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vanchlo · 4 years

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Sweet & Sour / Part 1

**There is now a Part 2, check it out here!

Blurb Synopsis: You're not sure why you walk into the same bar after the concert, just like you had last year. But when Harry walks in through that door again, and your eyes meet, you find your reason for doing this all over again.

Genre: 2015 Harry, fluff, romance, angst, and mentions of smut.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drinking as well as one night stands, and references to smut.

Word Count: 5.7k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Affair Across a Crowded Room by Murray Head (click to listen bc this so feels like a song Harry would love)

Your senses were bombarded with the sounds of cars honking, street lights flashing, and the ringing of your ears. When your hand meets the grimy wood of the door, you push it open to be met with the smells and sounds of a bar. With the beads of sweat dripping down your skin, the air-conditioned room greets it with a smile. Familiar faces meet your eyes and nods pass between the two of you. The cool metal of the bar stool surprises your bottom clad in jean shorts, even after the countless number of nights you’ve spent in these four walls.

“Just a Malibu Coke,” you murmur to Sandy, the bartender, when she comes to take your order.

A group of older men clad in professional suits sit in a corner, their laughter gracing your ears. Blink 182 trickles from the speakers hidden around the room, although you can’t place the song for the life of you. It bothers you and insults the label of ‘music nerd’ you have invisibly tattooed on your forehead. The buzzing between the confines of your skull and the glass she sets in front of you causes you to forget about the song. When your eyes catch the tall figure walk in through the door, the untraceable lyrics of the song are the last thing on your mind.

The past shoulder-length curls framing his face make you second guess yourself for a few seconds. When he walks by an ancient neon Coors Light bar sign on the wall, it lights his features and clicks with that of the face that’s never left your mind. Not to mention, your dreams. Well, neither that of your eyes either about forty minutes ago, albeit hundreds of feet away. Doubt and insecurity coat your thoughts within moments, and your attention falls back to your drink. The icy glass is slippery between your fingers, but you blame that on the person who just walked back into your deep thoughts, and the few Budweisers you consumed earlier. He steals your thoughts away from you when his footsteps trail to another part of the room, bringing your eyes back to the screen of your phone.

Texts crowd your screen, and as you draw shapes in your glass with your straw, you avoid them by looking through friends’ snapchats. Scenes from the night you spent together appear in front of your eyes before you close out of them when you get a new text. The question filling your mind is whisked away by the very one that fills your ears to the left of you. Trying to ignore it, you flip your cascading hair over your shoulder. Nights like tonight make you itch to cut it to your shoulders, and never have to worry again about the summer nights making it damp with sweat.

“Well, aren’t you predictable?” somebody hums with a lilt to their voice. It takes you a tick to locate the voice inside of your mind, bringing your head up and over to them.

“I live here, so I get to be,” you retaliate, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

The tanned color of his cheeks creases with a smile he tries to hold back. Soon, it covers his face as the hint of a laugh accompanies it. Lost moments pass between the two of you, and you find yourself admiring his curling locks that cover the collar of his button up. The very ones that around this time last year your fingers could run through comfortably. Unsolicited, a thought appears in your head wondering how different it would feel to run your hands through them now, although you hardly remember the sensation.

“Did ya go t’ tha concert tonight?” he wonders aloud, cocking his head past the door and towards the stadium a couple blocks away. His olive-colored eyes break from yours for a moment to thank Sandy when she sets a whiskey sour in front of him.

You let your glance fall to your drink in front of you, notes of the coconut from the rum meeting your nose. Bringing the black straw to your lips, you take a long drag, making him wait. You wish you could make him wait longer than you can manage, but the bubbly excitement growing in your gut takes hold of your actions. Compromising, you only nod your head with a mumble passing your lips. Crossing your long sun-kissed legs, your red Chuck Taylors nose at the edge of the wooden bar.

