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Sunflower, Vol 6 and Watermelon Sugar Tokens.
You searched for: AllMyStuffAndThings! Discover the unique items that AllMyStuffAndThings creates. At Etsy, we pride ourselves on our global
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If you have any feedback please let me know! I'd like to get back into writing again but I'm feeling a bit rusty 🥺
KNOCKOUT - CHAPTER 11
“Do you want me to?”
Bo nods down at the condom Harry’s stiffly holding onto. He’s coiled up so tight that it would be a bad idea to let her undress him. He’s having a difficult enough time as it is just toying with the inevitable of her touching him, let alone below the waist.
Bo had watched in fondness from her spot lounging on the bed as Harry moved from candle to candle, lighting as many as he could before the flame on the match got too low. She’d laughed at his explanation for not striking a second match, claiming there was a fine line between romantic and sacrificial.
But now in this soft, flickering room, she smiles at him and he almost loses his nerve.
“No, it’s alright, I’ve got it.” Kneeing closer to her across the mattress, “just lay back,” Harry encourages softly.
On second thought, that’s probably the worst thing he could of suggested because now Bo’s laid beneath him and he’s acquired an audience to a process that makes his hands shake. Hair splays on his pillows and it’s been so long since he’s had something so pretty occupy his bed.
She’ll linger on his sheets. The smell of her perfume and the fleeting heat of her body which escapes once the covers are peeled back, both temporary, both are not enough. He craves so much more. But the memory will be permanent.
Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way she’s looking at him now, like he hung the moon and every star in the sky.
He swallows before going through the motions of unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zip. The full weight of her gaze lands on his stomach as the bottom of his t-shirt is taken between his teeth to hold it up and out of the way. Fingertips unwittingly tickle as Bo traces his hip and on towards his belly button. And he sort of hopes she misses the goosebumps it raises on his skin.
As Harry gently presses to widen her legs, the winsome charm she led with earlier seems to escape her. He’s left feeling fully endeared by her absent fiddling of his belt loop.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
There’s a smile but it lacks prowess and so Harry removes himself from looming over her and comes to lay beside her. Bo shifts into him.
“We’ve had sex before.”
It’s quiet because he doesn’t want to disturb the delicacy they’ve slipped into. Facing each other, it’s still a little difficult to comprehend that he’s with her now. She’s in his tiny basement flat where the hot water is temperamental and the floorboards creak in odd places along the hall.
“I know. But it feels new,” she softly smiles, thumb lightly rubbing at the tattoo on his hip.
Her beauty has become more refined in the five years they’ve known each other, more of a classic look that has Harry pinned every time she holds his eye contact. Despite her wishes for a growth spurt, Bo stands at the same height against Harry’s shoulder. But now there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, filled with achievements and future aspirations.
He can’t really imagine what she’s seeing. He’s been greeted by this image of tattoos and damaged eye every morning for years whilst he brushes his teeth in the bathroom mirror. So perhaps this intimacy does feel new to her now.
He’s pliantly patient as he waits for Bo to initiate further contact between them. They talk quietly, muffling laughter into the pillow as Harry recounts one of his mishaps in the kitchen. It’s not long before she’s bashfully rubbing her nose to his and Harry’s sighing into the sweet kiss they share.
He welcomes the palm warming his side and it’s when she gets a little more handsy that Harry encourages Bo to seat herself upon his lap. Sat with his back to the coolness of the wall, there’s a heavy clash in temperature between the brickwork and the woman he holds close. And whether wilfully calculated or involuntary, Bo’s hip movements are progressing the thoughts in Harry’s one-track mind. The longing of experiencing another person so intimately is finally being quelled, soft mouths and testing fingertips reaffirming to the both of them.
But it’s the tug to Bo’s hair that sharply clears the heavenly ascent, lacking in any sort of lustful passion and is instead leaning more towards unintentional pain. She breaks the kiss, fingers wrapping Harry’s wrist.
“AaaaAA,” Bo’s pitch escalates as he attempts to remove the hand riddled with silver rings from her hair.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry fusses.
She’s instructed to hold still, huffing out a sigh, whilst Harry sorts the situation out with a commentary of swears. Looking like she’s sucking on a lemon, Bo obediently follows Harry’s lead as he adjusts so he’s not working in his own shadow. Once she's free, her hair is tangled enough to make drawing her fingers through it bit of a pain.
Harry twists the rings off his fingers, throwing them in irritation to the bedside. Another colourful curse falls from his mouth as he shuffles them both down the bed before flopping backwards onto the mattress. Bo watches as he rubs his eyes with tightly clenched fists.
“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs through his hands that are currently covering his face.
“Don’t be silly.”
“I cocked that up.”
Still currently residing in Harry’s lap, she’s not quite sure if she should remove herself given that the mood has taken bit of a nosedive. Bo’s answer is given moments later as Harry’s knees come up behind her and palms splay out on her thighs.
“Don’t. Feels good.”
“You ok?”
“I’m fine, are you alright?” he tightly replies.
“You just seem a little tense,” she warily suggests.
“It hasn’t exactly gone as smoothly as I’d hoped.”
He doesn’t quite meet her eyes, the action weighing heavy on her chest.
“You been thinking about this a lot then?” Bo teases, eyebrows suggestively raising as she tries to lighten the tone.
“‘Bout what?” he fires back, palms softly squeezing where they’ve remained.
Harry loves the flirting, and is more than thrilled to have it reciprocated, to have her play with him in this back and forth. Suggestive tones that are made even more fun because he knows there’s a depth to it.
But he sort of also wants to hear her explain their situation. Explicitly.
“What do you think?”
“Couldn’t say,” he goads.
“About having me under you,” Bo simply replies, not missing a beat.
Prayers answers.
“Maybe, but it’s mostly been about the cuddling and kisses on the cheek.”
“Liar,” she accuses, lightly pinching at his side.
“Ok, ok!” he jostles her as Bo’s fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under his arm. “I might have thought once or twice about getting you in that window seat.”
“You said you were kidding about that,” she implores, batting him across the arm.
“A guy can dream.”
“Well, you’ll be dreaming for an eternity.”
“Shame, any thoughts about the same activity in the shower?”
Bo laughs, rearranging herself out of Harry’s lap.
“Maybe we should concentrate on the current situation,” she motions, “lay back."
Harry’s on his back and he feels like a fucking lemon because his hands don’t know how to play it cool and his heart is hammering like it’s his first time. He can’t be sure what Bo is doing until she appears with her hair tied back from her face. She’s assumed the odd position of straddling his knees. And Harry watches her crawl up his body before a kiss between them only has four inches to make contact.
“Hey,” Bo hushes with a smile. “How ya doing?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?” Bo lightly tests, her fingernails running across his stomach.
Harry lays with his brain between his legs and his bottom lip between his teeth. He enjoys the lingering tingle as nails drag just that little bit too deep; done it to himself when the occasion arises and he’s in the mood to get off. But this is different because for the first time in a while it’s not Harry’s own hand palming over the seam of his jeans. And it’s the partially choked sound he makes that sets her smile.
Her touch is gentle, easing his jeans down until another tattoo is uncovered. She gives it some consideration, thumbing over the patch of inked skin.
“Is this a tiger?” she asks, grinning up at Harry.
“Thiger.”
Bo snorts before clamping her hand to his thigh to lean in for a kiss, which ends up being a clumsy kiss to his chin when Harry moves his head at the last second. They laugh again.
“Please tell me you didn’t just get that tattoo so you could make that joke,” she scorns him whilst edging his underwear down.
“It did make you laugh thou-“
The sentence is choked off as Bo takes him into her mouth. All thoughts evaporate from his mind, only ones of pleasure and utter desperation remain as she licks around the tip.
“You’re gunna have to bear with me, it’s a steep learning curve.”
And Harry thinks she almost looks smug as her index traces the curve of him from base to head. Even more so as his cock is laden with chaste kisses, an innocent gesture for such an erotic setting. And apparently mirroring his dilemma between either wanting to take Bo sweetly or just nail her into the mattress.
He only realises how pent up he is when his fists loosen in the sheets once she’s finished with her little display. He’s hardened fully and he’s having trouble with digesting the image of her laid between his legs.
Even with a mouth full of cock she’s trying hard not to smile.
“You’re gunna kill me,” he pants, eyes rolling back.
She huffs a laugh around him which proves to visibly tighten the muscles in his thighs. And it’s only now that Harry thinks, she tied her hair back to suck me off. He may have transcended to a higher plain of existence as her hand begins to work him over - deliberate with her strokes and squeezing just slightly to keep him coiled up.
Harry’s own hands have returned to the sheets, balling them in fists as he endures what’s panning out to be the most long-awaited oral of his life. He’s a little embarrassed to say that he can already feel the muscles in his stomach tightening. It’s a hot clench that only burns warmer by the second. Harry’s approach is a little haphazard, but the hand he brushes to Bo’s cheek hurriedly catches her shoulder to encourage her away.
“I-I think I’ll be alright now.”
Or maybe not, Harry swallows as Bo passes the back of her hand over the corner of her mouth.
“Spoilsport,” she teases.
***
“I always loved your thighs,” Harry comments, warming his palms to the inside of Bo’s legs.
He’s going to satisfy that heavy ache she feels low in her belly. It only intensifies as Harry looks up at her through his eyelashes. He’s going to bewitch her senses and leave her wanting him again and again. It’s been so long, Bo would forgo sleep and forfeit any sort of productiveness the next day just roll in the serenity of candlelight and a lover’s warmth.
She’s still sporting her bee-saving t shirt as she watches the muscles in his chest and shoulders transform with his movement. An ungainly squeak is produced on account of Harry sharply dragging her a little further down the mattress. Something which he finds highly amusing judging by the crinkle to his nose.
“Brute.”
Harry laughs.
He murmurs a quick apology, brushing his fingers to her cheek before retrieving a condom. The process is smoother as his hands refuse to quake and now Bo’s onlooking makes his blood rush in electric excitement. He’s practically thrumming with it as his touch leisurely slips between the apex of her thighs. She clamps his hand there with the forgotten feeling of someone else’s kind fingers. Harry’s treated to a series of spectacular little sounds, whisperings and then small startles that are muffled into Bo’s arm as she hides her face. He’s being brazen with it, not just the fact that his fingers play but knowing that this is what she wants, she wants him.
There’s a look of wild revelation as his fingers dip into wet warmth. The couple hold eye contact, Harry’s movements gentle and without haste in the knowledge of acts to follow. There’s an actual throbbing between Bo’s thighs, making them shake in the effort to keep them from falling completely open. It’s barely a whisper, but Harry hears it, the “please” that tells him she’s barely keeping it together.
She’s ethereal laying below him, all soft features and devout gaze as he lines up and finally pushes in. It’s almost jarring the way she feels around him again, giving him that pliant smile, the one he recognises, the one that means she’s not completely with him. That is until he starts to move and it’s like she’s a drowning woman breaching the surface. Her back arches from the bed, arms around his neck as she pants into his, clinging to him like he’s her saviour.
