#it's so much more soft and flouncy from his usual style

[its-always-sunny-in-forks]

He took Carlisle's cross with him

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 43 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters here on AQ or here if you’d rather read on AO3. xoxo!

And thank you again to our wonderful betas: @saiphl, @sillylittlecandycane

Chapter Summary: It’s finally the night of senior prom!! It starts out great...but will it end in disaster? (Spoiler alert: yes)

Chapter 43: I Just Wanna Dance

There were a million things Courtney loved about being in the The Scarlet Pimpernel--finally getting a chance to play a lead role in a musical, the songs themselves, the beautiful costumes they’d borrowed from a nearby university’s theatre company, the warm encouragement from Mrs. Maguire, watching her friends and castmates shine, when her dad surprised her by showing up for one of the weekend shows with a bouquet of pink roses…

But her favorite thing of all was being onstage with Adore. It was the first time they’d had multiple scenes together since playing Annie and Miss Hannigan in 5th grade, and for Courtney, it made the experience a million times better.

Closing night was bittersweet. In some ways, Courtney wished that it would never end. But she was excited for prom and graduation, their Mexico road trip and their first apartment. So even though it was a little bit sad, she didn’t cling to it. Instead, she focused on the excitement she felt about everything to come, and really tried to live in the moment, committing every single second to memory.

In the garden scene with Adore, she noticed the little wisps of hair around her face that were lit up by the bright stage lights, the way her hazel eyes gleamed, and when she leaned toward her, it was the closest they’d ever come to actually kissing in this scene. All Courtney wanted was to surrender, to just close her eyes, let their lips touch, but she fought it, finally pushing Adore away like she was supposed to at the last possible second, heart pounding, feeling a bit light-headed while she watched her sing. Really listening to the lyrics for what felt like the first time.

“Marguerite, don't forget I know who you are. We were cut from the same surly star, like two jewels in the sky, sharing fire. Where's the girl, so alive and still aching for more? We had dreams that were worth dying for. We were caught in the eye of a storm! Come again!”

Adore grabbed her hands, spinning her in a circle, and a lump formed in Courtney’s throat.

“Let the girl in your heart tumble free. Bring your renegade heart home to me. In the dark of the morning, I'll warm you, I'll rouse you . . .”

As they slowly stopped turning in a circle, Courtney swallowed hard, the dizziness getting to her, stomach in knots, and it was if Adore could sense it. She pulled her in by the waist, singing the last verse softly, directly to her. And something happened for the first time that Courtney couldn’t explain--a single tear began to slip down her cheek.

“Where's the girl? Is she gazing at me with surprise? Do I still see that blaze in her eyes? Am I dreaming or is she beside me . . . now . . .?”

The music slowly faded out, and Courtney knew that Adore was waiting for her next line, her eyes soft and expectant. She knew that she had to get it out; this was the script, and she couldn’t change it no matter how much she wanted to. So she mustered up all of her strength, squaring her shoulders and speaking, firmly and hoarsely.

“No. Get out.”

Adore’s eyes went cold as she turned and left the stage, and for a second Courtney really did think that she was going to fall, to faint or throw up or something else entirely unexpected. She knew she only had about three seconds before Willam and Gia entered, so she quickly swiped the tear from her cheek and took a deep breath, pushing down the terrible feeling that something had broken inside of her, something she wouldn’t ever be able to fix.

-

“Hey…”

Courtney whirled around as Adore touched her shoulder, a startled look on her face that softened when she saw Adore.

“Oh, hi.”

“Are you alright?” Adore asked. She’d noticed the tears while they were onstage, and had a feeling that it was more than just acting.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s...I guess just that this is the last time we’re gonna be doing the show. Kinda silly.” She wiped her eyes, looking a bit embarrassed.

Adore smiled softly, pulling her in for a hug. “Nah, I know how you feel.”

Courtney squeezed her back tightly. “Thanks, Dory. I love you.”

“Me too, babe.”

-

“You girls are just so gorgeous and grown-up,” Bonnie said, sniffling a little as she snapped photo after photo.

It was finally the night of their senior prom, and as a treat, Bonnie and Karen had gotten together and treated the girls to a little spa day: mani pedis - the fancy kind with paraffin wax and massages and rhinestone embellishments, lunch at their favorite café, and professional hair styling. Courtney had gone for a glamorous updo studded with tiny red roses, Adore for a half-up style with criss-crossing fishtail braids, and Tati for smooth finger-waves that made her look like an old-time movie star. Afterwards, they’d all headed back to Adore’s house to do their makeup and get dressed.

To Adore’s relief, Courtney hadn’t brought up her weird objections to Tati being her date, and she was friendly as can be to Tati just like usual, gossiping about their classmates, giggling, having a grand old time.

Adore was very pleased with the outfit she’d ended up with: an amazing thrift store find, a short, square-necked black lace dress, very bruja, and she’d paired it with studded black boots, fishnets, and the leather choker that Courtney’d gotten her for her birthday last year. Tati looked amazing as always, her skin-tight hot pink minidress really pushing the dress code limits, but the color so fun that she’d probably be fine.

And then there was Courtney. Adore was surprised when she’d chosen it, the sleek white two-piece so unlike her: no sparkly embellishments or flouncy girliness--just a simple, spaghetti-strapped, open-backed top and long slitted skirt that made her early summer tan glow. When she first put it on, Adore had to look away for a moment, so as not to get choked up about how beautiful she was. Then of course, she completed the look with sparkly silver star accessories, red stones in her necklace matching the roses in her hair. Before they’d headed downstairs for photos, Adore gestured to her charm bracelet, the rose-gold obviously not fitting the color theme of her ensemble.

“That doesn’t really match,” she noted, and Courtney bit her lip, meeting Adore’s eyes with a look that made her insides twist.

“I don’t care.”

Now, in Courtney’s backyard, they posed for the dozens of pictures that Karen and Bonnie insisted on. First all the girls separately, then together, then Adore and Tati, who were still posing when Roy finally rounded the corner in his white tux. The second Adore caught sight of his red pocket square she burst out laughing, unable to help herself.

“Thanks, Delano, exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he said.

“No, it’s cause your pocket square is...Courtney, I fucking knew that you’d do that shit again!” Adore laughed, and Courtney just shrugged, accepting first a kiss on the cheek and then the wrist corsage with the requested red roses.

