Always You |harry styles| - completed

SEVENTEEN

Harry Styles: Sunflower vol. 6

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT

For the next couple of days we settled into a nice routine – we'd wake up and have breakfast and coffee together, out on the terrace overlooking L.A., then I'd go meet Chris or a company we'd be using for something on the tour, Harry would either go to the studio or stay at home and work on songs he deemed 'not ready for the critical ear'. We'd usually meet back up at his place and make dinner together listening to music and enjoying each other. It was nice, when I stopped myself from thinking negative thoughts about feeling too much or too little, about hurting each other and ending up with broken hearts. We weren't anything in particular, but we were something. It was a strange dynamic we hadn't really talked about much, but we both knew we'd have to address it eventually.

I came home around five and Harry wasn't in yet. He shot me a text mid-morning saying he'd gone to record a bridge and he'd be back sometime in the afternoon. I had no trouble navigating his kitchen so I started on dinner. I cut up the tomatoes, peeled the onion and garlic cloves, set out the olive oil and spices, decided on spaghetti and heated up the stove. One Direction was blaring through the speakers, but I thought that I had the right to enjoy it once in a while. I heard a chuckle come from the foyer and turned around to see Harry leaning on the wall and playing with his keys, observing me from afar.

"What are you laughing about?", I called out from my comfortable spot next to the stove while I stirred the sauce.

"Ah, teacup... you look so charming in that sunflower dress, butchering 1D songs.", he came up next to me and hugged me from behind. He smelt of freshness and man. I loved it. I turned around to peck him on the lips, but he had other plans. His stubble was rough against my soft skin and his palms found their way to the sides of my head. The kiss became more than a simple peck and before I knew it his tongue was exploring the depths of my mouth in the most heavenly way possible. Harry's right hand cupped my bum and he used the left one to steady me while he lifted me up on top of the kitchen island. We were nothing more but a tangled mess of short breaths, wet lips and tongues that managed to find the softest spots on our necks. His hand was travelling up my thigh and threatening to get familiar with the most delicate part of my body when an odd scent found its way to my nostrils. The sauce!

"Harry, the sauce... is burning...you have to... let me...go.", I managed to get a full sentence out in between his kisses and he reluctantly lowered me from the island, with a low, roaring groan that made my insides turn yearning for more. We'd gotten so close to the real thing in the past days, but somehow we were always stopped. The first time was by Harry's manager Jeff who called about something, then Chris wanted the number to the visuals guy and I had to spend fifteen minutes trying to convince him there was no need for him to make that call, then a neighbor of Harry's popped round to see if he had any flour and the list could go on. I think we were exhausted of trying so many times and never getting to the good bit. Tonight had to be the night.

"Please tell me you didn't invite anyone over tonight.", I managed to salvage the sauce and he was boiling water for the pasta. He shook his head and wiggled his eyebrows which always got me laughing. It's safe to say One Direction was not welcome in this kitchen right now, but he played 'Eight Days a Week' by the Beatles instead. He spun me around the kitchen and planted kisses all over my face.

"Oi, this is not a dance floor, mister, you'll knock something over.", I pretended to scold him but his face turned serious for a moment and I almost shit my pants.

"Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor... I couldn't want you anymore tonight.", he pulled his little notebook out of nowhere and started mumbling sentences that made no sense to me. I calmed down once I realized that I wrongly identified his expression as 'serious' when it was in fact just 'inspired'. I let him create his music whilst I set the table. We joked while we ate, he told me he could only die if this dish could be served as his last meal and we cleaned up together after finishing.