I Want It Bad - Narry

Chapter Four

After that little debacle, Niall made Harry stay with him in his dorm room. Harry was tempted to protest, but after witnessing the true side of Niall’s rage he thought he’d better not.

“You need to be more careful, Harry. I can’t always be there to protect you. Yer lucky I happened to see that prick messin’ with you when I did.” Niall’s voice is tense, somewhat pained.

 

Harry fiddles with fingers and keeps his eyes trained on his lap. His cheeks are tinted red, the color spreading to his neck and chest. Niall sighs, sliding his arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him up against his side.

“‘M just worried, you know? Don’t want you getting hurt,” he whispers into Harry’s ear, kissing just below it softly.

Harry hums and leans into his touch; Niall continuing to plant little kisses in a trail along his neck. He nips at his jaw line, lip piercing dragging along the skin as his hands take a mind of their own, tracing and feeling over the canvas of Harry’s body. Harry feels the low rumble of a laugh vibrate in Niall’s chest, his stomach muscles flexing underneath the thin, white cotton of his tank top.

“You taste sweet, like pastries,” Niall comments with a smirk.

Harry turns a brighter red, only making Niall’s smirk grow wider. Harry looks up sheepishly with wide green eyes, giving him an almost innocent look.

Niall draws his right hand back, and Harry catches a glimpse of his cracked and bloody knuckles. He immediately grabs his wrist and inspects the wounds with a frown. Niall follows his gaze, giving a loose shrug.

“What, that? Eh, that’s nothin’. I barely laid a hand on that kid. If I got really goin’, it’d be a lot worse.”

 

Harry shakes his head silently, giving him a look as to say, “stay there, and don’t move”. He gets up off Niall’s bed and ambles into the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth. He dabs at the cuts as gently as he can. Niall winces and makes a noise of complaint, trying to tug his hand away, but Harry has firm grip.

“Not so big and brave now, huh?” Harry asks with small smile.

Niall scowls up at him. “It’s jus’ a bit sore, don’t get cocky ‘bout it.”

His mouth is formed into a small pout as Harry continues to clean the cuts. After he’s done, he presses his lips lightly against each. Niall sighs contently and watches as Harry does so, his lips the color of a pretty pink and exceedingly soft, warm with each tiny kiss.

“Might have to go around punchin’ more people if you keep this up,” Niall murmurs as he lazily entangles his long, slender fingers into Harry’s unruly curls. Harry blushes. He seems to do that a lot, but Niall doesn’t mind. He likes the color red on him.

***

 

Harry’s eyes crack open, the sunlight hitting them and nearly making him go blind – more so than he already is. He fumbles around, searching for his glasses in slight panic. Relief floods over him when the tips of his fingers make contact with the familiar plastic, and he slides them on. The sun looks unusually bright for it to be 7 AM, which strikes him again with panic. He peers over at the clock sitting upon Niall’s dresser. It reads: 10 AM.

Shit.

Harry bolts up from the bed, stumbling forward clad in black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. He trips over miscellaneous things on the floor as he searches frantically for his clothes, and finally catches sight of them thrown over the arm of the couch. He quickly tugs them on and jogs over to Niall, shaking his sleeping form roughly.