The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 5

"Man, I forgot how hot he is. He's so much better looking than I remember."

Louis' arm swings up to whack Niall in the back of the head, voice dropping to a low hiss. Niall can't keep his f*****g eyes off the boy in the stands, and Louis' genuinely starting to get anxious. What if he looks up and sees both of them staring so intently at him?

"Stop staring. You're making me nervous."

"I'm not even staring at you," he points out, face scrunching. "How the f**k am I making you nervous? It's not like he's going to look over here. Coach isn't even out here yet, and he's been staring at the same scuffed up piece of turf for the past five minutes. I think you're safe."

Louis shuffles on his feet uneasily, trying almost painfully hard to keep his eyes from following Niall's gaze, eyes tracking the patterns the black and white makes as the ball spins across the grass instead. "Surely he can feel us staring at him. Haven't you ever gotten that feeling like you're being watched. Like the hairs at the back of your neck stand up, and you get goosebumps all over because you swear a kidnapper is going to jump out of that tiny shadow in the corner and drag you away to his basement?"

Niall's eyes flicker to him briefly, then back. "That's almost morbid, Lou."

"It could happen!" he protests weakly. "I'm just saying that it's a natural instinct to be able to sense that other things are watching. Watch the nature channel once in your life, and you'd know that too. It's like a sixth sense. So that prey can be on alert for a predator."

"Are you saying that you're the predator and he's the prey?" he counters smugly, smirking when Louis whiffs the ball slightly. "Because that's actually kind of hot and kinky, Lou. Didn't expect that from you."

Heat crawls up the back of his neck and lights up his cheeks. The coil of heat that tightens the pit of his stomach gives him the impression that, yes, he'd very much like that. But Louis wouldn't be the predator. No, he's much too timid for that. He'd definitely be the prey. And remembering the way Harry has addressed him from minute one, he thinks he might already be the prey in his eyes.

"You're sick," Louis states, snagging the ball off the turf to chuck at his shoulder. It bounces back with a thud, so that Louis bring it down with the inside of his knee to rest at his feet again.

Niall yelps. "Oi! I'm just saying, Lou . . . It's not illegal to date, kiss, f**k, or whatever your stepbrother." Louis turns to him with wide eyes, squishing the ball to the ground with his cleats so tightly, he thinks it might just pop. "You remember my cousin, Steven? Of course you do . . . . Anyway, he had an affair with his stepsister for over a year, and no one even knew about it. They could've gotten married if they were motivated to."

Louis picks up the ball again, this time hurling it at his stomach. His face was bright red, he's sure, and the fact that Niall keeps insisting that he f**k his stepbrother when he's only fifty feet away really doesn't help. It hits his best mate straight in the gullet, and his eyebrows scrunch in annoyance, arms wrapping around his stomach.

"Oi, mate!" He scoops it up where it lands and throws it right back, but this one hits him in a very bad place. A place where the birds don't chirp and the sun doesn't shine. Even Niall's face instantly turns guilty, cringing when Louis wheezes breathily and sinks to his knees. He's wearing a protective cup, but, man, when it hits you, it hits you. "Oops . . . sorry."

He glances up at Niall's bashful smile through squinted eyes before squeezing them closed in agony and flopping over to curl into a ball on the ground, hand cradling his privates. "f**k you," he breathes, voice coming out a raspy whisper.

"Hey, Lou . . . I'm sorry. I really am." A coy little smile spreads across his face, as he reaches down, pulling him in by his collar so their faces are inches apart. His warm breath feels nice on his face, allowing a small bit of blood to flow back into his rosy cheeks. "Want me to kiss it better?"

Louis huffs, pushing his forehead away with the heel of his hand. "You wish." Niall cackles, trying to squirm from his hand. Louis decides to bring out the big guns, taking the hand that was holding his groin and wiping it across Niall's playful face. But he simply continues to play along, licking over his hand when it passes over his lips and rolling eyes back in fake ecstasy.

"Oh, yeah, Lou."

He can't hold back the small giggle that bubbles in the back of his throat, finally shoving Niall off of him successfully and rolling back up onto his feet awkwardly. He grimaces slightly, adjusting the cup, that moved after being hit, discreetly. "See, you're f*****g sick. Disturbed, if you will." Looking up, he's more than pleased to see that none of his other teammates had witnessed the scene that just played out. They don't need more of a reason to hold his sexuality against him.

Louis raises his arms above his head in a stretch, hearing his back make a satisfying cracking sound, but not seeing the anxious look Niall shoots him as he glances over his shoulder. He turns his head to him, furrowing his eyebrows in a perplexed expression. His light blue eyes dart behind him over and over, and only then does Louis feel a wave of warmth hit him as if there's a presence behind him or hear the slurp of the mud under cleats. He stiffens. Oh f**k. They didn't see that, did they?

"Having s*x on the football field, are we?" comes the condescending, deep husk of a voice that he's come to recognize as his stepbrother's because, let's face it, no one could ever compete with a voice like his. It's just so uniquely Harry and so perfect. And it seems to drip with that smugness he always seems to possess when he's around Louis. "I thought we were practicing for the semis, not giving each other semis."

"f*****g hilarious," Louis comments dryly. He doesn't bother turning around because he knows that as soon as he catches a glimpse of his face, he'll stutter and stumble over his words. "Really. Have you thought about becoming a comedian?"

A feral growl vibrates deep in his throat. It almost sounds like a purr he's so close to Louis' ear, and he makes the mistake of c*****g his head a little, his mouth being the first thing his eyes land on given their height difference. His whole body seems to flush of all blood, and he tears his gaze away rapidly to look at his eyes. But those are scathing and much too intense too, and his eyes once again drop to find that freckle under his eye. It's small, but oddly shaped. If he squints hard enough, it almost looks like a heart.

