#while simultaneously wrapping up the necessary arcs to make it satisfying

[alittleannihilati0n]

Ya'll I finally finished young royals and it took me the fuck out my FUCKING HEART

[permanentcrossfics]

Twelve Hours in Miami // h.s. - Part 3

Read Part 1 Read Part 2

You held up the rubbery ring to him.

“M’not puttin’ that on,” he said.

You snorted. “Not even for me?” Even as a joke it felt demanding, assumptive, that he would do anything for you.

“I’ve got this,” he said, pulling the vibrator from your grip, “if I wanna do summat for you.” He frowned, feeling around, before he twisted it and it hummed to life in his hand. “Ahhhh,” he crowed. “There it is.” He grinned at you and you snorted.

“It’s weak,” you said.

“Sure about that?”

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Up later than intended here -- sorry! April was a very, very busy (but positive, mostly) month. Thank you for reading these unexpected pests -- I hope you enjoy. This is the last of their total twelve hour arc, but if you’re curious about an addendum, feel free to head on over to Patreon (however, it’s not necessary to enjoy this story, not to read at all if that isn’t for you). Happy reading, loves! x

1:11. 

The harsh buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand made your eyes fly open, startled from your doze. Harry tightened his arm around you while his other hand shot out to grab it.  

“What is it?” you asked drowsily, burrowing against his chest. 

“Flight reminder,” he murmured, voice gravelly from his own doze.  

Dread cemented in a lump in your stomach. Twelve whole hours together, and somehow it wasn’t enough. “You can use the shower, if you want,” you said.

“Probably a good idea.” He sighed heavily and dropped his phone on the bed. “Later.” 

“Harry….”

“Later,” he repeated, wrapping his other arm around you and drawing you tighter into his chest. “I’ve got time.” 

Not enough, you thought but didn’t say. 

Four hours and a little bit to go, and they were going by much, much too fast. 

Twelve hours. Twelve precious hours, and you were spending so many of them sleeping, too, with both of you falling in and out of it, curled up together under the thin sheet. Every time you’d opened your eyes and seen the clock, your heart had picked up in a spike of anxiety, but when you’d looked at him and seen him with his eyes closed, brow furrowed, whistling through his nose, you’d groggily laid your head down on his chest until you were pulled back under, only waking again when a panicked thought would remind you of the truth. 

Twelve hours and time was running out. 

Cheek to his chest, you closed your eyes and listened to his breathing. He was warm and familiar. Despite being a recent occurrence, nothing about being pressed against him, skin-on-skin, felt new, or strange, or indecent. 

“Are you tired?” you whispered in a sandy voice. 

“M’exhausted,” he said, equally as garbled and worn. “Couldn’t fuckin’ sleep last night.” 

“Because of me?” 

You were teasing him, but he grunted and didn’t say anything else, and you opened your eyes, this new information settling in and making you hyper aware of the fact that he’d agonized over his decision to come to your room this morning. 

“Why?” you asked, soft enough that, if he wanted to, he could ignore it. You wouldn’t hold it against him.

“S’only twelve hours,” he mumbled at last. “Y’know? Not sure if that’s really fair.” 

You noted the use of the present tense and burrowed your cheek closer, squeezing him around the middle. 

The kit that had been delivered was on the table next to the clock radio. It was an embarrassingly lurid fucsia thing, and the man who’d delivered it had hardly been able to look you in the eye. Wordlessly, you reached across him and picked it up, resettling into his side to pluck at the plastic sealing it. He, to his credit, didn’t say any one of the smarmy lines that would be all too easy to indulge in, and when you popped the top off, the contents jumped out. Two condoms, which you pressed into his chest and he snickered under his breath, catching them. A packet of lube, a miniature bullet vibrator, and…. 

You held up the rubbery ring to him.

“M’not puttin’ that on,” he said. 

You snorted. “Not even for me?” Even as a joke it felt demanding, assumptive, that he would do anything for you. 

