#bartender!harry

**

I had a date tonight.

He had told me to put on something fancy before he left, so I did.

I wore red because he liked it - a turtleneck striped sweater, a miniskirt and matching gogo boots. I even pulled my roller set from the back of the drawer to try and tame my feathered hair into something resembling of the trendy Farrah Fawcett waves. Needless to say that that didn't go as planned, but it wasn't a total disaster either. I felt pretty and that was what mattered... a little frustrated too, once I saw the wall clock’s hands tick past the time he had promised to be home to pick me up.

A car honked outside, and I ran to the porch window to look. A huff left my lips when I saw it wasn't Andrew… just my neighbor's friend who happened to own a car of the same model he did - a 1974 Ford Maverick, that was currently pulled over the side of the road. I watched through the drapes as my neighbor fled out of the house sheltered under a vinyl umbrella and slid inside the car, where the driver greeted her with a passionate kiss.

The car's windshield wipers were on full blast, which reminded me that Andrew should also be driving in rainy weather. Before I knew it, I was nervously chewing on my thumb, as a vast collection of worst-case scenarios came popping into my head. Andrew had always been a fast driver, and the worn tires on that old car of his should have been changed months ago... but money had been tight – It always was, with me working at the five-and-dime and him constantly jumping from one temporary job to another.

He had never been the hardworking kind, and neither had I, but I tried… I showed up on time on the days my boss was there, smiled at rude costumers, and did my best not to spend much on myself...

I couldn't say the same about him.

That was the main topic of discussion under our roof - Andrew's spending habits. He bought more than he could afford and was never willing to make sacrifices - he went for a beer with the boys every night, while I stayed home and invited my friends over. He ate our leftovers outside meals, while I took less food into my plate than I wanted. He made foolish investments, promises he couldn’t keep, and never, ever put my or our interests first when it came to money.

Remembering these things was starting to make me feel angry, but I was more worried than anything else. For every extra minute that passed, there were 8 more laps I made from one side to the other of the hallway.

I was starting to get a bad feeling about his lateness but decided not to focus on that. It was Valentine’s Day, and he had promised this morning that he would take me somewhere nice… where we would eat duck in orange sauce and share a bottle of chardonnay… and then we’d go for a moonlit walk in the park before he drove us home, where he would make love to me.

I knew his promises weren’t to be trusted, but surely he wouldn’t let me down like this, would he?

I had probably just misunderstood the time of our reservations. That's what I told myself while I slung my leather coat over my shoulders and grabbed my purse from the hanger stand - just so he didn’t have to wait for me when he arrived.

And I waited.

And waited.

Until he showed - two hours later and accompanied by two snarky big guys that I knew to be his friends.

“Oh my god!” I jumped up from the sofa, where I had ended up sitting after many minutes of standing by the front door like a dog waiting for its owner. The first emotion that went through me was relief, in finding my boyfriend was still in one piece and not dead in a ditch somewhere, like I was starting to worry he might be.

But that feeling of relief didn't last, once I realized he was drunk – not just drunk, but rotten. My arms naturally crossed over my chest while I stood there speechless, watching my boyfriend stroll inside the house without a care – hollering about football and dropping beer from the bottle in his hand onto the lobby rug.

I could feel the indignation starting to bubble inside me, taking over my features and heart. “Andrew!” I yelled, but frankly I don't think he heard me. It was like I was invisible in his world, a world filled with nothing but beer, chants of victory and body sweat, apparently.

“Andrew!” I repeated, louder this time, what finally got the three heads to turn to me. Upon taking notice of my angered disposition, Andrew’s bulky friends exchanged a look in between them. As if they were debating if they should leave, but I saved them the time – “Out.” I growled, before they could take another step towards the sofa, where I knew they were headed. They followed my order, shutting the door behind them.

“Tracyyy!” Andrew sang back at me. The shit-faced grin he portrayed made me want to smack him unconscious on the spot, but I refrained from it… I needed to yell at him first.

The thing was I was at a loss of words - I couldn't believe this was the life I was living - a life where my boyfriend had stood me up on our special day to go get smashed instead. It wasn't unusual for Andrew to come home like this, but I expected more today. Maybe that was my problem… that I continued to expect different from him, even when everything I despised about him remained the same.

