Chapter Text
≈≈≈≈≈
Gravel crunches under the tires of Louis’ truck as he eases it to a stop in the parking lot. He watches the ocean through the windshield, waiting for enough light on the horizon to make it down the beach without stumbling.
As soon as the sky begins to glow orange, he kicks off his flip flops and climbs out of his truck, leaving his phone and keys wrapped up in his shirt on the driver’s side floorboard. With his surfboard beneath his arm, he walks over the worn, wooden walkway to the beach, stopping at the top of the stairs to watch the warm colors of dawn spread, reflected on the surface of the water.
The ocean calls to him, and he runs down the stairs onto the soft sand, and across the beach, pausing at the shore to wiggle his toes in the mud. He wades through the cool water until it hits his thighs, ducking under a wave to get wet. On his board, Louis paddles out past the breakers, sitting up to watch the sunrise while he waits for a wave.
“Dad!”
Louis turns at the sound of his daughter’s voice, grinning as she ducks under a breaking wave.
“Hey, Bo-Bo,” Louis says when she paddles closer. “You’re up early.”
“Wanted to see you before you leave,” Bo says, wrinkling her nose the same way he sometimes does.
“I’ll be back Sunday afternoon,” Louis says. “Barely two days without me.”
“Yeah, but you’ll miss Sunday morning, so I thought I’d surf with you today. Besides, Liam has me working the opening shift while you’re gone.”
Louis nods, then shakes his head. “College kids aren’t supposed to want to hang out with their parents.”
“Not a college student until I’m actually at school,” Bo says, jerking her head towards the oncoming wave to let him know she plans to take it.
“Whatever you say,” Louis says, watching as she turns her board and paddles ahead of the wave.
They spend about an hour surfing, chatting in between waves about Bo’s upcoming freshman year and Louis’ conference this weekend. It’s the first time he’ll be attending alone. Every other year he and Liam have gone together, and he’s been to the Southeastern Ocean Lifesaving Organization conference every summer for twenty-two years. But last year Niall left the beach service to manage the Ocean Grove Recreation Center, and Zayn isn’t comfortable being left alone and in charge, so there’s nothing to be done. Besides, Louis could use the weekend to himself to recharge before the busy summer season really kicks in.
Bo carries her board up the beach to Louis’ truck, and he frowns at the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”
“Mikey dropped me off,” she says, laying a towel on the passenger seat and climbing into Louis’ truck. “She’s working the breakfast shift.”
Louis hums, backing out of the parking space and trying not to ask his daughter the questions he wants to ask. He leaves her and her surfboard at the beach access beside Liam’s truck with a kiss on the forehead and a reminder to wear sunblock, though he knows she knows better than to go without.
≈≈≈≈≈
It’s a short drive home and he gets there in plenty of time to say goodbye to Bridget before she leaves for work.
“Thought you’d already left,” Bridget says when Louis walks through the side door, and drops his keys in the little blue dish on the kitchen counter. She turns to check her reflection in the mirror by the front door, adjusting her necklace, and smoothing her short, blonde bob.
“Was surfing with Bo,” Louis says, poking his head into the pantry and grabbing a granola bar. “Just need to shower. My bag’s packed. You and Bo got anything planned while I’m gone?”
She catches his eye in the mirror, checking her teeth for lipstick, the same way she always does before she leaves the house. “Shopping on Sunday. She said she’ll be home around four. Might go to dinner Saturday night. Liam’s got her working every damn day.”
Louis turns to throw out the wrapper from his granola bar and rolls his eyes while he’s facing away. “She was off Wednesday and Thursday. She wants the hours, so take it up with Bo if you think she works too much. You can’t be mad at Liam.”
Huffing while she fishes her keys out of the bowl, Bridget picks up her briefcase and crosses the kitchen, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Louis’ lips. She backs away with a familiar grimace. “Always taste so salty.”
“It’s the ocean, babe. Thirty years in, you think you’d be used to it,” Louis says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Twenty-nine,” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“Close enough,” Louis says, tilting his head.
“Have fun this weekend,” Bridget says as she opens the door.
“Hope so. Supposed to be some powerful swells from that storm that just missed us,” Louis says, finishing his granola bar. He swallows and calls after her before she shuts the door, “Have a good day!”
Having packed the previous night, all Louis has to do is take a quick shower before he’s ready to go. The conference isn’t a formal one. A bunch of lifeguards and ocean rescue people aren’t going to spend the weekend in Cape Hatteras wearing suits and ties. Louis does bring a couple of nice polos and some shorts that don’t double as swim trunks, but other than that, he’ll spend the weekend in and out of the water.