“I never denied it!” Courtney said. She reached out and adjusted Roy’s lapels, grinning. “I think he looks perfect.”

“Thank you, babe, and you’re beautiful,” Roy said, before ruining the moment by turning and blowing a raspberry in Adore’s direction.

“That’s mature.”

“Adore, please pull it together for two more shots!” Bonnie interrupted, and Adore put her arm back around Tati’s waist.

Courtney and Roy were next, followed by group shots, and then Karen insisted on a couple with Courtney and Adore.

Adore swallowed, letting Courtney take her hand and lean a head on her shoulder, feeling slightly awkward.

“It’s kind of funny, don’t you think?” Courtney asked, between shots.

“What?”

Courtney gestured to their outfits. “Black and white.”

“Oh yeah. Very fitting, huh?” Adore said.

Courtney gazed up at her, a starry-eyed smile on her face, and Adore could feel herself melting right back to the place she’d insisted she’d never go again as the camera flashed.

“Mom! I wasn’t ready!”

“It was cute!” Karen defended herself.

“Do you think we should call Pearl and ask when-”

“Limo has arrived, bitcheeeeeees!” screeched a voice, and everyone turned to see Willam at the gate, along with Trinity, Pearl, Fame and Violet, who all came bounding in, dressed to the nines.

Courtney squealed happily, clapping her hands. After about ten or twenty more pictures of the whole group, Bonnie and Karen finally dismissed them, letting them pile into the limo, laughing and screaming happily, music blasting.

Adore was the last one to go, turning to give her mother one last little wave, pretending not to notice the tears shining in her eyes as she called, “Bye Ma! Don’t wait up!”

-

The hotel ballroom where their prom was held was the fanciest place Adore had ever been. After looking up at the huge crystal chandelier over the dance floor, Adore turned to Tati with a look of confusion and asked, “Oh my god...is our school bougie?”

Tati laughed, pulling her onto the dance floor with the rest of their group. The DJ was surprisingly good, and they twirled and laughed, dancing for hours before Tati finally admitted that her feet were killing her and she needed a break.

“Ugh, same,” said Pearl.

“This is why you wusses should have worn more comfortable shoes,” Adore proclaimed, modeling her combat boots as they trooped over to grab some punch and sit down.

“Not everyone can pull that off, dear,” Tati told her.

“Or you can just do what Trinity did,” Pearl said, gesturing to her prom date, platform sandals kicked off to the side of the dance floor, her bright yellow dress hiked up with her hands as she, Courtney and Willam shook it to Shakira’s ‘Hips Don’t Lie,’ Roy awkwardly joining in with decidedly less enthusiasm than the others.

“Still think my solution’s better,” said Adore, settling down at the table with a glass of sugary punch.

They relaxed for a few minutes, chatting and giggling, before they were joined by first Violet, then Fame, then Bob, who came bounding over with April to hype up the afterparty.

“You guys are going, right? It’s gonna be amazing!” he exclaimed, and Violet shook her head in disbelief.

“You really think a school-sanctioned afterparty will be that much fun?” she asked.

“I’m telling you! Everyone says it’s the best part of the night.”

“Really? I would think the best part of the night is how sexy your girlfriend looks,” said Pearl, sending a wink in April’s direction, making her giggle and preen.

“Okay, yes, she does, but also...after the afterparty, there’s a pancake breakfast. So, come on...”

“Robert! Hello young man! Lookin’ slick!” Roy called, walking over to give Bob a hug and slap on the back. He looked a bit sweaty and disheveled, and it made Adore chuckle.

“Courtney’s giving you a real workout, huh?” she teased.

“That girl wouldn’t leave a dance floor if you paid her,” Roy answered with a sigh, dragging a chair over from a nearby table to sit heavily. “Luckily, Willam and Trinity have much higher endurance than me, so-”

“Guess again!” Trinity exclaimed, as she flopped into Pearl’s lap. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Aww, you guys all abandoned the blue-eyed devils,” Bob said, gesturing to Courtney and Willam on the dance floor, making April crack up.

“They’re fine,” Roy said, leaning back in the chair, eyes closing.

Adore looked over at the dance floor, watching them while everyone chatted. When the song ended, to her surprise, Courtney made her way over to the group too.

“Whoa, maybe she’s actually tired! Did someone slip you some Benadryl, Court?”

Turned out, she was only there to ask Adore to come back onto the dance floor.

“Will you come dance with me?” she cajoled, reaching out her hand, a soft and hopeful look in her eyes.

“Uh…” Adore knew this was a bad idea. As much as she tried not to, told herself not to, she’d already spent too much of the evening with one eye on Courtney with Roy, fixated on the way they laughed and flirted and touched each other--it was like regressing two years, and she just wasn’t in the right headspace to confront her feelings.

“Please?” Courtney touched Adore’s lace-covered wrist, adding with a twinkle, “I’ll be your best friend...”

Adore had to chuckle at that, standing up with a resigned sigh. “Good one, bitch.”

Courtney beamed at her, leading her to the dance floor. Of course, it was some slow, schmaltzy pop ballad. And of course, Courtney’s arms immediately went around her neck, pulling her close. Head resting on her shoulder.

Adore didn’t know where to put her hands. Courtney’s skimpy top left so much of her back exposed, she could feel herself panicking before finally letting them settle on her hips. Even then, it was impossible to avoid her waist, her thumbs grazing the soft bare skin a few times before she tried tucking them into her palms.

“I love you, Dory,” Courtney murmured, and Adore gulped.

“Love you too.”

Adore tried to get her heart to settle, tried to stop the churning in her stomach, the song dragging on for what felt like an eternity while she sweated and held back her tears. When it finally ended, she broke away immediately, mumbling about how she needed a cigarette, and bolted from the dance floor.

-

Courtney watched Adore go, misty-eyed, wondering why she always ran away just when it felt like they were getting closer, and couldn’t help the dejected feeling inside, stomach twisting with regret.

“Punch?”

Courtney turned around to see Roy, holding out a cup of red punch for her. Of course he was. He was always there: dependent, steadfast, the one person in her life that she could always count on. The guilt Courtney felt would be crushing if she didn’t love him so much.

She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close, asking, “How did I end up with the best boyfriend in the world?”