“Harry.’
His name is spoken in a raging half whisper.
“I know,” he replies because he can feel it too.
Rapture. She’ll be his undoing and his sexual reawakening. Harry welcomes that warm pull in his belly as he angles his hips to draw new, breathy sounds from his lover’s lips.
Bo’s an honest delight beneath him. The way he can feel her toes curling against his calf, her fingers gripping his nape to encourage him further on top. As if he could get any closer, they’re already sharing breath and fumbling kisses.
Harry’s pretty sure a bottom corner of the fitted sheet has sprung loose with the way they’re contorting to keep damp skin close. His skimming hands have pushed her t shirt up, deft fingers hooking the right cup from her bra down so he can kiss at her breast.
She’s more fussy than he remembers, especially when he leans away and takes a heady breather. Her huffing is a tad undue but Harry thrives in it, noting her disgruntled expression as he slips from her entirely. There’s a flash of an unpleasant second when Harry’s mind tells him he’s going to be booted in the face.
But Bo’s brought her feet up to lightly drum against his chest and Harry can’t help but laugh at the playfulness, grabbing at her ankles before she has a chance patter against him again.
“Come on,” she almost whines.
His hands move of their own accord, sliding down her calfs to press his thumbs into the back of her knees.
“Impatient little thing, aren’t you,” Harry replies, leaning into her whilst spreading and gently bearing down on the back of her thighs.
There’s pink blooming on her cheeks, and Harry can’t be sure if it’s the temperature in their duvet fort, or the fact that Bo’s ankles are now resting on his shoulders.
“You promised me a whole evening.”
Harry thinks her chide lacks the lustre needed to fully penalise him, especially when he can feel her wriggling to meet his hips.
“And I wouldn’t want to go back on my promise.”
He lightly kisses at her ear, unworried about hiding his smile.
“Because that would make you a shitty person.”
He’s not expecting the pinch to his hip, so the growl he produces in response is a surprise to both of them.
“I don’t remember you being so boisterous.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re practically bending me in half.”
Harry lets Bo unfurl, her legs slipping down to rest beside his hips once more.
“You’ll have to forewarn me next time so I can stretch beforehand.”
“Next time?” Harry curiously enquires.
“I’m not just having you once,” Bo breathily promises in his ear, the tone making it seem like that fact was obvious.
Harry plays along with their distracted conversation, leaning over her with an elbow propped and his thigh between hers.
“Tonight?”
He’s not ready for the shove to his shoulder or the dominating role reversal, so when Bo’s sat astride him Harry’s sure she feels him twitch. She doesn’t play at coy, but there’s definitely something more bashful in her movements as she delights in the feel of him again.
“Forever.”
That promise sets his heart soaring.
She reaches behind for him, shuffling back to seat herself fully down with a flutter of eyelashes and somewhat of a startled whimper. And Harry can’t help but grunt at this all-consuming feeling; this time with the added pressure of hands splayed on his chest as he’s halfheartedly held down.
“Was that a bit cheesy?” Bo asks once she’s chased her breath. “It sounded romantic in my head.”
“A bit, but I think it worked in the moment.”
“Good, because I meant it."
He doesn’t want it to sound insincere whilst she’s riding him, so Harry bottles up the ‘I love you’, and saves it for when he can confess with a clearer mind. Instead, he grabs at her hips, eyes devouring the way her body moves against his and he’s delighted with the repeat image of her bouncing, slack jawed. And because he’s a tease, Harry delights further in the sounds she creates when his hips come up to meet hers.
She wants him every way she can, but that wish may have to wait.
“Lean forward,” he pleads.
Bo’s forehead comes to rest on Harry’s as his feet plant to the mattress and his knees come up behind her. With the strength of his tattooed hips, he meets hers at a toe-curling rate. Bo succumbs, allowing Harry to take the lead and guide them both, her face finding the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around her back. He cradles her into completion, hearts hammering as Harry chases the rapture that Bo blissfully makes peace with. It’s only with the last few stuttering thrusts that Bo pushes up, taking his face between her hands to kiss away the curses that slip free from his smile.
***
“I like them,” Bo admires, fingers running over twin inked dates on his shoulders.
She shifts a little to sit back on his thighs, taking his forearm with her as she intently inspects all the splashes of black ink she’s unfamiliar with. It’s all Harry can do to give Bo a soppy smile whilst she carries on, giving each design her attention. They’re partially dressed again, Harry only decent enough to have taken delivery of their pizza before returning to the bedroom.
“Who’s this?”
Harry’s arm is raised as Bo taps a finger to the tattoo in question. It’s a delicate gesture that challenges her comical disapproval.
“My mermaid.”
“She’s cute,” Bo says, finger following the swish of dark hair. “Why’d you get her?”
“Dunno, I’ve always liked swimming.”
He’s met with a surprised laugh.
“So, of course, logically you got a mermaid permanently tattooed on your body,” she chides, shaking her head.
There’s a small “B” inked just below the inside crease of his elbow. She tilts her head, smoothing over the skin with her thumb.
“That one’s yours,” he says simply, like it couldn’t be anything else.
“Mine?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up.
Harry presses a kiss to her forehead.
“Yep, “B” for Bo,” Harry tells her quietly. “Beautiful.”
She licks her thumb, rubbing at the letter.
“You really got it tattooed?”
“Yeah,” he laughs.
“That’s permanent.”
“I’m aware,” Harry smirks, biting at her neck. “Just like my mermaid.”
“Yeah, just like her,” Bo thoughtfully rephrases.
It’s a few moments before she replies, still rubbing at the small letter.
“Why’d you get it?”
“You’re important to me, you’ve helped me through so much, it just felt right.”
She doesn’t say anything in return, not sure that she actually can. Pouting in contemplation, Bo shifts a little in Harry’s lap.
“Maybe I should get your name tattooed on me.”
“Oh, really?” Harry smirks. “Where? Hopefully somewhere only I get to see?”
“Hmmm, I was thinking more of a chest piece,” she leans away, gesturing to a band of skin above her breasts.
Harry appears a little horrified for a moment but his composure cracks before laughing and grabbing for her hands.
“I’m not sure that’s your best idea.”
She slumps back to be cradled into Harry’s side.
“Or maybe I’ll just get a ‘H’ here,” she hushes, voice more sincere as fingers point to the exact spot on her arm where he has her inked. “So we can match.”
Bo’s treated to a kiss to the tip of her nose. She sighs before further squirming away to continue the inspection of body art.
“Roll over then.”
She makes herself comfortable, sitting astride his lower back as delicate fingers trace more tattoos curving around his side.
“Oh God, that one’s awful.”
Harry huffs a laugh into the pillow in response to her brash opinion and feathery touch.
***
Harry wakes to the heart wrenching feeling of an empty bed. He sits up rather abruptly, hands skimming bed-warm sheets as the duvet slips to pool at his waist. He swallows twice, mind reeling to kickstart foggy memories from hours before.
The bedroom door has been left ajar, just enough for a thin strip of light to hollow out the darkened room. Soft footsteps follow and Harry’s heart climbs back down his throat for it to thud against his ribcage.
His body flops back against the pillows before the door is nudged just enough for Bo to slip back through. She doesn’t think anything of Harry now sprawled out on his back, but she knows he’s awake because of the subtle inclination when she draws back the confusion of sheets.
“Your hot tap is broken,” Bo hushes whilst climbing back into bed on the floor.
She receives a rough hum, Harry’s arm draping her waist.
“Did you hear me?”
Instead of moving himself closer, he opts for coercing Bo until the length of her body is flush to his, like he’s seeking the cool side of the pillow.
“Broken,” he grunts.
“And you don’t have a bath mat, my feet got cold. I can go out and get you one tomorrow. Or today?” she adds, trying to lean over Harry to confirm the time on one of their phones.
He mumbles something incoherent into her shoulder, lips forming words like kisses upon her skin. With her on her back and Harry now on his side, he’s almost perfected the art of blurring the lines between them and creating one warm entity under the covers.
“Repeat that.”
She gently catches under his chin with the tips of her fingers, prising him from the nook in her neck.
“Don’t need one.”
The raspy words catch in his throat.
“Everyone needs a bathmat. Where will you dry your feet? You’ll just track wet footprints through your room.”
“I’ll think about it.”
No, he won’t.
“Of course you won’t, I’ll just go and get you one,” she pauses. “It’ll be a fluffy orange monstrosity because you’re being difficult about it. Probably a matching toilet cover as well - if they still even sell those?”
The arm banding her middle squeezes tighter which Bo thinks is Harry’s silent way of getting her to hush..
“I love you.”
Oh.
Bo stills in his arms.
It’s something she’d insinuated hours before. That she would still be his in the morning, and every other morning of her promised ‘forever’. But for him to utter the words into their lengthy, soft post-sex haze - Bo was just about ready to settle into the cradle of sleep. But now she’s fully awake.
He’s still pressed against the length of her, his hair brushing her cheek as the urgency to gauge her reaction grows.
“I’m in love with you - still.”
Still. Like he’d never stopped. And that’s a little terrifying to know, especially in the knowledge of their separation and the years between then and their reunion.
“I’m still in love with you,” he rephrases. “Got there in the end.”
His lips catch a soft smile which diminishes as his words rest into silence. Harry feels Bo draw in a grounding breath as though she’s trying to compose herself. Unsure as to whether this conversation should be illuminated, Harry decides against turning on the lamp. Partly because he frightened to disturb her but mostly because he can’t bear the thought of seeing Bo’s face if it’s rejection that awaits him.
“If you’re not ready then I - well, I understand -“
“I’d like to take you out,” Bo interrupts.
“What?”
“Not fatally,” she hurriedly explains, “like on a date?”
“Oh - ok.”
“Yeah? We could go out to dinner or have cake at a cafe in one of the parks? Or there’s that cinema experience that looks quite fun.”
*** 4 Months Later ***
Harry can hear it in her voice, that she’s not prepared for his confession of undying love just yet and she certainly isn’t ready to say it back. But this is the start that they both deserve, a calm, normal beginning to their new relationship. It’s a chance to get to know each other again and to see where it progresses. And Harry’s happy with that as they lay and bounce date ideas between them, all the while Bo’s fingers have found his own.
“Why must everything be so high up?” Bo grumbles.
Her complaint is voiced to the glasses on the top shelf in Harry’s kitchen cupboard. Despite her irritation, he’s pleased to see her emerge minutes later with two drinks in hand and his socks pulled up nearly to her knees over leggings.
“I see you were successful,” he grins as Bo sorts out coasters.
“Well, I did nearly pull everything off the worktop in my struggle, but it’s fine.”
Her words are accompanied with a sugar-sweet smile that can only mean trouble for Harry. He hopes he’s forgiven with the choice of Tuesday night Bake-Off on the telly. And it’s as Bo’s laughing at some awful bread pun that the question just feels right.