The sudden sound of a clash and porcelain shattering cut through my thoughts.

Andrew, who was moving like a stranger inside his own house, had bumped on the accent table on his way inside the living room - sending the lamp perched over it tumbling down. “Oh shit. My bad,” He paced back with his hands raised, stepping all over the shards and causing them to break into even smaller pieces.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” I finally managed to shout. His eyes jumped to mine, and what I saw in them disgusted me. He was staring at me with lust - like I was prey he had an appetite for.

“Tracy, Tracy, Tracy...” He murmured my name as he advanced – or stumbled – towards me. “You look so fuckin’ good…” He hissed through his teeth, reaching out to grab and kiss me.

“Get off!” I used my arms and hands to push him off my face. “Your breath reeks of beer - it’s disgusting.” I spat bitterly, shoving his shoulders back to force him to plunge on the sofa.

When faced with my rejection, Andrew groaned. “Right… let me hear it, what the fuck did I do to you this time?”

I scoffed a laugh, in utter disbelief. “Are you kidding me, right now? We had a date tonight, Andrew! A date you didn’t show up to!”

He sighed. “Yes, I know we had a date but baby… didn’t you watch the news? The niners won their first game of the season today. Do you have any idea of how big that is for us? It’s huge - and it’s also why I had to go celebrate with the guys...”

I shut my eyes and breathed in effort to calm down. “Are you… talking about football right now?”

“Yes, Tracy… the niners. As in, the best football team of all time.” He scoffed condescendingly, like he thought my question was dumb. “Oh, babe you should have seen them… Joe Cool was blistering through that field. The man was unstoppable. It was… fuckin’ epic.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable…” I shook my head, incredulous at his words. I could have been forgiving if he'd forgotten… it was something that could happen to anyone... but clearly, that wasn’t the case this time. Andrew had remembered the plans he’d made with me, and consciously decided not to follow through with them. His reason? A frigging football match. That! That was his reason. - “Why Andrew? Just… why?” I yelled in exasperation but all I got back was a vacant look. There wasn't a single flash of regret in his drunken eyes. It was like he couldn’t even see that he’d hurt me. “Why do you do this to me? Why am I always the one thing that comes last on your priority list?”

“Are you really going to start a fight over this? It was a fuckin’ dinner date, Tracy. We can go tomorrow.” I snorted at the utterance of that phrase. – “We’ll go tomorrow” – That was what he always said… but then, when the time came, we never got to go.

I let out a desperate sigh, running my hands through my hair. “No, Andrew. We can't! Because today was the day. It was today! Not tomorrow. Not the day after. Today!”

Andrew’s voice rose at my tone, now much more exalted. “And what does that even matter? It's a day, like any other day. It doesn't have to mean anything.”

“It meant something to me, goddamn it!” I finally snapped, stomping my foot hard enough to make the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor dither. Hot, mascara dyed tears began to stream down my disgruntled face, leaving traces of black in their wake.

Andrew stared at me wide-eyed when he noticed them. “Jesus Tracy, calm down… you don't have to cry.” He sneered. “If you’d told me dinner was this important to you, I obviously wouldn’t have missed it. Christ… I mean, you could have just said something instead of-”

“That’s the problem! I shouldn’t have to say anything.” I sobbed, even though I knew it wasn't going to be worth it. How could I expect him to understand the motives of my anger, when he couldn't even see I had motives to be angry? - “Do you even realize how selfish it is of you to ask that? You shouldn't be breaking promises! You shouldn’t even be making them if you're not counting on keeping them!”

“Oh so now I'm the selfish one? You’re the one who’s never satisfied with anything I do! You’re so fucking ungrateful, and then you cry just to make me feel sorry.”

I blew out a scathing laugh. “Oh I wish making you feel sorry was that fucking easy…”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch all the time it would be.”

His accusation made me flinch. I fell silent for a moment, once again left speechless. We argued sometimes, but he had never stooped so low as to call me that. “What did you just call me?” I asked, incredulous.

Andrew squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa. I could tell he knew he'd said the wrong thing, but it was too late to take it back. “It’s what you’re being right now…” He said with a shrug.