Roy sighed, setting the cup on a nearby table and wrapping her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head.

“Just lucky, I guess.” After a few moments, he ventured softly, “Do you wanna dance some more?”

“Yes,” Courtney said, arms tightening around him even more. “Yes, I really fucking do.”

-

“There you are…” Tati said, when she finally found Adore in the hotel courtyard, sitting against a stucco wall, smoking a cigarette. “You alright?”

She settled in beside her, maneuvering the best she could so as not to let her dress ride up around her hips. This didn’t feel like a conversation where it would be productive to have her underwear showing.

“Just fucking peachy.” Adore took a long drag.

“Yeah. Listen, I-”

“I really don’t want any advice right now,” Adore said, and Tati immediately closed her mouth.

“Ooookay,” she breathed, realizing that now wasn’t the right time to say what she had to say.

“Sorry. It’s just, my head is all-”

“Nah, I get it.” Tati patted her fishnet-covered thigh.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Adore’s head leaning back on the wall, Tati watching the smoke curling up into the midnight sky.

“Can I ask you a question, though?”

“I guess.” Adore’s voice was tired and hoarse, so Tati tried to phrase it as gently and tactfully as possible.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen? If you, like, told her?”

Adore took a long drag of her cigarette, pondering the answer before saying, “I could die. I could literally die.”

“Alright.” Tati said, stretching her legs out in front of her. She wasn’t inclined to push it, adding a simple, “Just seems like something to think about.”

After a few more moments of tense silence, Adore sniffled, and Tati realized that she was crying.

“I should get out of here,” she said, stabbing the cigarette out on the pavement, using her lacy sleeve to wipe her eyes.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. It’s prom. Stay and have fun,” Adore said, and Tati was overcome with sympathy, wished there was something she could do to make her feel better--or at least, enough better to have a carefree and fun night like they all deserved. It had started out so well, and Tati still wasn’t sure where it’d gone wrong.

“Adore, come on, you can-”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Tati said, staying on the ground while Adore got up, resigned to just let her have her feelings, realizing that there really was nothing she could do in that moment.

-

“Yeah, I know! There’s just something off about his face!” Violet laughed, following Trinity out of the bathroom, still talking about an idiot jock who’d tried to feel her up on the dance floor.

“I think it would be an okay face if he wasn't such a jerk,” Trinity said.

“Okay face is probably the best he can hope for,” Violet agreed. “But don’t you think he-”

Violet stopped short, abdomen twisting when she spotted Fame, in the same location they’d left her outside the restrooms, looking beautiful as ever in her full, floor-length gown covered in a large-scale blue flower print. Only she wasn’t alone. There was a blonde girl chatting with her...a blonde girl in a short, sparkly pink dress who was acting awfully familiar, a hand on Fame’s bare upper arm, flashing a bright white smile.

“Who the hell are you?” Violet asked, and the girl turned to her, blinking her brown eyes slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said-” Violet began, but Fame jumped in.

“You know what? We should talk later,” she told the girl, mouthing ‘sorry’ in an annoyingly obvious way, clearly not caring that Violet could see her. Or maybe doing it specifically for Violet’s benefit. Violet’s nails dug into her palms at the thought.

“Alright. Later then. Can’t wait to hang out again,” the girl said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Fame’s cheek before sauntering away with a victorious smirk.

“Who the fuck was that?” Violet asked, and Fame turned to her with crossed arms and a crosser expression.

“Hey, I think I hear...something...uh…” Trinity stammered out, backing away so as not to get caught up in the drama, calling out to an imaginary person, “What? Oh, you need-okay, coming!”

She turned and ran back towards the ballroom, leaving Fame and Violet alone.

“Well?” Violet asked, her tone still hostile, but how else was she supposed to be right now?

Fame let out a long sigh, asking, “Why are you so difficult?” She began to walk away, but Violet reached for her, fingers closing around her wrist and tugging her back.

“Fame. Who was that?”

“She’s just a girl I know from working at the bakery,” Fame said, eyes closing as if the conversation was too exhausting for words. “She graduated last year, but I guess she’s here with a friend, so-”

“No. I mean, why were you flirting with her? I thought tonight was about us.”

“Vi…” Fame finally looked into her eyes, blue eyes a bit sad, shaking her head. “Why do you always have to do this?”

“Do what?” Violet could feel herself growing more and more agitated, more and more uneasy, the ground shifting beneath her.

“Talk about us, like that. You’re my best friend. You know how much I love you. But not...not like that.”

Violet didn’t like where this conversation was going, not one bit. She bit back her anger, her impatience, her jealousy, and made her voice as soft and calm as possible.

“But you agreed to be my date. You came here with me-”

“As friends.”

“I don’t get it!” Violet exploded. “You finally broke up with Patrick, officially, and-”

“This is not about Patrick!” Fame exclaimed, exasperation all over her face. “It never was. I guess it was easy to use him as an excuse, but...I just don’t think of you that way.”

Bitterness swirled in Violet’s chest, and before she could stop herself, she spit out, “But you think of that random slut that way?” She gestured angrly in the direction of the blonde, the girl who it seemed had single-handedly managed to ruin her night. “And what did she mean by ‘again’?”

“I...we kind of...hooked up last year,” Fame admitted. “When Patrick and I were on a break, after-”

“You hooked up with a girl and you didn’t tell me? What the fuck?” Violet said, anger and confusion combining, the whole thing like hands wrapped around her throat, making her eyes water and her chest constrict.

“Well, I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I guess I was wrong, since you’re being so understanding.”

“Fuck you,” Violet spat out, turning and walking away.

“Violet, wait!”

Violet stopped walking, but she didn’t turn. She couldn’t bear to look at Fame’s face right now, not when tears were burning in her eyes, threatening to spill over any second.

“Look, I’m sorry! Okay? I guess I just...I didn’t want to say anything that would risk hurting you. Because I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I do love you-”

At that, Violet whirled back around, those angry tears streaking hotly down her cheeks.

“No you don’t,” she said. “You never have. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Vi-”

“Enjoy your prom,” she choked out, before breaking away and rushing towards the lobby. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew that she couldn’t go back into that ballroom, with those people. Not like this.

-

Adore trudged slowly through the parking lot, wondering where she should even go. This part of town was mostly new--lots of pointless high-end stores, yuppie restaurants, hipster bars.