“Bo, do you wanna move in?”
She smiles, pressing into his side and rearranging his arm so it curls around her back.
“No,” he huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I mean move into the flat - with me.”
“Really?”
Bake-Off forgotten, Bo swivels to face him. There’s joy dancing in her eyes as the bun atop her head bobs with her excited wriggle to move closer. The TV is set on mute and Harry becomes confused at the sharpness in her eyes.
“I want the left side of the bed, permanently,” she negotiates.
“It’s yours. Even when you’re not here.”
“And you’ll leave space in the bathroom for my things?”
“I mean, there’s quite a lot of your stuff in there already - but of course.”
Bo kisses his cheek.
“I just got my first pay from work,” Bo happily states. “I’m gunna buy some proper glasses, so we don’t have to drink wine out of mugs.”
“What’s the point?” Harry laughs. “The fact that you stick a straw in everything sort of lowers the tone of a proper wine glass anyway.’
The remark earns him a sore shoulder.
“And we can always get you a step for the kitchen.”
She rounds on him so fast he nearly spills the drink he’s just picked up from the coffee table.
“We will not be doing that. You’ll help me move everything down so I can reach it myself.”
“No problem.”
“I’m gunna phone my mum,” she rambles, untangling from Harry and tripping over a charging cable.
“Should I set up a direct debit? Or do you just want me to transfer my half to you each month? What would be easier?”
“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “We can sort it out later.”
“I love you!” she calls from where she’s peeking around the doorframe.
It’s such a casual gesture but Harry’s settling into the knowledge that the love he’s bursting with is reciprocated by the woman he adores.
“I love you, too,” he smiles.
Harry Styles
I’ve just launched an enamel pin Kickstarter for Harry in his glitter crown based on the Gucci campaign!
@raconteurwitch is the talent behind the beautiful design!
A little KNOCKOUT update.
It’s been bit of an eventful two weeks so i’m still in the process of editing, but I wanted to give you something from this new chapter!!
Keep reading

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Merry Christmas, sorry I’m late!!
“I’ve missed you.”
It’ll be a miracle if both they’re lips aren’t bruised with the pounce Harry proceeds with in making first contact. Bo gives an undignified screech. The stumble they both take knocks her into the kitchen table where her effort to steady them ends with take-away menus and junk mail showering the floor.
Bo can’t remember the last time she felt like this, so ready to be swept up and away to somewhere she only has memories of. Harry’s hands have never been this quick and so sure before. He’s allowed to touch her now and he’s making up for all the little lost connections. All the times he wished she was there to just watch the telly with him; her feet wedged under his thigh to keep warm. The casual hand and hip grazes of two people comfortable with existing together. He’s making up for all the dinners he ate alone, absent of her telling him about her day and knocking ankles with him under the table. He just wants to feel her again.
And Bo feels like she’s being absorbed, pressed so close to Harry’s body that she could tap out the drumming of his pulse upon his back. But she won’t because those fingers are fisted in his t-shirt as he lifts her from the floor.
Now at eye level, they calm for a second, both panting as Bo skims Harry’s jaw affectionately with her nose.
“Do you wanna…”
There’s hope in the mumbled, unfinished question, but Bo knows what he’s leaning towards.
“Yeah, yes please,” she responds, followed with a sharp, “shut it,” as Harry begins to laugh.
Bo’s polite acceptance is smothered with how dirty the kiss feels. Practically rubbing against him and it’s still not enough. With how tightly Bo wraps her legs around his waist, there’s really no need for Harry to hold her up under her arse, but he does anyway, fervently. All the while her fingers tangle in his hair as he walks them a little haphazardly down the hall.
Bo’s thighs give an involuntary clench around Harry’s middle as her back meets the wall. She arches into him and the groan he responds with rumbles through to her chest. Running high on adrenaline, Bo grabs a little too enthusiastically, collecting up as much of him as her arms can reach around.
“Can I take you to bed?” Harry hushes quietly with his forehead pressed to hers.
Both Harry and Bo are breathing a little faster, hearts swelling a little harder at the requited longing blooming between them.
“Yes please.”
They share a shy smile before Bo tries to nip at his ear in an effort to break eye contact. Because Bo’s afraid if she allowed him to look so adoringly for any longer, she would have demanded him right there in the hallway. Harry makes solid headway further into a part of the flat unexplored, all the while Bo noses into his neck.
Harry’s an exciting mix of old and new. The way his fingers slip between hers like they used to, his hand roughened with new calluses. Tattoos that Bo is yet to be introduced to, on familiar heated skin that her fingers and lips are becoming reacquainted with.
She hooks the neck of his t-shirt, prying it away just a little to curiously peer at all the ink he’s keeping covered. There’s new freckles sprinkled like stars over his sunned shoulders, and all she wants is to connect them into kissed constellations.
“Hey, no peeking,” he teases her with a squeeze.
Her t-shirt rucks as Bo slides down Harry until her feet hit the floor. There’s little time for suggestive looks though with Harry shouldering his way through a door that she presumes is his room. He grabs for her hand and she’s laughing as her feet stumble through the doorway after him.
They share another kiss and Bo’s ready for the back of her knees to hit the bed so she can drag Harry down on top of her. But the absence of a certain vital piece of furniture for a bedroom has her wrench away.
It’s a mattress on the floor. And there’s a moment shared between them that’s not spent kissing, but just of Bo looking back and forth from Harry to the sorry excuse for a bed.
“I didn’t think I’d be entertaining in here,” he admits sheepishly.
Her eyebrows raise.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he gripes. “The bed frame is being delivered Thursday and Niall is coming over to help me assemble it - I’m not a child.”
Bo holds her hands up in defence.
“I didn’t say anything.”
The curl of her lip confirms to Harry that she was definitely thinking it though, regardless of her denial.
“I know that look.”
She eases away from Harry, taking steps backwards as she faces him. The neck of his t-shirt is stretched away from his chest, his hair a little wild with those unique set of eyes following her every move.
“What about this look?”
It sets his heart thundering.
“I don’t - I haven’t seen that look before.”
And in all honesty, he hasn’t. Harry’s never seen Bo look so unashamedly provocative. He could drop to his knees for her right now, have her pull his hair until his eyes watered, deny him until it hurt. And he’d fucking thank her for the experience. He’d give her everything without a single thought.
“No?” she smiles. “Well, should I tell you what comes next?”
He trails to her like a puppy in desperate need of attention. A delicate hand hooks his neck and he’s forced to suppress a smile at his delight of having to stoop to her; at having someone considerably smaller hold this sort of sway over him.
Just the way her words kiss his ear is enough for things to start happening in his pants. That’s even before he’s properly processed her rundown of how the evening should pan out.
She pulls away.
“Fuck,” he breathes, a devilish smile growing. “Let’s get started then.”
It’s touch down and lift off all at the same time. Bo feels as though she's coming apart under Harry’s hands, every kiss unraveling her to lay bare what’s been prowling under their skin from the moment they reunited. This is how it should feel.
“You got any more fancy moves to show me?” Bo pesters, because she can.
“They’re hardly fancy, it’s just defence.”
She seems to contemplate his reply before giving him a playful shove to the bed for the evening. Once surprise settles, Harry has his hands full as Bo gracelessly climbs into his lap and encourages his back to meet the mattress. Sparkly fingernails dig into his shoulders as he’s terrifyingly held captive.
“And how will you get out of this?”
At this angle, Bo might actually be squishing his kidney but Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so elated to be sat on before.
“You’re small, I could just roll you off.”
As if in demonstration, he takes hold of her waist but doesn’t shift their weight.
“Yeah?” “I’m not gunna though.” “What’s your plan then?” “Don’t have a plan, I’m just wingin’ it.” *** Ominous clouds roll with the rumbling sound of thunder, the freshness in the air spilling in through the cracked window. Bo clutches him close, him on top of her as he mouths at her neck. It’s all she can do to draw in little half breaths as her fingers card through short hair.
For a moment she wishes they’d never been apart. But a lot of things have changed, some necessary things that may have choked off their relationship in the long run.
Harry’s so very quiet as Bo kisses over his damaged eyelid. She takes her time, making sure he knows just how much she cares for him. Up around his eyebrow and then down through his lashes. The scarred skin is ruin under her lips, her heart lurching at how pliant Harry becomes, like he can’t bear to move in such a vulnerable state.
Bo draws him out of his thoughts with a final kiss to the top of his nose. She’s busy with lavishing his neck and then his shoulder with hot little kisses when he pauses with trying the ruck up her shirt. His hands are burning hot to her hips before he positions them to the mattress to lean up and away from her. From this angle, if she wiggles enough to the right, his t-shirt falls away from his body slightly to torturously reveal a soft hip and suggestion of a tattoo.
“What’s wrong?” Bo asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She wants to lick his stomach and watch his nipples pebble.
“I don’t - I haven’t got anything.”
The confession is spoken with a softness Bo’s sure is only exchanged between lovers and that gets her heart pumping just that thump too fast.
“Why are we whispering?” she hushes with the smile she wears tucked into Harry’s neck. Bo encourages him closer. “What haven’t we got?”
“A condom.”
The words pull her tummy tight. And its, well, it’s hot. Bo never thought the concern for protection would have this sort of reaction - aching thighs and grabby hands. Maybe it’s the thought of what comes next as clothes are shed and wild abandonment commences.
But despite the company, she’s just not willing to risk the threat of a trip to the clinic waiting room for the morning-after pill. Even if Harry is looking like every fantasy she’s ever had.
Bo’s frown is accompanied by a small huff. “I came off the pill a couple of months ago.”
Harry pulls away, his eyes a little wide as he sits back to soak in the information. Bo watches, lips starting to quirk as he blinks. His goldfish expression is kind of cute and she can’t help but reach out to push his hair back.
Bo’s about to ask him if he needs some water or a proper lie down because he’s starting to look a little peaky.
“Wait.”
He grabs her hand, his advance forward leaving Bo no choice but to comply and fall back to the pillow.
“If you were still on it, we could - without the condom?”
“Well, you’re clean, aren’t you?”
Harry gives Bo a small set of serious looking nods.
“So am I.”
“That’s good to know.”
Bo’s smile has broken into a laugh by the time Harry’s rolled from her. He rubs his hands over his face as if trying to clear his head from foggy thoughts.
“That’s alright. We can just wait, right?”
“Yeah, of course. That’s fine,” Harry leans back. “That’s - that’ll be fine.”
Fuck. It’s not fine. He’s waited for her. Bo gives him a soft sort of smile, one that he can feel like an internal punch to the ribs. She sits up, drawing her bare knees to her chest so her feet are flat on the bed. He’d managed to get her yoga leggings off with a stretch, pull, and a giggle from Bo. But if he’d have known they weren’t going any further tonight he would have insisted that all clothes were kept to a minimum of three layers and probably wrapped her in a blanket. Anything, so he wouldn’t be faced with the sight of her bed-soft and half naked, only to be left unable to do anything about it.