“Again, predictable,” he titters softly, raking his fingers through his hair from the corner of your eye. “What’d ya think then?” he queries, the clanking of the ice against his glass following his accented voice. One you sometimes can’t believe the words you had heard whispered into your ear by it.

Harry.

Your Harry.

“I think last year’s was better, I’m mad you didn’t sing my favorite this year,” you quip, shrugging your shoulders. Returning the straw to your lips, you quiet your lips with another drink. The molasses taste of the carbonated soda is lined with the tropical yet steely taste of the alcohol.

You hear him tsking his tongue at you first before an audible exhales leaves him. “Yer gonna get it fer that,” he retorts, a hint of banter heard in his voice. Your mind continues working in overdrive, suddenly wondering if anybody else could detect that. Or is it just because of the night you spent with him in between your sheets much after a scene like this? “Here, take one. And I won’t take no fer an answer, cos ‘s notta choice.”

Finally, you let yourself look over at him, again. A twinkle sits in his eye when he holds out a shot of pink liquor to you, raspberries wafting from the glass. Taking it from him, your fingers brush against each others, causing you to wonder if you imagined it was for a few seconds too long.

“Cheers,” he smirks, clinking his glass with yours before throwing back the identical contents of that which sit in yours. Your eyes stay locked when the frosty liquid passes your lips, the delightful taste only fleeting until the harsh burn coats your throat.

“I see you haven’t changed a bit,” you comment with a croaky voice, coughing. You wash it down the burn with another, less sharp, burn.

“Neither have you, love.”

The voices of Weezer sit in the space between you now, but as you marinate with thoughts buzzing around in your head, the sharp yet sweet smell of his cologne tickles at your nose. The very same smell that lulled you asleep with him beside you, and the very one that ghosted your sheets the subsequent morning you woke alone.

“I think Fool’s Gold is my new favorite,” you comment shyly, watching how the dark Coke swirls around in the glass, the ice chips almost shining under the light. Your bottom lip comes between your teeth, biting back the truth you want to speak. The thoughts that have consumed you at times return, wondering how certain titles like Change Your Ticket or Night Changes fit your feelings so exactly. Perhaps even his, too.

“Yeah, I like that one too. ‘s ratha beautiful,” he remarks, a squeaking signaling him taking a seat beside you. The almost undetectable brush of his leg against yours causes a breath to hitch in your throat. “What, did ya forget how t’ talk ova tha last year?” Harry wisecracks, pulling your eyes over to his.

Caught between his thumb and forefinger, he plays with his bottom lip. The light shines off of its slippery surface, leading to unwanted thoughts blooming between your ears. The trademark dimples have caved into his cheeks, and you’re reminded of how adorable his slightly crooked bottom teeth are as he smiles at you.

“No, I’ll remember once I have a few drinks in me.”

“Then lemme help,” he replies, calling over the bartender to order a couple more shots.

Your lips curl with a conflicted smile, but once the shots of Fireball, Tequila, and a Lemon Drop are tickling your throat, you start to let go.

“Wait, holy shit, is your hair longer than mine now?” you exclaim, words falling short with a laugh. Moving closer to him, your hand grabs a section of your hair to compare side by side to his.

His eyes fall from the foamy white topping of his golden drink. His lips part, little bubbles sticking to them, “I dunno, looks like ‘s gettin’ there. Not quite, tho’,” he answers, his eyebrows knitting together over his focused eyes.

“Oooo, I bet I could braid it,” you note excitedly after dropping your hair that somehow doesn’t feel as buttery smooth as his. Soon, your fingers are holding onto a section of his tangled curls, breaking it up into three sections.

“Hey, watch tha hair, would ya? Tha girls love me hair, can’t have anythin’ bad happenin’ t’ it now.”

“Damn, thanks for the confidence in me, Mr. Self-Absored Rockstar,” you reply curtly, banter clinging to your words. To rile him up, you drop his long brunette lock, turning back to your drink. Away from him.