“Hey! Where the fuck are you going?” demanded a voice, and Adore smiled to herself, turning around to find Violet, face streaked in tears, stomping from the hotel angrily.

Adore chuckled sadly. “You look like I feel.”

“Well you look like shit,” Violet countered.

“Okay, so I guess I look like I feel too.”

“God fucking damn it, why can’t we just have one night where we’re like, normal teenagers?” Violet exclaimed, face turned upwards, and Adore shook her head.

“I dunno.”

“Where were you going, anyway?”

“I honestly don’t know. Just...anywhere but here.”

“Same.” Violet took her hand. “I think there’s a diner a few blocks away that’ll be open. Come on.”

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Unforgettable-Chapter One

 Also on AO3                       Special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Chapter One

Short flouncy skirt, tight strapless top, boyfriend jacket, bare legs, high heels, curled lashes, red lipstick, and wild black hair.

“Oh my God Beauchamp, you have outdone yourself.”

“Claire! You are late for your own party! Time to go!”

“Okay, okay, let’s go.”

Claire smiled at Geillis and Laoghaire when they gushed over her outfit. The three of them were notorious fashion smashers who could not give a rip about fitting in. Her friends looked bomb tonight, very fitting for her favorite club and last night out for two years.

I will go out in style tonight, she decided.

Entering the club they heard the loud roar from friends, causing enough of a disturbance to make heads turn in their direction. Claire scanned the crowd and smiled at the good looking men, it was her weakness after all. Bodies were hugging and shots were pounded and then it was time time to dance. Claire grabbed Laoghaire and pointed at Geillis and they pushed into the center of the dance floor to get their groove on. After five songs Claire headed back to the table and was pulled into Rupert’s lap showing her a cherry in his palm.

“Lovely! Lay down your bets people, Geillis will cover up to one hundred dollars!” Geillis shot her a look and she shot one back, I got this, no worries.

Someone dropped a second cherry into Rupert’s palm and a fifty-dollar bill was slapped on the table. Claire looked up at a dreamy cowboy in a Stetson and felt her panties melt off. She smiled and took the challenge pushing both cherries into her mouth. Mister dreamy sat down and watched closely and four minutes later out came two cherries tied together. Dreamy turned them this way and that smiling at her parlor trick.

“Care to dance…miss…”

They swayed to a slow song while she took inventory of dreamy. Stunning hair and height, handsome face, but alas, she wasn’t feeling it. When he walked her back he pointed in the direction of his table and asked her to join him. Claire smiled and said maybe later. Shots came to the table and her friends toasted her as they slammed them back.

Laoghaire spoke in Claire’s ear that her cousin was here and she should say hello. She pulled Laoghaire into her lap and kissed her on the mouth before standing up to meet her kin. She was used to looking eye to eye with most men so when she saw a massive chest her eyes kept going up. Square jaw and cleft chin, yummy blue- oh my God eyes. She quickly surveyed the table and then put her arms around his neck to speak into his ear.

“I’m sorry but newcomers are required to kiss someone with dark hair and it looks like I am the only one at the table with dark hair. Let’s get this over with so you can get on with your night.”

She pulled his laughing mouth down on hers for a sensuous soft kiss that he was in no hurry to end. His arms came around her and his kiss deepened and then suddenly it was over. Claire told him that was fine and announced James was one of us tonight. Geillis started screaming it was time to dance and pulled her to the dance floor. They waved and hollered at their favorite DJ and he spun their favorites for the next hour keeping them on the floor shaking their ass.

Claire pulled Geillis back to the table before passing out from heat exhaustion. More shots were ordered and more friends came until the table had no seats left. She tapped cousin Jaime on the shoulder and motioned to his lap. He laughed and pushed away from the table so she could sit. Ooh, an unexpected delight was her short skirt being pushed this way and that by her constant twisting in Jamie’s lap. Before long she was in direct contact with the denim covering Jamie’s thigh and decided that was spectacular.

Someone produced an old Instamatic camera and the friends burned through three rolls of film, toasting and kissing each other, hugging and smiling. Because it was Claire’s going away party, most of the pictures were of her and various friends and all of those were on the lap of Laoghaire’s cousin.

She felt his hand move down her leg and she looked at him smiling.

“I have to go Sassenach, work tomorrow. I wish I could stay.”

“I get it, someone has to be responsible to remind all of us that we are hopeless miscreants. I suppose you have to take your lap with you? Alright, James.”

She kissed him and held his cheeks to keep him on her lips. The minute she broke the kiss she shot out of his lap heading for the dance floor.

It was an extraordinary night. Geillis left a bit early to pursue her new love interest and Laoghaire and Claire stumbled out to Laoghaire’s car after last call.

“Laoghaire, your staying on my couch tonight. You are much too drunk to drink alone… drive alone. Thankfully, I am with you and will keep you on the road, at least to my apartment.”

“Alright, but I’m up and out early for school tomorrow. Thank God I don’t have hangovers. Is there anything ye need help with, gettin ready to leave?”

“No sweetheart. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to clear me for my shots, and then the shots of course, and I’m done. If I'm completely ready one day before I leave it keeps the anxiety at bay, ya know? Good night sweet one, thanks for bringing your cousin, he is a gorgeous man that one.”

Once she tucked Laoghaire in she closed her bedroom door to send a text message to Joe. He would be sleeping but he would see it in the morning.

C: Everything still super groovy? I will see you in three days, can’t wait.

Claire flopped down on her bed and fell asleep with her clothes on. It wasn’t the first time. The next morning she was racing around the apartment trying to find something to wear and finally opened some boxes to find clean clothes. Late, as usual, she pushed the UBER driver to hurry but he couldn’t find the doctor’s office. Geillis set the appointment for her but failed to mention how to get there. Flush with frustration she pulled out her phone and set the navigation. Five minutes later she stood winded at the reception desk signing the check-in sheet.

Waiting to be called, she mentally ticked items off her to-do list and remembered the last conversation with Joe.

“Very primitive Claire. Lucky if we have electricity to run the lights and sterilize the instruments. Weather is nice. Ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity.”

