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Whatever I’ve been doing with Harry Styles has been casual, like, sorta the way Amy Winehouse (God rest her precious soul) looking for her crack pipe was casual. We’ve never talked about ‘us’ or defined anything, but let’s be real here. At the end of the day, the only person I’ve wanted in my bed for the last few months is Harry. And so here we are. It’s just gone ten o’clock, and we’re lying in bed having a bit of a cuddle before I have to get some sleep since I work at an ungodly hour nowadays. Harry’s lying back on his pillows, but I’m sideways in the bed, head on his chest and feet dangling off the other end.
“Ahh Harold. If I’d not hit on you back when we met, think how different things would be now, eh?”
His hand that had been running lazily through my hair stops, and he tilts my head up so he can see my eyes.
“If you hadn’t hit on me? I seem to recall myself doing the hitting, am I right?”
I try to think back over the months. We’ve done so many wickedly dirty things in so many places already that I really can’t believe we’ve not been found out yet, and I try really hard to remember the first encounter.
I think it was that time the members of One Direction and I introduced an awards show. In a totally unscripted surprise, Harry had smacked my arse--hard--as I walked by him. I guess he was the one doing the hitting. That kind of started this all, really. Harry slapping me on the ass on camera. Later, when we were all changing back into street clothes, I noticed him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, so I invited him over afterward. The little shit brought Niall with him. Cockblocker.
“Oh, fine. I suppose you were the instigator. If I’d only known back then just how naughty you really are,” I tease, rolling to the side to nip at his smooth chest.
“I’m naughty, am I? You didn’t seem to mind at Liam’s birthday a few weeks back.” Harry gives me that stupid, relaxed grin of his, and I pull him down to kiss me, cock gone hard from the mere mention of Liam’s party.
We were the last ones to arrive because I’d been dragging my feet at my flat, not wanting to have to spend hours out with those teenagers, and Harry felt the need to catch up to the other boys, downing several shots straight away.
I went to the bar to nurse a gin and tonic while he socialized with his bandmates, but I’d only been standing there for a few minutes before I felt hands wrap around my waist from behind and a sloppy, wet kiss on my neck.
“Guh. Popstars don’t kiss like that, Harry.”
“Oh yes they fucking do,” he whispered in my ear, tugging me by the hand toward the loo. The second we walked through the door, he had spun around, pushing me back against the wall and kissing a trail from my lips across my collarbone and up to my ear. He sucked at my neck for longer than necessary, proud of his ability to mark me, and tugged my hips toward his own, grinding our cocks together through the rough denim of our jeans.
We’d been fucking for a few months already so I wasn’t surprised at his actions. No, what was surprising was when he sank to his knees on the floor, proceeded to get my cock out of my trousers and suck me off.
The thing about fucking an eighteen year old is that he’s just so fucking eager to do everything. He licked and sucked greedily, his lips turning cherry red and swollen, and when I was able to grunt out that I was about to come, he just turned his eyes upward, watching me through those long fucking eyelashes and swallowing around me until I finished.
I push Harry back against the pillows and turn over, crawling across the bed to straddle him.
“Fuck, that one is definitely in my top five blow jobs. Ever.”
He bites his lip in attempt to not grin, a bit smug and proud of his teenage self for getting me turned on when he knows I have to go to sleep. So I begin to tease him.
“I seem to recall this time you had been away in Paris and literally the second you got back home, you were waiting outside the studio for me. A cute little Harry Styles puppy just waiting for me to get off work, so fucking happy to be back in London. You couldn’t even hide your massive grin from the paparazzi walking three fucking feet in front of us snapping away.”
“I was happy to be home,” Harry cries. “So what if I also was happy to see you again?” He runs his fingers through my hair again as I remind him what happened.
We had gone out for a bit, meeting up with our other single friends for Valentine’s Day, but then we went to my place and spent hours just kissing on my sofa. His lips were so soft and pliant, letting me control the motion and speed until he got really into it. I remember slowly pushing him onto his back, hovering over him and throwing my shirt to the floor before playing at the hem of his, hoping he’d take note and follow along, but Harry was still a bit shy about the whole thing back then, and it was all I could do just to get that shirt off.
“Off with this shirt. I need to see for myself what all the fuss is about with Harry fucking Styles’s abs.” He had giggled and wriggled around, with this huge nervous grin on his fucking perfect popstar face, but I got the shirt off finally and spent half an hour just touching his chest, his stomach, his four fucking nipples, because Harry Styles has to do everything more and better than everyone else.
I had learned that night that he’s quite sensitive on each one of those nipples, specifically when I lick them with my warm, wet tongue and then blow cool air over them, so I lean down and do that now, watching his skin pebble and his body tremble.
I wanted to fuck him so badly that night, but I was afraid to scare him away, so instead we just kissed for like, forever, his mouth barely taking a break from mine to whimper as I unbuttoned his fly and held the weight of him in my hand. He let me stroke him off, painting his chest in stripes of cum that I licked off as he lay there like a wet noodle for all of five minutes before getting hard again ... sort of like he is now.
“Fucking teenager,” I mumble, grinding myself down against his cock. “I do have to work in the morning, you know.”
Harry’s hands slide down my back to my ass, squeezing gently as our mouths meet again in a slightly more urgent kiss. “Guess you should get to sleep then ... Daddy.”
“Fuck off. You know I hate when you start that shit,” I say, but my cock gets even harder and I let my legs slide down the bed around his so I’m lying on top of him.
“You like it,” Harry whispers and pulls me sharply against him, both our dicks trapped between our bodies. My coarse chest hair rubs against his naked chest as we frot, kissing and breathing heavily.
“Fuck, Harry.” I reach a hand between us, holding his cock against mine, and thrust my hips forward hard. “Want you to come. Fuck.”
Harry’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and he moans a bit, rutting against my hand. “Yeah. Want you to come too. Kiss me.” He opens his eyes, searching my face as he pulls me the few inches toward him until our lips connect again, greedy tongue pushing into my mouth and his hand gripping my neck.
Our tongues tangle, and my thighs begin to burn from the increased speed of our thrusting, but I don’t stop because I can tell by the little twitch in the hand wrapped around my neck that Harry is close. I let go of myself and focus on him, letting my hand run the length of his cock over and over, sticky with sweat and a bit of precome.
“Fuck. Did you want to be in me?” I ask but I know it’s too late. He’s nearing the edge.
“Fuck,” Harry grunts, coming across both our stomachs and my hand.
“That’d be a no then.” I sit up, propping myself on the bed with my dry hand, and stroke myself roughly while looking down at him, splayed on the bed beneath me in a post-orgasm haze. It only takes a moment, my cum mixing with his own, and I slump over on the bed by his side, panting too hard to talk for a minute or so.
Finally, I smack his thigh playfully. “Best sex yet, babe.”
Harry rolls over, pinning me underneath him. “But Nick. We didn’t actually have sex yet.” He presses his already hard cock against my thigh and grinning that slow, dimpled smile.
I groan. Fucking teenager.