“Heeeeey now, I am not and y’know it,” he pouts. From the corner of your eye, you can just make out him looking over at you - brows knitted, lips pressed together, and begging in his eyes. You don’t give in, and instead you lose yourself in the questionably empty glass in your hands.

“Sandy, can I have another?” you call out, avoiding his question and his sulking, but not when his knee bumps yours.

“‘m talkin’ t’ you, y’know. ‘m not self-absorbed,” Harry repeats before taking a pull from his drink, a rather long one. You can only wonder why.

A smile tempts at the corners of your lips, enjoying how you’re making him squirm. Because you always thought he was the king of being able to make somebody do that, not you. A memory plays before your eyes, reminding you of how much he made you squirm when you were sitting at this very bar, last year. Alcohol in both of your veins, and goosebumps covering your flesh. Especially when he pressed that first kiss to your lips.

Pushing it away, you clear your throat before thanking Sandy when she sets another drink in front of you. With your lips wrapped around the straw, they part, “Sure, keep telling yourself that, bud. You’re not gonna get me with that pout, so don’t even try it on me.”

“Hmmph, that’s not whatcha said befo’,” he whines, turning back to the drink he nurses.

Yeah, we said and did a lot of things the last time.

I really wish you hadn’t said that, or done anything in the realm of reminding me of the last time, because I don’t need you reminding me when I can’t stop remembering.

The thoughts racing through your head almost make you want to leave right then and there, but something stops you. His hand. It touches you arm and when you look over, he smiles at you goofily with white foam covering his top lip. Like a mustache, or like Santa Claus. Your lips dissolve into a laugh, and those thoughts fall to the recesses of your mind. Not gone, but still there, like they’ve been for the last year. His rose-colored lips echo your own laugh, the two sounds mixing together and creating your favorite song in the entire world. One that you thought you had forgotten the sound of.

Perhaps not after all.

You watch how his lips move effortlessly when he orders a couple of more shots for the two of you, and another whiskey sour. Your insides shrink at the sight of his lips when his tongue passes over them, and then at the way the light shines on them. You observe how they move with every word that he speaks to you, although embarrassingly because you have to ask him to repeat himself. You don’t mind, though.

“I ordered us sum more shots,” he tells you with a little nod, carding a hand through his hair to restyle it. Your fingers ball into a fist in your lap, wanting nothing more than to be touching those curls again. The very ones that fell over your face so intimately and tickled the insides of your thighs once long ago. Glancing away from him, that night seems like it was a lifetime ago. With him sitting next to you, so close that you could touch him, you think perhaps now it doesn’t feel so long ago. Then again, the few inches of distance between you detest that, feeling instead like miles.

“Thanks,” you mutter, picking at your chipped red nail polish.

“I like it, it suits you.”

Lifting your head, you find one corner of his mouth quirked into a partial smile. He does that thing again where he nods to what he’s talking about. This time it’s your lap, and more specifically, your anxious hands accented with the nail polish. Another ‘thank you’ exits from your lips before you busy them with your painfully cold drink. The second you set it down on the red and white patterned coaster, he places a red and blue layered shot beside it. The alcohol in it seems to defy the laws of gravity with the blue layer sitting atop the red layer undisturbed.

“Cheers t’ reunions,” Harry mumbles, a hint of lemon flowing from his words to meet your cheek.

“Cheers,” you agree, picking up the shot.

Turning to your left, you find him there waiting with a smile. It gleams in his eyes that are beginning to change from the liquor. You notice this when your glasses meet with a ding! Throwing back the shot you remember is called a Pornstar, you hope the alcohol laced with notes of oranges and berries will make you forget. But they don’t make you forget the smile that claimed his face that night as he made love to you. Or the same one that you saw on his lips when he spoke his first words to you tonight.