“I’ve got this,” he said, pulling the vibrator from your grip, “if I wanna do summat for you.” He frowned, feeling around, before he twisted it and it hummed to life in his hand. “Ahhhh,” he crowed. “There it is.” He grinned at you and you snorted. 

“It’s weak,” you said.

“Sure about that?” 

You didn’t say anything, but your mouth went dry, and you shivered as he drew it up and down your arm and then across your chest and over your nipple lightly. Squirming, you grabbed his wrist, and he snickered, his voice breaking with exhaustion when he repeated, “Sure about that?” 

“You’re an idiot,” you declared. 

“Sure about that?” 

“Yes!” 

He laughed, but when you pushed away from him, he went after you and you shrieked, flattened into the bed, and you thumped his back. “Harry,” you said, grinning despite yourself, breathless from his weight. 

He pressed scratchy kisses into your neck, and you could feel his chuckles against your skin as he peppered them up and down the column and then over the top of your chest. When he nuzzled your breast, though, your breath hitched, and his next kiss on your skin was more reverent -- a small touch of his tongue before his lips fell tenderly to complete it. Laughter fell away gradually, replaced by sighs and the gentlest moans from both of you -- his deeper and drowned in his throat and yours higher and unrestrained, urged on when he kissed harder, the vibrator abandoned somewhere neither of you cared about. 

“Is this ok?” he mumbled without breaking away. He kissed the inside of your elbow and you gasped, fingers sliding into his hair as you nodded breathlessly. 

“Please,” you said. “Please, Harry--” 

He shuddered, then, and you jerked when he bit down sharply just under your breast. The jolt of adrenaline shot straight through you, and he kissed and nipped his way up your sternum, down over your belly, and then back up until he was at your shoulder, and it was then that you lifted your head and opened your mouth.

“Fuck!” His groan was deep and you could feel him tense under your touch, shuddering in your bite. Seconds later, you made a sharp noise when he returned it on your shoulder before turning your face into his cheek and nipping his jaw. He rewarded you with another groan and caught your lips in a kiss that quickly deepened and you whimpered, pushing your hands up his back to pull him closer. His cock was hard in the crease between your thigh and pelvis, and you moaned when he rutted his hips once, twice, instinctively seeking relief. 

“M’gonna….” He swallowed hard and your hands simultaneously reached for the abandoned contents of the kit scattered in the sheets. You got a condom by your fingertips first, and you clapped your hand to the back of his neck to hold him in the kiss before letting go to fumble with the packet. You slid the latex disk out before he lifted up for you to roll it onto his cock in one quick motion, and you smoothed your hand down to finish the job.

“Good?” you whispered. He nodded, eyes barely open and his jaw tight and sharp. He exhaled with rattling force, then, and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. You kissed his at the same spot you’d bitten, and when he shifted, you opened your legs wider and swallowed back your beating heart. 

“Ok, I’m…” he mumbled, turning his face into your neck. He peppered kisses up it and your jaw, and you inhaled sharply when he rolled his hips over yours, cock nestled over your clit. You whimpered and dug your left hand into his back while his own laced with your right next to the pillow your head was on. “Ok?” he prompted, voice strained.

You nodded quickly. “Mmhm.”

He kissed you through his first slow, sinking thrust, dipping in and out of you to give you time to adjust and open easily for him, swallowing up each of your noises and taking your deathgrip on his playing hand in stride. You were wet, and it wasn’t difficult or painful, but it was… he was… a lot. You pulsed with each bit more he stretched you, and you could feel him throbbing inside you, too. 

“You’re ok,” he mumbled against your mouth. You sighed, parting your lips when his tongue dipped between their seam, and he took the inch you gave him without a moment’s hesitation. You groaned together on his next thrust, and you squeezed your thighs around his hips when he repeated it, finding his angle to glide in and out. 

