A/N: This chapter is long, but I love it! Keep calm and laugh on my lovely readers (:

I'm covering my ears like a kid,

"Are you fücking serious?" (Liam) *irritated/annoyed*

When your words mean nothing, I go la la la,

"This is unbelievable! I give up!" (Liam) *waves a white sheet in the air that he just pulled out of the washing machine*

I'm turning up the volume when you speak,

"I can't leave him unattended for five bloody seconds before the Sandman works his magic on him once again." (Liam) *angrily shoves the laundry in the dryer that Zayn is snoring on*

'Cause if my heart can't stop it,

"I can't keep up with the sly motherfücker." (Liam) *furiously throws in five flowery-scented lint sheets into the circular bin*

I find a way to block it, I go

"But this is the last fücking time that arsehole puts my baby to sleep on Daddy's watch." (Liam) *slams the dryer door closed* **however it has absolutely no effect on the dark-haired coma-inhabited boy**

Na na, la la la la la na na na na na

"ZAYN JAVADD MALIK!!!" (Liam) *had once again transformed from puppy-faced boy into bitch almighty* **enraged with his boyfriend for acting flighty** ***since the shelter's directorial appointees sure wouldn't take his inactivity lightly***

La la na na, la la la la la na na na na na

"WAKE THE FÜCK UP!!!" Liam barked viciously at the sleeping beauty, successfully breaking the somnolent spell without even true love's kiss – that's how powerful his incredibly loud voice was. Honestly, who needs Prince Charming when you've got Liam?

The Bradford boy fell off the dryer, his åss making a bang! bang! into the room when it hit the floor.

"Bloody hell Li!" The butt hurt lad said, while simultaneously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and massaging his bruised bum – which was already wounded from the night before after the cocksluts had made the wreckless decision to break in their new bed, that they would be sharing for the remainder of the month.

Louis and Niall laughed hysterically at their injured mate like the sadistic freaks that they were. Unlike normal children, they took pleasure in seeing their angry parents squabble.

"I'm sorry Z." Liam apologized with faux remorse.

As a matter of fact, the diligent washer wasn't sorry at all. He had purposely produced sound waves with his vehement voice, knowing that when the vigorous noise shook the laundry machine, the violent vibration would cause his lazy lover to rise to the occasion.

"But if you would just cooperate," Liam continued harshly. "I wouldn't have to verbally emulate a massive earthquake to shake your incompetent, lackadaisical, cantankerous åss awake!" The hard-working launderer shouted, his sharp tongue enunciating each word pointedly, but not enough to pierce Zayn's apathetic heart.

"Yeah buddy, I'm shocked you woke up!" Louis said cracking up at his lame joke, causing the blond to pound the washer he was loading with his blanket-filled fits in mid hysterics. His older sibling was just too funny. He can't!

Liam and Zayn both ignored their stupid kids, the tension still hot and heavy between them. Not even Lou's horsing around could break their fiery ice.

"Whatever babe. You're such a payne in the asre... literally." Zayn said rolling his caramel eyes bitterly while he slowly got up, limping pathetically just to prove his point. He walked over to the radio to crank up the volume of Sam Smith in a failed attempt to drown out Nious' obnoxious giggling with the repetitious lalala's. Damn those bastards to Hell. (Yes, he and Liam had them out of wedlock. Sue him.)

"Awe is Mr. Grumpy Pants upset that Daddy woke him up from his nappy-wappy?" Liam mocked his baby boy, making crying gestures with his hands over his eyes and quivering his pouty lips. The man was ruthless when it came to irritating his boyfriend with immature imitations.

"Don't test me Mr. OCD or I might accidentally bite your díck off when I blow you tonight." Zayn retorted back, provoking the horny-eyed masochist.

"Oh, really Naughty Boy? In that case, Daddy will just have to... punish you." Liam smirked devilishly as he cornered his rebellious baby against the washing machine, placing his two hands on the ivory metal adjacent to his partner's hips. There was no escaping the muscular palace; King Lima Bean had crowned Zee his beautiful Trap Queen.

"I'd like to see you try," the pretty imprisoned prey whispered hotly in his proud predator's ear, before his submissive surrender into the dominant's saucy splendor.

Niall and Louis dropped to their knees and slapped their hands over their sky eyes just in time, saving themselves from witnessing the horrifying image of their parents sucking face. However, they could not avoid hearing their mum's body being slammed roughly against the vibrating washer, nor from their dad's palm beating dat ass to its rockin' rhythm.

Nouis didn't know who was more screwed, themselves or Ziam. They assumed themselves, though, because in about ten seconds Liam would be hammering his nail right into Zayn's prostate.

And by nail they actually meant díck.

Fookin' hell they needed to act quick!

Louis put up an imaginary walkie-talkie to his ear. "LuckyTheLeprechaun is the coast clear? TommoTheHomo over."

Niall, taking one for the team, not wanting to compromise the mission with his fear of spying on the kinky Ziam exhibitionists, bravely poked his artificially blond head out from behind the dryer to see if Liam had "nailed it" yet. And dammit, the tool had already whipped his díck out and was about .2 seconds away from drilling it right into Zayn's quivering hole.

Niall almost vomited at the atrocious sight. You see, in his mind, it was one thing to be the one doing it in front of others, and it was a whoooooole other thing to be the one watching. Niall just preferred the first option – with the exception of 5sauce and Serrie porn.

"Uh... No! CODE RED! I REPEAT: CODE RED! The birds and bees are swarming. We gotta make a run for it TommoTheHomo! It's a fückin' war zone out there! LuckyTheLeprechaun over and out." Niall reported back into his fist terrified, trying his hardest to keep his shit together. He had to remain calm and professional if he wanted to get himself and Louis out of here alive.

"Noooo," Zayn moaned from underneath Liam. "It's a para-para-paradise," he corrected, stuttering due to the bumpiness of the washing machine, or so Louis hoped.

Liam giggled – okay scratch that, it came out more like a manly mewl – in response to his baby boy's banter, and then moaned in agreement. "It sure is, princess."