Andrew’s reply didn’t surprise me. I knew better than to expect an apology from him. That was another thing about Andrew, the word Sorry never seemed to be part of his lexicon…

That was the kind of guy he was.

That was the kind of guy I was dating.

In this case, however, it didn't matter if he chose to apologize or not... he had called me a bitch - that was something I could never excuse.

I walked out of the room for a moment, just for as long as it took me to reach the closet where I knew Andrew’s sports bags were. I picked one at random - the first one I got my hands on - and took it back with me to the living room. “Here.” I tossed it into his lap, harshly and with no preamble. “I’m giving you half an hour to pack your things and walk out that door.” I said as I put my coat back on and shouldered my purse, considering I had stripped off both during my long wait. “I’m going for a walk. When I come back I want you gone. You can come get the rest of your stuff tomorrow.”

“What?” He practically barked, leaning forward on the sofa. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t kick me out - this is my house too!”

“Why are you never in it then?” I asked, knowing he would have no answer to give me. “Besides, I was already living here before you moved in from your parents’s. All you have to do is go back to where you were months ago. It's not like it's going to make much of a difference to you anyway.”

“Tracy, wait…” I was already on my way towards the front door when I heard Andrew’s calls for my name. My intention was to ignore them, but unfortunately I couldn’t because in his drunken state he had somehow managed to get up and come after me. “So that’s how it’s going to be? I screw up once and you decide to throw it all away?”

“Once…” I repeated through a humorless chuckle, turning although my fist remained firmly wrapped around the doorknob. “When’s our anniversary, Andrew?” I asked suddenly, what took him by surprise. I knew he didn't know because the date had gone unnoticed by him months ago. “What’s my favorite flower?” He had never given me any. If he had, he'd know that whatever he chose would become my favorite. “What’s my biggest dream?” I asked and on his part, again, there was silence.

“Babe c’mon, we don’t have to do this...” He supplicated, grabbing my wrist, and forcing me to stop and face him again. “Look, I’m sorry okay? I know I haven't been the nicest lately, but I love you… can't you see that?”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him. There was nothing about his statement that rang true. I turned the knob, but he tugged on my wrist and tried to kiss me again. “Stop! Just stop!” I pushed him back, irritated by his insistence – and once I opened my mouth next, it was like every syllable coming from it trembled with emotion. “It’s always like this with you and I’m done! I’m done with hearing the same crap over and over only for it not to mean anything!”

Andrew was still coming after me when I opened the door and ran down the outside stairs that led to the porch, but thankfully he gave up on following suit once he saw me step under the pouring rain and start walking up the street with no destination in mind.

The idea of ​​bringing an umbrella completely passed me by in the midst of everything else, and now it seemed that it was raining even more than the last time I looked out the window. I didn't care though, the cold rainwater felt sobering as it poured over my hot, heavy head – morphing my already withered Farrah waves into a cascade of unflattering wet strands.

The water dripped down my shivery body and ran beneath the sidewalk gullies under my feet as I walked. The crunch of my soles on the wet floor reminded me that I was by myself.

Not just out on the street, but in my love life as well.

A trickle of guilt shot down my spine, but I made a conscious effort to ignore it. My decision hadn’t been rushed… I had been considering ending my relationship with Andrew for months, but for some reason I always ended up changing my mind… afraid I would end up regretting it.

I knew Andrew wasn’t the type to change and still, I persisted. I gave him endless opportunities by tricking my brain into believing he was going to do better next time around… even if, deep down, I knew I was setting myself up for disappointment. – Being around Andrew was always going to be like this. Like sailing through life without an anchor to support me.

Up until this point I had made the choice to put up with that…

But not anymore.

And I felt good with my decision.

Not so much with the decision to go out alone after dark though. Due to the deterrent creeps running over my skin at the sight of two suspicious-looking guys leaning around the street's corner. I wasn't one to judge by looks... Living in San Francisco, it was common to run into scary-looking strangers. I felt comfortable around groups of loud protestants and punks with spiky hair and ripped t-shirts, but something about the way these men were looking at me made me feel uneasy - enough to have me walking to the other side of the road before I crossed paths with them.