≈≈≈≈≈
The drive through North Carolina is smooth and uneventful, but long. He timed it perfectly, only waiting in line a short while for the ferry that will take him over to the island. Once he parks his truck on the ferry, and the boat captain gives the all-clear, Louis leaves his truck and walks to the bow of the ferry, watching the water pass below them.
“Hi, um… Excuse me.” Louis looks towards the deep, unfamiliar voice, squinting as the sunlight hits his eyes. “Are you part of the S.O.L.O. conference?”
“Yeah,” Louis says, turning to face him and leaning against the bulkhead. He grins, tugging at the brim of his hat. It’s navy blue and embroidered with the Southeastern Ocean Lifesaving Organization logo, and the back of his t-shirt is screen printed with it as well. “You?”
“Yeah,” he says, extending his hand for Louis to shake. “I’m Harry.”
Taking Harry’s hand, Louis notes his long fingers, and firm, but easy grip, trying not to feel self conscious about how small his own hand seems in comparison. “Louis. This your first time? I don’t remember you.”
Harry hums. “Terry asked me to speak about drowning prevention. It’s kind of my passion.”
“Right business to be in, then,” Louis says, still grinning at him. He’s just a bit taller than Louis, with dark, wavy hair sprinkled with grey that turns almost completely white at the temples, different from Louis’ own silver hair. When Harry smiles, dimples appear in both cheeks, and Louis wishes he had dimples, though more often than not his beard would keep them covered.
“I guess? I’m the aquatics director at the Y in Crown Bay,” Harry says, releasing Louis’ hand. “Not in the ocean at all, at least, not when I’m working.”
“Ahh… A pool swimmer. Thought I smelled chlorine,” Louis says with a wink, the back of his neck heating almost immediately. He rubs his eye, hoping that Harry will assume he wasn’t actually winking at him, and wonders what the hell he was thinking.
Shaking his head, he opens his mouth to speak, but the captain’s voice booms through the speakers, announcing that it’s time for them to go back to their vehicles so the ferry can safely pull into port. Louis jerks his thumb towards his truck. “See you there?”
“Yeah, see you there,” Harry says.
Louis climbs back into his truck, while Harry lingers at the bow of the boat. He waves and Harry lifts his hand, waving back, combing his fingers through his hair as he walks away. Driving off the ferry onto the two lane road, Louis heads for the same hotel the organization books for the conference every year, the only one on the island with a banquet hall.
Once he parks his truck, he calls Bridget to let her know he arrived safely, but gets her voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, he sends her a quick text, then sends one to Bo, too, who texts back asking to see the view from his room, which she does every year.
Checking in only takes a few minutes, and after Louis sends Bo a picture of the beach from his third floor balcony, he leaves his shirt and flip flops in his room and heads down to the water with his surfboard. Most of the S.O.L.O. members there for the convention are already out in the water. Louis recognizes Terry and Mike and Frank, and paddles out to join them.
One of his favorite things about this weekend is getting to relax in the water. At home, Louis is always on the lookout, keeping an eye on anyone else in or near the water. On S.O.L.O. conference weekends, he doesn’t feel the need to be so vigilant, surrounded by a couple of dozen equally skilled ocean rescue lifeguards.
Eyes on the horizon, Louis pushes his wet hair back off his forehead. When he turns towards the beach, he sees Harry from the ferry paddling out and ducking under a wave. Harry resurfaces and catches Louis’ eye, grinning in recognition and pointing the nose of his board in Louis’ direction.
“I thought we’d all be standing around, shooting the shit, exchanging business cards or something,” Harry says with a snort, and Louis sputters a laugh, covering his mouth.
“That’s tonight,” Louis says, nodding his head towards an approaching wave. “Mine.”
Harry raises his eyebrows, widening his eyes, and Louis is struck by the clear green. He digs in, paddling hard in front of the wave and leaves Harry behind him.
≈≈≈≈≈
The only meals included in the conference weekend are the continental breakfasts on Saturday and Sunday morning, so after working up an appetite in the water, Louis orders a club sandwich from room service, and eats it while laying naked across his bed in front of the television. When it’s time for cocktail hour, Louis gets dressed and heads down to the hotel bar. He’s never been much of a drinker, asking for a vodka with club soda in a tall glass.
He speaks to the other attendees in the bar while he sips his drink, then switches to plain seltzer. A few of the guys are already on their way to drunk, so Louis avoids their loud, raucous chatter, but he catches up with the guys who come to the conference every year, conversations going past their expiration date, while his eyes flicker to Harry sitting at the bar alone.
“Louis, my man,” Terry says, shaking Louis’ hand for the second time that day. “Have you met Harry? Come meet Harry. He’s doing a presentation tomorrow.”