Both Niall and Louis looked at each other and then gulped in unison. They needed to leave soon before the pillow talk escalated into dirty talk.

"Okay, on my count, we move on three." The chestnut lad said after taking a deep breath. Loutenant Tomlinson was determined to lead him and Lucky to safety.

"Oh, LEE-YUM." Zayn screamed.

"One..." Louis held up a single finger.

"Right...THERE." He encouraged his Daddy.

"Two..." Lou couldn't add a second finger fast enough.

"Harder! YAS." Zee demanded, then purred in pleasured praise.

"THREE!!!" Louis' battle cry rang through the steamy sex-polluted atmosphere and then bounced off the washroom walls, its desperate sound resonating as both him and Niall ran faster than lightning out of the room and into another one at the opposite end of the hall, where they took shelter in the peaceful non-coitus haven, safe from the explosive sex, because according to Zayn, it was the bomb.

"Fück, that was a close one," Louis said, catching his breath. His chest heaved up and down, the languid lungs trying – embarrassingly hard he might add – to intake a parcel of air.

The struggle to breathe was too real – dangerously real. Louis squeezed his eyes shut in slight alarm, the realization almost making him hysterical. Only one week after being suspended from the team and I'm already getting out of shape!

The sweat drenched post-launderer cringed in disgust, thinking about the horrific state his Olympian body will take after a month of no decent exercise. For the sake of maintaining his fire arms and beefy calves, he was in urgent need of a gym to retain his fit physic. The footie lad couldn't afford going back to the team only for Coach to sentence him an additional thirty-day leave of absence because he was incapable of running across the field without passing the fück out.

Oh yes, he would most certainly find time to hit the treadmill. Doing some squats in a room full of hot sweaty muscular men might also increase the chance of his fat åss being penetrated by one of their huge veiny prìcks.

That was such a brilliant idea! The added "physical activity" to his workout would mean that he wouldn't have to train as hard or watch his diet as closely.

Everyone knows that rough sex and rich orgasms are the best ways to burn constantly accumulating calories, that are caused by the consumption of addictive and oh so delicious American fast food. The unhealthy cuisine no doubt had the potential to plague Lou's digestive tube. According to Doctor Oz, the U.S. eating epidemic was inevitable and incurable. But maybe the growing boy could avoid catching the corpulent contagion with his superb scheme. Perhaps it could also treat his severe cases of indolenza and blueballitis too.

Did Louis already mention that he was brilliant? This plan had so many pros! If this strategy worked, then hopefully it will transform him into a better player. He'll finally be able to score a goal on Liam, steal a pass from Zayn, and head-butt the ball farther than Niall. And if Louis is fortunate enough, he'll receive more action than Zaniam combined!

The competitive boy grinned, his heart no longer racing from his and Niall's mad dash, but for an entirely different reason. It was going at the same pace as his wild imagination, envisioning the scenario to full fruition.

In four weeks' time, he is going to be known as the world's greatest player. He can already picture The New York Times' outrageous headline reading: U.K. Footie Champ, Louis Tomlinson, is Getting Fit while Getting Díck, During His Stay in the U.S.A., the bold blue web address linking viewers to a scandalous article and an elicit video taken from the cameras in the gym's locker roo–

Hey, wait a fücking minute. Louis halted his post-ingenious thought process immediately, suddenly struck with a feeling of déjà vu – and not the good kind.

Okay so maybe hoeing around in a 24 Hour Fitness wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. No who was he kidding? It was a bloody horrible idea! There was no way that it could work out. Haha! He giggled internally at his silly pun, but then quickly wiped the smirk off his face. Focus Louis! This is not the time for immature jokes, you git. He scolded himself, reflecting on the flaws in his previously presumed impeccable plan.

Sometimes the football athlete forgot that he was a celebrity. He quite often neglected the fact that he was constantly being watched. And presently, he was subjected to a greater amount of publicized surveillance and criticism, consequential to the whole "incident." But Louis had learned his lesson. The famous baller could no longer afford to ignore his stardom; the reality that everything he did (or was staged doing) in the dark, was somehow revealed in the limelight.

The words his worried mother had whispered in his ear before his departure, echoed loudly in Louis' head, like a judicious warning.

Don't do anything stupid.

And he won't.

Because under no circumstances – even if he was getting shower head or cleaning his filthy arse on somebody's washboard abs – would Louis William Tomlinson allow history to repeat itself.

Coach would lose his absolute shît if his star player became even more defamed by obtaining a slutty reputation to coincide with his acquired "vandalizing inclinations." Louis could visualize the strict footie instructor's reaction: his irate red face, the bloodshot whites of his blue eyes, the angry vermillion vein pulsating on his right temple, and the irked twitch of his sanguine lips, seconds away from reviling reproachful reprimands about the aspersions against his best forward. Nope, Louis could not disappoint Coach again. The man could not handle any more vilification regarding the team. Despite the pleasurable reward, Louis couldn't risk being fired if he let his plan transpire.

The last thing I need right now is a sex-tape to ruin my career, and give motherfücking Grimshaw the satisfaction of being my permanent replacement!

"I know!" Niall exclaimed from beside him, breaking Louis from his cognitive egotistical gloating, that had nightmarishly turned into the first stages of a panic attack. Is this how karma worked?

Fück, never mind that. He needed to get his shit together. Maybe these were the beginning signs PTSD that he had developed after experiencing the traumatizing events of WWZ. Who knew Grimshaw could be so triggering?

Before he could calm his overactive brain and just breathe, Louis heard dainty footsteps approaching. They were coming from outside the room that they had temporarily made their place of refuge, from the figurative fowl insects sent from the loins of hell.

Fück, their mission wasn't over.

"Shh!" Shushed Loutenant Tomlinson in an attempt to silence the loud soldier next to him. He and Lucky quickly got back into character after hearing the sound of an unidentifiable person approaching. This intruder could be an enemy for all they knew.

Suddenly Sophia rounded the corner at the end of the hall and began making her way toward their hideout. Louis cursed under his breath. They were still in the danger zone. The boss-lady couldn't know that he and Niall were here when they were supposed to be doing laundry. He would rather not explain why they couldn't do their assigned job at the moment.

