Filthy.
Rich.
Deranged.
He knelt on the hood of my car.
250,000 dollars worth of refined metal, leather interiors, and my family emblem.
200 pounds of man, 750 milliliters of priceless champagne raining down his naked, glistening chest. Each pour against his body mixed with his sudden dance moves, projecting golden droplets into the air.
Close friends kept a phone pointed in his direction, recording each raunchy gesture. His unbuttoned blazer showed a mirage of tattoos across his shiny skin. Matching navy and black striped pants gave him an elongated illusion, as his long, curly hair followed the downward trend. It was around shoulder length, absorbing each drop of alcohol he spewed.
Hands were the real star of the show. Sturdy metals and delicate jewels adorned each finger, palming a single bottle of champagne with one hand. He became a sopping mess, gyrating and crowd pleasing on my car.
My family lineage was measured less by who was in it, but what they represented to our business. Each generation had a model car designed for themselves, by the generation head before. Niccoló, my father, is current head of the family car business, Accardi Inc. I was driving his very own Niccoló Acccardi model.
"Harry Styles?" My voice boomed among the moderate crowd, as they all circled for his attention. He knelt in the middle of the action, turning his focus to me. But he was still the attraction. We'd never interacted, but I knew he was set to debut with my stepmothers record label. Breaking solo from a band gave him little power in the music industry.
What was once an unrestrained party poured into the driveway of the estate. All eyes were on the him. With the overlooking view of the Hollywood hills, an imposing Beverly mansion stood among millions of dollars worth of guests' cars. Inside the home was an abandoned dance floor, littered with the shine and remnants of each attendee.
Harry seemed to have faded into the background of the party and needed attention. Thats why he ventured to the nearest luxury vehicle and began desecrating it. Chants of his name traveled through the thick crowd that surrounded the driveway, stretching near the foliage.
Harry Styles was imprinting upon the hard metal of my cars hood as his weight sunk with each broken movement. As he knelt, his body moved to the beat of whatever song was playing inside the house. He got tired of soaking himself with champagne, and began shaking the bottle and releasing it upon his entourage of admirers. Splashes hit my face as I tried to push through the crowd and stop his rampage.
My vision blurred as crowds around him enabled his messy behavior. He still wouldn't get off my car.
"What are you doing?" I aimed to make my voice grate past the commotion he had caused. A rakish smirk was the only response I got as he aimed the spewing bottle at me. He had no idea who I was, or why I was desperate to remove him.
"Lighten up a little, much to celebrate," He taunted. His words were more directed at the crowd of people, as he tried to pay me as little attention as possible. He couldn't give the impression that my rebuttal had any effect on him.
"You're ruining my car," Pain struck through my voice as a heirloom was being destroyed by his taunts.
"Publicity, babe!" He shouted louder, creating more of a stir among the guests. His intoxication began to show as locks of hair inhibited his sight, unbeknownst to him. He continued to stumble and sing upon my car. He was drunk on much more than just alcohol.
Harry had just split from the band, and decided to work through my stepmothers record label as a solo artist. A.C. Records had a less than stellar reputation, but fit his filthy influence. He didn't want the mainstream, he desired the dirty, lecherous, and risqué.
I began to see his plot. Before any album release, he's being filmed at an upscale party, inciting cheers as he ravages the hood of my car. It shows he's beyond the material, willing to go past the threshold of acceptability in the name of passion. Who cares if he's on top of a 250 thousand dollar car? Clips of his slicked, tattooed chest, covered in the ecstasy of life and shimmering champagne will create far more headlines than the vehicle he's on top of. God forbid our company tanks after his involvement.
While A.C. records hones in on its darker side, my family's car business tries to cater to the upper echelon. Harry can't be involved in the demise of both my family's legacies.
All while I'm brainstorming publicity moves and shareholder meetings, His inflated sense of joy permeated the air. I too was entranced. My thoughts moved me far more than his actions, but it seems my gazed was locked tight on his abs as I drifted into my imagination.
He took notice to where my eyes set, right below the belt. Harry seemed dire to get my attention. One crowd-goer passed Harry another bottle to rain upon himself. This time he took a different route.
The striped navy blazer that sat upon his shoulders soon drifted below his elbows, showing the entirety of his chest. Soft metal clanks could he heard as his rings made contact with the cold glass bottle. He pushed back his long hair before using his molars to uncork the bottle.
As the foamy release of the champagne made its way from the spout, dripping down his arm, he took the liberty of placing his thumb inside his pant waistband. Space was made for the wine to drip from down his clavicle to below the belt. He kept pouring alcohol down his pants as the company around us praised his every move.
Ego intoxication kept this man going. Video recordings were being made all over as the beautiful mansion backdrop juxtaposed the gritty presence of Harry Styles, drenched.
This man is going to ruin me.
//
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RIDE ✧ {H.S.}
Fanfiction"Please,-" He moaned into my flesh. His tattooed hand caressed my just below my ribcage, creating butterflies in my stomach, "Or is this as close as you'll let me taste?" "Remember this feeling," My breath hitched and I felt like I was loosing balan...