She’s got that adoring look on her face, with her fingers brushing his cheek, Harry’s heart thuds to an old familiar beat. In all the time they were apart, he’s never forgotten how softly he could be touched, and how it could make him feel more than any biting kiss or scrape of nails. How funny, it’s always been her. Fuck it.
“Petrol station down the road is open.”
The words feel harsh on his tongue, like they were never meant to be a part of this moment. They’ve tarnished the situation and it’s made more apparent as the caressing hand falls from his face. Any comfort he feels with her touch drops away with it.
“Why do you wan-“
“Condoms.”
The suggestion makes him feel dirty, it shouldn’t, because they’re being safe. Maybe it’s the desperation of it more that anything. But Harry can’t muster the thought to care because the woman he’s never stopped loving is currently curling her toes in his bedsheets.
“Oh,” Bo replies. “You’re thinking about going now?”
It’s difficult to gage her reaction as whatever she’s feeling is outwardly masked by surprise.
“Well, yeah.”
Harry watches her nibble on her bottom lip for a second, possibly deciding on how to tackle the situation and control the hormonal teenager she must see before her.
“Did you want me to come with you?”
Oh.
“No, no,” Harry implores. “Stay here, I won’t be long. I-It’s just down the road.” Her hand skims down the expanse of his back as he gets up from the bed.
“You already said that.”
“Right, ok.”
He nods to himself before trying to find something more appropriate to wear. Bo straightens out the covers like they weren’t just rolling around in them minutes before; smoothing away any crinkles around her circumference. It may be bigger than her single, but at least she actually has a bed frame.
“Can you get me a magazine and some M&M’s too? Please,” she adds with a sweet smile.
“Are you serious? And when are you reading this magazine? Because I sort of thought we had the evening all planned out.”
“All evening?” Bo quirks.
“I told you, it’s been a while.”
Harry expects her to be a little bashful, but she holds his eye contact with a flicker of a smile before it develops into a crinkle-nosed grin. Fully satisfied with himself, Harry tugs the hoody he’s found over his head, which catches on his ear as he yanks it down.
“What sort of M&M’s?” he asks whilst pulling at the clothing.
“Peanut.”
They share a look and Harry’s hauled back to a time when M&M’s littered the passenger footwell in his old car. He’d continued to find them months after that night, sticky blues and reds caught down in the mechanics of the car seats.
“I’ll just wait here then,” she says, eyes not leaving Harry.
It feels a little odd to have her amongst all his everyday things, a sparkle of something brilliant tucked between everything mundane and ordinary he surrounds himself with. Bo’s out of place in the most wonderful way imaginable. With her knees still to her chest, Bo tucks her hair behind her ear. Harry needs to move now or he’ll never leave the room with her looking like his own personal, little goddess.
He searches for the cleanest pair of jeans he has before taking his gym shorts down and replacing them with black denim that’s ripped at the knee. It’s like making the transition from instructor to normalcy. Well, as normal as it can be under the circumstances.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he promises.
And then he’s gone, and Bo is left alone in a place she’s only been familiar with for little over an hour. She’s not comfortable enough to have a poke around on her own, not that Harry would mind. But instead of sitting and allowing her stomach to coil tight with nerves, Bo hotfoots it out of the room to search for her lip balm and something to keep her distracted.
When Harry returns, Bo’s been true to her word and remained, only now she’s under the covers messing around with something on her phone.
“I got cold.”
Rather than responding, he unloads the front pocket of his hoody of sweets and a rolled up magazine. Bo sits up as he trudges over to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I left my card at home.”
“Did you not get them then?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, knees practically under his chin as he fusses with the knots in his Vans. With the first one off, he retrieves the box from the same pocket as Bo’s magazine. It was probably digging into his stomach. She’s pretty proud of her catch as it’s tossed back to her.
“I stood at the till for like five minutes emptying my pockets for change to make up the last of it. I was short 82p.”
Bo peers over Harry’s shoulder whilst still holding her box.
“Did you just hoof it out the shop then?”
“No,” he grumbles. “I didn’t steal condoms, Bo. But do you wanna know what the lady behind me in the queue said?” he pauses to kick off the other trainer, swivelling to face Bo. “She told me that she admired that my partner and I were conscious of protection.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“She gave me an extra pound to make up the difference as I was “in bit of a hurry”. His face sours as he recalls the conversation. He’ll never be able to step foot in that shop again, not with the way some of the staff were breaking into knowing smiles as he practically ran through the automatic doors.
“That was - very nice of her.”
It’s an unbecoming sort of laugh, one that has Harry glaring at her.
“Don’t laugh, you’re going next time.”
“That’s very presumptuous of you,” she remarks. “Why didn’t you just return the magazine?”
“Because you asked me for it,” he simply replies, like the suggestion never even crossed his mind.
Bo’s stomach fizzes up with warmth, a soppy kind of smile on her face.
“That’s honestly the sweetest thing. Come here” she beckons, taking hold of his face and smothering his cheeks with kisses.
“Don’t,” he whines. “You’re ruining my street cred.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bo apologies unconvincingly whilst rubbing at a tinted chapstick remnant high on his cheekbone.
“No you’re not.”
“Surely your street cred of thoughtful, kind and soft won’t be ruined by a few kisses.”
“Heeeeey, I’m a knockout,” Harry replies to her obvious teasing with a creased brow.
“Well, that’s for sure.”
Bo’s yelp is proof she’s unprepared as he takes her down to the mattress with a smile.
MORE COMING SOON...
KNOCKOUT -chapter 10 (part 2A)
“Sure.”
Harry’s flat is in walking distance of the gym. They decide to take the scenic route, through the pretty wooded park and past an almost empty playground until the pair hit a main drag. It’s car horns and traffic lights for a good five minutes before the city quietens upon making a right.
They turn down a quiet street off the busy main road and the chill that whistles between them has Bo wish she’d brought something a little warmer. It was a mistake to take her hair down after the class as now it’s stinging her cheeks. She steps closer to Harry as they pass a dog walker before they come to a complete stop outside a gate.
Heavy dark clouds loom, gobbling up the twinkle of stars as night descends in a hurry. She’s busy watching the sky transform, head tilted back until her name is called.
“Bo.”
Harry’s made the short journey from gate down to the front door and he waits for her to meet him at the bottom. The hand he raises in invite has her moving towards him through a thought once lost, legs walking a muscle memory. It would be hopeless to think she’d react in any other way but to go to him, to take his hand and let him lead her inside.
It’s warm, is the first impression Bo gets of the garden flat. A disorganised muddle of shoes is left just inside the door, and Bo adds to it as she toes hers off. She dumps her bag where harry leaves his before she’s free in her visual assessment. There’s peeling wallpaper, nicks of paint missing from the skirting board and original door frames with stiff brass handles. And Bo instantly loves it.
It’s disorderly and incomplete in a charming sort of way, which makes his previous flat pale in comparison. A sourness seems to fill her mouth upon remembering just how awful his conditions were before, no room to breathe with misery creeping in from every corner.
But here, it’s an easy sort of living space, one that he’s made home by just being there. It already smells of him, like this little flat has accepted Harry and approved of his occupancy.
There’s not much occupying the first room in the way of furniture, just cardboard boxes of varying sizes that Bo has a suspicion he’s let become a permanent fixture through simply being bone idle.
An old fashioned radiator is tucked into one of the alcoves opposite the door, a heavyset one that will throw out heat throughout the basement flat in the winter.
“There’s not much to see, but this is the front room. The kitchen is just through there and my bedroom and bathroom are across the hall.”
It’s almost as if he’s waiting for some sort of approval, standing off to the side as he nibbles at his bottom lip.
“It’s a great place.”
Despite its quirky flaws, this would have been Bo’s first choice for a place of her own.
He grins.
“I have a garden, too. It’s not much but my mum and sister are going to help with doing it up a bit. Even if it’s just finding the patio under all the weeds.”
Bo had never thought in all the time she’d known him, Harry would ever get excited over a scrap of lawn and some crazy-paving. But she gradually comes to understand the fascination as he rambles about having his niece over and his plans for one of those fancy fire bowls. She makes a mental note of the possible gift for his new home. Well, more of a garden-warming present if you’re being fussy.
They stay within the living room so Bo can explore a little more. And with that inquisitive feeing harnessed, she sets about unpacking a box containing two lamps, a pack of brand new coasters (courtesy of Harry’s sister) and a small elephant ornament selected especially by his niece for the coffee table.
Harry chats as she fights with the sticky tab sealing the coaster box. But after a few short seconds it’s neglected because there’s a record player placed on the floor in a wall alcove, just to the left of some boxes overspilling with disks.
“It’s a bit hipsterish for you, isn’t it?” Bo teases, nodding towards the musical mess.
Her nose crinkles as she grins at Harry over her shoulder before dropping to her knees in front of the boxes. There’s a few records propped up against the peeling paint, music which Bo guesses were some of the first to christen Harry’s new place.
“Can I have a look?” she asks.
“Couse,” he continues. “It was a ‘congrats on your new home’ gift from my mum. Those old records are from the loft, I’ve not sorted through them yet.”
Bo’s fingers flick through the ageing sleeves; evidence of how they were used and adored very much apparent on the worn cardboard cover, a contrast to the unscathed disk.
“You’ve got some good ones.”
Harry’s mum was feisty. Straying away from the popular, more documented, trends in music and delving into bands and genres Bo’s never heard of. She flips a disk over to study the song listings.
“Just some?”
Bo hears the amusement in his voice but the pride on his mouth is out of her line of sight.
“I don’t know most of them,” she admits, running her fingers over another mysterious album title.
“My mum had an eclectic taste, still does.”
“Well, I think it’s safe to say she was a fan of Rod Stewart,” she comments, flicking through five consecutive albums.
“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy.” The gravelly tone is enough of a musical interlude to cease her movement through the disks. Bo bursts out laughing, falling back on her butt and turning to witness Harry’s little performance.
“Come on, sugar, let me know.”
His deep bow finishes the ensemble and Bo almost feels like she should applaud. And that’s what she does as Harry dramatically basks in the praise.
“Good job I actually know that song, or I’d have thought you were coming on to me.”
“The night’s still young,” he counters and it’s to Bo’s surprise that she’s the recipient of a cheeky wink.
The gesture is enough to have her blushing cheeks think she’s being flirted with. A harmless game Bo thought she had become immune to, after hearing cheesy icebreakers in bars and no longer laughing at them.
Her face still feels warm with playful atmosphere when she lifts her head and finds Harry’s hand outstretched. She takes it without hesitation, allowing herself to be hoisted upright into the perimeter of Harry’s body. Too close to be considered casual and torturous on Bo’s senses.
With a smile like a siren song and stormy, green ocean eyes to match, it’s somehow difficult for Bo to try and find her sea legs.