The blond trooper looked around desperately trying to see the potential threat his commander had so expertly spotted. But when he couldn't, the paranoia got to him, making Lucky ramble like a blubbering idiot. He questioned his Loutenant in a frenzied screech, his voice climbing higher and higher with each pressing question. "Are we outta the woods yet? Are we outta the woods yet? Are we outta the woods yet? Are we outta the woods?"

"Jesus Christ. No!" Louis hissed, pointing an authoritative finger at the opposer (code for Sophia).

"We're not in the clear yet, soldier. Remain quiet and hold your position," the Loutenant ordered Lucky in a non-negotiable tone. Both brave men then sat still as statues as the director's wife entered the room.

The mock-up two-manned militia had been so desperate to escape witnessing their parents attempt at procreation, that they had failed to investigate their surroundings. Louis and Niall's safe haven was actually a homeless person's sleeping sanctuary. The troops' heavy breathing and pounding heart rates must have been quite loud. So loud that they hadn't heard the soft snores coming from a bed on the other side of the previously-assumed vacant room.

Louis had to bite his tongue from muttering an apologetic my bad, as he and Niall silently watched Sophia draw closer to the sheet-entangled person. They laid on the bottom mattress of the bunk-bed resembling a mummy inside a sacred pyramidal alcove, totally dead to the world.

"Hey wakey-wakey," Sophia said sweetly as if kindly summing the vagrant's spirit back to its body. "It's time to get up, sugarplum."

The mop of untamable curls peeking out from atop the ivory blanket, turned away from view, revealing a slumber-softened baby face with pouty cheeks, plump pink lips, and a drool-stained chin.

The man-child could be Cupid for all Lou knew. He needed to start wearing bulletproof briefs just in case the little angel happened to make Louis his next target. He was afraid that the enamored arrows would pierce the voluminous flesh of his booty-ful bum.

No, wait, this boy wasn't that nappy-swathed cherub babe.

It's the lad I gave bread to yesterday! Louis remembered.

At first he had thought that the boy was a figment of his hallucinogenic imagination. But after Louis had spotted the bum a few tables away, the half-asleep volunteer realized that he was indeed real. Despite the fact that the tugging sensation had waned, Louis would never forget serving that adorable dirt-covered face.

All it had taken was just one look into his emerald eyes, and Lou was a goner; head over cleats so to speak. Just one toothy smile, and his resolve to find the shabby stray disgusting was blown to smithereens. Just one touch, and the electric current he felt shocked him into an instant infatuation. To quote Bella Swan in his British jargon, Louis was unconditionally and irrevocably smitten with him.

And now that the bread boy was six feet away from him, peacefully asleep, Louis could finally take his time to fully admire his pretty pretty face.

The honey-fringed eighteen-year-old watched, fascinated, as the sleeper's cute nose twitched like an irritated bunny at the sound of Mrs. Smith's friendly greeting. Louis had to refrain himself from cooing and reaching out to touch the chocolate swirls that tickled the transparent creamy skin above his coffee-colored lashes.

The cerulean eyes, however, always came back to the castaway's delectable lips. They just looked so darn kissable. And their favor had to be indescribable, Louis speculated. The captivated onlooker licked his own lips, imagining the mouthwatering vagabond tasting like a pastry from Cinnabon.

Louis' sweet fantasy ended abruptly when those same lips pursed closed distastefully as if the straight white teeth inside had bitten a sour lemon. The citric acid seemed to spread throughout his soporific face. His brow furrowed deeply, and the skin covering his eyes squeezed tight.

Then the boy's long cocooned body curled into a fetal position, resembling a turtle hiding in its shell, the over-grown child shielding himself from the ferocious monster that haunted his dreams.

"No. No! Nick. I don't wanna– Please don't make me–" He begged despairingly.

Louis, Niall, and Sophia watched in horror as the boy spasmed violently, pushing with all his might against an invisible force, and wrestling wildly with the sheets. The iron grip that he had on them turned his big hands whiter than the soft material. Before Louis could race to his side and wake the terrified teen up from his seizure-stricken state, the brunette-haired woman came to his rescue, shaking his stiff shoulders hard enough to end the belligerent nightmare.

The boy's bright green eyes snapped open and darted back in forth around the room in frightened panic. Sophia rubbed her hands along the sides of his arms soothingly, until the anxious adolescent's chest stopped heaving, and his breathing leveled out completely.

When he was still and tranquil, she greeted him happily, acting as if he had just experienced mild REM sleep instead of an incubus assault. "Hey, jitterbug. Sorry to startle you, but it's time to get up!"

He looked around a little disoriented. But when he spotted Louis and Niall, his whole face turned into a tomato, the embarrassed blush even painting his neck a rosy red. He bashfully looked away, and then peered timidly at Sophia. The homeless young man responded to her in a quiet voice.

"Oh. Okay."

Louis shivered at the low scratchy tone. The boy's deep sleepy baritone was vocal sex, making goose bumps rise on every surface of his aroused body.

Fück. The shameful pink-cheeked blue-eyed military spy really needed to get out of here, before the dozed dude gave him more things to add to his ever-growing wank bank.

Loutenant Tomlinson and Lucky deciding to retreat, not wanting to humiliate the tired boy further by their presence, slowly got up and tip-toed toward the open door while the boy and Sophia were distracted with conversation.

"Breakfast will be served soon, so how about you go shower and–" in mid-speech, their boss saw a flash of blond quiff from out of the corner of her hazel vision, that caused her to stop talking and turn around. Sophia watched them sneakily inch their way out of the sleeping quarters, letting them believe for a fleeting moment that they were undetected.

Grinning wickedly, she asked obliviously, "Oh are you two here to pick up the laundry?"

"Oh, uh." Niall stuttered at the sound of Sophia's warm girly pitch.

Lucky, unsure of what to do now that they have been spotted, looked to his Loutenant for instruction. Louis rolled his eyes at his soldier's pathetic dependency, and then replied back fervently. "Yes! We are–"

"–at your service ma'am!" Niall said, finishing Louis' sentence and giving their female commander a salute, his army façade resolute.

