I Want It Bad - Narry

Chapter Thirty Two

Harry grips onto the lip of the tub as he sinks down into the warm water, sighing contently as it soothes his now-achy muscles. He scoots forward as much as he can so Niall can slip in behind him, ignores the cramp that shoots through his legs as they come up towards his chest.

It isn't terrible really, once they get settled. They fit together better than Harry had thought, more so as Niall wraps his strong, tattooed arms around Harry's waist, tugging him close so he's flush against him. The water sloshes around them, leaving their skin soft and silky thanks to whatever the hell Harry had poured into the tub before they got in. He was mumbling something about how his rose bath oils were an absolute necessity in order to have a fulfilling, relaxing bath. He goes on to how he read an article about aromatherapy, how the essences balance and harmonize the health of the mind, body, and spirit, but Niall's mind wandered as he focused on the way Harry's lips form around the words. He can't be blamed, though, especially since they were just on his dick moments before then.

"Water's nice," Harry comments quietly, as if he read Niall's mind, "Told you the oils were a must."

"That you did," Niall hums back, hand skimming down Harry's side before resting on his hip. Harry squirms in his arms, slick legs sliding against Niall's as he huffs out a laugh. Maybe he did put too many oils in after all.

"They'll get you clean, if anything. Have you smelling like a proper flower," Niall teases, dipping his head down to place a kiss on Harry's shoulder.

"And what if I don't want to be clean? What if I want to be dirty?"

Niall smirks against his skin, fingers trailing down to brush along his inner thigh.

"Could keep you dirty, if ya wanted," Niall whispers into his ear, and Harry feels a shiver run cold through his veins. It sounds more like a proposition than a statement, really.

"Look what you've turned me into, Niall Horan," Harry mutters, now-flushed skin suddenly feeling hot, and not because of the water. "Got me sounding like a right slag."

Harry can feel Niall's chest rumble with a laugh, the sound vibrating against his back. It's warm, comforting. It makes Harry realize that he wouldn't want to be any place else, just here, in Niall's arms.

"You like it though," Niall says offhandedly, letting his fingertips lightly trace over his stomach. And Harry does, as much as he hates to admit it.

He's so use to keeping to himself, not really having many friends. It's not like he couldn't befriend anyone, especially with the way he's so naturally charming and sweet, he just doesn't want to. He'd rather stay in and read a book, or sit around in a warm, soft sweater and watch cheesy romance movies all day. He's even got an old, leather book he writes in sometimes, the pages ranging from poems, to song lyrics, and just simply thoughts that have been on his mind for awhile. It's just more appealing to do that than going out to parties and being some socialite that everyone adores. He doesn't need such an extravagant life.

Though, he'd be lying if he said he didn't think about it sometimes. Smoking, drinking, one night stands, the rush itching underneath your skin when you did it. He'd sometimes wonder if it's a craving to want to do it, or to witness someone do it firsthand. He felt a bit blinded by the mix between being tired of his normal routine and wanting to keep it the same. It's what had drawn him to Niall, he realizes, as he thinks about it.

It started from the first day he started Uni. He remembers walking down the dorm halls, passing door after door until he finally reached his own room. He knocked timidly with one hand behind his back, long fingers crossed over one another in hopes that his roommate hadn't gotten in there first.