Their eyes wouldn't let go of me as trudged the small street that led to Alamo Square Park. I hoped that there would be more people there... and this wish only intensified once one of the men whistled as I walked past them. I pretended not to hear… just quickened my step and sharpened my ears to detect any kind of movement on their part, and lo and behold: there were footsteps trailing behind me. “What’s the matter sweetheart?” An eerie voice asked from my back. “Are you feeling down? Me and my friend would love to feel you up.”

“Fuck off.” I replied in a bad mood. My legs sped up even more, while my eyes kept dancing all around, looking for an open establishment I could enter but there was nothing here - the street was deserted and I still had more than 5 minutes to go until I reached my destination.

“O-Oh… feisty, and she’s got a filthy mouth on her too…” Another guy said behind me, and I hated the grisly tone in which he spoke.

I wanted to tell them to fuck off again, but I knew that wasn't the smartest thing to do taken the fact they had found it amusing the first time. “Leave me alone, I’m not interested.” I said instead, making an impulsive decision to turn to a street on my left, in the hope that it would throw them off and make them stop following me.

It didn’t work, they kept walking after me. “Where are you going, sweetie? Trying to run from us?” I heard their footsteps getting faster, so I sprinted. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew the area and had passed these streets before. There was a set of stairs to my right, and I ran down them. It was tempting to look back and see if my pursuers were getting closer as I ran, but I refused to do it. Instead, I kept running further - through alleys, back streets, passageways, and parking lots.

My mouth tasted of blood due to the racing heart pounding in my chest and the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Water splashed under my feet, making my footsteps audible even in the streets adjacent to the one where I was currently at. My body was asking for a break, but I didn't know if I could give it that – I was terrified. I had never been in such a situation before… sure, I had been catcalled before, but never stalked to the point where I was legitimately afraid for my life.

I dared to glance behind my back, sighing in relief once I saw that there was no one there anymore. “Holy fucking shit…” I finally allowed myself to breathe, leaning against a wall of a building hidden in the shadows. There was a store on the first floor, but it had been shut for a while by the looks of it - the windows were covered with old newspapers, and the door sign that marked it as a hardware store also looked a bit outdated. Something about its placement looked offbeat however, it made me wonder if that was the reason why they had gone off the market... it couldn't have been easy to captivate customers being so hidden down an alleyway.

At least the storefront had an awning where I could shelter from the rain - not that it was worth much now that the water had seeped through all the layers of my clothes, but at least it gave me a little solace. My body was freezing, but there was still so much adrenaline running in my system that I didn't even notice I was shaking until I felt my teeth chatter.

All I wanted to do was go back home, take a warm shower, go to bed, and forget that this terrible, terrible day had ever happened… but I couldn't, not just because Andrew should still be there by now, but also because I was hearing heavy footsteps again, coming from somewhere close – probably one of the streets surrounding me. I covered my mouth with my hand and slipped further into the darkness, silently praying for a way out to help me get home safely.

As if the universe was listening to my prayers, once I pressed my body against the wall where I thought I was less likely to be spotted, my ears took notice of a drumming coming from within the building I was hiding outside of. That was when I finally realized where exactly I was. I had heard about this place – The Hardware – through the vine before. It was a homey thing. A private club. I had a few friends who came often, but I had never… I had always assumed for the place to be a bit dodgy – Why would its existence be made known solely by a word of mouth system if they had nothing to hide, after all?

But now it was my best option...

I could hear the voices and steps becoming louder and clearer. They were getting closer – I knew if I stayed here, it was only going to be a matter of time until they found me…

So I rang the doorbell - relentlessly, until I finally saw the sliding peephole pulling open, and a set of eyes come into view - a set of surprisingly kind, light in color and sober looking eyes. A deep voice followed before I managed to get a single word out. “Password please.” It asked pressingly.

The request surprised me… I knew the place was restrictive, but never in a million years would I have expected to be asked for a bloody password. “Uh...” I rambled for a beat, searching every corner of my brain for something, anything... surely my friends had mentioned it around me before... but of course I hadn't thought to memorize it. “I can’t remember what it is, but-”

“Sorry dear.” The man interrupted, sounding more like a record when he said, “No password, no entry.”