Since she followed him all over the globe, she wished he would be more discerning when choosing his next post. Maybe I will pick next time, she thought, two years from now when we get ready to leave. I wonder if he would follow me? I would never put him to the test. I can’t live without Joe so where he goes, I go. Hearing her name snapped her out of her daydreaming.

The nurse mumbled something about my being late for the appointment as she pulled Claire’s hips to the end of the examination table and secured her feet in the stirrups.

“I’m sorry, the UBER driver got lost. I don’t suppose the doctor can fix chronic tardiness?”

“The doctor will be in shortly Claire.”

Claire pulled her phone out of her purse and checked her messages. Typing a quick response to one of them she heard the door open and doctor washing his hands. she clicked send and looked up at what had to be a joke, a very bad joke.

“What the hell are you doing here in that white coat inching toward my business end?”

She watched the color drain from his face. He was as shocked as she was. Christ on a crutch, how did this….Geillis!

“I’m doctor James Fraser and you are here to verify no pregnancy, pap, and clear ye for shots before ye travel to… Honduras!”

“Stop! Don’t come an inch closer, please stop. This is a mistake, I need a real doctor, a better doctor, I mean a doctor I don’t know. Sorry, I have to go.”

“Sassenach, I am a professional, no need for embarrassment.”

“I hardly believe that the way you are giggling, and would you please just stand still while I think.”

“I can do better. I will see my next patient and give you some time.”

When he disappeared out the door she jumped off the table and wrapped the ridiculous fitting gown around her then paced the small room. She was so freaked out and really couldn’t think at the moment so she dialed the diabolical Geillis for help.

“Geillis! I need another doctor's appointment, today! This doctor is Laoghaire’s cousin who came to the bar last night. I can’t let him bury his nose in my cooch. Can you find another doctor…”

“Don’t be silly Claire. I see him for my yearly and he’s great, not to mention drop fucking dead gorgeous. No Claire, it's him or no one because ye wait until the last minute to do everything. Just bite the bullet and let the man do his thing.”

“Why do I feel manipulated right now?”

“It took some doing to get him to the bar last night so maybe that’s it. He is my going away present for my short term best friend.”

Claire was speechless. Geillis was right, it was her own fault. If she was going to leave in three days she had to get through this. She climbed back up on the exam table and melted into her misery.

“Sassenach, have ye decided what to do?”

He walked to the end of the table and put his elbows on her knees. “I can probably do this without lookin if that will make it easier for ye.”

Claire knew she had run out the clock and had no choice in the matter but that did not ease her humiliation. He waited patiently while she tortured through the inevitable decision to get this over with. shutting her eyes tightly she told him to hurry. I never have to see him again, she thought, he is a stranger to me.

“Hurry please.”

It was over in a matter of minutes and doctor Fraser was pulling his gloves off and wishing her well. The door clicked shut and she was alone to dress and get the hell out of there.

On her way home, she considered how few men in the world were truly handsome, fewer still were those with a body you wanted to bounce off of. The rarest of this small, endowed group were those with a good heart. The triple threat as it were. Doctor James Fraser was a triple threat and she wanted a second helping before disappearing into the jungle for two years. She leaned back in her seat and asked the driver to push up his speed. She needed to call Laoghaire and ask a favor.

Claire looked at her buzzing phone and smiled at the caller ID.

“Miss Beauchamp this is doctor Fraser.”

“Oh please, call me … whatever it is you call me.”

“The message says yer havin complications from the procedure today.”

“Yes, complications, what should I do?”

“Can you explain what’s amiss, do ye have pain?”

“Not yet but I’m afraid that may be happening soon.” She held her breath and waited.

When he spoke again his voice sounded softer and more interested. “I dinna want to send ye into the jungle with unresolved health issues Miss Beauchamp. Perhaps ye would meet me for dinner to discuss the problem. I believe that is best at this stage.”

“Do you mean tonight doctor?”

“For tonight I need a promise of a short skirt and high heels and ye agree to cheer my team to victory in the playoffs.”

There was silence on the line and Claire was breathing from open lips. She heard his deep voice, “can that be arranged Sassenach?”

“That would be fine I suppose. Where is the game, I will be cheering from the stands.”

She wrote quickly and ran to the shower before plowing through her boxes for a short skirt as requested by the good doctor.

She was late getting to the game because she was late for everything. Walking toward the bleachers she saw the doctor’s impressive ass as he bent in a huddle with his players. Claire was amazed at the little people hanging on his every word. He broke the huddle and scanned the crowd quickly. His head snapped back to black combat boots, bare thighs, and a short skirt. She waved and smiled, calling out “GO…” oops, she leaned toward the lady next to her and shouted “Wolverines!!”

Claire was in her fan zone, having a great time. When doctor Fraser’s team was running the ball toward the goal she was on her feet cheering them on. With less than two minutes left in the game, Jaime pulled in a fresh player and spoke into his ear as he nodded his head. He shot a look at Claire catching her biting her nails, wide-eyed. Jamie managed to look at his player in time to call a code they had practiced a thousand times and the team came together in a formation that broke all the rules of the game.

His new player kicked the ball hard into an area without players as a teammate was running to take possession. Once the ball was securely underfoot the kid passed the ball to a teammate who specialized in high-flying aerial kicks. The player ran for the goal, twisting just a foot from the goalie and looking into the sky as the ball came down like a rocket. He kicked it into the net and the stands erupted. The kids on Jamie’s team almost exploded on the field. With wide eyes and huge smiles, they searched the crowd for their coach, to say, oh my God it worked, you were right, sorry we doubted you.

Jamie strode to the coach of the opposing team with his outstretched hand and a humble smile. He was aware of the all too rare moments to demonstrate sportsmanlike behavior. Claire scanned the field for his clump of kids and smiled at their jubilation. As Jamie walked back they ran to him clamoring for his attention. Claire watched their mouths closely, “thank you, coach,�� “You were right coach,” “sorry I was an asshole coach.” Claire thought she had a handle on the situation and she stood in the stands and smiled down at this handsome man.

Jamie was shaking the hands of the parents and smiling as he tried to extricate himself from the well-wishers. His gaze was stuck on the smiling Claire and one of the fathers figured it out.

“Is lovely legs your post-game party Fraser?”

Jamie looked at him dubiously, “somethin like that.”

Like Moses parting the red sea, the man cleared the bodies between Jamie and the bleachers and stopped several kids from going after him.

