♡ Be My Baby ♡

two.

Years have passed and he had mostly outgrown his obsessive reading. Harry got to go to the city whenever he wanted, he was surrounded by people (sometimes a smidge too many of them). He was on the top of the world, as far as it goes for sixteen-year-olds. The house has lost most of its magic to Harry, now that he sometimes slept over at Gemma's flat smack dab in the middle of London that she bullied their dad into paying for. Sometimes being the children of divorce isn't so bad, as they discovered quite a sneaky way of getting their parents to do things as a competition. Who's the better parent this week? Stay tuned to see if it's Anne, who promised Gemma to send her to Paris for the summer to "learn French", or if it's Des, who's planning to buy Harry a rare vintage convertible even if he hasn't got his license yet! Was it manipulating? Of course. But it wasn't them who had to be schlepped around every other weekend to see their dad and were ambushed with awkward dinners with their parents' potential new partners on the regular. This was payback.

The late spring of when Harry was sixteen brought yet another birthday party/charity event/the roundtable of family gossip. With his age, he was finally included in that gossip. The party wasn't just about his aunts pinching his cheeks and his grandma pulling at his curls and asking him how school is going. Now he was able to sneakily drink one flute of champagne after another and listen in as his cousins were pulling up all kinds of dirt on their parents. He even got a scoop of the adult gossip, even if it cost him a few smiles, kisses on cheeks and he let his aunt poke at him dimple and call him cute, like she did when he was a little boy.

The house was glorious, especially as the sun started going down and the lights illuminating it were like a lighthouse calling everyone in the garden in. Harry was pleasantly buzzed and also impatient. His eyes sought his watch frequently because he was due to be at another party in the city after this one. And that is where his plans got slightly skewed. His eyes landed on a refreshingly new face. The guests weren't all family and friends, there were loads of his mum's acquaintances and work associates too. But Harry never quite found outrageously handsome men standing alone, awkwardly looking around. This blonde lad, dressed in a not so tailored suit, caught Harry's eye immediately. Tall, stunning, looking slightly out of place. It took seconds to know that Harry had to shoot his shot. The next day, with a bit of luck, he didn't have to be a virgin anymore. It was getting a bit frustrating as all his friends have done it. Archie was dating Emily, Hugo slept with some cougar on a trip to Spain, Charlie's done it with four girls and two boys already. It was high time.

So Harry sauntered over and said, "I haven't seen you around before. Please, tell me we aren't related."

The blonde looked at him a bit wide-eyed, a laugh escaping his lips. "Why should we be related?"

"Because it's my mum's birthday party and half these people are my relatives," Harry smiled and offered his hand after pulling it out of his pocket. "I'm Harry. Lovely to meet you."

"I'm Dylan," he said, accepting the handshake. "It's a pleasure. You've saved me from the night of nearly complete silence."

"Oh, please," Harry snickered. He gave Dylan his best smile, putting his hand on Dylan's elbow. "I'm sure a man with your face hasn't been standing here in silence all night."

Dylan frowned, but didn't move. "Are you flirting with me?"

Harry shrugged and stepped back. "Depends on you," he mumbled into his glass before knocking back the champagne. "Do you want me to be flirting with you?"

"I don't mind it," Dylan blinked. "You're fit."

Harry simpered. "I know. So are you" A crash came from somewhere on Harry's left side. Giving it a look, he saw a toppled waiter along with many broken glasses around him and a child, who most likely ran into him, about to start wailing. "Would you like going somewhere more... quiet?" Harry suggested ever so innocently. "I know a place."

Dylan breathed out a laugh. "Of course you do, you live here."

"Indeed," Harry gave him a coy smile. "Follow me."

Harry led them far away from the party on a path sparsely illuminated by garden lights. They reached the small pond on the estate, grouped with an ancient white willow that towers and leans over the water. As a wish of Harry's great-great-great-grandfather, the pond and willow are always left alone. There isn't a bench, nor any proper landscaping done. It might just be Harry's favourite place in the world, the fleeting yet anchoring peace of sitting on the soft grass underneath branches older than the house itself.

"The house was named after this tree," Harry told Dylan, grabbing his hand and pulling him in through the canopy of leaves. "White Willow Manor. It has been here for centuries. Poetic, isn't it?"

"Sure, baby," Dylan said. "Did you bring me here for a history lesson?"

"This event could be a history lesson one day," Harry replied. "Depends on what I decide to do with my life."

"You're a cocky little shit, aren't you?" Dylan said, his hands landing on Harry's hips. Bin-fucking-go. "A spoiled baby begging for attention. What do you want from me?" Harry replied with a smirk and his hand on Dylan's crotch. "Doable."

Much didn't happen under the white willow, nothing more than a snog. When Harry tried to get down on his knees, Dylan pulled him up and said, "Baby, you'll dirty up your suit," so into the house they went.

The party wasn't close to dying out so Harry used his friendship with the house to his advantage. They passed scarcely used corridors and servants' staircases until they reached Harry's bedroom. Then Harry's bravado subsided, the liquid courage pushed by back nervousness. But he wasn't giving up so easily.

Dylan wasn't Harry's first sexual experience, a blowie or two and some handjobs preceded him. The thing was, Harry knew very well that boys his age didn't know how to fuck people. A few were better than others because they'd learned from older lovers but he didn't feel like playing Russian rulet to find out for himself. Dylan was older, jaw-droppingly handsome and most of all, willing

"So what do you want, baby?" Dylan teased as he plopped down on Harry's bed. "What was going through your mind when you came up to me earlier?"

Harry sat on the side of his bed by Dylan, still fully clothed. "I wanted to... do it with someone. Is that so bad?"

"Not at all," Dylan shook his head. "Am I your first?"

The question shocked Harry. He let out an embarrassed laugh, his cheeks going red and the intention to deny flashing in his mind. Eventually, he conceded and said, "Yes. Do you mind?"

"No," Dylan said gently and sat up. He puts his hand on Harry's cheek, "I want to make this good for you, baby. We all start somewhere, don't we?"

"We do," Harry agreed, composing himself. "Shall we then?"

"We shall, your highness," Dylan smiled. "Tell me if anything feels wrong, baby. But tell me when it feels good too."

"Will do," Harry grinned and left an open-mouthed kiss on Dylan's lips. "Go on then, we don't have all night."

"Will you turn into a pumpkin?"

"No, but you just might."

And that is how Harry lost his virginity. He never saw Dylan again, and it didn't particularly trouble him. It was a good experience, better than most have with their first time and the deed was done. He knew what it was all about and was free to move onto other ventures.