“Alright?” he murmurs.
And that about does it. With a couple of adamant nods Bo pulls away before something ridiculous happens, like her telling him she misses the way his mouth fit with hers.
“What colour are you painting it in here?” Bo asks, fingers grazing the sofa arm, heart positively thundering as she meanders to the other side of the room.
She’s glad to see Harry provide some distance, taking the temptation away as now she’d have to volt the back of the couch to jump his bones. It isn’t the sofa from the old flat, this one is a bit ostentatious in the pattern with scuffed wooden feet. And as Bo sits, it’s like falling into a marshmallow, squishy, soft and the perfect place to take a nap.
“A mate sold it to me for cheap,” Harry answers her unasked question, watching as Bo takes to her feet again before rearranging the cushions. “As for the colour, I was just going to leave it as is.”
Bo frowns, swivelling to look at him, still with fringed cushion in hand.
“Why?”
“It’s rented, I’m not sure my landlord would want me slapping paint on the walls. I’m hoping he’ll let me buy it when I get the funds together.”
Harry stands leaning against the doorframe, watching as Bo investigates his new living room. There’s not much in the way of furniture at the moment, but Harry had made sure the first items unpacked were framed photos of his mum, sister and niece.
“I’d have it a really soft green.”
Bo hums as if imagining the transformation of the room with a new splash of colour.
“Yeah?”
The wooden floor creaks slightly with her movement as she gravitates to a focal point.
“Mmm, and I’d make that into a proper window seat so you could wake up with a cup of tea and just sit,” Bo nods at her plan. “Oh, it could be a reading window!”
“I don’t really read,” Harry admits, her face softening. “I listen to audio books now.”
The atmosphere quietens and Bo feels silly for raising the subject. That is until Harry opens his mouth again.
“Or hey, it would be a nice spot for a quickie.”
Bo rounds so fast she nearly stumbles into one of the many unpacked boxes by her feet. She stables herself with an outstretched hand to the wall.
“What?” she chokes.
He wanders over to the window, pressing his palms flat to the wooden sill to test its weight capacity.
“Well,” Harry makes a pained face, “if you’re both like olympic gymnasts or something.”
The space in nowhere near his full arm span, a measure he frowns at when trying to swing his feet up. They end up propped against the wall with his back pressed opposite, Harry folds himself into an unnatural position for someone of his height. He looks like a giant dog trying to squeeze begrudgingly into a cat bed.
“Get some cushions or something, it’d be perfect.”
“It’s the window though,” Bo admonishes, worrying her bottom lip and trying not to smile.
“Below street level.” Harry’s counter challenge is coupled with a shrug.
“Yes, but still a window,” she presses.
“My neighbours are old and fucking nosey, would give’em something to gossip about at their neighbourhood watch meetings.”
He makes quite the scene unravelling to stand at his full height before moving away from the sex-seat to the doorway, where he disappears through it moments after.
Bo’s left in a whirlwind contemplation before Harry pops his head back through.
“Are you hungry?”
“Sure,” she agrees, still fighting the smile curling the corners of her mouth as the conversation snappily changes from sex to food.
“I’ve not really had time to food shop,” Harry calls through from the kitchen. “Are you alright with a take-away? I think I have a leaflet somewhere.”
“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” Bo responds, weaving her way towards his voice.
Harry’s busy with riffling through take-out phablets when she reaches him. The kitchen is small but manageable with the window opening out onto a decreasingly gloomy garden. He sorts the menus from the addressed post before turning to Bo stood in the doorway.
“Are you alright? You look a bit pink in the cheeks.”
With her mind still dwelling on Harry’s idea of a window seat, it’s the only way she’ll be able to settle her thoughts.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Despite the nod to his head, Bo thinks he looks a little reluctant to hear her what she has to ask.
“When was the last time you were with someone?”
The immediate response she receives is a crinkled brow and full assessing gaze.
“I saw Matt from the gym the other day, we went to the pub just down -“
“No, I mean - romantically,” Bo attempts to delicately approach the subject, despite the tightness in her stomach and dampness of her palms. And once again, she receives a nonverbal, cryptic answer through somewhat of a pained facial expression. “Sex, Harry,” she blurts. “I mean when did you last have sex?”
“Shit.”
Eyes wide, he takes a few seconds to ground himself and try to decide the best approach. He clears his throat like he’s not just chocked at her question. “We’re just diving right in then?”
“You don’t have to tell me, I jus-“
“It’s been a while,” Harry interrupts. “Long time,” he swallows. “You want Chinese or Indian?”
“It’s just, what you said in the living room,” she aimlessly thumbs back through the doorway.
“It was a joke.”
He’s a little firm with his reply and it makes Bo feel guilty for asking.
“Oh, ok.”
“Did you want pizza, I think I have a app?”
Harry turns away to pick up his phone and Bo’s left trying to decipher what defines a ‘long time’. Not that it should really matter, they haven’t been together for nearly four years and she’s not entitled to the information anyway.
As if trying to shake her from her thoughts, Harry pulls up the app before waving it enticingly. She huffs a laugh before grazing his left side and standing with him to scroll through choices.
“The meat tastes weird on those pizzas,” Bo informs him, scrunching her nose. “If we share and go half and half, I want mine margarita. If we order the chicken, you get a free dip.”
Harry’s head is bobbing like a nodding dog on a car dashboard. The lights are on, but Bo can be pretty sure that nobody’s home at the moment.
“How long for you?”
“Huh?”
“Since you slept with someone.”
Oh.
Bo’s eyes shoot to the ceiling as if performing maths off the top of her head. Stupidly, she hadn’t expected this, hadn’t begun to think that his thoughts might stray to her bedroom antics.
“Umm, well,” she begins.
Harry pockets his phone, the prospect of food instantly forgotten as his full attention gravitates to Bo and her inability to hold his eye contact. She feels flushed for a second, checking to see if the window is open.
“You told me you’d never had sex with James.”
“It wasn’t James. It was only the once.”
He moves closer, stumped by the look on his face, Bo isn’t quite sure how this conversation will pan out. All she can hope is that it ends quickly without any emotional casualties.
“With whom?”
Of course he’d ask, but why should it matter? Why should she have to explain her sleeping arrangements to a man she hasn’t had a relationship with in years. Heat prickles at the back of Bo’s neck as Harry stands waiting for an answer. But it’s not a demand, it’s more of a concern for him.
“Someone from my course. It was really early on in first year before we saw each other again.”
“Did you like it?”
Harry backs up a little after the words leave his mouth, shying away from the potentially hurtful answer as he bites the inside of his cheek. He knows it was a mistake to ask. Nevertheless, the question makes Bo’s stomach squirm because they’re both fully aware that the only experience she has to compare it with was with Harry. And wasn’t that the full experience package.
If Bo’s being honest, the guy was a pretty lousy lay. There wasn’t particularly anything special about the evening and the whole thing was wrapped up in under ten minutes. Apparently Harry had spoilt her when they were together.
“No complaints,” Bo replies, testing the waters.
“Was he at your graduation?”
It’s almost as if she can see him straining to remember faces from the crowds of graduates. And as he does so, the subtle inclination of his body towards hers is duly noted, as if trying to shelter but not stifle her.
“What’s with all the questions?”
“Just asking,” he clips, jaw drawing taut.
“He might have been, I didn’t talk to him though.”
It’s cruel to push him further, but she’s rather delighted in the physical reaction it’s provoking. There’s no joy in making him angry, but to tease. It might be fun.
“You may have seen him. Huge guy with blond hair and as tall as the doorframe, biceps the size of my thighs. I think he’s a little bit older, too.”
“Yeah?” Harry grunts.
Bo hums. His expression is tight as he mulls over the information and comes to a conclusion she will admit she wasn’t expecting.
“Sounds like you shagged Thor.”
Bo can’t prevent the smile from creeping up on her, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink.
“I didn’t like it.”
There’s concern plastered on Harry’s face upon hearing her confession.
“No, I just didn’t enjoy it,” she pauses. “It wasn’t - I’ve had better,” Bo admits before she can really process the meaning behind the words. Had better.
She’s a little mortified by the knowing tug at the corner of Harry’s mouth. And before she can say anything else he’s displaying a full on smirk.
“Piss off,” Bo thumps his arm and he takes the hit with a dramatic stagger away. “You know what I mean. He was shit, I didn’t enjoy it and it was really awkward afterwards seeing him in lectures and stuff. It didn’t go any further.”
A few seconds more and the spirited exchange takes a nosedive.
“What about us?” Harry carefully asks from across the kitchen table.
“I don’t think it was the right time for us then.”
In the months post their reconciliation, Bo had exams to prepare for and lecturers to impress with heavily researched essays. All on top of social expectations and a house search for second year which was a steep learning curve. Finding anything half decent, which didn’t once have a zoo in the back garden or actually had a properly functioning electric meter was practically a miracle.
And during that time, Harry was in no man’s land, between stages of his life that felt like the odd, uncertain few days between Christmas and new year. He was on the brink of a fresh start but was teetering on the edge just waiting for the push. Bo couldn’t have known at the time, but she was the catalyst; a WhatsApp message of,
“I made too many pancakes for pudding because I was thinking of you. Tiff ate yours. I miss you.”
“And now?” Harry asks, turning the silver ring on his index.
“Well now,” Bo starts, worrying her lip with if what she’ll say will be a push too far. “Now, I want you to kiss me.”
“Right now?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
They both jolt when Harry’s foot catches the chair leg, his stride determined before he comes to stand in front of her. Bo peers at him, head tilted back slightly to assess any emotions he lets slip through the crease between his brows or the pout he used to try and hide when something was amiss. As it is, he’s not giving her much to work with.
The disappointment she feels settles heavy in her stomach when a kiss is instead pressed to her forehead. A feeling that soon edges to mortification and shame that she’d pushed him too far, cornered him into a situation he isn’t ready for.
“Harry, I’m sor-“
The apology is stolen from her lips by the softness of his as another sweet kiss is placed high on her right cheek. Then proceeds a series of kisses, the last pressed to the tip of her nose which entices a giddy sort of smile, especially when he rubs his nose to hers.
“I’ve missed you.”
KNOCKOUT - chapter 10 (part 1)
Warning for mentions of assault/sexual assault.
Thank you for reading!!!
KNOCKOUT - chapter 9
Thank you so much for sticking with me, I really appreciate your kind words and support. I hope you enjoy this update! And thank you Clarisse for being such a massive help in the process of putting this chapter together, your encouragement was invaluable!
KNOCKOUT -chapter 8
“We’re going to sort you out, ok?” I promise.
There’s hair falling out of the tie, curling on his shoulders and brushing his neck. He swipes it away to look at me again, giving me a clear view of impaired socket and an expression of self-pity. There’s a tiredness weighing heavy in his bones that’s run him into the ground. If Harry allowed himself, he’d probably sleep for weeks and still be exhausted.