"Awe thank you, boys." Sophia beamed at the two, thrilled with their eagerness to help. "Aren't they lovely?" She asked the flushed sleepy-head who was still sitting on the bed, his flat chest bared, the blanket pooled in his lap. He nodded in agreement, his face turning even more scarlet when he caught Louis' gaze.

"Now, move your cute little butt ova so they can come get these sheets n' wash 'em." Sophia patted the lad's leg. He began to scoot back, untangling the warm fabric from his limbs. She then lifted the covers to reveal the youngster's naked lower half with the expectation of a pair of plaid boxers.

The sudden maneuver spooked the comatose kid into action, making him jump off the springy mattress, and grab the towel that Sophia had left on the nightstand. The boy wrapped the fuzzy cloth around his shoulders like a cape. Then he scurried past Louis and Niall out the room before they could even blink, giving Flash and Dash a run for their cash.

Louis watched the curly-headed boy zoom down the hallway toward the communal bathroom. But his amused smile at the childish antics jerked down in confusion when he saw a flicker of beautiful black cursive writing on the vagabond's lower back, from beneath his absorbent superhero accessory.

The windswept man raised an arched eyebrow bemused, pondering if the British-born orphan had a tattoo.

"He's adorable, isn't he?" Sophia questioned affectionately, overturning his ink dwell. The kindhearted lady walked passed the two, laughing while she exited the room.

Louis and Niall chuckled in concurrence, then began working.

After Niall had stripped the bed and Louis had gathered the light quilt – smelling it much to the blond trooper's astonishment – the Irish mercenary inquired aloud to his captain, interrupting him mid-sniff. "You think Mum and Dad are done?"

"Uh," Louis paused, then covered up his strange behavior by fake sneezing into the blanket. "They should be." He wiped his nose with the thin duvet keeping up the act.

Or is he just trying to get another whiff? The blond wondered. Gay men, he thought, shaking his head. What's appealing about another fella's funk? Niall will never understand.

Louis continued, ignorant to his friend's olfactory judgment. "Ziam can't hold out for less than five minutes. Let's just hope they aren't at it again."

"There's only one way to find out, TommoTheHomo," Niall smirked at him.

"So what're you waitin' for LuckyTheLeprechaun?" Louis asked. "Lead the way!"

Both laughed as they retreated back to the washroom, soiled sheets held up defensively, prepared to shield themselves from angry birds and stinging bees.

But honestly, the soldiers could care less about a sexy assail. 'Cause even if Ziam's bump n' grind persisted to prevail, they refused to comprise their mission; refused to bail. Lucky and Lou loved their respected roles, with all their hearts and zealous souls. Squad Nouis was friendship goals.

~x~

Ten hours later, the four musketeers were in line with their plastic trays, waiting to be served the shelter's complementary dinner. They were all starving after a long day of hard work – "extremely hard," Niall had noted in Liam's case, shivering at the obscene memory of his swollen stiffy, the fücker. And speaking of hard work – it was more like "effortless work," Louis had snarked in regards to Zayn's contribution, rolling his eyes at the recollection of the åsshole just laying there and taking it, the fückee. As anyone could see, neither Niall nor Louis liked cleaning comforters with the licentious loves very much.

"Yup, it fücking sucked," they had grumbled in unison when describing their washing adventures to Paul over tonight's provender prep for the poor. While the five of them had grated cheese, seasoned meat, chopped lettuce, diced onions, and sliced tomatoes, Liam and Zayn had tenaciously argued that Louis and Niall's allegations were complete bullshît, claiming that their partake in such "unprofessional tomfoolery," had never happened.

However, the shrewd supervisor could not be deceived. The glassiness of Zayn's amber eyes and rosiness of Liam's chubby cheeks were the only clues he had needed to realize that the two boys were telling lies. So despite the dissent that had slipped past the cum junkies' lips, the indulgent instructor believed Niall and Louis' horrendous reminiscence to be valid veracity.

And of course, he had been correct.

If Paul possessed a bizarre quality, it was lecherous perspicacity.

Ten hours earlier

Squad Nouis left their temporary base (a.k.a. Captain Curly's sleeping quarters) and marched back to the beachhead (a.k.a. the currently-being-christened Laundromat). But prior to their impending arrival, the boys were ignorant of their advancement toward troubling waters, whose coital tide threatened a nasty demise.

Upon their sudden besiege, Niall and Louis stared, appalled, at the detrimental spectacle.

"Fück," They both hissed softly.

"This is worse than we thought," Niall stated ominously.

"No. This is way worse. This is worse than the Spanish Armada," Louis elaborated intelligently.

"What?" The blond asked, tearing his eyes away from the frightening sight, to glance at the brunette in perplexed wonderment.

"Didn't you take History?" the older one asked.

"Just 'cause I was there, doesn't mean I was awake," the younger one sassed.

"Whatever. Google it, you dipshît." Lou snapped back, annoyed. Neil was such a dumbarse.

Niall pulled out his smart phone and Wikipedia-ed the historical event. Then gave Louis the "seriously" look.

"This," he pointed at the dire situation in front of them, "is much worse than a fleet of one-hundred-and-thirty warships, that carried about twenty-five hundred guns, with crew of approximately eight thousand seamen and eighteen thousand soldiers, who sailed from Spain to invade England – and the big bad flotilla, for your information, was defeated by the British Navy and gust of wind." He took a much-needed breath, then continued to make his point. "No, if anything is worse than this, my friend, it would be the Loch Ness Monster."

"What the fück is that?" Louis deadpanned, absolutely done with Niall's disrespect.

"And I'm the stupid one? Why don't you take your own advice and look it up, you cûnt."

"Fine!" The fed-up boy rolled his eyes, then did as told. After he finished reading the ridiculous article, he glared at Niall.

"Ha! This "mythical legend"" – he exclaimed using provoking air quotes – "has nothing on that!" Louis countered while pointing at the porno before them. "No Niall, the only thing worse than seeing Zayn's bum be fucked by Liam's prìck, would be getting devoured by Moby Díck!!!"

