Cherry Bomb [h.s]

29

The sound of buzzing rings in my ears and I squint my eyes tight against the sunlight, not opening them yet. It takes me a second to realize that the buzzing is the sound of a cell phone going off non-stop.

I groan as I stretch my neck and finally open my eyes, taking in Harry's hotel room. The half-empty pizza boxes from last night are still sitting on the blanket, and neither of us have moved from our position against the bed.

Harry finally starts waking up, his phone still buzzing in his pocket. He half opens on of his eyes to check his phone after fishing it out of his pocket, rubbing at his neck while he does so.

"Who keeps calling you?" I ask groggily, rubbing at my eyes.

"Not calling, texting. Excessively." His voice is much quieter and raspier than usual, still waking up from the previous night's sleep.

"What time is it anyway?" I ask, sitting up fully now.

"11:04" he answers, then starts typing a response to the many messages on his phone.

"Thank god, I thought we had slept through sound check or something," I stretch my neck back and forth.

"No, but Niall does want to meet me for something," he replies, standing up and still looking at his phone.

"Oh so Niall is the one texting you," I realize, "Someone needs to tell him that just one message will do the job," I laugh.

"Hm?" He questions, looking at me with furrowed brows, then almost immediately understands, "Oh yeah, Niall does that a lot," he shrugs and walks to his open suitcase on the floor next to the bed.

He picks out a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt, as well as boxer briefs. He sets them on the bed, then immediately starts undressing himself, twisting his shirt off his body. His tattoos are prominent in the sunlight streaming through the window, their placement perfectly complimenting his body. He then takes off his pants, then his underwear.

It isn't until I see that cheeky smirk of his that I realize just how much I'm staring at him.

"Enjoying the show?" He questions, a mischievous glint in his eye. Just like he did at the first concert.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" I ask, forcing my eyes from his body to his face.

"Did what on purpose?" He slides the fresh pair of boxers on, then grabs his jeans.

"That first show," I say, "when you were practically having sex with the microphone. I know you were doing it so you could get under my skin."

"It worked, didn't it?" He buttons his jeans and finally grabs his shirt.

"...maybe," I mumble, my face growing hot as I remember the dream I had that same night.

"I had to make you feel what you had made me feel since the day we met," he pulls his shirt over his head, then musses through his hair. "You were driving me crazy."

"Crazy, huh?" I question as I get up and slowly walk towards him, "I thought you just hated me,"

"You're not wrong about that," he replies with a quick lick of his lips, "But that doesn't mean I never found you absolutely irresistible."

I finally reach him, our toes almost touching. He towers over me, eyes filled with emerald fire. "But you already knew that," he smirks, then leans down.

His lips brush against my ear as he whispers, "That deep burning within you, that trembling desire in your core, that rush you get... it's been there since the beginning, hasn't it?"