“The fighting isn’t good for you. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore,” I admit whilst skimming my fingers lightly across the bruise blooming on his cheek.
An icepack is carefully pressed against the inflamed area, hopefully subduing the colourful swelling. Despite his wincing, I still encourage him to hold it close. The hiss he sucks in through his teeth riddles me with guilt.
“I think we should talk to Mack, he might know someone who you can contact. Maybe you could train again?”
I lean with him against the desk, my arm brushing his.
“As what? I lost my job at the gym, that’s why I’m here.”
Harry’s shaking his head like all hope is lost.
“I know, but there might be somewhere else. You’re skilled, there’s gotta be something you can do that’s not putting yourself at risk all the time,” I voice my thoughts with a frown.
The icepack descends to the ground, and I’m a little taken aback as Harry cradles my hand in his. His expression is one of pleading and I half expect him to drop to his knees in surrender.
“I want out, Bo,” Harry presses.
“I understand – “
“No, I don’t think you do. I need to get out of this,” he says, eyes fraught. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want this to be all I am. I come here, I fight, and I go home to no-one. Then I’m back here to start over.”
I go home to no-one.
“I refuse to believe this is where you’re supposed to be,” I tell him.
Because I thought you’d always be with me.
“Where then?”
He looks to me for all the answers, and I’m saddened I can’t grant his wishes instantaneously.
“Find a place to be happy. Where you can look after yourself,” I encourage before reaching to pick up the melting pack. I hand it to him. “Maybe we can look after you together,” I smile, gently knocking him on the shoulder.
Harry seems to deflate, releasing the pent up tension in a deep exhale. The pull of his muscles seems to ease as he gives me a simple nod.
“I’d like that.”
I retrieve the neglected icepack and hand it to him. He goes to drop it on the desk but I stop him.
“Uh, ah. Put it back on.”
“It hurts,” he whines with a pouted mouth.
“You got punched in the face, of course it hurts.”
He huffs a laugh before complying to my request. And we’re allowed a few measly minutes of easy conversation before we both turn our attention to the door. There’s a fuss emanating from down the hall and the bickering crescendos. The beating of numerous pairs of feet follow, rumbling with intent. It’s not long before trouble is brought to us in the form of two burly men. I tense upon recognising one of them as the loser in Harry’s match. He has more clothing on now and before he can barge forward, a wide palm is pressed to his shoulder.
“Do you know how much money you’ve lost me?”
Harry’s pushed up off of the desk and in front of me before I can blink. He’s a tense silhouette, shoulders pinched tight, with hands forming solid fists. There’s a third man dressed in a blue suit looking thoroughly pissed off standing in the doorway. His attire puts him in a power position, and a need for bodyguards. His question is lost on me, but I know Harry understands.
“Bo,” Harry ushers.
“I’m right here.”
His hand reaches out behind him and I meet his desperate fingers. With knuckles cracked and bleeding, he squeezes to reaffirm my words.
“The trouble you’ve caused me, Styles, is beginning to grind on my nerves.”
There’s control in his voice but the venomous undertones pry to the surface.
The suited man meanders around the office, regarding the framed pictures on the wall with a sneer. He flicks at paper pinned to the noticeboard with disinterest before gracing us once again with a cold gaze. But my consideration strays toward the broad-shouldered fighter apparently looking for a second round with Harry. Like a bull about to charge, it’s probably best not to raise a red flag. But I do it anyway. Stepping slightly to the side, I’m certain he sees me.
“Harry won,” I challenge, my words twisting like a knife in the already open wound. “You need to leave.”
The fighter makes to barrel forward but he’s prevented once again. He shakes off the hold, chest rumbling with distain before he strops like a teenager out of the office. The look Harry throws my way certainly isn’t one of gratitude. However, the exchange has eased my temper. I’m encouraged behind him again with a firm hand.
“We both know who should have won. If he wasn’t such a fucking exhibitionist,” he suited guy gestures to the open doorway, “you’d have been scraping Harry up from the fucking floor.”
The words bite and I want to scratch his eyes out. As I’m contemplating the thought, he wickedly smiles.
“How’s the eye, Harry? Still giving you trouble?” He snidely asks. “You got off lightly compared to what my incompetent staff should have done.”
My mouth dries and the shock bleeds through to the hold Harry tightens on my wrist. I can feel him silently pleading for me to keep quiet because he knows I won’t. There’s not much Harry can do before I’ve slipped his grip and I’m standing in front of him.
“You’re the one who did this?”
The man understands what I’m asking without me having to point to the scar slicing down Harry’s face and through his injured eye. His expression changes, drawing cruel amusement from the tremble in my voice.
“Not personally,” he remarks, eyes glittering.
“That’s worse, giving the orders but not committing the act.”
“If you’re doubting my certitude, I suggest you don’t.”
He aggressively stalks forward and Harry cushions me as I mirror his steps back. An arm cradles my side, a ready hand on my waist. I glance up to him wondering why he’s been so quiet during the exchange. It’s as his eyes dart back and forth between the men blocking the doorway that I realise he’s frightened.
“Anyway,” the boss claps his hands with a jovial grin, all bitterness instantly forgotten. “We didn’t come here to chat, did we Jack?”
At the mention of his name, the remaining muscle steps into view. He’s at least half a foot taller than Harry, with an unnerving twitch to his right eye and arms that are barely contained in his shirt. He starts to roll his sleeves up as he edges towards us.
“We came to ensure my financial assets aren’t going to be compromised for a while. Which I’m sorry to say is bad news for you, Harry,” the man feigns concern with a shake to his head. “I can’t have you winning anymore fights against my competitors, it’s bad for business.”
I prepare to scream for help. If I alert Mack maybe he can kick up a fuss with the threat of authorities; spook them a bit and buy Harry time.
Harry’s hand clamps to mine.
“Let her go first,” he almost begs. “Let her leave. Please.”
My neck jars with the speed I turn to him. Why on earth would he think I’d leave him?
“No,” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m staying. I’m staying with you.”
I bump back into the desk as Harry rounds on me, taking my shoulders and levelling his face with mine. His jaw flutters in frustration as I firmly shake my head again.
“Bo, Harry implores.
He’s colourfully swearing at my refusal as we’re circled like prey. Apparently I’ve become the object of interest now and the way I’m being surveyed puts me on edge.
“Bo?” the boss questions, tilting his head like a child. “Is that right, Harry? This is Bo?”
Harry remains silent, swallowing down the unease before standing to full height in front of me again.
“Cute,” he patronises. “You’re the reason Harry came to me in the first place. Needed to get you out of his head.”
I already knew, but the reiteration doesn’t do anything for my sinking stomach. I want to steal Harry away from this mess of a situation, tell everyone to go screw themselves and run. I’d take Harry’s hand and hide him away until he’s healed and can take on the world again.
“Don’t touch her.”
“Piss off,” I screech, hand smacking away Jack’s attempt to isolate Harry.
The boss seems highly humoured as he leans against the filing cabinet.
“She’s got some spirit,” he nods in appreciation. “I like that.”
It’s as he pushes away from his casual stance that my grip strengthens on Harry. My knuckles are white by the time he’s reached us and I fear he’ll try to wrestle me from Harry’s arms. He doesn’t. And my thankfulness doesn’t last long before my blood runs cold as he leans in to Harry’s space. Green eyes find a desperately needed security in mine, a safe place as he listens to awful words that I want to burn from the man’s mouth.
“But you, Harry. People like you never become anything more than this. You’ll take you’re last breath in the ring and then you’ll be forgotten.”
I’m about to fiercely object when a familiar individual makes himself known.
“Mr Dax, you and your men need to leave,” Mack grits from the door. “Now.”
There’s a moment of painstaking limbo where it’s impossible to predict the next few seconds. My only worry is stood beside me, crushing my hand in his and protectively pressing me closer to his body.
It’s almost too easy. Mr Dax indicates with a flick to his head for Jack to move out. He follows after his bodyguard before pausing short of the exit. My heart is hurtling against my ribcage as he turns back. A small ziplock bag is fished out from inside his suit jacket.
“On the house, Harry,” he throws the clear bag to Mack’s desk. “I’ll see you again.”
And they’re gone.
My body slumps with relief until I identity the contents of the packet. Harry eyes the pills with an emotion I can only pray isn’t hunger. After a long moment his eyes close with a calming sigh, head tipped back and when he opens them the pills are gone, safely tucked into my pocket.
“I wasn’t gunna take them, Bo.”
His voice is shamefully quiet, picking his nails and not meeting my line of sight.
“I need to remove temptation.”
***
“You need to stop treating him like an attraction. He’s a person, not a spectacle. Harry deserves more than this.”
Mack sits soundlessly as I lecture him. Harry’s stood behind me and I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or thankful that we’re having this conversation. He’s not said a word to me since Mr Dax left.
“I understand. I think things have gone too far,” Mack agrees, removing his glasses and rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.
“Well – good,” I reply, hands on hips.
I hadn’t expected it to go this smoothly, but with the trouble Harry’s attracted to the club, it’s probably to Mack’s benefit that this ends.
“I’ll make some calls, Harry.”
“Thanks.”
We leave Mack sat at the empty bar that’s littered with glasses sloshed with dregs of alcohol. The floor is sticky and the lights are dim. The fresh air is pleasantly embraced and the stifling atmosphere from inside is almost forgotten.
I’m startled as Harry’s the one to take my hand.
“I know you have someone else now, but you can still feel this, right?”
I know he’s talking about the fiery warmth licking up my wrist to my forearm. It’s a sure reminiscent touch of security, emanating from our point of contact. His fingers squeeze just a little to reinforce his words. Harry anxiously chews at his lip, but he’s betrayed by the small flash of hope in his eyes.
“I miss you.”
“You’re different now.”
“I can’t – I don’t think I can do much about it.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” I assure him. “Let’s take you home.”
***
We take the stairs like we did last time up to the third floor and along to the green door that matches the rest. Shouting from another flat turns my head until the sliding of locks brings me back to Harry. The door is open, and he lingers on the threshold to address me.
“Will you stay tonight?”
The skin around his eye is a little blueish and I worry about the small cuts brandishing his face. It will take time to heal.
“If you want me to.”
My acceptance of his offer is met with doe eyes and a slack jaw, almost as if he were expecting me to decline his invitation. He stands aside, ushering me in before closing the door behind us. The flat hasn’t changed much at all, still an untidy collection of pizza boxes, worn clothes and unnecessary clutter.
This time I allow him to retrieve me something from his room to sleep in. I’m handed a grey t-shirt with a right chest pocket; the clothing instilled with a comforting blend of washing powder and Harry. My shoes are kicked off by my bag and I wait for him to disappear into his bedroom before shedding my clothes. I’ve just about wrestled out of my shirt.
“Oh shi – I’m sorry. Bo, I didn’t –“ Harry flusters.