You huffed laughs and sputtered gracelessly against each other’s mouths, in a raw, unskilled and unpracticed way that was analogous to an inability to walk and chew gum at the same time but, somehow, held more primal appeal. You were robbing each other of finesse and patience, each one as guilty as the other, and there was some pride in that, too. If you focused and separated out each sensory experience, you could feel his necklaces dragging against your skin, back and forth in time with each roll of his hips. 

His moans were what killed you, though. Soft, lazy rumbles trapped in his throat and smothered into your mouth, his own curved in unspoken pleasure. There was something selfish in the way he grabbed you, held you, kissed you, fucked you, trying to get everything all at once because he wanted it. He broke with one that went straight to your toes and pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Look at me,” he pled. “Look at me, look at….”

You cracked your heavy lids open and caught his tremulous smile as he nodded. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glinted under the shadow of his sweaty hair. “That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s it, honey… oh….”

His eyes fell shut with his groan and you had the distinct thought that he should be looking at you, too, if you had to keep your eyes open. Your mouth moved uselessly, though, yielding only whimpers and soft iterations of his name. You kissed his neck, his jaw, his shoulder, and his bicep, feeling borderline hysteria swell in you because nothing was enough. Nothing satisfied you, you wanted your mouth everywhere, your hands, his mouth and hands. Twelve hours wasn’t enough. It was almost over and you’d just gotten him.

“Harry….”  

He must’ve heard it in the way you said his name, because he thrust harder, then, each fall of his hips heavier than the last and punctuated by grunts that were beyond man. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Please… please don’t sto-- oh!” Pleas turned to babbles and you clutched him closer, hands slipping and finding their place on his body again each time. Both of you descended into a language neither of you spoke but somehow understood, following a path made up of instinct and cues. When he rolled over and took you with him, you bore down on his chest and squeezed his hips with your thighs as he guided you by yours, restrained but encouraging, but it didn’t last long before he groaned gutturally through his teeth and his stomach tensed to pull himself up. You locked your arms around his neck as he found your mouth again, but you were just finding your rhythm when he broke with a shuddering breath.

“Over,” he whispered. “Over-- on your-- is that--?” 

Between the both of you, you managed to clamber off him, and you melted from your hands and knees onto your stomach, holding the sheets in your fists with your cheek pressed into the mattress. You shouted wordlessly when he thrust in again, his hands on your hip and ass, and your eyes watered with the even, deep rhythm he found. You could see his lips moving and eyes rolling up in the mirror on the wall, and you stared, transfixed and with your abdomen growing tighter and heavier. 

“Tight,” he said under his breath in awe. “Tight, tight, fuckin’... fuck….” 

You turned your face into the bed and your pitchy moan echoed through the mattress.

“Lemme hear,” he said. “Oh, lemme….” 

“I wanna--” You gulped, mouth dry. “Harry, I wanna--”

“I know,” he muttered, his thrusts rough and choppy. “Fuck, I know, I know….” 

Whimpering, you lifted your hips slightly, and it was then he pulled out completely again and rolled you onto your back. “C’mere,” he said, pushing your knees apart. “C’mere, good girl.” 

He pressed his fingers to your clit and your back bowed away from the bed as you cried out, throat tight. He stroked, and pressed, and teased until the room was spinning from how your head rolled from side to side. You were pretty sure he was inside you when you came, but your orgasm was so deep and powerful all you could do was hold onto him through it and cling to consciousness through endless pulses. You went lax with a wet, ugly sound, and he followed suit in seconds, trapping you against the mattress. You writhed together, seeking grounding relief, and he tucked his head into the crook of your neck as your knee went between his thighs, arms winding around the other and slipping on sweaty skin…. 

“You’re ok,” he groaned. “You’re o-ok.” He smashed a kiss to your shoulder and you absorbed every rattling breath he took. He sputtered laugh. “G-got you good there.” 

You nodded and closed your eyes against the spinning room.

***

3:50.

