(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It’s important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
They call her love, love, love, love, love
They call her love, love, love, love, love
She is love…She is all I need
She is love…She is all I need
She is love…And she is all I need
Parachute | She Is Love
And like that our stolen time in paradise was over. It ended on a good note, however, with me lazily making love to him the entire day, trying to take his mind off things and convince him I was ok at least. There wasn’t much I could do for him in terms of Robin’s new prognosis, but at the very least I could remove myself from his worry-equation and begin catering to him like he had catered to me. That night and the following morning I’d cooked for him for the first time in a while. Roasted chicken and all the vegetables in the pantry for dinner, and a proper English breakfast for in the morning. I’d also run him a bath before we left and afterwards gave him a full body massage, which naturally led to my hands and mouth seeking out unspeakable places.
I drove the first half of the way back to London, and to hear him snoring in the passenger seat was a comfort, no matter how loud he became. The drive was surprisingly therapeutic too, and although I couldn’t shut my mind off, it was nice to cruise around in this window of contentment with him. Unconvinced that all of our problems would go away, but satisfied with knowing we’d be tackling them together, come what may. Now that was some hardcore maturation. The kind that had escaped me for the past few weeks when I’d been regressing back into my childhood sulks and self-destructive tendencies. When it was all said and done, we parted at my place. He reluctantly dropped me off to the missus before heading home and planning a drive to his parents’ place in Cherise. No rest for the wicked, I suppose.
Our bodies produced hundreds of millions of cells every minute. Over 300 billion per day, yet somehow, I only felt drained in interview after interview. Like I was losing microscopic bits of myself since I started out in 2010. Lately those bits were becoming humiliating chunks; leaving gaping holes in the fabric of who I once was. Things hadn’t exactly been smooth around the album launch. Despite coming to terms with the label’s rejection and pushing ahead for Haz’s sake, trying to be the bigger man over the cowards who owned us, I still couldn’t bring myself to fake enthusiasm for our latest project. Not in all the interviews leading up to November 17th, a few of which I’d skipped out on, and especially not on the morning of the release. I’d woken up with a pit in my heart, knowing that if I toed the company line today of all days and put on a fake façade to promote a project I didn’t believe in, I would never forgive myself. Time to take a stand. I categorically refused to show up in Orlando, Florida leaving them to scramble and make excuses for me on the Today Show. Checkmate, bitch.
The not-eating conundrum had been harder to shake than I anticipated. I’d been under the false impression that I had it all under control and that I’d be able to jump back to my normal diet of delectable desi dishes, the occasional serving of excruciatingly hot chicken wings, burgers, pizza, sweets, and crisps, but shit was I wrong. Much of what I ate made me vomit shortly after. I could barely keep anything solid down. Perhaps I needed to ease my way back onto larger portions and start with subtler textures and spices, but it wasn’t really my style to do anything half-cocked.
Haz mistook my continued weightloss as a sign that I refused to eat whenever he wasn’t around, so that upset him and he blocked my number temporarily. He was also weirdly hurt by my not showing up for release day, but said he ultimately understood it. He and the boys had been grilled about the rumors surrounding my absence on release day, many of which involved notions that I was lazy, or a deadbeat, or a drug addict, or was looking to leave the band. Management decided that the best explanation for my defiant absenteeism was to insist I was simply sick, with no further details volunteered. This, in my humble opinion, once combined with my dramatic weight loss, only lent credence to the drug-problem theory, which was now being openly discussed by the media and fans alike.
I’d spied a few headlines that referred to me as “gaunt” when I remerged to do the Ellen show. That wasn’t a nice pill to swallow, but truth be told it was what I had originally been aiming for. I wanted the world to take notice of my hunger strike and look further into the potential maltreatment by the label, but because I was brown and had developed a reputation for being an adulterous pothead, my plan to expose the label through a hunger strike had royally backfired. They all just thought I was on crack.
