camp cherry | hs

eighteen

he's pregnant

✩︎

HANA

Harry somehow convinces me to stay with him, coercing me with promises of kisses and cuddles. The clock on his wall had just ticked past 1AM when I finally drifted to sleep, facing away from Harry and his arms wrapped around me securely, his thigh tucked between my legs, my body drowning happily in his warmth and the scent of vanilla. I'm pretty sure Harry had fallen asleep long before I had, his breathing deepening and the comforting sound of tiny snores dancing angelically into my ear and eventually lulling me to sleep.

I wake only a few hours later, dark bags underneath my eyes, which I can barely manage to keep open as I wash my face, debating whether I should brush my teeth and wake up properly or go back to bed, which I decide on the latter after a short deliberation.

"Good morning, my Cherrybaby," Harry mumbles into my hair, my body fitting into the same position as before, my lips pursing in a feeble attempt not to laugh when I feel his obvious erection pressing into me.

"Harry, you good?"

"I'm perfect."

"Yes, you are. I was referring to your dick," I clarify, pushing my hips backwards and a gasp falling from his perfect lips.

"Hm, just ignore that," his voice is dripping with drowsiness, his eyes remaining closed.

"You sure?" I circle my hips against his lightly, just enough for him to feel it, which I succeed in, judging by the obscene noise that escapes him from behind me.

"Can I finally get my Tuesday rerun?" he asks, his tone and grin appearing mischievous, his hips rutting forwards to meet mine.

"If you ask nicely," I flip around, still in his hold, and gently force him backwards, wriggling slightly to escape his grip and sitting up. Legs resting at either side of his body and fingertips tracing the small definitions of his shirtless abdomen, I lean down to replace them with my tongue, his skin warm and the butterfly tattoo on his stomach being the only thing I can concentrate on. "What's this one mean?" I inquire, copying each dark line of the ink.

"Freedom," he answers simply, his hips pushing unconsciously into mine, a sensual moan leaving both of our lips at the feeling. I clamber ungraciously from his body, moving so I was on my knees, legs folded between his and face hovering over his stomach. His cock is practically begging to be released from the tight restraints of his boxers, which I do so gladly, a sigh of relief being the only coherent sound Harry manages to release. I grab his t-shirt that had been strewn across the floor sometime late last night, his widening as I bring it up to tie it around his head, completely restricting his vision. I disappear for a few seconds, rummaging through his drawers looking for a specific item, which I find quickly, shutting the creaky drawer before I remember he can still hear. "What are you up to, Cherry?" he asks curiously, his other senses heightened from the lack of sight.

"Nothing. Are you gonna be good?" I say innocently, knee nudging him to the centre of the bed before my hand trails from his foot, up his tanned legs, ignoring the area I knew he was close to begging me to touch, fingers barely skimming his chest, squeezing his bicep appreciatively before reaching his wrist. I press a small kiss to the inside, my sweet actions tainted by the amorous noise that leaves his lips as he realises what I'm doing, gladly allowing me to tie his hand to the bedpost with another shirt, as he does when I move round to the other side.