“No, no, no – listen, you’ve got to let me in.” I muttered urgently, before he got the chance to close the peephole in my face. “These guys- they’re chasing me and I'm alone out here.” I hated the way my voice sounded – all pitchy and wavery from despair, but I was too nervous to stay quiet. “ Please, just for a little while. I'll be out in a minute, I swear.”

I figured my hopelessness had somehow appealed to this man’s heart, because he seemed to be actually debating over my words, eyes focused on mine until he finally asked, “What’s your name?”

“Tracy.” I shivered. “Tracy Turner.”

It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for the door before me to creak open. Automatically, my lips parted to thank whoever kind soul had agreed to let me inside, but the gentle touch of their hand on my back ushered me in before I could.

When inside, the first thing I noticed were the clouds of smoke swirling in the air… and the colorful cocktails and beer being prepared and served at the counter. Brother Louie by Modern Talking rumbled through the club speakers, courtesy of the disco jockey mixing records of swooshing electronic music with heavy basslines.

The atmosphere of the club was interesting, and not nearly as subversive as I had imagined when I learned of the existence of such a place. There didn't seem to be anything illegal going on... there was no contraband or obscene sex happening, just a hodgepodge of fashionable, frizzy haired party people dancing and socializing with each other.

“The rain got you bad,” The raspy voice from earlier caught me off guard once it spoke beside me, making my eyes flicker up to finally get a good look of whoever I’d persuaded into letting me inside the privy club I was at. As I did, I felt warmth wash over me as if I’d soaked into that bath I so desperately craved. He was… a stunner.

Starting with his beautiful eyes that I had already met through the peephole - specked with shades of green and blue that reminded me of a forest pond. His eyes wouldn't be that big of an issue though… if only the rest of his face wasn’t just as equally mesmerizing - with lips the color of watermelon sorbet and features just like they describe in romance novels. Even his hair was dreamy, for god’s sake... sleek, yet messy with the occasional self-willed curl falling over his forehead.

But the worst part had to be the groovy, carefree charm he exuded… that had my foolish heart skipping a beat when he said, “Christ love, you’re freezing cold…” I was going to tell him I wasn't, in fact it was even quite sweltry inside the bar when compared to the weather outside… but he had just touched my soaked clothes, and he seemed quite distressed over them. “Come with me, yeah? Let's get you something to dry up.”

I nodded and followed him, not wanting to undo his will when he’d been so kind to me. Besides, I figured me, and my wet clothes might be drawing a little too much attention for his liking… supposing that he'd get in trouble with whoever owned this club if they realized I was an intruder he'd let in. He took me behind the bar, and then through a door next to the counter, into the service room – from where he rushed to gather two clean bar towels. “Here,” he said, extending them towards me. “They’re not very big so, if you need more, please just suit yourself.”

“Oh-uhm, one should be fine… and thank you. You really didn't have to.”

“It’s no problem, really.” The guy chuckled, turning around to spread open a beaded curtain at the back of the room. There was a wooden staircase behind it. “Give me a minute, will you? I'll be right back.” He told me, but before I could answer he had already vanished behind the bracket of multicolored beads and was now climbing up the stairs at a brisk pace.

When alone in the room, I finally allowed myself to take a deep breath - something I felt I hadn't done since I'd seen the man. Dear god... tall, handsome, and friendly? No wonder they kept him locked in here… he was a menace to the rest of the male species out there.

I brought one of the towels to my nose out of curiosity, it smelled fresh and flowery. I used it to dry my hair first, squeezing out as much rainwater as I could before I made use of the second towel to wipe my face and clothes. My heart raced when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and even more so when the curtain opened. He held a blanket scarf in his hands, that was promptly laid over my shoulders. “It’s a bit bohemian, but it should keep you warm…” He smiled. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Tracy Turner” I smiled at him, adjusting the blanket over my shoulders a bit. “Thank you, for letting me inside… and the towels, and this. You really didn't have to...”

“Aish… don’t mention it, yeah? It’s the least I could do.” He turned his back to me for a moment, but the lack of answer from my part had his head tilting around to face me. “Are you okay?”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. It was just… a bad night, to say the least.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, “Those guys that were bothering you… what’s up with that?”