“We’ve met,” Louis says, but Terry doesn’t seem to hear him, leading Louis away from the table to the bar.
Harry turns on his barstool as they approach, and he stands to greet them, reaching for Terry’s hand and shaking it as Terry says, “Harry! So glad you could make it this weekend. Really looking forward to your presentation tomorrow. Wanted to make sure you met Louis. He’s been a member for years and he’ll be interested in your work. His beach service—”
Yelping and jumping to the side, Terry spins around, clearly ready to berate the person behind him who spilled their drink down his back, but it’s Frank, who instantly and sincerely apologizes, taking some of the wind out of Terry’s sails.
With a sigh, Terry says, “Shit happens, man. I’ll run up to my room and change.”
When Terry disappears, and Frank heads back to the table with a fresh drink, Harry quietly says, “I thought there was going to be a bar fight.”
Laughing into his seltzer, Louis says, “A bar lecture, maybe.”
Harry lets loose a honking laugh, much too loud for Louis’ little joke, and slaps his hand over his mouth. He points to the golden liquor in his glass and says, “Sorry. I’ve had tequila.”
“Tequila turns you into a goose?” Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry covers his mouth again, nodding. “Terry seems to think I’ll be interested in your presentation. Drowning prevention, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, um… I’m a bit nervous…” Harry trails off, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips, drawing Louis’ attention to his perfectly shaped Cupid’s bow. Looking at his own mouth in his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, Louis wonders what he would look like with a plump pout rather than his thin lips.
When Harry doesn’t say more, Louis asks, “Did you practice?”
“I did. In the mirror at home,” Harry says with a quick nod.
Sliding onto the stool beside Harry, Louis sets his glass down, claps almost silently, and says, “Well, come on.”
“You don’t have to do this, Louis,” Harry says, tipping his head towards the group of tables the rest of the conference attendees have pushed together. “Your friends—”
“Harry,” Louis says, laying his hand on Harry’s forearm and giving it a squeeze. “I see those guys once a year. I wouldn’t call them friends. More like work associates. And I really am interested.”
Harry looks from the crowd around the tables to Louis, chewing on the corner of his lower lip, but then he releases it, grinning crookedly, and drops his chin to his chest. He gazes up at Louis through his eyelashes, and says, “Alright. Here goes…”
Every time Harry pauses after asking the “audience” a question, Louis responds, even going so far as to raise his hand and ask his own questions as if Harry truly were giving his presentation then and there. When Harry wraps up his one-on-one presentation with one of the oldest, worst jokes Louis has ever heard (What does one ocean say to the other? Nothing, it just waves!), laughing before he can get to the punchline, Louis finds himself smiling indulgently. Harry’s just that charming.
There’s nothing for Harry to be nervous about. He’s engaging, warm, inspiring, knowledgeable, charismatic, and Louis tells him as much. It’s all true, and Louis could probably stop at one or two compliments, but the way that Harry’s eyes light up with each one keeps him talking.
“You’ll be fine,” Louis says, sipping the last of his seltzer. He waves the bartender off when he offers a refill, sliding the empty glass towards her. “And if no one else speaks up, I’ll be there to answer your questions for the crowd.”
“Thanks, Louis,” Harry says, swirling what’s left of the tequila in the bottom of his glass. “Hey, um…”
Louis yawns, jaw cracking with it. “Shit. I should get to bed. Surfing at dawn.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” Harry says, nodding when Louis stands and stuffs a five in the tip jar. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Louis says, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear. He’s always been affectionate with his friends, but he and Harry are hardly that. Louis blinks hard, checking over his shoulder before he takes a step back.
“Wait, um… I’ll walk with you,” Harry says, tossing some money on the bar.
They leave together, an easy silence between them as they make their way up the stairs. When they reach the third floor, Louis starts to say goodnight and head for his room, but Harry stays beside him, and Louis remembers that the conference blocks rooms for the attendees every year, probably the entire floor, since it’s not a large hotel.
Louis stops at his room, and Harry does too, clasping his hands in front of him and rocking back on his heels. “I, um… Thanks for tonight, Louis.”
“No problem, man,” Louis says, sliding the keycard through and opening his door. “See you in the water.”
“Hmm?” Harry takes a step closer, eyebrows drawing together, line between them deepening.
“Surfing in the morning,” Louis explains, jerking his thumb towards the ocean. “I’ll be up before the sun. See you then.”
“Right,” Harry says, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Sleep well.”
“You too, man,” Louis says, stepping into his room. “’Night.”
Alone in his hotel room, Louis kicks off his Vans and strips out of his clothes, sprawling across the bed in his boxers. He checks his phone, but other than Bridget’s response to his earlier text, there are no messages from his wife. Frowning at the screen, Louis types out a quick message.