Later that month, before heading onstage to perform and accept three major American Music Awards, one being Artist of The Year, I knew I had a ton of work to do to make things right with Haz. I’d broken his trust again, although unintentionally, and after everything he had sacrificed and was still going through with Rob being ill, I couldn’t allow our petty beef to stand. First and foremost, the trust needed to be restored somehow. I thought of filming myself doing a mukbang to satisfy his obsession with seeing me eat, but settled for a subtler approach instead. Physical affection was our love language. Time to crank it up a notch and bring him back him.
I flirted my way back into his good graces on the red carpet, brushing my fingers against his unyieldingly, no matter how much he pulled away. Right out in the open in front of thousands of fans and flashing cameras to set him on edge. All those red dots beaming directly at us, sending him to silent tailspin because he knew we were being recorded at every angle. I knew this dude like the back of my hand. This was a move guaranteed to dissolve his guard and leave him melting for me. He loved when I became reckless and did things that could potentially expose us. It turned him on invariably. Something about the pheromones released during the thrill of the heightened danger and whatnot. And it didn’t help that a single strand of my hair had fallen loose and was now driving the internet crazy. I played it to my advantage anytime he looked at me, squinting my eyes.
Afterwards he couldn’t stop staring at me and touching my hands with every passing chance he could get that night. Speaking to me through his eyes and his blood-red lips. So many lingering glances. So many suggestive grins. So many accidental innuendos in his dialogue with other people that let me know I was the only thing on his mind. That naturally resulted in us staying behind in LA for an extra day full of dirty fun, opting for a later flight while all the other boys flew ahead to Australia in preparation for the ARIA Awards. We were nominated there as well, and management refused to let us miss out on the promotional opportunity since Australia was a major music market and we had a new album to hawk.
The ride to the hotel after the AMAs had been strained by the presence of Niall, who talked nonstop. For a change, I’d gotten paired with he and Haz for the trip back, while the other boys took a separate car to make room for Paul and security. Nialler sat across from Haz and I in the stretch Escalade, on his fifth glass of champagne and looking to grab some Chinese takeout before we headed to the airport.
“Styler, was that awkward or what?!” he snickered uncontrollably, setting his glass aside. The drink was luminous beneath the colorful LEDs that bathed the floor and ceiling. “Having to watch her get that massive award?? What was it again, Zayn mate?”
“Uh, The Award For Excellence, or some shit like that. Innit, Haz?”
“Uh, yeah…I guess so. By Dick Clark…and all that.”
“I mean, she was just standing right there in front of you the whole time. Shit, that must’ve stung!” Niall determined.
“Actually, it didn’t. And it was me who broke up with her, alright? I, uh… I knew exactly what I was doing. Plus, she was always an incredibly talented musician. Didn’t expect that to change.”
“You hear this, Zayno?! He’s so hurt.”
“Gud for youh, Haz. Bein’ the bigger maan and all. And now she’s winnin’ awards and toppin’ charts for songs that shade youh. She even opened the show with one,” I teased him. “Congrats, broh. You’ve officially made it!”
“Have you even spoken to her this year?” Niall wondered, sobering a bit.
“Yeah, have youh?” I interjected, cocking my eyebrow. Haz gazed over at me, fighting his annoyance, fully aware I was being a dick on purpose.
“If you two must know…no, I haven’t—”
“Bahahahahaha!” Niall erupted all over again. “So it was even more awkward then! You haven’t even talked?! So fucking awkward, H! You were just stood there like an idiot, mate! Watching her be honored for like ten minutes—”
“To be fair, it was kinda awkward,” I laughed. “Just listenin’ to them goh on and on about how great she is and how much she’s accomplished. Sheesh, I’d hate to be the guy who broke up with her. And I heard she’s been seein’ some new bloke too? Damn, Haz. Must suck to be youh right now—”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Niall dapped me up from across the limo and Haz slapped our hands a part.
“Fuck’s sake, you two are idiots! Aren’t you supposed to be my friends?? And it’s not even like that, alright? I don’t have that big of an ego. She and I are good! We’re perfect! You’re both just too stupid to see that.”