“Ya still at tha U ova there?” he questions, bringing a giggle from your lips when he tries to nod to where the college would be. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what direction it’s in, even if the stadium you saw him perform in tonight was on the campus, unbeknownst to him.

“No, I didn’t go back this fall.”

“Hmm, how come? I thought ya were likin’ tha nursin’ program ya were in,” he inquires, causing feelings to bloom inside of you. Ones you’d rather not feel because of the fact that he remembered. Amidst all of the alcohol from that night, as well as tonight’s.

“I found out I didn’t like it, and I couldn’t see myself spending my life doing it, either,” you explain, trying to douse your thoughts in more rum from your mixed drink, but you’re still only at a buzz. There’s a long way to go until you’re drunk, and you’re uncertain if you want to go that far.

“Mmmm, ya couldn’t see yerself wipin’ old people’s asses, could ya?” he quips, glancing over at you. A smirk plays on his lips in the background, his lips hidden behind his full coupe glass.

“No, I tried when I worked at the nursing home, and I found out quickly it wasn’t for me.”

His laugh tickles at your ears, reminding you quickly of all of the times you missed it, as well as how good it was to hear it earlier tonight. It’s only made better when your eyes flit to him, and you find him biting the flesh of a cherry from its stem. You’re itching to continue sharing, but there’s not enough alcohol in your system to do that, quite yet.

“I bet ya I can tie it into a knot again,” Harry murmurs, words masked by the maraschino cherry between his lips.

You remain silent, and the only acknowledgement he receives is the moving of your head. The words are slowly getting to you, sneaking in past the defense of alcohol you try to build to ward them off.

Before.

Again.

Last time.

“I bet you can’t,” you finally argue, resolve in your voice.

“Do ya now? Whatcha gonna bet then, love?”

“Hmmm, I bet you twenty bucks you can’t after all of the drinks you’ve had,” you counter, your chin finding your palm to rest in, your eyes locked on his.

“Oh ye o’ li’l faith,” Harry scoffs, brows pointed down into a V, his curls tickling his chest. Playing with his bottom lip, he squints an accusatory eye at you, adjusting the striped white and black button down revealing his sun kissed chest.

The heaviness in his voice finds your Achilles heel, stirring feelings in your gut that you’d wish would remain silent.

“I bet I can, I even betta kiss from you,” he giggles, pink appearing on his cheeks as he chews on the tip of the red stem.

Your breath hitches in your throat when his proposition hits the air. It’s nearly impossible to hide away the happiness budging at your lips, especially as you watch it unfold on his face. That face with the devilish grin and shining eyes. Drowsiness tugs at the corner of them, and you wonder if only you can see it there.

“Deal’s a deal,” you announce, removing your hand from your lap to hold out to him. His large hand adorned with rings and black ink wraps around yours. You could melt right there and plant your lips on his that very second, you’re sure of it. Somehow, his firm yet sweet handshake wants to make you believe he’d like that, especially when he doesn’t let go.

Slipping the stem between his excited lips, new goosebumps prickle on the back of your neck. You just hope that he doesn’t notice them growing on your arms, and that they aren’t covering your hand that’s enveloped in his. That he doesn’t feel them under the pad of his thumb that he brushes along the back of your hand. Few thoughts live in your mind at the moment, his eyes staring into yours as your joined hands sit on his thigh clad in holey black jeans. A few titters escape his concentrated lips and his eyes jump to the ceiling, meanwhile his lips move as he tries to tie it in a knot. All while your insides mimic the same shape as you’re reminded of the saying about people who can tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue.

“Come on, Styles,” you mumble, raising your eyebrows at him. He rewards you with a laugh, and his thumb stills against your hand, his face screwing up in concentration.

A few seconds later, he squeezes your hand and a smile covers his face. Wiggling his eyebrows now, one corner of his mouth reaches his ear. His lips part, and he sticks out the stem, adorned with a knot in the middle.