Claire sat in the bleachers and watched him approach with a smile for the hero. Jamie took inventory of her frilly feminine skirt, lace-up trench boots, ribbed wife-beater, jeans jacket, red lipstick, a bit of mascara, and those amazing eyes.

“Ye were the best fan we ever had Sassenach. Can I rent yer services?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve always fancied myself a professional fan.” As she walked down the stairs her skirt popped up above her thigh with each step. Jamie was transfixed watching the feminine lace and army boots under it. She stayed a stair above him and laid her arm across his shoulders as her lace bounced. Jamie liked the feeling of a woman’s arm up there and having to look up to see her face.

“I like yer boots Sassenach”

“Christ, my apologies. You asked for high heels but I couldn’t find any in my boxes and I was already late. These are standard issue for where I’m going with the traveling nurses program. I hope you’re not disappointed, Jamie.”

She bounced down to the ground level and looked up at Jamie who studied her inch by inch. Claire felt a wave of arousal move through her and Jamie saw the millisecond she gave into it.

He looked into her eyes and saw a free spirit, playful and vulnerable, yet honed by something big. Somehow she chose to forget her embarrassment of that morning because it suited her to do so and then she set her cap for a bit of fun with him. He was truly honored this beauty would choose him.

“Will ye feel safe on my couch for five minutes while I shower and change?”

“That depends. Will you be feeding me tonight?”

“Absolutely, anything ye like.”

“I like whisky and fine hors d'oeuvres”

“Perfect, me too.”

Claire decided Jamie Fraser smelled like heaven when he was clean and she kept pushing her nose into his neck to breathe deep. Jamie watched her skirt rise higher on her thigh and relished the intense arousal of having her mouth so close to his neck. They hit five of Edinburgh’s best for shellfish, aged beef, sushi, greek, and Mandarin. It was in the Mandarin restaurant that she gave up her side of the booth to sit across his lap and feed him delicacies with expert use of chopsticks. One bite followed by a kiss and Jamie’s hand found it’s way to her knee and then higher.

“I am so stuffed I don’t think I can walk but let's try. I knew you would be so fun to go out with. Thank you for agreeing, I had the most wonderful time.”

Claire decided to satisfy her curiosity. She would not be coming back to Edinburgh when her commitment was up and would never see any of these people again, including Jamie Fraser. She clutched his arm as they walked to his car.

“Why did you choose a career in pussy?” She leaned into his ear, “do you love it that much?”

He looked at her genuine interest and smiled. “I love bairns and families as well as female reproduction. It is very rewarding to see a woman through her pregnancy safely and catch the baby she has wanted all her life.”

“That is totally sweet but how do you deal with the jealous husbands when your face is buried between her legs under a sheet?”

Jamie cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I have not thought of it that way Sassenach.”

“I have thought of little else.”

She pulled his arm around her waist and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. His kiss was soft and exploratory as he touched her face and looked into her eyes. She tried again using her tongue and hoping he would give in to his brutal side. That is the orgasmic side where the party starts. She had no need or comfort with the emotional side. It scared her, it was needy, it would want to plant her somewhere and grow her into a smaller version of himself. She tried it a couple of times and decided that life was not for her.

“We should get going. I have two days before I leave and a week of work to do.” When they were at her door Jamie asked why she invited him out tonight. He liked her and didn’t understand her sudden distance.

“To see that awesome game, eat exotic food, drink the best whisky, and fuck. I have a desire for you that is completely carnal. Before she could get her key in the lock Jamie grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back to receive his crushing kiss. He licked from her collar bone to her mouth making her groan. Pulling her up he felt her legs go around his waist and grind down on him.

While they were otherwise distracted, a male neighbor walked toward his apartment next door feasting on the erotic dance happening in front of Claire’s apartment. Jamie rolled his eyes at the stranger and said move along as best he could with Claire’s tongue in his mouth.

Jamie took her keys and opened the door tripping over a box directly in his path. He spun in midair so he would land on his back taking most of the impact. He looked up at Claire straddling him, “I want ye lass.”

“Well, we finally agree. I believe you are already acquainted with my pussy, care to return the favor handsome?”

Before the night was up Claire would experience the lethal combination of a strong finger rubbing her G-spot while a wicked tongue flicked, soft lips sucked, and nipples were pinched. Jamie reclined on her headboard with a fistful of Claire’s hair guiding her mouth to his balls and then telling her to open her mouth as he exploded down her throat.

When Jamie could breathe again he looked at Claire and recognized the signs of a booty call. Fidgety, suddenly silent, and glancing at the clock. This was the worst part of casual sex for Jamie. No warmth, vacant eyes, an empty heart, and guilt he had done it again.

“Your a beautiful girl Sassenach, will ye be comin back to Edinburgh when yer tour is up?”

“No.”

Jamie shook her hand, “I wish ye all the best miss.” He grabbed his jacket and left without another word. He had zero respect for women like Claire who buried their heart in concrete and just disconnected from their emotions. A man was just like a job to them. Some were amazing and fun and others were drudgery but she got an orgasm paycheck after which she enjoyed her freedom and answered to no one.

He stared at the road ahead, hating his sexual need that put him in this mood time after time. He dated two girls in college that were in love with him but they could not compete with medicine. He thought about them often, the way they would hold him, run their fingers across his skin, kiss him breathless while being so fragile. They made him feel like Hercules but his plan did not include commitment at that stage so he ultimately hurt them and moved on.

Jamie dropped into his bed and thought about Claire in the dark. She was exotic and beautiful, daring and spontaneous. Most women were so afraid of saying the wrong thing they didn’t say much at all, forcing him to pry each word from their mouths. Those dates were uncomfortable and regrettable as he shook their hand and said goodnight. Not with Claire. When her mouth opened it was anybody’s guess what was coming out and he loved it. He loved her free spirit and her ability to accept each moment as it came taking everything she could from it. The bold initiation kiss at the bar was so Claire. He smiled in the dark remembering her demand for a kiss because he was a newcomer. Claire decided what she wanted in each moment and then asked for it. Why couldn’t all women own their power that way? He slept fitfully, dreaming of the wild and beautiful Claire Beauchamp.

