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The boys are going to make Louis drink alcohol from a sippy cup from now on because he’s “not to be trusted.”
Okay, sure, he spilled coke on Liam once while they were waiting for food to come at a restaurant. And maybe he got a bit of tea on Harry’s lap during the Disastrous Tea Party of June. Harry had jumped up and removed his pants faster that Louis imagined possible, cursing the entire time. He’d then thrown his pants at Louis and cursed some more, causing Niall to laugh even harder.
Actually, Louis spills his drinks quite often, and somehow always right on one of the boys. Poor boys.
But they’re overreacting. He can hold his alcohol. He’s the oldest, after all. He was drinking Jack’s while they were still learning to use the toilet. And this is exactly what he tells them, eleven o’clock at night in Zayn and Liam’s hotel room.
“Shut the fuck up and drink out of your sippy,” says Harry. He unscrews the top off the yellow cup shaped like a lion and pours half a can of beer into it. He holds it out to Louis with a small smile. “Be a good boy for once.”
“But I have to fill it two times to drink a single beer,” Louis protests.
It was funny in the store, when the five of them stood in the baby section and had a serious debate over which sippy cup would suit Louis the best. Now it was getting kind of old and he just wanted his beer. No complications, just beer.
“In the end, won’t I make a mess anyway while I’m pouring it in there?”
“But it’s a lion,” Zayn says. “It’s Simba, look, he’s so cute.”
“If you wanted the teddy bear cup,” adds Niall, “you should have said something.”
Louis crosses his arms. “I didn’t want the teddy bear cup.”
He didn’t want any of them. He thought it was just a joke. Just goofing off. He was bored. He didn’t think they’d go back and buy the stupid thing. And now he’s annoyed, so annoyed he doesn’t even want to drink anymore.
“You know what? You guys suck. I’m going to bed.”
With that, he ignores their objections, turns around, and slams the door behind him.
*
“He’s not really going to bed,” Harry assures the other three. “He’ll probably look up weirdly shaped sippy cups online and we’ll all get one next Christmas.”
“I hope mine is shaped like boobs,” says Niall.
“Or the Biebs,” jokes Zayn.
“Or Justin,” Niall agrees. He cracks open a beer and motions for the rest to do the same. Zayn and Harry sit down on the bed opposite Niall and help themselves, but Liam doesn’t move from his spot near the door.
Liam has been chewing on his bottom lip for the past five minutes, ever since Harry showed Louis the cup. “You guys don’t really think he’s upset, do you?”
“No,” says Harry. He flops onto his stomach and reaches across the bed for the phone. He throws it across the room at Liam, and it stops short with a loud thud, reaching the end of the cord. “You can call him and make sure though, if you want.”
Liam frowns and picks up the phone. He sets it back down on the bedside table. Walks back to the door. “Maybe we should go see him.”
“Maybe you should send him some flower with a ‘sorry’ note.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “He’s a walking disaster. Remember the last time we had a few drinks?”
“Rum all over the wall,” Niall chimes in dutifully.
“And all over my luggage,” Harry says. “We got in so much shit. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I’m actually kind of sick of getting in trouble all the time. And the sippy cup was your idea anyway, Liam.”
“I know, but he seemed so pissed.” Liam sits down on the bed beside Niall, who opens a beer for him.
“He’s fine, just drink.”
Liam does, and soon enough, after his third beer, he finally starts to ease up a little. Zayn and Niall coax him into telling his infamous camping story (which involves his little cousin, a grumpy crayfish, expired milk, and a box of band-aids) and Harry sits back, listening to them laugh. He realizes that he’s still holding Louis’ sippy cup.
When he finishes his sixth beer, the keg seems way too far away so he just shrugs and pops the spout up from the top of Simba’s head.
*
Louis moves his thumb along the side of the screen of his phone. Of all the novelty sippy cups the internet has to offer, he figured he’d find something resembling a dick. If he was really lucky, he’d be able to order a pack of four and be done with his Christmas shopping. So far, however, no such luck.
His eyelids have suddenly become heavy, and he lets them droop shut. Why not? He’s lying on his bed anyway.
He dreams of The Lion King. He is Simba, lying in the hammock and telling Nala that she doesn’t know who he is. And then he’s falling in the grass, and then he’s one of the seeds that go flying in the wind, and then Rafiki, who looks a little like Harry, snatches him out of the wind and sticks him in a sippy cup. And then he wakes up and he’s in Zayn and Liam’s room again.
But he can’t be awake, because the boys are so BIG.
Definitely not awake, because Harry’s hand is around his waist. Harry’s huge, warm hand. Holding him tightly, pressed up against the squishy part of Harry’s warm tummy. Heat radiates off of Harry’s entire body and Louis feels a little light-headed.
He feels bloated, as well; the feeling you get when you drink way too much water way, way too fast. Like there’s a churning sea inside is belly and wow, Louis doesn’t feel good. Harry suddenly laughs, a great loud belly laugh, and the liquid inside Louis’ stomach splashes around viciously.
“Aw, shit,” Harry mutters, and it’s a rumble to Louis’ ears as he’s suddenly been brought closer to Harry’s head. He realizes that there’s a bit of a draft at the top of his own head, and when he tries to reach up and see what it is, he’s horrified to discover that he cannot move his arms. He can’t move his eyes – he can’t blink, for godsakes!
And then the weirdest part happens. Harry presses his lips to the top of Louis’ head and sucks.
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.
“You know, I really like this sippy cup,” Harry drawls and the words are too loud in Louis’ ear.
Sippy cup. Oh, okay, that makes sense. Good. This is just a weird dream. In which Louis is a sippy cup. Good. That explains a lot.
Harry closes the spout and then opens it again. He does this repeatedly until Louis is silently screaming at him to stop because that hurts, damn it. Thankfully, Harry finally leaves his spout alone.
Louis comes to rest comfortably against Harry’s belly again and he listens to the boys talk about the last couple shows they’ve all played. He’s starting to get a little sleepy again, when someone starts to twist the top of his head off. It’s a few moments before he realizes what is happening: Harry is taking the cap off and replacing the beer he’d drank.
What the fuck what the fuck what the FUCK.
He feels wild. Half his head is missing, and there is beer in his whole body. Literally his whole body. He doesn’t even have bones. He’s just plastic. And the cap isn’t really attached to his head, not really, but it still really hurt to have it removed. And now it hurts again as Harry twists it back on. Hurts hurts hurts.
And now Harry is popping the spout open again and Louis braces himself for the weird feeling that is Harry sucking beer out of the top of his head. But where it felt strange and uncomfortable the first time, this time it feels oddly warm and comforting. The ache in his head is gone now, at least, and Louis finds himself waiting for the next time Harry takes a drink, rather than listening to the conversation around him.
Such a fucking weird dream.
*
The next time he wakes up, Louis is back in his bed. He is lying atop the covers, and his phone is in his hand. Just like when he went to sleep.
Yeah, definitely a weird dream, he thinks.
He looks over to Harry’s bed, where the other boy is sprawled out and missing a pillow. He’s not wearing clothes, which only a few months ago would have surprised Louis and made his cheeks burn.
Louis’ gaze moves to Harry’s mouth, pink and wide and gaping, a small pool of drool collecting underneath, and wonders what a real kiss from Harry would be like.