“Can’t believe ya didn’t believe in me, love. ‘m hurt,” he pouts, a fake cry sounding from his frowning lips. Kicking your foot against his under the table, he chuckles as he sets it down next to his drink. “Alright, betta pucker up, angel.”

Biting your lip, you watch his adam’s apple bob when his drink meets his lips. Setting it down, he rubs his hand across yours, the same shade of red donning his cheeks as yours.

“Fine, let’s get it over with,” you groan, trying to remember the last time you put chapstick on. You just hope your lips don’t taste like beer by now.

He winks at you before leaning in and catching your chin between his two fingers. Pulling you forward, you let your eyes fall shut, and soon you feel his breath on your face. The brash smell of alcohol sweetened with lemon, and a hint of cherries. You taste the sweet, and then the sour when his lips touch yours. His top lip is soft between yours, and prickly from the stubble smattered across his skin. He smiles into the kiss, moving his lips with yours as he laces his fingers with your own, his rings cold against your skin. Then you taste it at the back of your throat, the sweet and then the sour.

Breaking the kiss, you pull away, unsure of if you can do this again. If you can try to detach yourself from your head for another night, only to have it eat away at you for the next year- who knows how fucking long.

“Nah, come back ‘ere,” Harry whispers quickly, his fingers crawling to your cheek, and then the back of your head.

He pushes at the back of it, smashing his lips against yours once more, and you let him. Melting into a puddle in front of him, because that’s what you do best. That’s what you’ve done all these years yearning for him over his pictures and his songs. Then from the crowd at his concert last year, swearing he made contact with you once while singing your favorite, Happily. Once again, just earlier tonight when you stood in the sea of people at another concert of his, feeling yourself fall all over again, and now you know you are.

You should stop it right here and right now, but you try to ignore the convincing hurt that will follow if you just let yourself enjoy the moment. As well as the moments that follow.

His fingers find a home in your hair as you savor his lips between yours, pillowy soft and sopping with sweetness. Tasting of lost time, forgotten kisses, and the bittersweetness that you know another night with him will bring. Ignoring it, you kiss him back, your hands climbing his thigh until your thumb collides with his crotch. Giggling against his lips, you stop there, but wish you didn’t have to. A titter leaves his lips, followed by his tongue edging at your bottom lip. Somebody slurs ‘get a room’ with a laugh, and your lips soon part.

A chuckle hugs his lips now, no longer yours, much to your disappointment. You find comfort in your drink, although after a few gulps, you find yourself missing the taste of him. As well as his smell, much like vanilla and spice, quickly reminding you of the saying in Powerpuff Girls.

Recalling it, you guess at notes of warm nutmeg, tobacco, and hints of vanilla bean clinging to him. Just like the last time, but somehow it surrounds you, almost taking the breath away from you. You had tried so hard to remember just how he smelled, always wishing you knew the name of the cologne he wore. It’s too late when you realize it, but you’re smiling into your drink. You’re unsure if you ever want to stop, you ponder, suddenly remembering the tautness of his upper thigh beneath your hand.

Your hands.

“Can we getta check, please?” Harry murmurs next to you, his fingers moving between yours slowly. More goosebumps rise along your body at his words that come rushing from his mouth.

Sandy walks over to you, braid bouncing on her shoulders. She sets the check down and thanks you both for coming. Harry plucks the check from the table, before it’s even had time to lay flat on the tabletop. Grinning, he looks at it as he holds it away from you in his left hand.

“No, you don’t get to do this again!” you exclaim, lips melting into bubbly laughter.

“Do what, love?” he questions dumbfoundedly, giving you a funny look that only makes you laugh harder.

“Pay the bill! Let me do it this time,” you argue, trying to reach past him, but he uses his long arm to his advantage. “Ugh, why do you do this?”

“I haven’t done anythin’,” he disagrees, placing the receipt between his fingers as he reaches behind him, still facing you. Watching, he grabs his leather wallet from his back pocket, all while holding the receipt and not letting go of your hand. His name drops from your mouth, and he acts as if he didn’t hear it, but his lips tell you otherwise.