Claire watched the door close behind the handsome doctor and felt very strange about the way he left. His sudden distance and shaking her hand, calling her miss. What the hell was that all about? Why did he opt out of intercourse? It was the closest she would ever come to couples love when two people were heart to heart clinging to each other. She wished for that brief moment of pretend with him and her neediness for it surprised her. She wondered if she had made an enemy tonight. Why did she care? She would never see these people again and if Jamie felt bad about a romp with her that was his problem. She got up and headed for the shower.

Feeling fresh and clean Claire wrapped up in her favorite robe and made Chamomile tea to fight off her anxiety. She opened her book but her thoughts kept going back to the date with Jamie. He was such a gentleman and made sure she was having fun all evening. She told him about following her best friend Joe from post to post with traveling nurses. She watched his eyes get dark and mentioned Joe was a devout gay man. She wondered what his reaction was. The disappointment she was attached or annoyance he was pursuing another man’s woman? She would never know. When she sat on his lap and fed him mandarin delicacies he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. Christ, that’s it! He charmed me and I am feeling the residual of that eye contact and arousal.

“Jesus Christ, it’s one in the morning and I have got to get some sleep.”

Claire laid in her bed and kept her nose to the pillow he used. That amazing scent was with her in her dreams all night and by morning she knew what had to be done.

Jamie dragged himself to the field for the last game of the playoffs. His team was psyched to win and he was yawning. Not a great start and he shook his head to clear it. With the game underway and a very skilled opposing team, he was struggling to stay motivated.

Jamie jumped up when his team took the ball and ran it toward the goal. They needed a goal and he held his breath. As he watched every player move the ball down the field he heard a familiar whistle and voice shouting “go wolverines!” He looked in the stands and there she was, his almost perfect date. He smiled at her and felt his heart ramming in his chest. What is wrong with you Fraser, he thought. She will rip your heart out and jump on a plane.

Claire watched his eyes and saw his interest so he didn’t hate her completely. What she was doing there was anyone’s guess as she didn’t know herself. Looking online earlier she saw the playoff schedule and just showed up to cheer them on. The Wolverines scored and Claire launched to her feet calling out the player numbers that rocked. The average age of the team was fourteen and there was enough testosterone flowing through them to notice her short skirt and pretty legs. Normally Jamie would notice a shift in the energy of his team but he was under her spell as well.

When he couldn’t stand the distance anymore Jamie climbed the stands and she offered her hand. He looked at the eyes he had missed all night.

“Nice surprise Sassenach.”

“Well, you did ask me to cheer for your team and I love the little buggers, playing so good tonight.”

“I appreciate the support. I wish I could sit up here with you but I can’t.”

“What would happen if I sat down there with you?”

He held out his hand and walked her down the stands to sit on the field with him. He gave her tidbits of history on the prominent players and noticed she never took her eyes off the kids. It honestly looked like she was enjoying the game instead of waiting for a chance to have his attention.

Claire could not read Jamie’s energy and wanted to ask if he was happy she came. What do I friggin care, she wondered. Get your head on straight with mister gorgeous. You are here to exorcise him from your head and that is it. Tomorrow, Honduras, and two years of hard work with Joe, I can’t wait, so why am I here again?

The game ended, Jamie’s team won with one game left to play for the state championship. The kids were so excited and blushed fiercely when Claire mentioned how well they played. She gave out smiles like they were free and the kids were eating them up. Jamie noticed many of the parents watching her as well. He felt a moment of pride that she was with him and then mentally kicked himself for thinking that. By the time they could extract themselves he was mentally exhausted.

“What time is yer flight tomorrow?”

“Not until two in the afternoon.”

Jamie looked at her skirt and remembered running his hand under a similar garment and touching her round ass and flat stomach. Her lovely core was shaved clean and glistened with interest. He shook his head again.

“Well, what would you like to do Sassenach. Since ye didna run to an UBER after the game I ken you need my attention. How can I help ye?”

Jamie cringed at the harsh sound of his statement and noticed a flicker of insecurity in her eyes. He wanted to take her places she would never forget but he couldn’t and being this close to her was making him a little crazy.

“To be honest, I don’t know. Can I fix you dinner and just talk to you for a while?”

“Home cooking?”

“Oh, yea, I gave my entire kitchen to charity so we have to do it at your house. That is if you want me to cook for you.”

As wonderful as she was, Jamie was not in the mood for another sexual encounter that would make him feel like shit all day tomorrow. He looked at her beautiful eyes and missed her already.

“I am big on honesty Sassenach. Tell me what ye want from me tonight.”

When he saw her blush his heart melted right in his chest.

“I’m rather good at forgetting people but it didn’t work this time. To be honest, I don’t want to take my infatuation to Honduras, I fear it would be very hard to live that way, missing you. I am poison to relationships, that’s why I don’t have them anymore, so this will be a favor to you as well.”

“Like a dual exorcism ye mean.” Jamie held her soft hand and looked up at the sky. “I would be happy to help but I have no food to cook.”

“I will pick up some groceries while you take a shower. It won’t take me any time at all.” She ordered an UBER and kissed his cheek.

Jamie laid on the couch for ten minutes to rest and question his motives in allowing this tonight. She seemed so genuine and her honesty impressed him. She wanted to learn enough to forget him after tonight and resume her heartless life. Well, he could say the same about her, he decided, so stop thinking and get in the shower!

Claire let herself in and admired the trendy apartment once more. It was the perfect bachelor pad for a young, single, handsome doctor. She rolled her eyes at the thought of how much action he got here followed by the same argument she had with herself all day. What do you care, he probably gets a lot of pussy and more power to him.

Jamie emerged from his shower letting the aromas of food fill his lungs. It was not something that happened often and he enjoyed knowing she was here in his kitchen. He opened his mouth to say something and realized she was dancing with her earbuds in. She held a large salmon to her chest and slow danced with it, her head back, eyes closed, having a moment with the fish. Jamie felt a scary shift in his existence wishing he had not seen it. Then she freaked out and dropped the fish.

“Sorry, when I turned around and saw you it shocked me. Good thing I hadn’t taken the fish out of the package. See, floor is still clean.”

“What are ye makin Sassenach?”

“Your favorite, Salmon, with asparagus and baby red potatoes, which doesn’t sound Scottish by the way.”

