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maudie-duan · 16 days ago

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Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name?

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation.

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next?

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow.

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach.

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear.

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain.

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent?

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way.

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture.

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory.

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex?

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it.

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details.

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat.

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus.

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition.

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise.

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things.

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud.

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…”

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body.

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close.

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack.

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?”

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy.

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within.

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him.

He could tell you were nervous.

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers.

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked.

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready.

“Still kind of cold.” He lied.

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next.

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting.

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered?

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water.

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable.

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him.

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want.

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out.

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place.

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat.

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to.

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy.

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water.

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves?

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising.

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?”

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it.

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking?

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place.

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away.

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip.

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…”

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability.

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you.

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner.

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face.

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin.

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck.

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine.

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort.

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was.

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat.

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic.

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him?

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name.

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—”

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door.

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view.

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room.

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?”

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go.

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?”

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows.

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away.

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives?

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?”

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom.

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared.

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer?

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning.

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch?

Where had someone like him been when all the other failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger.

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch.

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear.

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more predominate in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry.

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away?

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head.

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it?

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it.

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further.

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers.

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward.

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure.

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come.

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest.

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for?

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night.

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day.

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and picture yourself lying there.

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering.

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“‘Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all!

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally.

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon.

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top.

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to.

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief.

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him.

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck.

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it.

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock.

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control.

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh feeling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his.

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter.

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise.

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your cunt against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold.

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both.

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill.

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen.

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud.

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch.

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palm to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out.

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that’s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan.

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction.

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him.

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving.

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you.

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…”

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep.

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time.

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt.

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work.

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing.

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same.

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now.

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt.

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way.

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush.

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night.

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body.

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this.

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths.

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there.

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition.

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him.

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with.

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone.

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back.

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

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