“Whatever youh say, big guy. Hey, maan, at least we weren’t dumb enough to dump T-Swift while she was on the rise. She’s ‘excellent’ y’know. Even wins awards for how ‘excellent’ she is.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbled, scooting away from me on the seat and checking his phone.
We went our separate ways back at the hotel to pack. We had a late flight so we could spend the night on the plane and arrive in Sydney during the day. I lined my luggage up near the door after changing into comfortable airport clothes, then grabbed my phone charger off the nightstand. Before I could open the door, a knock landed.
“Malik.” He barged his way into my room, plopping down onto the edge of the bed. No luggage in sight. He had changed out of the adorable kurta and wide-brimmed hat he’d worn to the show, and was now strutting around in nothing but a black tee and jeans. And the cheetah print Chelsea boots of course. Hair gorgeously mussed as always.
“Yooo, what’s up? Youh don’t look ready. Youh packed? It’s time to goh, broh.”
“I’m not going.”
I shut the door, muttering in confusion, then joined him on the edge of the bed. He turned to face me, a smirk forming.
“Any why not?”
“Because…my ear hurts…”
“Yeah…if anyone asks, my earrr hurts. Alright?” He wiggled his eyebrows, prompting a bemused grin to spread across my face.
“Haha, yeah okay, I got it.” I’d seen him fake an illness or injury a time or two, usually to get out of rehearsals and meetings; and occasionally to earn my sympathy, but none of those circumstances fit the bill tonight. He reached over and and tugged at my beanie, likely looking for the loose strand from earlier tonight.
“Damn it. Wow, mate, your hair’s getting super long—”
“Soh tell me,” I began, as he removed my beanie in examination. “Why does your ear suddenly hurt? I was with youh earlier and youh didn’t mention anythin’ about it?”
“Cause…it just hurts.”
“No infection…just hurts.”
“Okay, Harreh,” I tired. “Soh what now? We still have a flight to catch.”
“I, uh…was wondering if you’d maybe catch a later flight with me?”
“Yeah…I think I’m gonna stay behind. Already rescheduled mine.”
“Youh got a party to goh to or sumthin?”
“Hopefully,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows again. “I’m hoping a party of two.”
“Ah…I see,” I hid my face for a second, embarrassed that it had taken me so long to catch on. “You’re soh corny, broh. Soh basically you’re feelin’ some type of way now? After soh many days of ignorin’ me? Runnin’ round with that Jeff dude?”
“Yeah, I’m feeling some type of way. You gotta problem with that? It’s your fault anyway.”
“Is it? How soh?” I played dumb, furrowing my brow. I ducked to look into this eyes because he had hung his head.
“The red carpet…”
“Oh yeah? What happened on the red carpet?” At that he broke into a bashful grin and lay back across the bed. I joined him, facing in his direction while he faced the ceiling. “What happened, babe?”
“Well…someone….I dunno who exactly…”
“Oh, youh don’t know who? Alright then…maybe I should dip before they show up?”
“You! It’s you!” he laughed, then quieted. “You…made me feel something I…haven’t necessarily felt with you in a while.”
“And what’s that?”
“Super super nervous, mate. It felt like we’d just met or something. Like we were falling into this thing all over again in front of everyon—” I leaned atop him and pressed my lips to his for the first time in weeks.
He’d been too annoyed with my continued weightloss and skipping out on promo to spend any real time with me. It’s just been work and home, back and forth for days on end. He with his LA crew, and me with Pez whenever I wasn’t at the studio in Ealing. Hardly ever crossing paths. Still, he stared at me intensely whenever I was within two feet of him. And it wasn’t a come-hither look either. It was a scowling, puzzled look that made me feel like I had some hideous deformity. That same bare-faced obsession he’d had back in September, watching my every move like I was a lab rat.