Bridget
Louis:Weird being alone in the bed! No one here to wake me up if I start snoring
Then, because it feels strange to leave it at that, he sends another text.
Bridget
Louis:Miss you and love you
Louis gets up to brush his teeth, then crawls beneath the sheets, checking his phone again, and sending a text to Bo.
Bo-Bo
Louis:Take a cab if you’re drinking. Love you. Be careful
Three little dots flicker on the screen, and Bo’s response comes through.
Bo-Bo
Bo:Watching a movie and staying at Mikey’s. Letting mom have the house to herself
Louis:Tell Mikey I said hi. Glassy and smooth today with awesome ground swell. Should’ve seen it
Bo:Jealous
Louis:You could’ve come with me!
Bo:Not on your boys weekend. Would be weird
Louis:Whatever Bo-Bo. Love you. See you Sunday
Bo sends her love, and Louis types out a text to Liam to check that everything went well on the beach. He falls asleep before Liam can reply.
≈≈≈≈≈
Up before the sun, as is his habit, Louis brushes his teeth and wipes the sleep from his eyes, pulling on a pair of baggies and grabbing his board. Most everyone at the conference will be out on the water after sunrise, but Louis likes to greet the dawn alone. He doesn’t bother with his flip flops, slipping his keycard into his pocket and patting the Velcro closed.
Louis opens his hotel room door and jumps, holding his free hand to his bare chest. “Scared the shit out of me. What are you doing, Harry?”
“Waiting for you,” Harry says with an easy shrug, nodding towards his board leaning on the railing beside him. “That okay? I don’t really know anyone else here.”
Transfixed by the way the yellow lights along the outside hallway of the motel shine golden in the grey at Harry’s temples, Louis takes a moment to answer. He finally whispers, “It’s fine.”
They start down the stairs, staying quiet until they leave the parking lot. Harry clears his throat, and says, “All those guys together can be kind of intimidating.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a boys’ club. Wish there were more women,” Louis says, hitching his board up higher under his arm. From the corner of his eye, Louis can see Harry look at him and frown, humming in response, and he feels the need to explain. “I mean, there are some women in the S.O.L.O. but even the members we do have— Well, you can see for yourself. None of them come to the conference. Would be nice to have it be more balanced.”
“Oh, yeah. I agree,” Harry says, stopping in the middle of the dunes. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“My favorite thing in the world,” Louis says, feet sinking in the soft sand. “The beach between twilight and dawn.”
“Is it?” Harry asks, and Louis nods.
“Yep. Try to be out there every morning,” Louis says, starting towards the water.
There’s a hurricane out in the Atlantic that never made landfall, but it’s generating bigger waves than Louis usually gets at home. With only the two of them out, he and Harry don’t have to take turns as long as they keep far enough away from each other. When the sun breaks over the horizon, Louis paddles around to face it, watching as the burnt orange gradually lightens to yellow. Once the bottom curve of the sun is visible, Louis turns back to wait for another wave, and finds Harry studying him.
“Every morning, huh?” Harry juts his chin towards the horizon. “What about when it rains or it’s cold?”
“I watch from my truck,” Louis says. “Or wear a wetsuit.”
“Oh…” Harry nods and lays down on his board, paddling in front of the swelling wave.
Louis lets him have that one to himself, keeping his eyes on Harry instead of the ocean behind him. He pops up perfectly, using the strength in his back and chest to move swiftly into position, taking a wider stance than Louis does due to his long legs. They haven’t seen a barrel yet today, but the waves are big enough for more than just riding straight in, and Harry cuts back smoothly, twisting again to go in the original direction for the rest of the wave. He’s good. Not as good as Louis, but he’s worth watching.
Louis doesn’t mean to turn it into a contest, but it seems that Harry is as competitive as he is, and soon they’re taking wave after wave, one-upping each other until they’re both catching air and attempting tricks that Louis hasn’t tried in years. Harry wipes out on a three-sixty and Louis waits with bated breath, hands over his open mouth, but Harry surfaces, cackling as he rights his board and paddles past the breakers to where Louis sits waiting.
They take a rest then, stretching sore muscles that haven’t seen this much work in a long time, and watching the other conference attendees paddle out. They must’ve all stayed pretty late in the bar last night if none of them made it for the sunrise.
After taking a few breaks to sit on the sand and dry off before going back in the water, Louis heads back to the hotel, leaving Harry on the beach talking to Terry and some of the other guys. He stops in the little cafe and orders something to eat, carrying it up to his room.