Niall took a second to research the fictional character on the internet, then laughed. "Yeah, buddy. I think Moby's díck would be pretty overwhaleming."

Louis' fuming face broke into a toothy smile at the killer joke. "Yeah, that would be pretty gnarly."

Their quiet giggles were suddenly interrupted by a loud monstrous moan.

Louis and Niall scurried toward a drier located near the entrance of the room, and then crouched down low on the side of it, hiding where they could keep their enemy in sight, without being sighted themselves. It was the perfect location for a lookout.

"Okay we need a plan of attack," Naval Officer Lucky said to his Loutenant. Tommo was the mastermind behind all their impressive schemes.

Louis' blue orbs danced around the compromised chamber in search for something suitable, in which they could use in substitution of weapons.

"There!" He whisper-shouted, his small finger raised and angled, guiding his partner-in-crime's line of sight to a few bottles of fabric softener, that were placed on the shelf above them. "On my signal, we'll pour it on them."

"Brilliant!" Niall cheered. "There's nothin' like good ole fashioned prankin' to make Daddy quit his spankin'."

"Innit that the truth," Louis said smirking.

Louis, this time taking one for the team, peered out from behind the metal cuboid to check if the coast was clear.

Across the room stood Liam, tall and glorious, on the tile shore in front of a sparkling-cyan Whirlpool appliance. A dirty sheet was wrapped around his muscular torso, concealing his nakedness, and a transparent circle could be seen between the gap of his legs, displaying soapy waves. The tawny makeshift toga and the power to program the manufactured sea, made him resemble Poseidon's progeny. And Zayn, his nubile nymph, laid bare beneath him, his derrière at the mercy of the demigod. The naiad's tan skin covered the cleansing machine like a starfish atop a stone. His arms held on tightly, bracing himself for Liam's upcuming tsunami.

"Blimey!" Louis cried, ripping his eyes away before he could go blind.

Niall gave his leader a moment of silence to recover.

However, Lou knew that no amount of time could erase the Grecian scene from his memory – where it would forever remain a sinful silhouette burning in his brain, like the eternal flame of the Pentathlon games.

Oh well, Louis thought. The mission must go on. He could only hope that his great sacrifice will yield a great reward.

"Ok, I'm good." He said, and then got up, kicking Niall into action when he stalled. "C'mon slow poke, let's go!"

The honey-fringed boy got up and gave the artificial blond two jugs of uncapped liquid soap. Then snagged some for himself.

After they looked both ways, Loutenant Tomlinson and Plucky Lucky charged at their fücking foes.

They ran full speed at their enemy, dumping four gallons of fabric softener all over their bodies. Their hot flesh now glistened with sticky sweat and sweet-smelling slime, in the laundry room's fluorescent incandescence.

The lovers screamed, completely surprised by the assault.

Liam, in shock, slipped out of Zayn, and stumbled backward, his foot landing in an open box of powdery detergent. He accidently kicked it, sending it flying, causing the flour-like granules to diffuse in the atmosphere, creating a white cloud of soapy dust.

Niall and Louis not knowing what to do, retreated back to their hideout, leaving Zayn and Liam lost in the chalky smoke of the Gain grenade.

"Holy shît," Niall said as he pressed his back against the drying machine, and sank down to the floor, his face whiter than a bleached sheet.

"That didn't go as planned," Louis commented, stating the obvious, but not admitting defeat.

"You can say that again." Niall sighed. "What do we do now?"

"I dunno. Wait and see what happens?" Louis shrugged unsure.

Suddenly, from out of the snowy mist came a laundry cart rushing right at them. Liam and Zayn stood in the metal basket, their bodies blanketed with blue goo and detergent molecules. They each clutched the above silver bar for balance with one hand and wrapped the other around their hard angry cøcks, pumping furiously.

Before Louis and Niall had time to even realize what was going on, Liam roared, his booming voice sending shockwaves down their shivering spins.

"Aim . . . FIRE!!!"

The two Navy SEALs screamed as creamy cum sprayed their faces, the seed sousing them like water-guns. The liquid load landed in Louis' mouth and splattered across Niall's nose. The damsels' pusses were totally submerged in sperm, the sexy assail soaking them past the point of recognition.

"Oh, my god! TommoTheHomo we have been bombarded by semen!"

"LuckyTheLeprechaun call for backup! We need help! S.O.S.!"

When no one came to their rescue, Louis and Niall suppressed their bile.

"So... Do you lads give up?" Liam asked mockingly, and then stroked his spent díck, his thumb sliding over the slit, daring them to object.

"YES!" They yelled in unison. "We surrender!"

The fornicators smirked, satisfied with their reply.

"Well you know what they say," Zayn said, simpering evilly, as he grabbed onto Niall's arms, and Liam grabbed onto Louis'. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"Noooooooooooooooo."

The triumphant victors dragged the vanquish squad, kicking and screaming, back toward the washing machines, where they all worked as a team to finish the laundry.

Back to present time

Even though that hour of labor, which Louis and Niall recounted to Paul (much to Liam and Zayn's horror), was traumatic, the four set aside their vindictive desires, and completed their morning tasks without another sensual showdown. When all the blankets were folded and Ziam were scrubbed clean, the boys took a taxi to Walgreens. They used their money to replenish the supply of detergent and fabric softener that they had wasted. From there Liam, Niall, Louis, and Zayn left to recommence their friendship, at the local burger joint down the street.

Subsequent to their lunch in, the tired volunteers returned to their rooms, with stuffed bellies and restored camaraderie. They unpacked peacefully and then took relaxing naps. When their alarms alerted them that it was five P.M., the four boys woke up and headed toward the kitchen, where they helped cook the evening feast.

All in all, Louis counted his second day of service as a success. Though he hoped that tomorrow's workload wouldn't be as cumbersome.

After receiving his food, Louis scanned the cafeteria, for an available table, where he and his mates could eat their supper. However, they were all taken, with the exception of one in the far back. It was occupied by a single lad, who was chowing down while watching telly on an old vintage screen.