After recording for the Band Aid charity single in London earlier that month, the boys and I were herded backstage for one of the most uncomfortable interviews of our career. Tensions were high. Haz had begged for a hiatus out of nowhere that day, and it pissed a few of the other boys off because they were no where near ready to slow this thing down. Liam considered it only briefly before changing his mind, initially citing a bit of exhaustion and too much drinking of late, but Niall and Louis were unquestioningly against it. Although I was more on the side of hiatus after the rejection of my songs, the subject still came as a shock to me because I hadn’t spoken to him in a while and he never ran the thought by me. I almost voted no just to spite him. Thankfully I didn’t have to, because he withdrew the offer when he saw how pissed Lou and Nialler became.
They were mainly of the mind that he had plans to go solo, as he’d been getting awful chummy with Jeff Azoff lately, son of Irving Azoff, a star-making tycoon in the American music and entertainment scene. It was beyond obvious that Jeff was looking to whisk Haz away and make him into a megastar and secure a cut of the spoils for himself, but I wasn’t looking to hold that against him. I’d been slowly and quietly making plans that he and the other boys weren’t privy to either. Mainly with Shahid and a few of his London connects. And the other boys were guilty of the same, whether they admitted it or not. We weren’t stupid. We had all low-key been in talks with other producers and management firms across the globe. We knew this whole ‘boyband’ operation had a shelf life and that the expiration date may’ve been fast approaching. We could hardly tolerate each other outside of work anymore, and that was a surefire sign of things nearing the end soon.
Haz was smart and looking to get ahead of the game with the best in the business. Even so, I still couldn’t help but think his asking for a hiatus had positively nothing to do with him wanting to go solo, and everything to do with what he perceived to be my worsening condition. Particularly after I’d skipped out on so much promo and release day. I think he saw the end in me before he saw it in any of his talks with Jeff, and this may’ve been his weird way of trying to protect me from the trauma of quitting abruptly, or meeting an awful fate due to the mounting stresses of being trapped in job I had come to resent.
Following the swiftly ended hiatus talk that day, he couldn’t barely pay attention to what was being said in the interview, because he was preoccupied with staring at me. This time his glares were more acute because I’d grown thinner than ever before, although I wasn’t necessarily feeling as sick anymore because I did eat on occasion. My system was just still programed to decimate itself ruthlessly. I couldn’t retain any weight. Autophagy overload. Now he’d taken to caging me in as if I might run away, despite us not having exchanged a word in days. I mean, what was with this bloke? Who stands that close to someone they weren’t on speaking terms with? Who does that?
Unable to resist his nearness, I’d drank it all in like a soothing tonic, soaking up what was rightfully mine anyway, occasionally resting the side of my head against his upraised arm. That of course only encouraged him to move closer, visibly shuddering anytime we touched. Fiending for me as much as I hankered for him. Fuck…we were creeps.
Once it was squared away that he and I would be catching a later flight, the majority of our team and the other boys headed to the airport and flew to Australia. That left me behind with Haz, our security, and one publicist. We’d be headed out on the evening of the 25th, which left a full day and a half for us to spend together. I hated when we had to pretend we didn’t want it. That we weren’t dying to get back inside. It’s all we ever thought about when we were together. The insides. But I could also appreciate taking things slow. Maybe this was the start of a new leaf? I liked the idea of the intimacy we shared now, even without fucking. I liked that he could be with me half-naked and not feel weird about it. I liked that he still let me touch him regardless of how much I’d disappointed him recently.
Lying across my hotel bed at his side, I tentatively massaged his belly and my stomach knotted like I knew his was. When I grew annoyed with the material of his shirt, I slipped a hand beneath and stoked his bare flesh. I could feel it wincing and looked up to see his eyelids lowering in gratification. When I snaked up further and swiped my thumb up over his nipple, it was to find that they were already erect, waiting for me to dare. I swiped all four fingertips over the farthest one in a unhurried circle and he let out a shuddering breath. They were still so sensitive, always standing to attention for me. I could see them through his shirt all day every day, and wanted to suck on them until the material became soaked and transparent. Even onstage.