“I don’t know them. I was out for a walk when they approached me- I would’ve ignored them, but I was upset ‘cause I had gotten into a fight with my boyf- I mean, ex. He’s my ex.” Harry's brows jumped at my admission. His reaction intrigued me, but I didn't know what to make of it, so I carried on. “I talked back at them. And from there they started following me and wouldn’t-” My talking got cut off by one of the bartenders swinging the door open. Her eyes widened as she poked her mullet head inside. She reached for a bottle behind me, muttering a small “Sorry,” as she left. Her surprised reaction reminded me that I was an intruder in this club, and even more so in its service room. “Are you sure it's okay for me to be here? I don't want you to get in trouble with your boss over this...” I asked Harry, feeling a little sheepish.

He chuckled at my assumption. “Nah... you’re fine. Boss's a tranquil guy.” He said, pausing for an instant before finally adding, “It’s me. I’m the boss.” He smiled at my surprised face before bending down to pick up the towels I'd used. “Which, by the way... if there’s a next time you want to come, the password is Clandestine. Feel free to spread it around with friends, yeah? But only the nice ones...”

My mouth parted around a stunned breath, too puzzled to speak as I watched him toss the used towels onto a basket to wash. “Wait, so you actually want me to spread the word around?” I asked, what made his head snap up with a nod. “I thought- Isn't this like- a super exclusive club? As in, a ‘to be kept on the hush’ club?”

“Well… it is, sort of, but it still needs promotion and new customers just as much as any regular club does...”

My brows knit slightly. “Why not just make it a regular club, then?”

“Honestly?” Harry’s expression sobered as he leant back against a cupboard and crossed his arms. “Do you want the absolute, unfiltered truth Tracy Turner?” He asked menacingly, although his face was still traced with humor. I nodded positively, mirroring his stance. “Okay well, let’s see… It’s homier. The taxes are cheaper. I don't have to entertain idiots I don't want in here, plus... the secretiveness keeps the customers coming. People love secrets, Tracy Turner… and love to spread them too, it’s why new people show up here every day.”

“So how do you keep it a secret and promote it at the same time? That sounds like a catch-22 situation.”

Harry coughed a genuine laugh at my question, angling his head a little to the side in thought. “Well, I’d say the key to the deal is finding balance between periods of admission and restriction for new customers, and of course, changing the password from time to time to keep that feel of exclusivity… Oh! and never revealing any of this to any curious, pretty customers who ask…” He said, and then with a cheeky smile gracing his features, he added, “Suppose I still have a bit of work to do on that last one, hm?” He winked, and I felt my cheeks blush but luckily, he saved me the embarrassment of answering when he turned around and casually asked, “Do you like hot chocolate, Tracy Turner?”

“I- um, yes. I like hot chocolate.” I mumbled, taking a curious peek over his shoulder to see what he was up to – drinking chocolate, obviously.

My tongue was itching to tell Harry that he didn’t have to make me one, but the thing was… I wasn’t sure that he was making it for me, and I didn’t want to risk making a fool of myself, so I decided to keep quiet (and also, an eye out to make sure he wasn't spiking it… better safe than sorry, isn’t that what they always say?

“Do you want sugar in yours?”

I breathed out in relief at the question. Finally. A chance to say something. “Oh no, I’m okay.” I spat quickly, ignoring his question. “You don’t have to make me one.”

“Are you not in the mood for one?” He asked, looking a little let down by my response. “It’s on the house... I wasn’t planning to charge you for it.”

I contemplated saying I wasn’t but honestly, a cup of hot chocolate sounded fantastic… warm, sweet, and soothing to my sad, empty stomach. “No. I am, but-” I reached for my purse, to pull out my wallet. “I'll pay for it.”

“Sure, alright.” Harry shrugged, extending out an open hand. “Cadbury is ten dollars a spoon. I added two, plus the milk… that'll be thirty dollars, please.” My eyes widened at his price, unsure if he was joking but praying he was. “I'm kidding. It's free, okay? No one ever buys it so you're doing me a favor just by helping me drink it.”