Most of his days are spent moving. He’s an active person. He surfs almost every morning, then goes from dawn to dusk, hardly sitting down unless he’s driving somewhere, but a few hours in the water with Harry there pushing him, and he’s exhausted. If he’s going to spend time with Harry, he’ll have to get in the habit of eating a good breakfast beforehand. Not that they’ll be hanging out after this weekend. Maybe next year, if Harry comes to the conference again.
There’s plenty of time for a nap before the conference officially starts, and Louis takes advantage, washing and eating as fast as he can, then passing out on his stomach on the bed.
≈≈≈≈≈
Groggy when his phone alarm wakes him, Louis goes to the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face. His slight headache reminds him that he never had a cup of coffee that morning, so he makes one in the little Keurig provided with his room and takes it out on the balcony. Sitting in the wooden rocker, he props his feet up on the railing, and sips his coffee, enjoying the salt air, the ocean breeze, and the solitude.
Typically, Louis doesn’t put much thought into what he wears, as long as it’s clean, because he almost always wears the same thing: baggy surf shorts, t-shirts, and Vans or flip flops. In the winter, he trades out the shorts for jeans, and throws a hoodie on. Occasionally, he’ll wear a polo and a nice pair of trousers, like he did for Bo’s graduation a few weeks back, and he has a blazer in case of cooler weather. If, god forbid, he has to attend a funeral, there’s a suit in the back of his closet. Thankfully, it hasn’t been worn in a while.
Standing in front of the mirror, Louis fixes the collar of his shirt, smoothing the front and turning to the side. The linen shorts are a bit shorter and tighter than he prefers, but Bo bought them for him for Father’s Day, so he takes a picture and sends it to her.
Bo-Bo
Louis:Are you sure these are ok?
Bo:You look handsome!
Bo:Except for the toothpaste in your beard
As he’s typing a response, his phone rings.
“Hey,” Louis says, walking out onto the balcony. “You and Bo having fun without me?”
“We’re getting our nails done,” Bridget says. “Girls night out. We’re going to dinner after this.”
“Nice. Where to?” Louis asks, leaning on the railing and watching the sea oats wave in the wind.
“Not sure. Bo wants sushi, so…” she trails off, then says, “Your conference is about to start, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I can be a few minutes late if you want to talk,” Louis says, sitting in the rocking chair and resting his elbows on his knees.
“No, you go ahead,” Bridget says, adding, “Have fun.”
“Will do, babe,” Louis says, and she hangs up. He frowns at the phone screen and slides it into his pocket.
Downstairs in the banquet hall, Louis weaves his way to the second row of chairs where Harry sits, clearly nervous, bouncing his knee and staring straight ahead.
“Hey, man,” Louis says, taking a seat and leaving an empty chair between them. “You okay?”
Harry mutters something, and Louis slides into the empty chair, leaning down to catch his eye.
“Stage fright,” Harry says a little louder.
“Oh… Shit. Okay.” Louis looks around, not that he’ll find any help. Hoping that a joke will lighten the mood, he asks, “What are you supposed to do? Picture everyone naked or something?”
Scowling, Harry turns to face him. “What?”
“You know, like, picture Terry in an embarrassing situation. Don’t people usually say, like, naked or in a chicken costume or something?”
“Oh, um… No, I’d rather not,” Harry says, taking a deep breath.
“Okay, well, I’ve already heard your presentation, and it’s good. You did the whole thing last night, no problem,” Louis says, rubbing the palm of his hand over Harry’s hunched back.
“Yeah, but that was just you. And you’re…” Harry coughs into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I’m what?” Louis asks, wanting to distract him by making him talk.
Sighing, Harry straightens up in his chair a bit, glancing over at him. “I don’t know. Easy to talk to? You made me feel comfortable.”
“Right. So, I’m here now, aren't I?” Louis pats Harry’s shoulder, then realizes he’s been touching him since he sat down, so he tucks his hands between his knees, and says, “What if you just give me the presentation again? I’ll sit here, you look at me and pretend no one else is here.”
Harry sniffs, scrunching his nose. “That might work.”
“Either it does or it doesn’t. No big deal. And maybe, if you can’t do it, I can go up there and give it a shot,” Louis offers without thinking, and Harry smiles. “Does it make you feel better to have a backup plan?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Harry says, reaching for the bottle of water at his feet. He takes a drink, and Louis watches him, admiring the cut of his jawline, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
It never occurred to him to think of a man as pretty before, but Harry certainly is. Handsome, yes, but stunningly pretty as well. Louis shakes his head, and leans back in his seat as Terry steps up to the podium.
There are four presentations, with Harry scheduled last. When Louis first realized, he thought waiting would make Harry’s stage fright worse, but it seems to lessen as they listen to talks on rip current research and education, social media use for beach services, and the pros and cons of larger guard towers.
