Harry Styles One Shots

The Premier

"Darling, we have to go." Harry's voice is quiet but urgent, and his green eyes are locked on yours as he walks swiftly toward you. "Now."  Your eyes widen and a prickle of panic shoots up the back of your spine as you imagine the cause of his alarm. The party chatter around you dulls to a buzz and the sea of faces blur as your mind races. A swarm of paparazzi and fans surrounding the car outside? Another outrageous rumor running rampant on the internet? The public is always a wild card, especially during occasions like these, and puts both of you a little on edge.

He reaches you in a few long strides, politely acknowledging but gracefully dodging pats on his back and hands to his elbows. As he stands in front of you, your senses are soothed as a whiff of his cologne washes over you. Your eyes drop from his dark green eyes to the cotton candy pink of his full lips, and you are distracted by his tongue that darts out and skims over them. His pink lips are a perfect match to his dress shirt, peeking out from underneath his jet black suit coat. Open past his sternum, you can see the dark tips of his tattoos that you know all the world has seen, but now only you can touch. Like a magnet, your hands are drawn to his hair. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his glossy chestnut waves, shorter now than you first loved, but just as glorious. Your cheeks flush as a rush of desire shoots through as you imagine his strong hands gripping and pinching your waist and his cool silver rings on your hot skin.

This premier party has been in the works for weeks and is red carpet in every sense. You must admit that these events delight you. To be dressed in the finest, be driven in the poshest, to dine at the choicest is the stuff dreams are made of. But sometimes it's a bit taxing on your psyche. You are counting the minutes until you two are back in your nest, cocooned in peace. Being a reserved personality, you know that you gather your strength when alone or with a special few, with Harry. That's when you feel most grounded and complete, and he can always sense it. Harry thrives on the thrill. Fed by wild, screaming crowds, booming music and reckless dancing, silliness and cackling laughter- the world sees him as the classic extrovert. A showman. But you, his love and perfect match, have seen his heart. You know that he also needs to stretch out on his chaise in the sun, to sleep late or crawl into bed early, to curl up next to you with his nose in your hair and just breathe.

"Darling?" he repeats, and you snaps from your dreamy fog. Your eyes flutter as you shake your head to try to regain your focus. You set the champagne flute you are holding on a nearby glass table with an unsteady hand, the tremble in your fingers from his urgency or his proximity, you are not sure which. He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers together. "Harry, what's wrong?" you whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer. He brushes the back of your hand across the zipper of his pants and you can feel the bulge of his cock there. "This," he whispers heavily, leaning into you, his mouth over your ear. His eyes sink to the neckline of your simple black silk dress. He lightly traces the low v with the fingers on his other hand, barely brushing the skin above your breasts. "And this," he says again.

"Harry, you scared me," you scold, and breathe out a sigh of relief. But the prickles on your neck are back again as he steps even closer. "And you have tortured me, my love, all damn evening." Your heart skips as you hear him hum, "Mmmm, so stunning in this dress. Need to feel you underneath me. Taste you on my tongue." His naughty words in such an elegant setting causes your core to clench instantly. "I've waited long enough," he whispers against your ear.

The heat from his breath fogs your diamond stud earrings, the ones that match the diamond on your ring finger. With your hair tied up in a loose French twist your long neck is bare and exposed, Harry's favorite. His mouth hovers just above your skin and then travels down the side of your neck to the top of your clavicle. The wet of his tongue is first, then his velvety lips as he kisses the spot he knows drives you wild. You can feel the low, hungry growl coming from within him as you place your hand on his chest to push him away a bit so that you can breathe. You feel lightheaded. "Let's go," he murmurs.