Close Quarters / hs

With Two Hands

"Oh god."

Your breathless gasp was lost in the lapping of the waves against the sand as you writhed beneath the long, lean figure pinning you to the blanket.

With two hands he was relentless, fingers roaming a practiced path down your body and over some of your most sensitive flesh.

"Harry!" You managed to flutter your eyes open, catching a brief glimpse of him smirking down at you.

"Well?" He demanded expectantly. "I'm waiting."

"You're such a little shit!" By now you were positively consumed with giggles, a muffled shriek piercing the twilight when he caught a particularly ticklish spot under your ribs.

"Are you gonna tell me?" Harry goaded, pausing his ministrations barely long enough for you to gain some ground, your elbow knocking into something at the edge of the blanket as you finally grabbed hold of his biceps.

"She said you don't have as much game as people think you do!" you blurted out, inhaling deeply when his tickling fingers finally slowed enough for you to catch your breath.

Harry tilted his head to consider this, which gave you just enough time to push him back against the blanket and straddle him at the waist.

"Is that all?"

Not exactly the reaction you were expecting, and you weren't sure if he was hiding it or genuinely unbothered. Most guys certainly weren't this nonchalant when someone challenged their "game."

Then again, you were realizing you may have to begrudgingly admit Harry Styles was not most guys.

When you let it slip that your mutual friend Glenne had let you in on a little secret about his dating life, he took the bait. And when you refused to divulge anything further, he decided to play dirty - tickling you into submission.

"Is she wrong?" you challenged, giving his hips a teasing squeeze.

"Definitely wasn't worth losing the rest of m'ice cream over," Harry grumbled, nodding at the melty puddle that had spilled out of the paper cup and into the sand beside you. "And anyway, Glenne is like a sister to me," he continued. "Which means she has absolutely no concept of my game."

"I thought it seemed a little suspect," you assured him, your hands slipping up under his threadbare AC/DC t-shirt to the warm skin of his belly. It was his turn to squirm as he pulled a face at you.

"Patronizing me now, hmm."

"I would never." You slid your hands out again and reached for the paper cup on the other side of the blanket, scooping up a spoonful of your own nearly melted ice cream.

Harry accepted your offer, propping himself up on his elbows as you popped the red plastic spoon into his mouth. He hummed happily, then squinted before his lips jutted into a pout. "Oi, y'got way more cookie dough than I did."

You quirked a brow at him. "Is this part of your game?"

"Haven't heard you complain, darling," he drawled, mouth quickly lifting into a shit eating grin. "In fact it usually sounds like quite the opposite."

You were glad that, in the deepening twilight, he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing the way your cheeks flushed. Whatever you and Harry had, or were doing, had started out, at least in your mind, as pure release of sexual tension. Somehow, though, over the last month, you'd started feeling a different kind of pull in your belly when he kissed you. It traveled all the way to your chest now, coaxing new and completely unexpected sensations.