“Feels so good…” he sighed, shutting his eyes as I let my fingertips flick them to no end. Both his legs were propped open now, fanning in the rising heat. Waiting for me to grab ahold of what lie between. But I wanted to take my time. I didn’t know how far we could go tonight, and I was unsure of whether we’d get another chance like this anytime soon. Why bust in a rush when I could prolong everything leading up to it? Enjoy these feelings for hours instead of cramming them into a few frenzied minutes. I wanted to gather vivid, graphic memories to get me by just in case I never slept with him again this year.
I missed how responsive he was. No one was as responsive as he was and it gave me so much confidence to do more and to explore more with him. I pulled at his right nipple until he whimpered and grinded down into the bed. When I slipped my hand away, he whimpered for more. Lifting his shirt to his neck, encouraging me to return. Now they were both exposed, flushed and erect, waiting to be drawn into my mouth one by one. Apparently I was taking too long, so he began to stroke them both himself, copying the way I had touched him only moments ago. Now he was full-on gasping and writhing without my help, pulling at his pecks with an insatiable greed.
“Please…” he whispered, begging for the heat and moisture of my mouth. For my tongue which they knew all too well. “Baby…” he gasped, pleading breathlessly for me to step in. “I need you….”
I was so fucking eager to heed his call I nearly choked. I lay half atop him and his hands landed in my hair, ruffling it, gently coaxing my head towards his chest. I tortured him a little longer, evasively brushing my lips against his nipple until he squeezed the back of my neck in protest. Now I relented and brushed the first one with my tongue, flicking back and forth as he groaned and began to moan without reservation. Calling out my name over and over as I lazily dragged the heat of my tongue across both peaks. I drew one fully into my mouth and sucked so hard I knew he’d be bruised come morning.
“Take it off…” He begged, referring to his shirt. The minute it hit the floor he said the same of his pants and briefs. I slinked down over his hips, kissing his quivering belly along the way, and unfastening his jeans. Now I hooked my fingers into the thin waistband, pulling away ever-so-slowly, savoring the inch my inch revelation of his shaven groin and the base of his shaft——
“Z? Helloooo? You listening?” Haz asked, shaking me a bit.
“Yeah, yeah. My bad.”
“Fuck’s sake, mate. Wake up. I’m talking here!”
Holy shit, that was one of the most vivid fantasies I’d had in a while. Just utterly zoned out in my own world. We hadn’t done anything yet. We were still lying here across my hotel bed after the award show, fully clothed. I was resting against his chest, absently playing with his nipple through his shirt. Salivating for the cool, clean taste of his skin.
I’ll reiterate: I hated when we had to pretend we didn’t want it. It’s all I could envision at the moment. Laying him down. Peeling his underwear away. Spreading him open. I thought about the insides of his thighs. Feathery soft. Warm, bewitching, inviting. Similar to when I was buried deep in his ass. Him gripping without warning. Clenching, clenching, clenching for me. The ungodly friction. Mine, mine, mine. All mine. Sometimes I would get so turned on it rendered me inept.
“Youh should be photographed continually,” I muttered to myself, kissing his arm so lightly he couldn’t tell I had. That’s when a strange noise gurgled from inside him. I thought it was a fluke, so I ignored it, but then it got louder and more persistent. I was so delirious from being in his arms again, it took me a while to realize his stomach was growling. Which meant he hadn’t been eating either. Of fucking course he hadn’t. How hadn’t I thought of this?? How hadn’t I seen this coming?? He was my shadow. Whatever I went through, he made it his business to mirror me in any way he could. It was quite sick and harmful, but he meant well.
I should’ve noticed he’d been losing weight. His face was looking a bit more hollow than usual. He was also running himself ragged, constantly splitting his time between dozens of different people and attending so many events and parties and concerts between LA and London I couldn’t keep up. In addition to work, it was clear he was burnt out and barely hanging on for anyone. Everyone wanted to be seen with Harry Styles. It was the privilege to end all privileges. Everyone wanted their sacred slice of time with this magnificent creature, including me. But when did anyone actually slow down and check on how he was doing?
