Sidemen Shots

Lace ~ Minishaw

Horny Harry.

Harry hummed to himself, a soft little tune that he made up as he walked.

He locked the front door of his flat abstractedly, then strolled down the hall towards his shared bedroom.

Inside it, he found his boyfriend changing, his long, pale back visible for only a moment before it was covered up by soft cotton.

"Hey." Harry greeted, his head turned away as he headed over to his desk to grab his earphones. His phone was in his pocket; he just planned to sit in the living room with it.

"Hey."

At the response, Harry turned his head back, but Simon wasn't looking at him. If Harry had turned any later, he wouldn't have seen the edges of black lace disappear under a pair of loose joggers.

Lace. What the fuck?

~~~

Later, the two of them are cuddled together on the sofa, Harry between Simon's legs with his back to his chest. Simon's watching a movie on the TV, his body stretched across the length of the sofa. Harry, with abosloutely no interest in the film whatsoever, is lying with his eyes closed, content to just listen to the music playing through his earphones as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Simon's arms are around Harry's waist, their entwined hands resting on Harry's abdomen.

Tired, Harry doesn't do any more than whine when Simon pauses his music and gently pulls his earphones out of his ears. Simon places them on the floor beside them, not complaining as Harry shuffles down until his head is in his lap.

It's five minutes later that the air around them seems to change. Harry'd just moved his arm in such a way that caused Simon's t-shirt to raise slightly, over his hip.

Feeling Simon tense, Harry looks up, worried, but then he catches a sliver of lace in the corner of his eye. His lips form a small little 'o' shape.

Swallowing his nerves (why does Harry have nerves right now?), Harry leans forward to place a soft kiss against Simon's hip bone, against the edge of the lace. The material is rough yet delicate, and it causes Harry's lips to warm.

Embarrassed (why?), Harry hides his face in Simon's hip, 'drifting off'.

~~~

Harry and his friends are gathered in his and Simon's flat, dotted around the living room in unflattering positions.

Harry himself is sat on Simon's lap, in one of two armchairs.

It was only yesterday that what happened happened, and things still feel sensitive between the two of them. Harry can't understand why, but then again, Harry currently only has one thing on his mind, has since yesterday.

Lace; fucking lace. The way it scratched at his lips, the way the dark material contrasted so well with Simon's pale skin.

Harry doubts that, after last night, Simon is again wearing such an item of clothing. Still, that doesn't stop him from hoping (read: imagining).

Harry feels his face heat as a thought - way too innapropriate to be thought around his friends - runs through his mind.

What would the material feel like against his arse?

~~~

It's been two weeks, almost, and Harry hasn't seen a single slip of lace around their flat, let alone a pair of panties. Not that's he's actively looking for any, of course.

~~~

It's late, past 11 o'clock by now, surely. The two of them are in bed, with more sexual tension between them than Harry has ever witnessed.

Simon presses soft, slow kisses down Harry's neck, only to pull away and smirk down at him. He presses a kiss to his lips before turning around, facing away from him.

Harry lies there, shocked, for what feels like three whole minutes. (It's actually nearing half an hour, but Harry doesn't know that.) Quiet, gentle snores fill the air soon after.

"Fucking prick."

~~~

Simon giggles, his hand held over his mouth as he watches his boyfriend.

Harry's face is pink, screaming with need as he whines. He ruts pathetically against the mattress, lips muttering near-silent words that Simon can't hear.

"-lace... -please..."

The words Simon fianlly manages to make out are scary, eliciting a deep-rooted sense of dread.

"Simon, please!"

Simon blinks, suddenly overwhelmed. His eyes feel wet as he leaves the room, setting off to find his secret hiding spot.

~~~

"Harry?" Simon asks, pushing away from his desk and spinning his chair round to face his boyfriend.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, pulling away from his own desk and turning his head.

"You don't have a problem with it?"

Harry's eyebrows furrow as he let's out a hum of confusion, this time swirling his chair around.

"Don't have a problem with what?"

Instead of answering, Simon pulls something out of his shorts pocket; it takes Harry perhaps a moment too long to figure out what it is, especially considering it's been on his mind for going on three weeks now.

"No." Harry manages to choke out, breath stuttering as his heart beat quickens. "Of course I don't."

The corner of Simon's lips tilt in what is supposed to be a smirk, but instead comes out as a shy little smile.

"You find it hot?" Simon teases, as if he feels confident despite the red flush slowly making its way down his neck.

Wordlessly, Harry nods, straying his eyes away from the dangling lace. Unfortunately, in doing so, he meets Simon's eyes.

The two sit, on opposite sides of the room (an office they'd decided on having purely for the reason of keeping their room less cluttered), in silence.

Their eyes stay locked, and the amount of feelings expressed within that time frame is both astounding and disgusting at the same time.

Together, the two stand, then make their way to the middle of the room where they meet for a kiss. The lace, not forgotten, lies in a bundle on Simon's chair (sure to be revisited later).