Louis ambled over to the lonely boy, taking a deep calming breath with each step, striving to ease the nervous tingling in his tummy. Upon approach, he realized, with mild melancholy, that the youthful vagrant was dressed in the same clothes as the night before. But today, his skin was cleaner and the wild gyres of his hair glowed a tad glossier in the dim light, probably due to having bathed in shelter's shower.

However, the cheap soap provided could not mask the sour smell of body odor, a stench that was known to torment teenagers, who lacked meticulous hygiene and scented deodorant. Sadly, this cutie was a victim of such rank realism. Louis may have gotten a whiff of his sleepy masculine perfume, but after the hottie had wandered around in the sun all day, perspiring in the humid heat, his natural fragrance had changed – and not for the better.

Poor lad, he bewailed, feeling bad. He hadn't stood a chance against the fiery glut. Rip, Louis lamented. Another one bites the musk.

Louis took a moment to control the irritated twitch of his nose. And then, took an additional one to admire the stray's pristine beauty, which in his biased opinion, was not soiled by his superficial shabbiness.

He cleared his throat to make his existence known, running a shaky hand through his fluffy fringe. Then he greeted the young vagrant in a high-pitched tone, crossing and uncrossing his tiny timid feet. "Uh... 'Ello."

The cute kitten looked away from the bright TV, and stared up at Louis, his green eyes big and curious.

Louis gave him a bashful smile and then inquired politely, his angelic rasp stuttering in the cutie-pie's presence, "Can my ma-ates and I sit h-here with y-you?"

The boy nodded, his cheeks blushing a pretty pink that Louis already loved so much.

He shook his head. It had only been two days – less than forty-eight hours – and he was already tripping over his words like a star-struck klutz.

He scratched his glasses off, which had embarrassingly fogged up due to his flushed face. My cheeks must be bloody red. Louis thought abashed. He cursed under his breath, now more mortified than ever. He tried to rub the stardust out of his eyes, then slipped the traitorous spectacles back on. Tomorrow he was definitely wearing contacts.

Not trusting his flustered brain to behave, Louis chose to seat himself across from the homeless teen, assessing that sitting directly next to him would only intensify his touching temptations. However, after Louis sat his bum on the plastic pew, he realized this spot might be even worse. Because now, he was face to face with the curly-haired hobo. And God, did Louis really really really want to twirl his fingers through those molasses swirls.

Fück, he needed help. These doting impulses that he felt were not normal. Well, at least not for a complete stranger.

Louis tore his eyes away from the cherubic countenance and super-glued them to the telly.

They sat in an awkward silence, barring Louis' restless fidgeting and Curly's slow methodical chewing.

Louis would try to converse with the attractive lad, but he cannot – for the life of him – think of anything to talk about. What do you say to a homeless teenager? How were the streets today? Louis didn't think so. He bit his lip, choosing to wait for his mates before safely perusing a conversation.

After a few more minutes of charged tension, where the shy crushers glanced at one another every ten seconds, the postponed-footie players reached the table and sat down, blowing the electric fuse between the boy and Lou.

"Muuurgh." Niall moaned ridiculously loud, sniffing the food on his tray like a hungry animal. On today's menu was: two large tacos (it was Taco Tuesday), chips and salsa, and beans and rice. "This looks so goooooood." He declared, slicing the silence like a knife, which Louis was thankful for.

Once he was done inhaling the delicious aroma, Niall grinned, flashing his pearly whites, parading his excitement for the soon-to-be-devoured meal.

"God I'm starving," He said holding his stomach in feigned pain. He was always overdramatic and hyperbolical when he was ravenous. "I've never been hungrier in meh life!" The Irish lied. (He said this almost every day. Therefore, no one exactly knew when he had felt or was currently feeling his most famished.)

"Jesus Nialler, you act like you haven't eaten in years," Liam said with a shake of his head.

"No Li, I haven't eaten in centuries!" The blond singsonged in harmonious joy, his words mirroring the melody of FallOutBoy.

Liam rolled eyes, while Zayn took a bite.

"Mmm." The raven-haired man hummed in approval, then swallowed his food. "This actually tastes pretty good." He observed, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"REALLY?" Niall probed eagerly, his eyes pouring into Zayn's. He stared into the brown abysses; looked into the windows of his soul, trying to feel his mate's taste buds on a spiritual level.

"Yeah...?" Zayn questioned, raising his eyebrows, freaked out by his friend's gauche gawking.

The grub guru continued to gaze until the got a glimpse of Zayn's subconscious, sensing content in the ocher irises. Oh yes, Niall ruminated pensively, these tacos are sure to satisfy; sure to give a natural high.

"Uh...Can I help you?" Zayn asked, this time truly concerned.

Niall, pleased to have found key nourishment vibes in Z's eyes, unlocked his cobalt orbs from Zayn's copper ones, and then dug in. He shoved the stuffed crunchy shell into his mouth, ravishing the tasty taco with his tongue for all to see.

Tommo's nose wrinkled in distaste, repulsed by Horan's barbaric etiquette.

"You're disgusting." Louis jibed, his tone acidic.

"You're disgusting." Niall sighed, then mimicked.

His Irish accent parroted Louis' British pitch, modulating from tuneful tenor to shrilly soprano, his flimsy hand flaunted in the air, flicking back in forth flamboyantly, and his stuck-out bum wiggled on the bench, sashaying in-place like a flirtatious fruitcake.

Louis stared at him, furious. His eyes were two flaming balls of rage, shooting icy daggers at the fake-arse blond, wanting nothing more than to kill him for making fun of his gayness – which contrary to popular belief – he cannot control!

The angry boy clenched the speared utensil in his small fist, preparing to stab his offender with the fork, because obviously, Niall had a death wish. No one mocks Louis Tomlinson and gets away with it.

Louis stopped his implacable pursuit when he heard blissful giggles. In slow motion, the angered avenger turned around to see where the sweet sound was coming from. His irritated eyes landed on the coy homeless boy, who was chortling in the palm of his oversized hand. Finding the dulcet laugh mollifying, Louis lowered his weaponized implement. He had to resist cooing, not wanting his friends to suspect any suspicious intentions.

