A Lifetime With You // A Harry Styles Au

Chapter X - DCCLXIX

9th September, 1997

Life feels just about perfect right now. There's one single thing missing that could really top it, but for now I'll settle with what I've got. I'm on a private beach with gorgeous views over the glittering turquoise Caribbean Sea, eyes protected by a pair of sunglasses, tanning in nothing but a bikini under the hot sun (though I am tempted to take it off), and a fresh G&T in my hands. And, the best of all, I'm with my favourite person, and no one knows where we are.

I'm watching Harry as he sits on the short wooden walkway that leads out to our little floating abode, his legs dangling over the side and feet swilling in the water. I always torture him with things like this. He can survive in the sunshine but it's uncomfortable for him. He keeps disappearing inside every so often to regain his strength. It's times like these I wish I could let him feed from me. I know he's hot because he asked me to tie his hair up for him before we went for breakfast. He hates tying his hair up.

Taking a sip from my drink, I think back to this morning, and the way he'd woken me up. I'd been lying on my front, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd been moving around the little hut for hours, and sheets were tangled somewhere low down the bed around my feet. Last night had been another of our reunions, because I've been hiding in the Caribbean now for about six months after a sour argument with my mother about Alastair's death. Long story short, she wasn't kind to my sister about it. But Harry had finally found me, and we'd spent all evening in bed making up for lost time, as we always do now on those occasions.

But this morning had been more special. He'd crawled up the bed over me, making a trail of kisses in his wake up the centre of my spine and over my shoulders. Where my head lay to the side he pressed his nose into my cheek and delicately kissed the very corner of my mouth, followed by a deep and raspy, "Morning, sleepyhead,"

I giggled quietly and tried to turn over, but he told me not to, so I stayed put with a childish pout.

"Come on, now," he scolded teasingly, his hand smoothing down my back and over my bum, before gliding back up again, "how old are you now, birthday girl?"

I grimaced, a short puff of air leaving my tight lips. "910."

"Mhmm, exactly." He mumbled, lightly smacking my bum. "Want to give you some proper birthday love."

I stressed to look over my shoulder at him. "What are you going to do to me, handsome?"

"Why don't you just let me show you?"

So I did.

With my back curved, face pressed into my pillow and bum sticking proudly in the air, Harry thrust into my hot centre repeatedly from behind with a permanent hold on my waist until I came. And then after a short break, which was mostly spent kissing, he sat on his knees and I straddled him that way, and we made love. Properly - never letting one another go and constantly looking for ways to feel more of each other with our lips permanently on the other's skin somewhere if we weren't kissing, and growing so sweaty we were practically stuck to one another when we finished.

It was one of those mornings people only dream about, and I'm lucky enough to live it as reality. I smile happily to myself as I take a sip of my drink again. It's moments like these I have to remind myself that I am lucky to have Harry in my life in any context, but extremely lucky that he treats me the way he does. I spent half my life with him as a friend and it was fine, but this is much better, even if I'm breaking about four laws in the process. I simply don't care anymore.

Harry stands, and walks along the short bridge to the beach like he's on hot coals, before he slumps down on the chair next to me.

"How are you faring, Ambrose?" I ask quietly, reaching over to rub my hand soothingly up and down his arm.