I Want It Bad - Narry

Chapter Twenty One

“I can’t believe that yer on a private jet and the first thing you do is school related,” Niall says exasperatedly from the seat across from Harry.

Harry nods and mumbles something incoherent under his breath, focused with his work as he scribbles down words on the piece of paper in his lap. His legs are too long to fit crisscross in the small seat, so he’s in an awkward angle with a pen in his mouth and laptop balancing on his thigh.

“Harry,” Niall whines pathetically, watching as he continues to write the essay needed for the application process for his online university courses.

“Yeah?” he asks distractedly, glancing at the screen of his laptop, then back down and writes some more.

Niall’s socked-covered feet shuffle across the floor until he’s in front of Harry, and he sinks down to his knees. His long, pale fingers reach up and fumble with the buttons of Harry’s jeans until they pop open, and just as he gets the zipper halfway down, Harry finally notices and jerks his hips away, accidently brushing up against the palm of Niall’s hand in the process. A brief, elicited moan tumbles past Harry’s pretty plump lips, eyebrows scrunched together, and a deep blush settles upon his cheeks as soon as the noise escapes.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asks in a hushed whisper, eyes skittishly peering around to see if the personal stewardess is anywhere nearby. 

“Getting yer attention,” Niall says nonchalantly with a shrug, hands reaching back out to tug down Harry’s jeans.

“Yeah, well, you got it,” Harry whines, shoving away Niall’s hands again, “Will you stop, what if—”

“She won’t,” Niall reassures, pulling down the brunet’s jeans so their bunched up mid-thigh.

His fingers push underneath the white cotton shirt Harry’s wearing and skim lightly over the trail of hair that runs down below Harry’s bellybutton, making his hips buck up almost involuntarily. Niall shuffles a bit closer and ducks down, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin of his hip, over the tattoo that’s permanently imprinted there. Harry breathes out a noise that sounds like a mix between a laugh and a whine, his head falling back against the seat’s headrest as his fingers wind into Niall’s soft, feathery hair.

The whole aircraft unexpectedly gives a small jerk forward, forcing Niall’s face to press into Harry’s lap with a quick, sudden movement.

“’S like fate even wants me to suck yer dick,” Niall says with a loud laugh against Harry’s pale thigh, a laugh that makes Harry even chuckle a little. He starts to pull back, but a dark mark peeking out under from the fabric of Harry’s boxers catches his attention.