in which...

...y/n helps harry shave and he steals her hot chocolate

In which Y/N helps Harry shave and he steals her hot chocolate

The tiles are really cold in the morning, Y/N notices.

She's not usually up at this hour, much ratter prefers to lay in the comfort of the bed and snuggle with Harry until noon, or at least until one of them finally decides to get out and make breakfast. He's not usually up at this hour either; or at least he hasn't been in quite a while now. Morning interviews are not really his thing, but then again, who is he to refuse his good friend Grimmy?

"I'm just saying, they could totally be making an extra episode. Like a twenty years later kind of thing." He calls out from the bathroom as she pads on the cold tiles, fingers clutching around her hot mug. "Or they could make it a movie. You know, like they did for American Pie."

"Yeah, except that one was quite a flop." Y/N's voice is not as bright and chirpy as his, sleep still lingering in her body.

Harry shrugs, "Wasn't all that bad." He steals the mug from her hands and takes a sip from her hot chocolate, which makes her frown.

"Hey," she takes it back, leaving him with whipped cream on his top lip and on the tip of his nose, "I told you I'd make you some."

"Just wanted some o'yours." He grins, licking over his lips and picking up his hairbrush, quickly combing through his hair.

She sets the mug on the sink, climbing onto the counter, her bare legs dangling over the edge and crossing them to try and bring some warmth back into her body. She watches as he tries to brush his hair into place, huffing when certain pieces don't curl into place or frizz up, his nose scrunching up when random strands fall into his eyes, the tip of his tongue darting out between his teeth in concentration.

His jawline is lathered in scruff, little light flecks of hair that her hands itch to touch. His shoulders tense and arms flex slightly as he brushes through his hair, her eyes not being able to contain themselves as they run all over his body, the fact that he is shirtless definitely not helping. His chest and stomach are toned, to the point in which she can tell he's been to the gym, but his sides were still slightly chubby, exactly where Y/N likes to squeeze him.

The black skinnies he has put on aren't buttoned, leaving a silver band of "Calvin Klein" to peek through and his fern tattoos to be on full display. She'll never understand how he always manages to look so good without any kind of effort, even at the crack of dawn. She doesn't really realize she is quite obviously ogling, until she notices him turning to face her and grin.

"Whatcha looking at, love?" He gives up on trying to comb his hair, and just runs his fingers through it, ruffling the thick locks.

Instead of replying, she just hooks a finger through a belt hoop and pulls him closer, his body fitting between her legs easily. Her head falls onto his shoulder, breathing him in, his skin smelling of shower gel, which she recognizes as her own, but she decides it's way too early to argue about that, she'll leave it for later. His hand sets on the back of her head, his nose nuzzling into her hair, a little satisfied grumble escaping from the back of his throat.

Titling her head to the side and leaning her cheek on his shoulder, she glances up at him as one of her hands trails up to cup the side of his face. His jaw feels a little prickly underneath her fingers, just enough that she can tell he hasn't shaved in a couple weeks. She strokes over his cheek, moving down to his chin and skimming over his mouth, her index running over his top lip and where his scruff was most evident. It feels rough underneath the pad of her finger and she feels him playfully blow some air through his parted lips. She softly cups his cheek in her hand again and notices him leaning his face into her palm.