He almost laughs. How ironic. A heart-shaped mark on a person seemingly without one. That's something else.

"Have you thought about getting a life, and to stop making bitchy comments about mine?" Ouch.

Louis narrows his eyes hotly, not missing the way his eyes light up in amusement at the prospect of pissing him off. And Louis will give it to him. He is pissed off. Pissed off and maybe just a little turned on. But thankfully his d**k still feels like it was hit by a truck, so at least he doesn't react physically to their little banter. "I'll stop making bitchy remarks at the same time you drop your jackass attitude."

He expects Harry to growl or push him or hurtle another insult at him, but Harry just eyes him levelly, a curl that's usually held back by a bandana falling on to his forehead. "Touché."

Louis has the unexplainable, insistent urge to flick it back - to feel what is probably silk-like strands beneath his fingertips, but Harry beats him to it, straightening and taking a step away from him to address Niall.

"Yo, Blondie," he snaps. "Pass the ball."

Louis snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head irritably at both himself and at Harry's behavior. Why is he even over here? He's not on the team - at least not yet, and he certainly can't boss Niall around. "What the hell are you doing?" He asks, referring to Harry's readied stance.

Harry looks at him like he's a f*****g five year old, and he's already explained everything three times over to him. "The coach told me to jump in on a group and practice passing exercises."

"I thought this was an audition?"

"He's assessing me from afar," he waves off casually. "He doesn't have to be breathing down my neck to tell that I can kick a f*****g football. I've been playing since I was five. I know a thing or two about passing."

Louis clicks his tongue bitterly when he hears Niall's mumbled comment about the coach not being the only one assessing him from afar. He better just watch that Irish mouth of his or there's going to be more ball chucking. What's worse is that he's almost positive Harry heard every single word he muttered under his breath, and his vibrant green eyes immediately flash to Louis' as if he just automatically assumes that it's him.

Louis makes a mental note to kill Niall later, but nods curtly, hoping that Harry understands the meaning behind it. He does - taking his place equidistance from him and Niall so that the three boys form a triangle.

With a snap of his hip, Louis sends a fast and hard pass in the direction of his stepbrother, for once praying and hoping with genuine concern that someone is actually bad at playing the sport. He doesn't like the idea that Harry could be better at him at anything. Especially not football. He lives and breathes football, and he really doesn't want Harry to become that poisonous gas that sneaks into the air and chokes him. But, of f*****g course, he's absolutely brilliant - easily one-touching every rocket Louis sends his way with little effort and an absurdly graceful amount of control. Which makes no sense with his gangly limbs and tall frame. It almost makes Louis want to tear up in frustration, or take the ball and shove it up his beautiful ass.

Harry probably already made friends today too. Louis saw the way people were looking at him earlier. He's the gossip of the school. He could hear his classmates whispering about it all morning. And as if the fact that he's already higher up on the social ladder than Louis is on his first day isn't sad enough, he's a God at playing football as well.

A shrill whistle pierces the crisp air then, forcing Louis to exhale in quiet relief at being pulled from his thoughts. He scoops his foot under the ball and chips it into the air so he can catch it, hurrying after the blonde patch of hair bobbing up to center field. Hell no. He's not going to be stuck with Harry by himself.

The boys gather together, forming a semi-circle around their coach and bouncing on their toes because even as close as they are, it's not enough to conserve the body heat they're losing. The grass crunches next to him, and he's only somewhat surprised to see Harry settle in next to him - arms crossed neatly behind the small of his back and head held defiantly. Louis has to crane his neck a little to see his face, but he doesn't know why he bothers. Honestly, he's much more interested in the way his Adam's apple bobs once in a swallow and the single drop of sweat that runs from the back of his curls, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He wonders if it'd be weird if he licked it.

Cringing, Louis grabs the shoulders of his best mate on his other side to steer him into his current spot so that they switch places. Weird. It'd be weird. Definitely weird . . . and wrong. He crosses his arms over his chest, trying not to think of the way his heart stuttered at the thought, and finally grateful to have some cushion from his step brother.

Harry looks at him blankly, and, f**k, that's so creepy. He doesn't like when his eyes seemingly pierce into his soul. He hates it. It makes him squirm.

"Alright, lads," Coach says with conviction in his booming voice, raising it to be heard over the harsh wind. "As you all know, Semis are under two weeks from now. And, yes, I know that you all just had a week off of school for break. Which probably means you sat on your ass all week and ate a bunch of junk. But we only have nine - ten if you count today - practices before we are out on that field. So I want no slacking or lazing around while you're at my practice, understand?" Everyone except Harry nods aggressively, some flinching. "Good. Scrimmage. Now! Let's go, go, go! Get it set up!"

All the players scatter immediately, grabbing cones and tossing different colored jerseys to assemble themselves into teams. Louis goes to follow them, but a warm hand lands on his shoulder, making him tense. It's grip tightens over the muscles on his back, thumb digging into his shoulder blade as they lean in. He can practically feel his lips burning only millimeters from his earlobe, and if he feels electricity seethe through his body at the touch, Harry doesn't need to know.

"You're such a child," he remarks quietly. He feels every word he rasps out run through him, swimming in his brain, and it takes him a second to comprehend what he just said.

Louis nudges his shoulder up, knocking his hand away as his fingers curl in distaste. A child? Yes, he's acting like a f*****g child. He knows that. Harry doesn't have to go out of his way to tell him that. He jogs over to where Niall is waiting patiently, hopeful that he doesn't look nearly as flustered and irritated as he feels.

Niall sees right through him, catching him by the wrist and yanking him in to smirk against his ear. "The predator has found his prey." His voice drops even lower to howl quietly in his ear, then he breaks away, laughing obnoxiously.

"I will hurt you."