In a weird way, his weight-loss held an unexpected mirror up to my own self-destruction. Except, his wounds didn’t appear self-inflicted like mine. They looked to be the work of another. Truth be told, his scars had been architected by my hands. I’d done this to him. This had happened on my watch. I sat up with a clumsy urgency, shaking him to attention.
“Hm?” he grumbled, setting his phone aside.
“Youh hungry babe? Youh eat anythin’ today? Yesterday?”
“Mm…sure…I think so. I dunno…”
“You’re lying. You’re stomach wouldn’t sound like that if you had.” I imagined he hadn’t eaten for a couple of days with how loud the growling was.
“Don’t fuckin do this, Haz. Don’t youh fuckin’ dare. Youh hear me?!” I shook him until he glanced up from where he lay and looked me in eye. “Youh can’t. Youh gotta take care of yourself, babe. Youh hear me? Don’t hurt yourself for me!”
“What does it matter?”
“Of course it fuckin’ matters!” I shouted.
“Well…I’m not eating anything unless you eat something. How’s that?”
“Deal with it.” He shifted over onto his side, turning his back to me.
“Youh need to fuckin’ eat sumthin’, alright, mate? I can’t right now. I’m not hungry right now.”
“Then neither am I.”
“Haz, fuck off, youh are hungry. I can literally hear your stomach! I’m orderin’ a burger and youh better fuckin’ eat it!”
“Not unless you order one for yourself too.”
“Fuck off.” I hopped out of bed and went to order the food. When it arrived, he was up and scratching his eye, sitting in the center of the bed.
“Good for you,” he quipped, pulling his boots off and tossing them aside.
“Noh, gud for youh, fucker. It’s yours.”
I knew there was no way of getting through to him when he got like this. He could be just as stubborn as me, if not more at times. Glaring over at him, I opened the greasy bag, pulled out a burger and started scarfing it down. I popped a few fries in my mouth, then made a show of drinking the milkshake. He watched, mood lightening, and then finally relented.
“Hey…can I have some?”
I took everything over to the bed and we pigged out, finishing both burgers and the shakes in their entirety. As I popped the last few fries in his mouth, he grabbed my hand and sucked the salt from my fingertips. And just like that, my dick began standing to attention. When our eyes met, we already knew what time it was. Before I could kiss him, he jumped up, grabbed my hotel key and left, saying over his shoulder that he’d be back. No further explanations were given, nor a timeframe.
My boner only grew in his absence. I dug my face into the sheets to soak up the leftover traces of his cologne. I knew I looked daft and needed to pull myself together. I tried to clear my mind, so I took a cold shower and later got lost in my phone. I listened to Chris Brown’s “Autumn Leaves” on a loop. His new album was pretty dope, to be honest. I couldn’t help but compare it to ours and laugh at how vastly the music I listened to differed from the music I was forced to make. It was pure comedy at this point.
When Harry returned, I was sat on the foot of the bed with nothing but a piece of the sheet covering my aching cock. He came in and smiled, knowing he’d left me tortured. He’d been shopping, according to the small bag he brought in, and had even gotten cleaned up and changed out of the leftover award show gear. No more cheetah boots.
“Youh think you’re funny, leavin’ me like that.”
“Yeah, I think I’m pretty funny.”
He turned his back on me to rifle though the bag at the table beside the balcony, his damp waves falling into around his face. I got up and let the sheet drop, uncaring of how obvious my boner was or how thin I looked without my clothes. There was nothing I could do about my weight at the moment, and besides, he never seemed to mind it. He turned in time to see me approaching, and tried to play off one of his strange cross tattoo kisses. Maybe he was sending a prayer up for me. Either way, I didn’t give a fuck. He pulled me in with a tenderness that said I was beautiful at any size.
“You are so perfect,” he murmured, taking my face between his hands. “I could fuck you to death…”
“…Promise?” I kissed him, slowly guiding him back towards the bed. Before we arrived, he snatched me up into his arms, locking my legs around his waist. Now he held me up and tongued me deeply. I became so weak I could piss. Soon my back was pressed against the chill glass of the balcony, and I hoped to God no one had a bird’s eye view into our room, because we’d be fucked.