“Shhh,” he tells you, in the middle of a giggle. “I pay, that’s jus’ how it goes, so stop arguin’, cuz ‘s not gonna change me mind.”

Glancing over to you, he meets your searching eyes and cocks one eyebrow. His glistening lips do something to you, and you think he knows it, because he drags your joined hands to the hardness between his legs. Winking, he softly tosses his credit card and the receipt to the table. Picking up his drink, your eyes follow his tongue as he scoops up the ivory bubbles at the top, all while looking at you. Certain you’re blushing, you turn away and pick up your drink, quickly downing the rest as he gulps loudly beside you.

The lukewarm summer air welcomes your skin when you step out onto the sidewalk. Busying your hands with the cloth strap of your purse, you walk beside Harry who taps away on his phone. Soon, you reach a stoplight and unsure of where you’re going, or more like where each of you are going, you come to a stop. Lips poised and ready with a question, you’re about to ask him what the plan is. He beats you to it and presses the button to wake the crosswalk, sliding his phone into his tight jeans.

“Ya still make those ‘outta this world’ cinnamon rolls?” Harry wonders aloud as you stare ahead. The lights of the metro flash in front of your eyes, and the sounds of cars and people trickle past you.

“Yeah. You’re lucky, I made a batch this morning and I have a few left over.”

“Great. Ya think I could stop by t’ have one?” Harry requests. Words pause between your lips, and he steals them away from you when he intertwines his hand with yours. “Let’s hurry befo’ it stops,” he blurts out, walking forward and pulling on your hand to follow him across the blinking crosswalk, just as you hum an ‘mmmhmm’.

You can’t remember what you talked about on the way to your apartment, because all you could focus on was his hand in yours. Something he didn’t even do the last time, and you start to wonder why, before you stop yourself. Words pass between the two of you during the short walk, but the songs of the city do most of the talking.

Soon, you’re turning on the lights in your apartment, calling out for your roommate. It takes you a minute to remember past your alcohol buzz that at the concert she said she was staying somewhere else tonight. Toeing off your shoes, you watch Harry discard his to the mat by the door.

“Aha, there they are!” Harry cheers, padding over to the kitchen. He finds the round baking dish full of them, peeling back the wrapping to pluck one from the dish. “I swear ya make tha best cinnamon rolls ‘ve eva had, angel,” he murmurs, locking eyes with you as he takes a bite. Closing his eyes with a smile adorning his lips, he moans from the taste.

Giggling, you take off your purse and hang it on a chair sat at the other side of the counter where you often eat your meals. Seeing as it’s a tiny apartment and just the two of you, you and your roommate opted out of buying a table to eat at. The old pet name bounces around inside of your head, and drags your eyes over to Harry. Lifting his own from the large cinnamon roll, it astonishes you how it shrinks in comparison to his massive hand. He looks back at you while licking the sugary frosting from his lips, a smile tugging at them. A knowing smile.

“Wann’a bite?” he volunteers, holding it out to you where you stand across the counter from him. He tempts you alright, but the only thing you want to taste on your lips is his coated in frosting.

“Sure.”

Padding over to him, his thumb ventures between his lips, licking the frosting from them. He really knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he? you groan inwardly, wishing you could spew the words out loud. You know they’d jumpstart something, and you don’t think you can wait for it any longer. Your footsteps stop in front of him, and he holds out the half eaten pastry to you. Although from this morning, the silky bread still melts on your tongue, decorated with the flavors of cinnamon and sugar.

“Wait, ya got some frosting on yer nose,” Harry smiles. Soon, his thumb brushes against your nose, wiping it away. You don’t let him stop there, grabbing his wrist and bringing his digit between your lips.