Maybe it’s the passing time, or maybe it’s that each of the people who get up to talk are just regular people, not a professional speaker in the bunch. They laugh at themselves and make mistakes, and when it’s finally Harry’s turn, his hands might shake while he adjusts the microphone, and his voice might tremble a bit as he introduces himself, but he’s perfect, keeping his eyes steady on Louis until he asks the audience the first question and someone else calls out an answer.
After that, he’s fine, and Louis’ entire body relaxes. He didn’t realize he was so tense.
Harry wraps things up with his joke, and takes his seat beside Louis, leaning in and whispering, breath tickling Louis’ ear, “Thanks, Lou. Owe you one.”
It’s not a nickname he hears often. In fact, it’s one he’s discouraged in the past, but when Harry says it, Louis’ heart swells, proud that he was able to help, and he grins, looking over at him. “Buy me a drink and we’re even.”
≈≈≈≈≈
“Tequila?” Louis asks when Harry slides the glass in front of him and he sniffs it.
Harry shrugs. “I like it. Sip it slowly and— Louis, I said sip it slowly.”
“Sorry,” Louis says, throat burning as he reaches for his vodka and soda. “Tequila’s always been a shot to me. You know, lick the salt and suck the lime and all that. Last time I drank some was probably fifteen years ago or more.”
“Oh, god, no,” Harry says, tipping his glass and watching the golden liquid settle against the side. “Good tequila should be sipped and savored. I’ll have to teach you.”
“Well, you’ve got tonight, but I don’t usually drink tequila,” Louis says, tapping the side of the empty glass of tequila and lifting his vodka and soda to take another sip.
“Make an exception?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.
“I’ll consider it,” Louis says, but Harry pumps his fist like he’s won something, and Louis knows he’ll give in. Hopefully, their food will arrive soon, and maybe he can drink enough water to balance it out.
“Harry!” Terry’s booming voice startles them, both jumping when he pulls out the chair beside Harry to join them on their end of the long table. “Great job, man. So happy you could make it.”
“Thanks, Terry,” Harry says, eyes flickering to meet Louis’ before looking back at Terry. “I was a little nervous, but Louis talked me through it.”
“He’s a good guy,” Terry says, gesturing at Louis with his bottle of beer. “Heard Liam wasn’t coming with him this year and thought he’d be a bit bored. Glad you guys have kept each other entertained.”
Harry frowns, adjusting his chair. “Like I said, he talked me through my stage fright. And I’ve had fun surfing with all of you.”
“Right, right. And we’re surfing at dawn tomorrow,” Terry says, clearing his throat and slapping Harry on the back. “You guys need a drink? On me.”
At the same time that Louis shakes his head, Harry says, “Two Azunia tequilas, neat, no garnish. Thanks, Terry.”
Terry walks away, and Louis says, “Guess I’m drinking tequila.”
Thankfully, their salads come out before Terry returns with their drinks, and Harry asks Louis to finish his vodka and soda before they drink the Azunia, so he gets a bit of a breather.
“You didn't mention anything in your presentation, even though you’re obviously passionate about it,” Louis says after he finishes his salad. “Were you a junior lifeguard or something? What got you so excited about drowning prevention?”
“Sounds silly when you say it like that.” Harry spears a cucumber slice on his fork, chewing thoughtfully before he says, “I don’t usually like to talk about it.”
“Oh, sorry, I—”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind telling you,” Harry rushes to explain, setting his fork down and leaning forward, meeting Louis’ eyes. “I almost drowned when I was nine.”
“Really?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, really.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” Harry says with a sigh. “It’s why I don’t really like to tell people. Everyone thinks I’m talking about, like, waving at the lifeguard in a pool, he throws me the ring and pulls me in.”
“Yeah, but I should know better,” Louis says, pushing his salad plate away. He lowers his voice and asks, “What happened?”
“Short version? I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but they said I was blue. Hypoxic convulsions. Not pretty. Almost gave my grandma a heart attack,” Harry says with a laugh. “Spent a couple of days in the hospital. Lucky to be alive.”
“Long version?” Louis asks, though he could probably guess.
“It was summer, my mom had surgery, and my sister and I went to stay with my grandma while she recovered,” Harry says, picking up his tequila, but not taking a drink. His voice is deeper and slower, hypnotic as he tells the story. “We spent the week at the beach. My sister was twelve, already all about tanning. Spent her days coated in baby oil, if you can believe that. Anyway, after five days, I guess my grandma thought I knew better, or maybe she didn’t realize the current was so strong. I don’t know. Current pulled me out, I couldn’t touch the bottom, a big wave broke, like, right on top of me, and that was it. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn't make a sound. Went under.”