The shopping bag contained lube and massage oil. He took his clothes off and made me lay down so he could massage my back, pouring the oil down my spine and rubbing it into my shoulders, waist, and ass. Being sure to caress every nook and cranny, even my elbows. His heavy hands brought my cells to life, warming them like they hadn’t been since that last night in the Lake District. I shut my eyes, splayed flat onto the mattress, meditating on the rhythm of my breathing and the caress of his as it fell over my body.
As his fingers brushed my ass, I muffled a gasp. He poured oil down the center of my cheeks and onto the underside of my dick, which he had pulled down to meet him. Any discomfort was lost on me as his hands began a deeply erotic massage of my ass and privates, squeezing and separating my cheeks so insistently I couldn’t think straight. Now he slowly ran the edges of both hands down my crack, one after another, brushing my quivering hole and forcing me to bring a knee to my chest in a confusion of pleasure.
When it was all said and done, he forced me to turn over. Locking eyes, he drizzled oil all over my chest. I helped him smear it down my torso, our hands brushing mid-stroke and electrocuting me. He wouldn’t stop with the eye contact, making his every touch feel deplorable and mocking. He liked to see me this way. A mess for him. Mouth parted. Breath shallow. Eyes but lustful slits. Dick leaking. Heart pounding. More more more, my gaze said, but he took his time. Rubbing my pecs and clavicle, gripping my neck, bending and kissing my trembling lips. Those kisses bled down onto my nipples as he bit and sucked them noisily. The sound alone intensifying my boner to the point of splitting. Now his flicking tongue sent my eyes into the back of my head.
“…I don’t want youh…” I breathed incoherently, chest heaving as his hands roved down my protruding ribs. Scooping into my sinking belly. Fingertip digging into my navel until I squirmed “I don’t want youh…” I repeated, shutting my eyes as he finally took ahold of my dick with excruciating care. Stroking it with a demoralizing thoroughness. From base to tip he worshipped me; one hand cupping my balls while the other rotated tormentingly around my shaft, barely gripping me.
“Stop touchin’ me youh bastard…”
“Harder…” I demanded, crushing his hand around me like he’d done at my parent’s house. “Touch me…please….it feels soh fuckin’ amazin’. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. How it feels when you’re holdin’ it…” I croaked, hiding my face behind my arm and sinking into the mattress as his grip intensified.
“What would you do if I stopped touching you?” he whispered.
“Kill myself…” With that his mouth sank onto my cock, down to the base. I groaned, pulling at his hair and lifting my hips from the mattress to welcome him. When I could feel myself on the brink of exploding, I coaxed him to withdraw me and laid him down instead. Now climbed atop, straddling his hips kissing him stupid. Sucking his lips and tongue to my soul’s contentment. Biting his jaw and neck until he bruised. Biting his hair.
I lubed him up and stoked his insides with a few fingers before ditching the foreplay altogether. Now I lubed myself, shaking frantically, desperate to nut inside of him. There was no feeling like it in the world. To spill my seed inside of Harry Fucking Styles. The only man on the planet who could dare. How did I get so fucking lucky??
“C’mere…c’mere…” I demanded, crawling backwards off of him. He sat up, gorgeously confused. I brush his hair out of his face and told him I wanted to hold him this time. He understood exactly what I meant and kneeled in front of me, resting back against my slight frame as I broke inside. He never went down onto his hands. Just allowed me to wrap my arms around his belly and plow into him. He held onto my hands, bracing himself, clenching around me for dear life. I zoned out against his shoulder blades, mouth parted, lost in the soundscapes of our love. Hips trusting with more vigor than I’d exhibited in months. This was all I wanted. Again and again and again and again. Until my hips gave out. Until my knees were bloodied. Until my brain could no longer compute what it meant to move.
(Thanks for reading!❤️)