Regardless of Louis' subtlety, Liam still noticed his affectionate goggle. Putting a stop to it, he cleared his throat in a mediating manner. "What's that red mark on your neck, Lou?" He asked, pointing to the spot in question. "It looks like you've been choked?"

"Your boyfriend," Louis glared at Zayn, "basically strangled me to death when he pulled me away by my shirt from that pap yesterday."

"I'm sorry for stopping you from committing first-degree murder and rotting in jail for the rest of your life!" The restrainer exclaimed defensively.

"Crazy mofos," Niall mumbled while munching on a chip. "It looked like you were going to rip that lady's head off." The leprechaun said to Louis, remembering the vulgar encounter.

"I sure would've, if someone hadn't intervened," Louis grumbled spitefully under his breath. "Fookin' twat."

Then as if on queue, the ancient television a few feet away announced that there was a "breaking news story." All the boys turned towards the telly in rapt attention, as the news anchor began her objective divulgence.

"The players from London's Football Team, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, and Niall Horan, who were caught graffitiing discriminatory political images and vandalizing the U.S. team's equipment, arrived yesterday afternoon at around three o'clock in New York City. When the four sportsmen were leaving the airport, a persistent paparazzi–"

"Speak of the devil." Louis hissed like a snake, voice laced with venomous hate.

"–tried to provoke the well-known athletic star, Louis Tomlinson, into expressing his feelings about being disqualified from playing in the World Cup, and instead, being forced to come here and serve in one of our homeless shelters. Even though people are still angry about his controversial actions, many fans are not sure if he deserved this level of harsh ridicule from the reporter, which included: name mispronunciation, excessive taunting, and a very offensive homosexual innuendo. Take a look at the video and be the judge for yourself. Tweet us what you think @NYDailyNews..."

The five of them watched a replay of the events from the day before. The recording broadcasted the reporter's nasty taunting and Zayn's steel grip on a deranged Louis. The perceptive lad had held him back, protecting the pap from his crazed wrath.

"God, I just wanted to beat that bįtch's ares!" Louis shouted, his fists clenched, glaring at woman's wicked face.

"Yeah," the boy across from him said, his deep melodious voice speaking for the first time. "It looks like you really wanted to punch her." He observed. Then his cherry lips smirked jocosely. "Or should I say...soccer."

He laughed hysterically at his own joke, while the four footie stars stared at him unamused, not game for his word play.

"G-Get i-it?!" The adolescent asked in between uproarious wheezes. "Sock her?! 'Cause like you're a footie player, but here in America they call it soccer!" He continued to laugh, one giant-sized hand holding his stomach, and the other covering his big mouth, trying – and failing miserably – to silence his bark-like noises, tears falling from his elated eyes.

Liam and Zayn face palmed. Niall chuckled politely. And Louis smiled, endeared that the boy found himself so hilarious, despite the fact that he wasn't.

But since Louis didn't want the poor ignorant soul to feel alone, so he laughed along with him.

"We get it, mate." He said, acknowledging the joke kindly, his sunshine eyes radiating fond like a warm furnace.

Once again, Liam – not missing a beat – noticed Lou's heart eyes. But he let it slide, deciding to confront him about the troubling matter another time.

When the boy without a home finally settled down, the five resumed chewing their Mexican food.

Once everyone was done, Liam announced, "We better go help clean up, lads," nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. The four friends rose and dumped their leftovers in the waste bin.

"It was nice chatting with ya," Louis said in farewell to the handsome fella. Then he winked, and walked away, a winsome skip in his whimsical step.

~x~

"Hey, yeh guys up for a lad's night out?" Niall asked, rinsing an enormous pot in warm sanitized water. The four boys were washing dishes in the back of the kitchen, while the remaining staff cleaned the cafeteria. "Paul says there's this local club that'll service us. As long as we got money, they won't ask for I.D.!" He continued, delivering the last line in his most persuasive cadence.

"I dunno, Nialler." Liam exhaled, exasperated, his lips pouting in apprehension. The man was currently scrubbing the big guacamole bowl, which, according to Niall, had held "green gold."

"That's illegal, and we're already in deep shît." The prude stated matter-of-factly. "I don't think we should risk it..." He trailed off, his worried gaze fixated on the soapy porcelain. "And getting caught would ruin our image even more." Liam reasoned wisely.

"Awe c'mon Li, please!" Niall begged, giving him puppy eyes. "Paul said it's karaoke night! And you know how much I love karaoke night."

However, the big baby blues didn't work on Liam.

"No Niall. My decision is final."

The sad blond sighed. There wasn't much he could do if Mr. Goody Two-Shoes disapproved.

"Lee-yum," Zayn interjected sweetly. He was standing in front of a large storage cupboard, stocking decontaminated trays that had contained the impoverished plebs' supper today. After putting down the plastic platter, he turned his body toward his boyfriend, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's just one night, babe. And would you rather Ni go alone? At least if we tag along, we can keep an eye on him." He deduced rationally.

Louis quit his drying for a second to look at Liam, his towel hanging loosely in his limp hand. "C'mon dad. Mum's right." He said siding with Zayn. "And it'll be fun!" He promised convincingly.

Louis thought it would be cool to check out the New York City bar scene. He was always up for a good drink, a good time, and a good fück. Please, please, please, let there to be some men there that are gay and single and ready to mingle, his discarded díck desperately prayed, not having penetrated an åss for days. At this point, he wouldn't even mind bottoming. As long as he had sex somehow someway, Louis would be okay.

They all stared at Liam pleadingly. But the unyielding lad could not ignore the way Zayn remarkably implored. His lover's honey-hued eyes bore his into him, melting his solid insides into amenable mush, eventually causing him to give in and give up.

"Ugh, fine!" The self-righteous man cried, morals totally abandoned. "But as soon as I say we're leaving, we are leaving, got it?"

"YES!" The three screamed in victory, then carried on cleaning, the atmosphere now buzzing with excitement for the brewing beer. On occasion, however, the festive ambiance was spiked with fear.