“Jesus, Harry,” Louis says, taking a drink before he can stop himself. It’s not too bad, though not nearly as mild as vodka and soda.
“Yeah, some surfer saw me. A fifteen year old kid. He got me on his board and paddled in,” Harry says, clinking their glasses together. “He knew CPR. Saved my life.”
“Wow. What a story, man,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair to let the waitress set his plate in front of him. He looks up at Harry, shaking his head. “I mean, not a story. You know what I mean, I think.”
“I do,” Harry says quietly. “As soon as my mom would let me, I took swimming lessons, CPR, everything I could. Swim team. Junior guards. Lifeguarded as soon as I was old enough. Learned to surf. Sail. If it was water related, I was interested. Thought about being a doctor for a while, but ehh… What about you? What’s your origin story?”
Louis laughs, dipping a fried shrimp in cocktail sauce and pointing it at Harry. “If she could’ve, my mom would’ve given birth to me in the ocean. I’ve spent more of my life on the beach than anywhere else.”
They don’t talk as much while they eat, though as soon as they’re finished, Harry tries to teach him about tequila. Louis just doesn’t care enough. He listens, sure, but his attention is on Harry’s look of concentration, the way he sniffs the liquor, his smile, the perfect line of his two front teeth biting into his lower lip. He’s fascinating. Louis tips his glass back, finishing it before he can stop himself.
Each drink unfocuses Louis a little more, but his center of attention remains the same, until Harry excuses himself to the restroom, and Louis watches him walk away, immediately missing his presence. It’s not a shock to his system, but it does have him ordering another tequila so he can’t think about it anymore. When Harry returns, Louis has replaced both of their drinks, and is more intoxicated than he’s been in recent memory.
Hopefully, he’ll still be able to walk when he stands up.
≈≈≈≈≈
Matching Harry drink for drink might’ve been a mistake, but Louis is too drunk to care about the repercussions. Hangover or not, it’s been the most enjoyable evening at a S.O.L.O. conference he’s ever had, and that’s including the year after Bo was born, when he and Liam went midnight surfing during the full moon and a pod of dolphins joined them on a few waves. On second thought, that one still holds its first place position. Of course, this night isn’t over yet. There’s still time for dolphins to join them.
Louis laughs at himself, giggling into the back of his hand, and tells Harry about the surfing dolphins.
“No way,” Harry says, dragging out his words like he’s being very careful not to slur the sounds together.
“Yes way, Ted,” Louis says, hoping that Harry gets the reference. They’re about the same age, though Harry's probably a little younger. It’s hard to tell. Louis has never been good at guessing how old people are.
“Excellent,” Harry says, playing some air guitar.
Louis laughs again, cheeks sore from smiling, and says, “It was so amazing. Made me feel really small, you know? Like, in the grand scheme of things, if that makes sense.”
“Perspective,” Harry says knowingly.
“Yeah,” Louis agrees, reaching for his empty glass. He frowns at it and says, “You get it.”
“I think so,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ water glass towards him. “Is that part of your early morning surfing thing? Gain some perspective before you start the day?”
“Exactly,” Louis says, feeling like Harry really does understand him. “You said you sail?”
“Not often. And nothing bigger than a Hobie Cat,” Harry says. “I don’t have my captain’s license or anything. Haven’t been sailing in years.”
“I go out sometimes, but not often enough,” Louis says, trying to recall the last time he went out sailing for more than half an hour or so. It’s been a while since he’s done it outside the business of giving lessons through the beach service, and he rarely does that anymore. “But I used to love to go out until I couldn’t see the shore, until I was completely surrounded by the ocean, with nothing around me but water…”
“Perspective,” Harry says again, and Louis nods.
“Yeah.”
The sound of chairs scraping pops the bubble they’ve spent most of the evening in, and Louis grabs his water, chugging it before standing and pulling out his wallet.
“We already paid,” Harry says, tapping his fingertip on Louis’ wrist. “You tipped on your credit card.”
Louis leaves a twenty on the table anyway.
≈≈≈≈≈
The whole group walks back to the hotel together. Some of them have obviously had too much to drink, and there’s no way half these guys will be up to surf at sunrise, but Louis thinks he does a decent job staying steady on his feet. It helps to have Harry beside him, talking softly, making jokes and giggling at himself.
He was right. The conference did block the entire third floor, and they all make their way up the stairs, two by two, and Harry tells a joke about boarding the ark that makes no sense at all, but Louis still laughs.
“Think you’ll be on the beach for the sunrise?” Harry asks, leaning back against his hotel room door and biting his lower lip.