He’s stumbling over words as I clutch the clothing to my chest. There’s a healthy flush colouring my cheeks as Harry has a near miss with the sofa arm whilst trying to retreat. My laughter bubbles and I’m unable to supress it even when hiding behind Harry’s t-shirt. I peek at him only to find he’s stopped short of his door. He’s smiling at me and I can’t recall anything I’ve ever been happier to see.
I slip the t-shirt on over my head and when I look back to Harry the amusement has fallen from his features. He shifts on his feet before plucking up the courage to look at me.
“So um – night.” he calls.
“Try and get some sleep.”
I turn to my sleeping accommodation for the night. There’s not much to the sofa, worn cushions and uncomfortable springs. I doubt I’ll be getting much shuteye. I ruffle as best I can, plumping the pillows and tucking the sheet.
“Bo.”
I hum to him. When Harry says nothing further I round to face him.
“I’m glad – I’m glad that we’re friends.”
He nods to himself as I watch, proud to have delivered the sentence with minimal pause. It’s sort of adorable when he rubs at the back of his neck, conscious that I’m still staring.
“Me, too,” I lightly reply.
He’s leaning on the doorframe as I approach him and my stomach suddenly swoops because there’s a hint of that mischievous flare he once had. With his arms crossed, Harry seems a little defensive even with the smile he’s sporting. It’s as I flex onto my toes that the stern posture falls away and my lips are on his.
It’s a short kiss, but kiss all the same. And by the way Harry’s cheeks have bloomed I’ll say it was more than enough.
“Friends that do that,” he mumbles with a growing grin.
His tongue swipes over his lips, tasting me on his mouth.
“Good night.”
***
Small noises and annoyances I overlook in my familiar surroundings are now amplified in Harry’s flat. There’s a clock ticking somewhere in the room and when I roll over I find it flaunting the florescent time of 1:16 up on the wall. My back arches in a stretch but it does little to ease my muscles.
The erratic drip to the facet is insufferable, and louder than normal as the kitchen is an arm’s length away from the sofa I’m currently trying to sleep on. With a disgruntled huff, my legs swung out of my makeshift bed. My bare feet feel vulnerable on the carpeted floor, and as I get up I’m pretty sure I’ve stepped on the TV remote.
My hands guide me along the back of the sofa, until I run out of solid furniture and I’m forced venture into the shadows of the flat. Harry’s untidiness is unfortunate for me as I stumble over what I can only guess is a stray boot. The blunder has my palms meet a wall and I follow it around the room until my fingers graze wood instead of plaster.
I shouldn’t disturb him, he needs his rest.
Recently, the only time I really get to spend with Harry is being part of an audience that gawp and shout. It’s a miracle if he’s not bloodied and bruised and it’s a rarity to speak to him alone. He’s run himself ragged and I’m worried. I’ll check on him. Only for a moment.
It’s dark when I nudge the door open. My breathing is an intrusion on the peace claiming the personal space. My presence blemishes it. And even with the unpleasant aroma of stagnant smoke still lightly tainting the room, I’m yet to witness Harry’s lips kiss the butt of a cigarette. I don’t wish to; just something else to mar his body.
My eyes come to settle in front of me where Harry’s cuddled under the duvet. The mound of covers shuffles until his gruff voice calls out from the bed.
“Bo.”
There’s confusion embedded within the sleep-torn tone and I move forward as he props himself upon his elbows. Curtains flutter in the cool air curling in from the window propped open. It creates brief ripples of light that wash over his uncovered skin and I’m breathless watching him. He sits up, curious of the girl stood at the end of his bed.
“Are you alright?”
Suddenly magnetised, I’m surging towards the boy I’ve been deprived of for so long. It’s with Harry’s eyes wide that my hands claim his face and the light from the window dissipates once more. The first kiss falls maddeningly short of his lips, catching just the corner of his curved mouth. I hum my frustration and the offshoot is rectified with a toe-curling kiss. It warms me from the inside out, setting ablaze hesitations I’ve had. It’s a fumble in the dark, a fiery touch that’s stoked hotter with keen hands on my waist. Harry doesn’t miss a beat, collecting me in his arms before hauling me to the mattress.
I go with ease, but now that he has me, he’s not quite sure as to what he’s permitted to do. So used to being denied. There’s a power to the position I find myself in as my knees bracket his hips. I grasp at his naked shoulders, fingers tracing his chest to ease him down onto the bed. His heart jackrabbits against my palms, matching the furious rhythm of my own.
“Please,” he softly implores.
I’d be a fool to deny him. Harry’s touches are tender, fearful of demanding too much and pushing me away. And as he kisses at my cheeks, my nose and finally my mouth, I can’t imagine there’s much I wouldn’t give him.
We make up for time lost, hands, fingers and lips marking out the landscape of each other’s bodies. My nose sweetly traces the hard line of his jaw before he’s pulling me in for another gripping kiss. He swallows my pleasured surprise when his thumb rubs over my nipple. My thighs clench tighter to his waist and he revels in the suppressed whimper I produce.
We’re a tangle of sheets as Harry rolls me from his lap to the bed. I whine at our loss, seeking his mouth to mine and fingernails to the flesh of his hips. His teeth punish the pulse point below my jaw for tormenting his sides and it’s all I can do not to cry out.
The darkness provides its own intimacy, stripping away sense of sight to leave us desperately listening for hitches in breath as we rediscover each other. A sweep of lashes, the press of fingertips is all it takes to have my heart hammering even harder. My frenzied touch slides from his chest, delving down his stomach to where I can almost feel him ache for me. Harry’s breath is stolen in a kiss as I angle my hips up to his. The desire is bold and I hunger to feel it without the hindrance of clothes.
I catch the waist band with the tips of my fingers but I’m denied the pleasure of touching him. Harry has my wrist, squeezing a little too tight before pinning it to the pillow beside my head. I press for release but it’s in vain because Harry’s not playing. There’s no tease, no kisses to make light of the action.
“Harry,” I plead.
My leg hooks the back of his thigh to ensure he doesn’t pull away as I fear he might.
“You already have someone,” he painfully sighs. “You’re not something that we can share, Bo.”
My stomach is a knot of muddled feelings and the emotion that flares through is anger as I shove Harry from me. We lay there in a silence that’s plagued with our panting breath. I can still feel him on my mouth.
“I’ve never taken him to my bed,” I softly admit whilst staring up to the ceiling.
There’s a rustle of covers and I don’t know when I started crying. I smile as he gently thumbs over my face, tracing the rise of my cheek bones, the slope to my nose and the softness to my lips.
“You’re even pretty in the dark,” Harry warmly hums. “Stay,” he hushes. “I’ve missed you in my bed.”
Harry’s scorching hot against my back and there’s a moment where he’s unsure of how we once fitted together. I take his hand and haul his arm over so it’s draped across my waist and even then he feels too far away. The fabric to my t-shirt stretches in his fist as I abruptly scoot further back into his front. Harry lets out a huffing “oomph” into my hair and I thickly swallow upon feeling the ache he’s still sporting for me.
I’m collected in closer as if Harry’s frightened I’ll float away.
“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.

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KNOCKOUT - chapter 7
“Who’s Harry?”
James doesn’t turn, just continues to stir whatever’s on the hob. My mind is running away with geopolitical jargon, sifting through terms and phrases to use in a particularly tedious essay. With my feet propped up on the opposite chair and laptop gently warming my legs I’m comfortable in the studying stupor I’ve become immersed in. My name is called twice before I look up from marked pages.
“Huh?”
My laptop beeps for a third time, begging for a charge. It’s as I’m searching for the cable James speaks again.
“Harry. You have a text from him.”
There’s nothing graceful about the way I extract myself from my essay clogged corner. Reflexes fail me as books fall cover up and open on the floor. I clumsily navigate the furniture between myself and my phone. James adds more ingredients for dinner as I open the message. He’s subtle in his intrigue, but his fascination doesn’t go unnoticed.
From Harry:
I’ve got another fight on Saturday. Will you be there?
My thumbs tap out a speedy reply, ensuring my attendance. I spend a silly amount of time determining whether it’s appropriate to end the message with an ‘x’. Sod it. I wait for the sending bar to run across the top of the screen before shoving my phone into my pocket.
“Everything alright?” James questions.
There’s a look of concern spiralling in his eyes, coupled with a firm press of pursed lips.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
“You don’t answer my texts that fast,” he jokes without his normal jovial laugh.
My stomach plummets.
I’m not cheating.
***
I bustle up outside the club, breathless and exhausted. There was an accident on the journey here, a motorbike, scuffed and on its side. With the police only allowing one stream of traffic past the collision, it’s taken longer than I would have liked to get here. There’s a queue which I forgo, much to the complaints of others waiting outside, before making my way past the bouncer to within the stifling warmth.
Mack’s waiting for me with an anxious crease to his brow whilst he picks at his fingernails. His head shoots up when I take his arm, nerves coiled like a spring.
“I’m late. I’m sor-“
“He’s already on,” he interrupts.
“How’s he doing?” I almost shout whilst he helps me wrestle out of my coat.
“He’s on the ropes. You should get down there, Bo.”
Mack takes my things to secure in his office. The air is polluted with alcohol on the tongue and breath of people that object to my pushing. My shirt is damp with overspills from glasses by the time I get down to the frontline of the fight, and I’m saddened by what I see.
He’s in a bad way, barely ducking to avoid what could have been a lethal blow to the face. I shove forward, elbowing a path right to the front, close enough to cling to the edge of the ring. Harry’s slumped against the ropes, a cut on the bridge of his nose and just above his eyebrow gives the harrowing image of him crying crimson tears.
“Get up,” I beg.
He looks utterly exhausted, chest heaving with the effort of physical performance. The inky images and scripts upon his skin appear darker with perspiration. His egotistic challenger is swanning around the fighting platform, too busy providing a sickening show for the audience to notice our interaction.
“Harry.”
He blinks as if he’s seeing me properly for the first time. I lay a hand on his right that’s curled tight around the rope.
“Please, get up.”
The ref won’t interfere. If he doesn’t move, his competitor will continue until he’s unconscious. A dirty fight with no morals, no human decency.
“You’re here,” he wheezes.
Harry just about manages a smile.
“Yes, and you need to get up for me.”
Before Harry can think to comply he’s dragged away and slammed into the middle of the ring. Energy that once seemed lost now pumps through him, boosting his motivation and gifting him with the drive to put up a fight. He’s still spent, but manages to just about roll away before he’s hammered into the floor by a swinging fist. I wince as he valiantly takes a kick to his right side only to struggle to his knees and land a solid hit to his opponent’s middle.
The guy is clearly more or a boxer, looking awkward and off kilter when trying to work a jabbing knee or foot into his attack routine. He’s more top heavy than Harry, who’s comfortable in using his whole body to achieve a dynamic mix of onslaught. It’s also alarmingly clear the hits Harry’s taken to his face earlier on in the fight have become a nuisance to his already impaired vision. The time it takes to wipe blood from his eyes makes him vulnerable to deadly right hooks. He won’t last much longer.
