One Direction One Shots 2

(Harry)

It’s late at night, or really early in the morning depending on how you look at it, and you’re laying in bed reading by the light of the bedside lamp. You hear the front door shut and barely make out the soft footsteps making their way up to you. The bedroom door slowly opens and Harry sticks his head in, obviously intent on not waking you. His eyes widen and his eyebrows arch when he sees you, “You’re still awake?” His voice is raspy from the burn of alcohol and it sends a shiver up your spine.

You shrug and flip the page, “Guess I’m just not tired.” He smirks at that and shrugs out of his jacket before stalking over to you, shoes already forgotten at the door. You’re trying your hardest to pointedly ignore him (you know exactly how much he likes having your undivided attention), but your resolve is weakening. He smells of cologne and whiskey and his voice his warm at the shell of your ear, “Do I need to tire you out then?” He nibbles on your earlobe.

You make a noncommittal noise and keep your eyes trained on your book. You feel, more than hear, the low growl that escapes his throat and suddenly the book is torn from your hands. Your protest is weak, and really just for show, and is quickly silenced by his lips against yours, hot and firm and completely Harry. You whine in the back of your throat and you can feel him smirk against your mouth before he moves his attention to your neck.

“Now, Melissa,” his voice is low, “Why were you being a bad girl and ignoring me?” Your voice catches in your throat and how on earth does he expect you to form a coherent answer when he’s doing that thing with his tongue at your pulse point. You manage out a groan and tangle your fingers in his hair, keeping him as close as possible. He chuckles and maneuvers out of your grip, going to sit at the edge of the bed. “Oh no. You didn’t want me before, so I don’t think you deserve me now.”

You whine and open your mouth to protest and apologise and offer anything he could possibly want but he holds up a hand. “Convince me.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Make me believe that you want it.” Your palms are suddenly sweaty and there’s a lump in your throat and the damn bastard just looks as smug as ever. “Or maybe you don’t want me after all.” He shrugs and stands, about to make his way to the door, probably to sleep in the guest room. Your hand darts out and closes around his wrist.

“Yes sweetheart?” There’s amusement in there, laced with a hint of something else, arousal maybe. You don’t speak, just get on your knees to press your lips to his neck. He presses into you and soon his back is against the sheets and you’re straddling his lap. Little promises of being good for him leaving your lips in between kisses. His hands roam down your sides before sliding up under your shirt, his shirt really, but it doesn’t matter right now with his hands on you.

The shirt comes over your head and his hands fall to your breasts, kneading softly and deliberately. You moan into his neck and focus your attention on the spot he likes, right at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His hands slip down your sides to rub at the skin just above the waistband of your panties. You’re pressing kisses to his jawline now, desperate for him. He’s so close to where you want him, just a little lower.

You briefly wonder if you’re above begging (you’re not), when his fingers rub you over your underwear. And you’re bucking and moaning and completely desperate for him and you know he’s just toying with you. You know he wants to see how far he can push you until you fall off the edge. He’s not selfish in bed, never, but he does play by his own rules and you play along too because in this game, everyone wins.

“Do you like that?” His voice is as lazy as the motion of his fingers and you’re nodding and answering “Yes. So much.” before he’s fully asked the question. Suddenly his fingers are gone and you’re on your back and he’s moving down your body. Little kisses being planted from your breasts, to your stomach, to the line of your underwear. He grins up at you and hooks his fingers into your panties before slowly dragging them down your legs.

He kisses up one leg to the joint of your thigh and your hip, warm breath ghosting across your centre as he makes his way to the opposite hip to work some bruises into your skin. He’s teasing and he knows it. Can tell you’re getting frustrated by the tensing of the muscles in your stomach and the way you’re wriggling on the sheets. He takes pity on you though, and swipes his tongue once down your wet slit and your brain short-circuits. ”So good,” you whimper out, hands reaching down for his hair.

He continues his ministrations, not at all bothered by your tugging and pulling at his hair. He continues to trace his tongue up and down your folds, each press firm and deliberate, making sure you feel it. You just tug harder and let more pleas fall from your lips, more “yes” and “more” and “so good baby, please don’t stop”. His tongue searches out your clit and circles it gently. The feeling is enough to have you bucking off the sheets. His hands firmly hold you in place as he works.

He licks and sucks until you come undone beneath him. And when you’re shaking and panting he crawls back up your body to press kisses all over your face before settling on your lips. He strips off while you catch your breath, taking in the way the clothes fall from his body, shamelessly ogling each revealed inch of skin. He’s as naked as you are now, and back on top of you. His lips are pressed against yours, tongue in your mouth and his erection, hard and insistent at your entrance.

You gasp softly as he slides into you, filling you the way only he can. His head falls to your shoulder as he pulls out slowly before pressing right back in. The rhythm of his thrusts speeds up as do you cries and moans. Your nails rake down his back, sure to leave angry red lines come morning. And he’s groaning against your shoulder, telling you how good you feel and how no one gets to have you like this and you’re lost in him.

You’re moaning and whimpering and agreeing with every word he says because you can’t do much else when it feels so damn good. And pretty soon you’re on the edge, hands gripping at his hips, pulling him as close to you as he can be. And with one more push you’re falling. And you’re seeing stars and you think you recognise a shout of your name in something that sounds suspiciously like Harry’s voice but you’re not in the best state of mind for logical deductions.

But he’s laying next to you now and his his arms are around you, pulling you into his chest, and he’s pressing kisses to the top of your head and whispering little confessions of love. And your eyelids are getting heavier and the bed is so much more comfortable and you may have let out a yawn. Harry chuckles and you can feel the vibrations travelling through his chest. “Are you tired now, doll?"