Sucking air through his teeth, Louis grimaces. “Maybe?”
“I will if you will,” Harry says, scrunching his nose and pursing his lips, drawing Louis’ attention to them yet again. They’re just so pink. At first, Louis thought maybe Harry was wearing some sort of lipstick, but there were no traces left on any of his drinking glasses, and they turned from pink to red as the night wore on. A door slams, and Louis looks around to find they’re the only ones left in the hallway. “Do you, um… Do you want to come in? For a cup of coffee or something?”
It’s late, and normally Louis would decline, but he finds it difficult to say no to Harry, especially when he seems so nervous, looking down at his hands and twisting his fingers together. With as much tequila as he’s had, a single cup of coffee isn’t going to keep him awake.
“Sure. Yeah,” Louis says, and Harry’s furrowed brow relaxes. He smiles, unlocking his door and leading Louis inside.
Harry brews the coffee, and as soon as Louis takes a sip, he knows he won’t finish it. He sets the cup down on the counter, pushing it away, and watches Harry’s pout as he stirs his.
“You don’t want it?” Harry asks, studying Louis’ face.
Shaking his head, Louis looks from Harry’s eyes back to his mouth. Harry clenches his fists, then stretches his long fingers out on the countertop. They shake as he lifts them up, but when he cradles Louis’ face, his hands are steady. All of the softness of Harry’s earlier fleeting touches—to Louis’ hand, wrist, forearm, elbow, bicep, shoulder—is gone. His grip on Louis’ jaw is firm, and when their lips meet, Louis is rendered incapable of thought, motivated only by the need to feed the growing fire in his belly.
The swipe of Harry’s tongue parts his lips, and when Harry’s stubble catches on his beard, Louis gasps at the unfamiliar feeling and pushes closer, eyes closed tight against the dim lamplight. Tequila courses through his bloodstream, warmth flooding his body, and as he gives in to the feeling, his cock twitches. Unusual, especially from nothing more than a kiss. He grabs hold of Harry’s hips, sliding his hands around his waist, pulling him in, trying to eliminate any space left between them. It’s what he’s wanted to do all day, but he didn’t recognize the longing until Harry touched him.
“Bed?” Harry mumbles against his mouth, and Louis nods, breaking away, already fumbling with his shirt. A quiet voice in the back of his head tells him to stop, but Harry is so warm, and Louis' head is swimming, making the little voice easy to ignore.
Yanking his shirt over his head, he steps towards the bed, falling onto it on his back with Harry following him down. The warm, bare skin of Harry’s chest touches his, and Louis moans quietly, throwing his head back when Harry’s weight settles on him, putting pressure on his hardening cock. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that.
Overwhelmed with a craving for more of the exquisite heat of Harry’s skin, Louis shoves at the waistband of Harry’s shorts, then at his own, attempting to strip them both naked. It’s all so different from anything Louis has experienced. He’s never— Not with a guy. Not with anyone but his wife. Harry sits up enough to push his shorts and briefs down to his knees, and when Louis sees Harry’s dick, he realizes he’s never seen one so hard and so close. It’s big, and a bit frightening. Definitely not what he’s used to. But it’s physical evidence that Harry wants him, and it’s been too long since he’s felt wanted. His subconscious objections are dissolved by tequila and the thrill of Harry’s touch.
Louis can only get his shorts to mid-thigh before Harry is back, lining their bodies up, stretching out on top of him, and bringing their chests together. Harry circles his hips, dipping down to slip his tongue between Louis’ lips. Louis gets lost in the feeling of his soft mouth.
Two hands aren’t enough to touch all of Harry at once, but Louis tries, skating his palms over Harry’s shoulders, the shifting muscles of his back, moaning at the flex of his glutes as Harry grinds against him.
Threading his fingers through Harry’s short curls, Louis tips his head, kissing his neck, licking the salt from his skin. Harry rests his weight to the side, fitting his hand between their bodies, thumbing at Louis’ nipple. He finds Louis’ mouth again, sucking Louis’ lower lip between his teeth. His fingers slip in the sweat on Louis’ flank, over the bumps of his ribs, and Louis clutches at his shoulders, bucking against him. Pleasure sparks across his skin.
The hair at the base of Harry’s cock rubs against Louis’ balls, already tight against his body, and as Harry moves, the sensitive head of Louis’ dick slides over the soft skin of Harry’s stomach. Louis’ eyes roll back in his head, his jaw goes slack, and he comes, spurting between them.
Heart racing, chest heaving, Louis tries to catch his breath while Harry rides his own orgasm out, panting against his neck. Harry falls to the side, rolling onto his stomach, and sleep pulls Louis under.
≈≈≈≈≈