You didn’t even remember falling asleep. One minute you weren’t and the next you were waking up to the sound of your shower running. You sat up with a start, hand flying out beside you, and you blinked, quickly doing the math. Just over an hour and a half left, and then he’d be gone. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, dragging your hand down your face. You didn’t even know when you’d fallen asleep, so you didn’t know how long you’d been out or how much time was wasted just lying there unconscious. Your robe was on the edge of the bed and you eased closer, with sore limbs and joints, until you could grab it to pull over your shoulders. You nuzzled the collar and took a deep breath, catching what he’d smelled like before the sex on it. From the corner of your eye, you saw a tied up condom in the wastebasket, and you snorted, burying into the soft fabric. You didn’t even remember him when he came. Not his face, or what he’d felt like, or any of it. You’d been so far gone yourself, you’d missed it.

Everything that’d happened had been real.

The bathroom door opened and you looked up as he strolled out in a towel. He met your eyes and you blinked, noting the softness in his features. He nodded, a slight bob of his head, and you returned it. When he dropped the towel, your lips quirked in amusement. Just twelve hours ago, the sight would’ve scandalized you in more ways than one. Now, you’d had sex with him and it was like he did this every day. 

Clothes on, he moved through your room in organized chaos, gathering up what he needed and double checking this, that, or the other thing in the process. Already, he looked a little less like Harry, and a little more like who he had to be. Who he should be, who people expected him to be. Not even an hour ago, he was in bed with you, naked and unguarded, and now he was sharper and looking from the corners of both eyes. 

“Do you have everything?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. 

“Hmm?” He looked up. “Yeah,” he said before you could ask again. “Yeah, I think… just feel like m’missing summat….” His brow was furrowed and again he retraced his steps through your room and bathroom and you stayed out of his way, curled up on the edge of the bed. You knew better than to get in the way of Hurricane Harry. 

“I’ll keep it for you,” you said. “If you have. Or, you know—“ you went on, faltering when he looked at you— “send it on. Probably not to London, because you won’t be there for… but if you tell me where, or who, then I can.”

Where was he going? Who would he be with? Would he be coming home at all? Twelve hours had already been tight, but suddenly they felt scarce compressed between months of vague wondering and waiting. 

“Thanks,” was all he said. “Ok.” He exhaled, smoothing his hands down his t-shirt. “I think that’s….”

You stood when he picked up his bag and followed him towards the door. Should you be? Was this pathetic? Trailing after him like—? 

You squeaked when he stopped short and turned. “What’s wrong?” you asked reflexively. His eyes were wide and his jaw was set, sharp, and his face was a little pale even in the shadows. 

“I’m gonna be back home soon,” he said. “Ok?”

“I know,” you said. 

He licked his lips. “So when I get back….” he took a deep breath. “I’ll see you when I get back?”

You were working rapidly to fit the pieces of what he was saying together, and you nodded, although you weren’t entirely sure what you were agreeing to. How soon was soon? When would he be home? What would you be figuring out, and what did that mean in the meantime? Were you, even tentatively, starting something? What went with that, for him and for you? The idea of him even flirting with someone else made your insides molten. Before, the thought would tickle and prickle uncomfortably, but you’d had twelve hours with him where he was yours and vice versa. You’d slept with him -- knew things about him and what he liked, what made him feel good. He’d made you feel…. 

He exhaled, lips turning up at one corner, and he pulled his shoulders back. He looked simultaneously relieved and cocky. “Right,” he said, mouth still twitching. “I’ll see you when I’m back.” Before you could wonder, he slipped his hand over your waist and leaned in. The kiss was quick — not like most of the ones you’d shared over the course of the day — but he squeezed your cheek. “I’ll see you,” he repeated. 

You smiled slightly and stepped back as he opened the door, and then… he was gone. Until he wouldn’t be again.

Twelve hours and everything had changed completely. Nuzzling the collar of your robe again, you turned and slowly padded back into your room.