Mack’s nowhere to be seen and flagging down the ref proves harder in practise than theory. He’s not looking out for demanding girls on the side-lines; he’s more concerned about dodging the fight he’s overseeing in the ring. Flailing my arms doesn’t do the trick. I shove my fingers into the mouth to produce the loudest whistle I can. It attracts the attention I so desperately want. The ref shifts over, crouching down to give me an ear.
“Give him a time out!” I order over the noise.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
I grapple the ropes, leaning further up.
“He can’t see properly out of one eye, with all the blood he’s basically blind. Just let me sort that out and you can put him back in the ring,” I grit.
He sighs heavily, shaking his head before I’m given a stiff answer.
“Fine, you have two minutes.”
There’s hostile complaint from the crowd as the fight is broken up. The ref encourages a dazed Harry into my corner where I’m waiting, stood on the edge of the raised ring the other side of the ropes. I steady him as he stumbles.
“What happened?”
“I can’t see,” he heatedly says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re here, I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Well, I didn’t come to see you get your arse beat.”
Mack dumps a bottle of water over Harry’s head, which ultimately puts an end to our conversation with undignified splutters. I’m handed an old t-shirt to wipe Harry’s face, concentrating on the cuts and applying pressure before Mack hurriedly applies sticky bandages.
“Don’t let him hit you in the face again, Harry.”
I scramble for the band on my wrist. Harry bows his head towards me as I take handfuls of his hair and tie it out of his face. It’s a haphazard bun, but it’ll have to do because we’re out of time.
“Don’t give up. Go kick his fucking arse!”
Mack helps me down into the audience a second before Harry’s barrelled into. He’s got conviction in the punches he throws but I worry it’s not enough. I hopelessly watch as he’s hit, again and again. The impacts he’d taken early on have rendered him weaker, unable to recover and more susceptible to violent assaults that follow.
“Come on, baby,” I hush to myself.
He’s using everything he’s got, slamming elbows and knees to extinguish any counter attack. And the crowd love it, elated to have some worthy competition back into what was starting to look like a one-sided fight.
My shoulder is bumped, a hand taking my upper arm and a mouth to my ear.
“I don’t think your boy’s got it in him to come back from this one.”
His breath is rancid with alcohol as I wrench my body away from his. The cold, crooked smile he exhibits has my blood run cold.
“Oh, piss off,” I spit.
But it’s almost as though his words have flipped a switch because when I return to the ‘entertainment’, Harry’s pinned on his back with a knee to his chest. There’s nothing I can do but watch in horror as he helplessly tries to block any inbound fists to the face. The other competitor is bigger in statue and presence, a hard line to his jaw and a wild look in his eyes as he anchors Harry’s right arm to the ring floor.
“Come on, Harry! Get up!”
There’s other bellowing to match my tone of support, people backing the underdog. Mack’s with me, calling out to the ref to do his job properly, despite the “no rules apply” policy. Then suddenly, Harry is freed; the man laying waste to him is up and sauntering over, pressing to the ropes in front of me. He sneers my way before throwing his arms up in celebration and soaking in applause. There’s a weighty level of booing aimed his way, but he doesn’t seem to care.
It’s not until I shimmy around the ring’s perimeter that I see Harry rolling on to his side. He’s hurt, quite badly, defying the odds and getting to his feet. There are bruises forming on his body, cuts that will heal and scar. The brute still jests with the crowd, oblivious to what’s happening behind him.
Harry looks to me and I give him a simple nod.
You can almost hear the crack as Harry’s fist crunches into the man’s side, ribs fracturing and breaking. He lets out a cry that overshadows the boisterous noise of the club. Curling in on himself to shield his broken bones lays himself out defenceless. Harry spares no mercy when taking him by the shoulders to drag him to the floor. It’s while he’s writhing in agony that Harry takes the chance to climb on top of him, fighting to restrain his arms before positioning his thighs around the man’s neck. There’s not much else to the tactful hold other than to squeeze. Harry maintains the tight clench even when rocked to the side.
It’s as his competitor’s face makes the colour transition from red to blue that Harry’s unceremoniously pulled off before he passes out. The crowd are hollering at Harry to finish it, but the fight’s already been won. Any further action on Harry’s part will condemn him with unjustifiable violence. They’re waiting for a knockout. As far as they’re concerned it’s not over until someone’s bloody and moments away from death.
He glances to me and my heart pounds, ready to break free of my chest. I don’t hesitant in climbing into the ring with Mack helping to boost me up. My scrabble to ground myself is unbecoming and I’m unwilling held back from reaching Harry as he looms over the defeated man.
“Miss,” the ref implores with a steady hand. “Please step out of the ring.”
“No.”
“Leave her.”
We’re silenced by Harry’s threatening tone. The crowd has fizzled out as they watch with bated breath.
“I’m done,” he announces.
As I take his hand, flawed eyes flicker down to the contact. My fingers curl around his and I’m careful not to startle him.
“Let’s go,” I softly murmur.
***
It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile properly as he silently observes me clean the dried blood from his face. I leave him to pull on a t-shirt before turning back to inspect the bruises he sustained. It’s surprise I’m overcome with as I’m lifted from my feet in a close hug. His skin is damp with sweat and glowing with victory. I soak him in, committing to memory the new person he’s transformed into. His shoulders are tighter, arms more tense, hands more hesitant. His tattoos are reminders, little sparks to fuel the beginnings of conversations. They’re exchanges that we’re yet to have.
“I’m so pleased you’re here,” Harry sighs quietly.
His palms stretch out across my back as he burrows his face to my neck. We’re so close it feels as though our bodies sync up, minds reeling at the same pace, hearts pounding in consecutive waves of longing. And somehow all of that abruptly crumbles as his lips brush the corner of my mouth and I stiffen. I can’t control my fingers as they pinch at the back of his neck and his hair tangles in my grip. Suddenly, my thoughts are in overdrive and the once comfortable tempo to my pulse is skipping with every second he holds me.
Harry lets me slip from his arms until I’m standing in front of him. There’s an angry looking bruise forming on his cheekbone; his body is in tatters but all he’s worried about is me.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I turn away, clearing up the medical supplies with trembling hands.
“No.”
It seems I’m creating more of a mess than I’m tidying up, so I leave the kit open on the side. Harry’s exactly how I left him, with the exception of him now looking down at his feet.
“Did you want to get a drink? It doesn’t have to be here, we could go somewhere else.”
My legs feel like jelly as I clutch back at the counter. Harry instantly moves forward and the hand on my waist is burning hot through my clothes.
“Bo?”
“Sorry, I’m just really tired,” I ramble. “What with you and James and uni work, it’s got me all over the place.”
I know my mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth. Harry draws away and over to the bench that his clothes are sprawled out on.
“James,” he repeats, idly playing with the zip on his bag. I know it’s so he doesn’t have to look at me; and I’m glad. “Who’s he?”
I find myself feeling guilty, at the fact that I’ve not told him yet and that I let him kiss me.
“Someone that I’m seeing at the moment.”
“Like dating. Your boyfriend?”
He looks crestfallen. Disappointment bites at his lip as his eyebrows pull together and he stews over the news for a moment before his features harden. The sturdy shape to his jaw tightens along with the way he holds himself.
“We’ve not really discussed it yet.”
“You like him though?” he firmly questions.
“Yeah, he’s nice.”
“Nice,” Harry almost scoffs. “I would have thought you’d have strived for something more than just nice. Sounds boring.”
“Yeah, well that’s what I want now; to know where he is and not worry about him all the time. Something boring and uncomplicated,” I coldly remark.
There’s a tension building between us and I’m unsure of the specific emotions fuelling it. The way he’s looking at me suggests something more than just frustration. It’s itching away at both of us as Harry steps forward.
“Compared to what?” he hums. “To us?”
I shake my head because I don’t want to remember us. I’ve only just locked those memories away and for them to flood me again would be too much. There’s little hesitation in his movements, his nervousness wiped clean and substituted with ill placed vengeance to counter my apparent dismissal.
“You know,” he starts bitterly, “after we broke up, I used to get blind drunk,” his unintentional pun doesn’t go unnoticed with his small smile. “I’d drink so they’d look like you.”
The revelation suddenly makes me sick to my stomach and now I want to leave.
“Some girls don’t care, but I know others are a bit wary,” he gestures towards his face. “I took one girl back to my flat though, she was kinda your height, dark hair.”
There’s a waver in his speech, a small smile as the ends of my hair are lightly taken between his fingers. I soon wish the fleeting pause would continue, anything to scratch away his cutting words.
“She didn’t smell like you though, when I took her to bed and kissed her neck.”
“Fuck you.”
I’m astounded the door isn’t taken off its hinges by the crack of force I open it with. It’s left wide as I hasten towards Mack’s office where my coat and bag are draped over the back of his chair. Harry’s pursuit commences seconds later, feet thundering down the corridor after me. He’s behind me but I remain stubbornly facing away. Fury sweeps my body in a burning rage.
“Do you think I’m spiteful?”
I reel in the temptation of booting him in the shin as on some level I decide he’s gone through enough tonight.
“I think you’re cruel,” I reply, shoving past him.
I’m almost to the door when undecided fingers brush my arm before choosing to lightly take my wrist. Mack’s just the other end of the corridor, unsure whether he should intrude on the situation. I shake my head in silent communication that everything is fine and he disappears through a doorway.
“I called her your name,” Harry’s voice cracks.
Astonishment has me turn to him. My arm is freed whilst his drops limply to his side. Harry travels backwards until he’s supported by Mack’s desk, legs kicked out as his head drops to his hands. And just like that, my boiling wrath calms.
“She slapped me so hard I could feel it for like two days after,” he lightly jokes. “I never brought anyone back after that.” His hands are brought down and away from his injured face. “It’s you, it’s always gunna be you.”
The strap to my bag slips through my fingers as I make up the ground between us. Kind hands take his face and he’s forced to look at me properly. It’s taken a while to grow accustomed to his permanent impairment and it’s heart wrenching because I don’t think he’s fully accepted it himself.
I place a soft kiss over his blemished eyelid, pausing to rack my fingers easily through his hair. This is what he needs, someone to be gentle and kind to him.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Someone to liberate him.
“It’s gunna be ok.”
KNOCKOUT - chapter 6 part 2
Another little bit for you.
KNOCKOUT - chapter 6
Thank you for reading!! The next part to this chapter will be posted tomorrow :)
(Mentions of drug use)
KNOCKOUT - chapter 5
Motivation!!
KNOCKOUT - chapter 4
I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

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KNOCKOUT - chapter 3
Hello! Hope you like this chapter :) Please let me know what you think! (I read tags!)
KNOCKOUT - chapter 2
If there's any mistakes, I'll mix them tomorrow!! Hope you like it :) x