“I spent a year at Columbia during my medical training and learned to enjoy the healthy foods they eat. Of course, nothin can replace bangers and mash but it will put ye in an early grave.”

Jamie pulled out two glasses and filled them with a very special whisky. He watched Claire’s face as she rolled it in her mouth and swallowed with a smile.

“I better get the fish ready before I start dancing with it again.” Another blush.

They talked about their lives, growing up, college and working in their chosen career. She told Jamie about her parent's death at age five, growing up with Uncle lamb in the farthest reaches of the globe and coming back to civilization at sixteen years old.

“I didn’t fit in very well at first. When I started nursing school I met my friend Joe Abernathy and we have been joined at the hip ever since.”

“What would happen if Joe settled somewhere and quit traveling?”

“Then I would work there and probably start being responsible. Saving money and stuff like that. “If you own an estate in the country why do you live here?”

“My sister Jenny lives there with her husband. It’s too far away to be called to the hospital in the middle of the night to deliver a baby.”

“You have been practicing medicine for three years and you are thirty-three? Did you want to be an astronaut but couldn’t make the cut? Seriously, what were you doing from eighteen to thirty-three?”

“Seven years of university and medical school. The rest of the time I was earning money for my education.”

Jamie thought about telling her the truth. It was something he would do if she were not leaving the next day forever. He ached to tell her everything but that was absolute folly. Even if she were madly in love and camped out on his doorstep, the odds she would accept who he was during those missing years were stacked against him.

The conversation continued through dinner and dishes, each taking turns describing their lives up to this point. Jamie poured two Drambuie over crushed ice and invited her to sit on the sofa.

“That was a delicious dinner Sassenach, thank you so much.”

“My pleasure. I love this drink, what is it?”

Jamie watched her amazing eyes as he described the drink is made from Highland Heather honey and scotch. Very sweet and perfect after dinner. She watched him talk and her face revealed her inner struggle to get past this infatuation with him.

“How are you doing Claire? Are ye feeling better? Ready to get to Honduras tomorrow?”

She walked on her knees across the couch and pushed her face into his. Jamie breathed her in wanting so badly to touch her but he couldn’t. Claire held his cheeks and looked into his eyes.

“I’m a hopeless mess, it’s not better, I don’t know why I am crushing on you so badly. If I wasn’t leaving tomorrow I would ruin this relationship in a couple of months because that’s what I do.”

Her mouth was so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips. She wasn’t letting go of his face so he kissed her. It was enough to touch her lips with his so he kept it light and struggled not to crush her to him.

Claire was feeling the energy from his kiss. He moved them into a comfortable kissing position and they just kissed and enjoyed the close proximity.

“This reminds me of high school when we would kiss for an entire afternoon,” she giggled.

“Is this helping Sassenach?”

“I don’t know because I can’t remember what we ...”

She kissed him halfway through the sentence so it took some time for her to say it. Jamie could feel his resolve slipping and he held her tighter as he deepened the kiss. Sending them both into the higher plane of arousal.

“Sassenach.” He held her cheek and brushed his thumb across her lips. It is borderline torture at this point. Are ye feelin better?”

He watched her deer-in-the-headlights look and he loved her vulnerability. She was soft and sensual, giving into her crush and delighting him with every kiss. Jamie took a deep breath and pulled himself off the couch. He took a long sip of his drink and watched her fuss with her clothing that had shifted with their kissing.

“Well, I should go.”

“Thank ye for makin dinner Sassenach.”

She stopped and looked up at him. “Why do you call me that?”

“It’s… yer British accent. Sassenach means outsider.”

“I see.” Her wide eyes were telling him a story of her fear that she would miss him and that it would hurt. Her vulnerability was killing him and he threw caution to the wind and kissed her again. No more push back, his hands explored her body again until he picked her up and carried her to his bed. His kisses were intense and she was panting his name while pushing his shirt up. Jamie shook his head hard and stayed her hands.

“I will see ye to your car or ye can stay all night with me, it’s yer choice mo chridhe.”

She pulled her shirt off and pulled his head to her. She hated sleeping with other people in the bed but sacrifices had to be made and she believed this would solve her problem.

Jamie took his time. Removing each piece of clothing followed by kissing and tasting the newly exposed skin. He pulled his shirt off and felt her nakedness against him, and kissed her some more, wanting this to last as long as possible. When he entered her they both groaned with the exquisite feeling. He watched her eyes and kept his strokes slow and deep. She arched her back and ground her pelvis into his thrusts, pushing her legs farther apart. “Harder Jamie, right now.” Jamie picked up his speed and felt a pleasant bump in his arousal. Claire grabbed his face and pulled it within an inch of hers. She was panting and looked him straight in the eye.

“I know what you want, I want it to. I say we exit Sunday school and fuck like champions. Let it go, baby. If I say, uncle, I stay for another month. Jamie was too close to his orgasm and this opportunity would not be wasted. He got up and ordered her to stay as she was. He dropped his body within an inch of hers and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’m takin a shower so we can start over lass. You can opt-out of this and just turn on yer side and I will spoon ye to sleep. It’s a wise choice. Stay in this position and I will rock your world.”

Jamie grabbed a tie on his way back to the bed. He was smiling and excited she had not opted for sleep. Once the blindfold was on he spun her into an erotic tornado with his tongue, and fingers, pulling her so high and placing light kisses on her breasts and stomach while she floated back. Jamie twisted her beautiful body into positions of extreme pleasure and brutal penetration making her come again. Just before his release, he spun her back to face him and removed the blindfold. He kissed her deeply and watched her eyes as he thrust into her soft wetness before going rigid in his release.

“My God yer fun. No ‘uncle’ so ye must sleep mo chridhe, yer plane leaves in twelve hours.” He pulled her into his chest and pulled the quilt over them. Ordinarily, this position would shoot Claire right out of bed and out the door, no matter what she promised. Tonight, she felt comfortable and drifted off to sleep. Throughout the night, Jamie would reach for her and pull her back to him, running his hand up her leg or down her arm before falling asleep again.

Jamie’s eyes opened at five in the morning, his automatic wake up before his rounds started at six. He tried to pull his arm out from under Claire without waking her but she moved into him and threw her leg around him. Not a word was spoken. He pushed into her body and savored every moment, knowing he was falling in love, and she would never come back. When he emerged from the shower, she was gone.