I drew in a breath, feeling my cheeks warm as I hesitantly breathed out my response, “Oh-um… okay, then.”

Harry’s dimples winked at me. “Soo.. sugar?”

“Just half a spoon, please.”

I stood silent for a while as I admired Harry finish stirring the chocolate in our drinks and putting them to warm in the microwave. Once it dinged, he opened the fridge and took out a can of Reddi-wip, that he used to top our drinks with a swirl Chantilly cream. Plus a dash of cinnamon powder.

“Alright. There you go, Tracy Turner.” He said, handing me one of the amber colored glass mugs. “Is it good? Warm enough?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” I said, even before I put the edge to my mouth to taste it. “It looks beautiful too, with the cinnamon...”

Harry chuckled, lifting the mug to his mouth for a sip. A lick of whipped cream underlined his top lip, stuck to his stubble. I broke a smile at it, until he got the hint and wiped it off. Shaking his head and turning a light shade of pink, he murmured sheepishly “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

I wanted to tell him that I found it cute, but I refrained from it. That would be weird to say to a stranger, wouldn’t it?

“It’s okay.” I said instead, “It happens to me all the time too.” My face lowered to my mug and as if to prove a point, a thin strand of hair flit from my fringe and dipped right into the whipped cream. “See?”

Harry was staring at my face, but his attention seemed to be on something other than my messy ways. “Do you like it? Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s… really good.”

We finished our drinks in between shared moments of comfortable silence and casual conversation. I liked the way Harry talked to me, like he genuinely wanted to get to know me. He would ask about my interests, in a spontaneous and casual way. All small things, really… such as what part of town I liked the most and what kind of gigs I liked to go to. To be completely frank, I was enjoying the attention more than anything else... even though I knew it was cordial.

What could I say? Being the target of someone’s interest and company felt nice for a change. Really nice. Nice enough to make me overlook the chilly temperature outside to have a cigarette at the back of the bar, just so we could keep talking.

“What did you come down here for? It's too cold for you outside!” Harry scolded me. Half seriously, half-jokingly when he saw me walk out the back door right after he'd told me he was going for a smoke… but would come back to pester me some more in no time. His words, not mine.

“I’m here for the same thing you are.” I laughed, taking my pack of cigarettes and lighter out of my bag. I lit one, trying my best to ignore my shaky lips and fingers as I took the first puff.

“You could’ve smoked inside. I just don't do it out of habit, but everyone else does…”

“It's fine. I'll have to go home in a bit anyway, so it's not like a little cold now is going to make much difference.” I chuckled behind the smoke coming from my mouth.

We smoked quietly for a while, leaning against the back wall side by side until Harry broke the silence with a question, “May I ask where you live?” I was going to tell him my address, but his hand stole my attention when it touched my wrist. “Don’t hit me with street names please, I can never figure my way around like that.”

Harry’s grip dropped the next second, leaving behind a tingly vacancy. I felt like my reasoning had left with his touch, but thankfully after a silent note I finally managed to ask, “Do you know where the Hotel Majestic is?” He hummed around his cigarette in confirmation. “It's on that street. Not the one that shows the front of the hotel, but one of the sides.” I clarified, taking another conscious drag.

“But you walked here, right?” He asked, blowing out a thick cloud of white smoke into the air. I nodded. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up?”

“Oh no, I wish...” I jerked my shoulders, partially to hide a shiver. “I don't mind the walking though, it's not that far anyway...”

Harry opposed. “I can't let you walk home by yourself at this hour…” He affirmed with a brisk shake of his head as he reached down to put out his cigarette on the sidewalk. “Especially after what you told me happened earlier.” He threw the butt in the trash and held the lid open, noticing I was putting mine out too. “I'll drive you home, okay? Just give me a few minutes to shut everything down. We’re already pushing past closing time anyway.”

“No I- I can't accept that.” I fretted, tossing my cigarette into the bin after him. I didn't comment on it, but I liked the fact that he was careful not to leave his cigarette butts on the floor… or on the flower beds by the door. “You've already done too much for me, plus I'm used to walking around at night and nothing ever happened... other than that thing earlier, but I'm sure it won't happen again anytime soon.”