Observing the changing expression on his face, you suck the frosting from his thumb. Letting go of his thumb slowly, he looks like he’s slowly losing his mind in front of you. Join the club, bud.

“Yer givin’ me a run fo’ me money tonight, aren’t ya, angel?” he rasps, bopping your nose with his finger before he takes another bite. You nod unabashedly, licking your lips before you turn to walk away. His sigh is just a whisper, but your ears pick it up as you make your way to the bathroom, leaving him to squirm once again.

After splashing cold water on your face and freshening up, you find him at home on your tan sectional. Looking at something on his phone, he hears your return and soon his sparkling eyes find yours.

“You look tired,” you smile, breaking eye contact to check your watch. “It’s almost one, Harry. You must be tired after tonight.”

“Not really, I think ‘s tha jetlag,” he lies, leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch, letting his eyes fall closed after all. Settling down beside him, you stretch out, looking around the room hurriedly to check for any messes. Luckily, you and your roommate had left your apartment rather neat this afternoon before leaving for the concert. Just a few discarded clothes on the floor and hanging off of chairs.

“You’re such a liar. Do you wanna call an Uber or somebody to bring you to your hotel? I’d drive you, but I probably shouldn’t after those drinks,” you comment, your eyes falling over him. The light catches the silver cross necklace hanging around his neck, and how it moves with his chest that lifts slowly with his every breath.

“‘m not tired, jus’ thinkin’,” he insists, opening his eyes and turning his head towards you. You can’t help it, your fingers dive into his hair, pushing it back. He smiles dopily up at you, a faint mewling dropping from his lips at the sensation.

“I don’t believe you. Do you want to go to sleep? You can have my bed,” you offer, your fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. With your eyes on each other, you know that you have him in the palm of your hand now, and you don’t want him to go anywhere.

He remains silent, his eyes closing again as you play with his hair, unaware this was something he enjoys. You didn’t really have the chance to explore this as much last time, although you were dying to. His name leaves your lips in a question, wondering aloud if he’s fallen asleep. His head goes from side to side and he opens his eyes, blinking hard at you.

“No, don’t wanna go t’ sleep. There’s sumthin’ else I wanna do instead.”

“What’s that?” you ask, his lemony breath ghosting over your face. His lips curl up towards his eyes, dimples collapsing into his cheeks.

“You,” he smirks, sitting up. Your eyes roll so hard into the back of your head at his dad joke that you don’t see him slip his arms under your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder in one swift move.

“Harry!” you almost scream, losing your breath when your chest meets his back in a surprising turn of events. “What are you doing?” you groan, your face coming to meet his ass almost, not that you’re complaining.

“You’ll see soon enough, angel,” he murmurs in response, and he begins to walk.

You can’t play the annoyed card anymore, because excitement shivers through your body quickly. Inside your chest, underneath your One Direction shirt and the layers of your body, your heart goes wild. It hasn’t been able to stop ever since his fingers touched yours earlier tonight. It only dances harder inside of you as his footsteps near your bedroom, one he seemingly remembers the route to well. Feeling spunky and sick of it teasing you, being right there and all, your hand hits his ass with a satisfying clap.

“Heeeey!” Harry titters as you squeeze his soft bum, seconds before he throws you forward. Leaving his arms, your back soon hits the springy surface of your bed. “I guess ya can do what ya want with me tonight, cuz ‘m all yers, baby. Again,” Harry coos from above you, crawling onto the bed to kneel over you with his hands planted on either side of your head.

At a loss for words, you just stare up at him, your mouth permanently curving upwards. Moonlight pours in from the window, his skin glowing underneath it.

“I thought ya rememba’d how t’ talk afta we had those shots,” he winks, his eyes dancing along your face as his hand comes to cup your cheek. Your own are tempted to roam his body, and the very interesting area between his legs. You just shrug your shoulders at him, and his grin widens. “Maybe ‘ll hafta remind those lips how t’ work then.”

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