"Zaynie, can you wash the spa-spoons please?"

"Sure thing, baby."

The designated dryer rolled his eyes. Why they put Liam, the lad afraid of ladles, on dish duty, was beyond him.

~x~

Louis trudged alone out of the soup kitchen fifteen minutes later, claiming that he needed an early start back to his room: "I need time Liam. It might be my lucky day. I gotta dress to impress, just in case I get laid."

To be totally honest that was an excuse to escape. Louis was going to scream if he had to towel another dripping tray! He wasn't born to do chores; his permanently messy room back in Donny was proof of that. And besides, according to his mum, he shouldn't even be allowed to step foot inside a kitchen, arguing that he would burn it to the ground.

Jay had prohibited him from entering theirs at home after he had tried to make Daisy a baked potato. However, it had all gone to hell when he had placed the foil-wrapped tuber in the microwave – instead of the oven – and it caught fire.

So maybe she had a point: he was a hazard when using kitchen appliances. But whatever, he could still make a mean cup of tea.

Regardless of the fact that Louis hadn't demonstrated his terrible culinary skills yet (the cheese that he had grated for dinner wasn't considered "cooking"), he still hoped that the staff would come to their senses and ban him anyway. If they gave the lazy bum the same treatment that Johanna had given her son, then Louis would be freed from post-meal cleaning.

Or, to quicken up the process, maybe I should just give them a reason to? Louis schemed brilliantly. Maybe I should "accidently" cause another mini-conflagration?

But nothing too big, he didn't want to risk incinerating the entire place. Louis was afraid that if he purposely set something aflame – no matter how small the object – it would eventually flare up and flourish into an inferno, leaving him in deep deep shît.

He needed to plot another way that would minimize the danger and the damage of a real kitchen combustion. Maybe I should fake a fire? Louis connived cunningly. Yes, that just might work! He rubbed his hands deviously, his clever ruse making him smirk.

Damn Louis, back at it again with the bright plans. He thought humorously as he was walked to the hotel-like dormitory. When he got the chance, he was going to consult Niall about the execution of his blazing banishment.

But as he frolicked gleefully across the path, images of smoking food filling his mind, a Swiss chocolate curl caught his blueberry eye.

The cute homeless boy, who Lou had eaten tacos with an hour ago, was standing in front of the hostel line. A heavily-pregnant woman with her young daughter were anxiously waiting behind.

As Louis trod past them, he overheard their conversation taking place at the door.

"Are you sure that's the last one?" The gal asked, her voice rising higher and higher with panic as she continued to inquire. "Please you must have another one. I'm sorry I showed up late, but I tried to get here as fast as I could and –"

Louis peered, as nonchalantly as he could, over at the shelter entrance, trying to figure out what had this knocked-up lady in such a beseeching state.

"I'm very sorry ma'am, but he got the last vacant room," Perrie said regretfully, interrupting her doubtful ramble. "Come again tomorrow, and hopefully we'll have a spot for y'all."

Even though the director maintained a professional façade, Louis could tell that her heart shattered into smaller and smaller pieces with each word that she uttered. Sophia stood beside her spouse supportively, but her expression illustrated pity, her hazel orbs watering with condolence at the damsel's misfortune.

Tears of despair ran down the woman's swollen cheeks, puffed up from an exhausting pregnancy, and her chapped sun-bitten lips trembled with dejection, her misery-stricken face displaying sadness and desolation.

Louis had to tear his eyes away, the scene too sorrowful.

Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

Just when she was about to give up hope, a low voice spoke, like a rebellious rumble of thunder in a cloudless midnight sky.

"Here."

Louis returned his gaze toward the entryway, recognition flooding his mind, harking back to the baritone that had jested not to long ago. He watched as Curly retraced his steps, his long legs striding back outside, leaving the hostel's haven of heat behind. His green eyes gauged the family, looking from the soot-covered lass to her mother's enlarged stomach, filled with her soon-to-be-birthed sibling.

"You can have my bed." He said, and then softly stuffed his sleeping accessories in her boney barren arms.

Louis' mouth dropped open in shock. Did he just...?

"Are you sure?" She questioned incredulously.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure." He nodded, his dimples flashing as he smiled.

Freaking smiled. Louis thought beguiled. He couldn't believe this boy. This kind kind boy, who had just given up his bloody shelter for the night. We he even real?

"Really. I'll be fine." The vagrant promised. "You obviously need it more than I do."

"I-I can't. I –" The lady stuttered speechless, stunned by his gracious generosity, his benevolent hospitality.

He placed one of his gentle bear paws on her giant belly. "Please. For your baby, yeah?"

Louis felt faint. He was in the presence of a saint.

She blushed, and then pulled the charitable lad in tight for an appreciative hug. She kissed his cheeks gratefully as she repeated gaily: "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

The tall boy laughed, his straight teeth grinning happily. "My pleasure, miss. Have a nice night." He ruffled the skinny girl's dirty curls, before walking away. Louis watched him go until he disappeared into the darkness.

"Wow," Sophia whispered in awe. "What a sweet boy."

"Yeah, he really is." Perrie agreed. "Nothin' like El or Danielle."

The two wives chuckled as they made their way inside, followed by the waddling woman and her teeny-weeny offspring.

Louis traveled back to his room, feeling lightheaded, woozy, and feverish. He didn't actually have an illness, but he was most definitely love-sick.

Sophia had been right. Wow wasn't even a good enough word to describe the vagabond's actions – more like amazing. Because what he had done was so surreal. Louis would have liked to think that if he was in the kid's tattered shoes, that he would have been just as selfless. But honestly, he didn't know if he could have been so philanthropic. He didn't know if he could have sacrificed a warm comfy bed for the cold spartan streets.

Maybe that boy was an angel in disguise? Louis thought while looking up at the heavenly sky. But regardless of his nonexistent wings or inability to fly, Curly's personality was more picturesque than a work of art. He had everything Louis wanted in a counterpart: a beautiful smile, a boisterous laugh, and a big loving heart.

X

A/N: Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think! More fun to come guys, so please stay tuned! Until next time...(: