as he wants and getting dressed.
"I know, because I'm going to tell you all about my crazy ideas," Louis replies, sounding smug. I won't be finding it out for myself, I realize. So that means he'll be telling me soon, right?
I fasten my pants as quickly as I can and pull on my shirt. "Is it a magic cane that tells me where to go and what's going on around me, providing me with the latest schoolyard gossip. Especially on people I don't like, because that would admittedly be awesome."
"Oh, way cooler than that," Louis boasts. "And you don't like most people."
I ignore the jab about my poor social skills. "What's cooler than a magic, talking cane?"
Louis doesn't answer me; he leads me out and to our dorms to get changed and we go to Great Hall. He knows my mind is full of questions. He knows I'm going to think about until it drives me crazy or I snap and demand to know. So, either he'll tell me before that happens, meaning it is soon, or he's willing to take the chance by just giving me this hint.
Why did he want me to know? Why give a hint now?
Screw finding out what it is, I'm going to go crazy just trying to figure the why out.
This had better be the best surprise ever.
A/N: I can only guess what Louis is planning... ;)
I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think. :)
Write a Review Enchanted: Feeling Rather Than Seeing