I held Harry's blanket tighter around me when a gust of wind blew over us, making the pink flowers tremble in their beds. Thankfully, Harry felt the cold too and walked to the door, opening it. “It will definitely not happen tonight, because I’m taking you home...” He said calmy as he ushered us back inside. “I’ll keep you company walking in case you don't want to get in my car… which I completely understand if you don’t, by the way.”

“No, it’s not that- it’s just… not necessary. I go for walks at night all the time and-”

“I want to, okay?” Harry ensured, smiling. “You are fun to talk to, Tracy Turner. And I want to get to know you better, so… if you think I'm insufferable you better speak now, ‘cause otherwise I'm not budging.”

I huffed, hoping it would blow the giddiness off my face. “Alright. Fine, under the condition that you'll let me help around a little while you close the club.”

Harry snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the walls. “Do you have any experience working in the field, Miss Tracy?”

I pursed my lips at the question. “Not exactly but I do have loads of experience scrubbing counters, washing dishes, sweeping and mopping floors.”

“That's a deal, then.” Harry grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m hiring you for the night, Tracy Turner. Better not let me down.”

I grabbed it immediately, thinking he was going for a playful handshake. Instead, he led me out of the service room – his hand clasping mine until we were back behind the bar, with our senses getting swarmed by the loud and smokey atmosphere going on in the club's main room.

Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell seemed to have awakened the craziest side of the dancing part of the audience, that gathered in front of the DJ booth jumping with their arms in the air. They looked to be having a great time, which made me feel a little sorry when I saw Harry wave at the jokey and mutter something about wrapping things up.

The man nodded once, but let the tape run until the song ended. His kindness didn't amount to much, however… for as soon as the music stopped, a roar of boos and hoos broke through the sudden silence, coming from a batch of disgruntled heads in crowd.

“Hey-hey, cool down peeps!” Harry shouted from behind the counter. He didn't look miffed by their complaints however, but more so entertained in a way. “There'll be more of the same tomorrow. Same time, same place… We’ll be having a Run DMC tribute night- make sure not to miss it! Those are always fun!”

I waited for most of the clients to clear out before I turned to Harry again, “So… what can I do?” I asked, looking around.

“Oh uhh… you can… let’s see… go have a seat?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Seriously love, you don’t have to do anything...”

“Yes but I want to!” I replied convincingly. “Okay. Tell me, should I go wipe the tables or... wait! I need to pick all the glasses first, don’t I? Can I use a tray for leverage or is that lame?”

The mullet girl from earlier laughed at my noticeable lack of experience, what Harry saw as a chance to introduce me to her, along with the rest of the staff members. “So… this is Tracy. Today’s her first day and, by the look of things… the last day she’ll be working with us also.”

His playful nagging got them to laugh but caused my lips to go droopy from dejection. “Hey! How come? I haven't even broken anything yet...”

“Yet.” Harry rehashed my word. I pouted again. “Aiish… don't pout with those pretty lips at me! That’s playing dirty…” He bantered, before head-signaling towards the tables area. “I’ll clear them and you wipe after me. How does that sound?”

He thought my lips were pretty?

“Sounds good.” I nodded, trying not to pay too much attention to what he'd said about my lips.

It was just a form of expression...

Surely. It had to have been that… And yet, the fact that I believed so did nothing to stop that sentence of his from lingering in the back of my mind the entire time we worked together cleaning the tables.

Was he interested? I thought his lips to be quite nice too… especially when they split into a big smile or laugh at something I said or did. I really liked the way he carried himself too… his easy breezy attitude… tall physique… bedraggled hair...

Crap! Was I interested?

No. I couldn’t be… Harry was just handsome. Very handsome, and acting all nice and attentive towards me. Plus it was Valentine’s Day, and I had just broken up with mine...

I was just vulnerable and needy.

That was what I was choosing to let myself believe, because how else would I justify my craving for another man already? What kind of person did that make of me?

I should be at home crying for the idiot who let me down, or for the duck in orange sauce that I never got to eat, but instead I was back at the rear of the bar, watching a cloud of smoke break through a practical stranger's lips, wondering if they tasted as deliciously pink as they looked…

“I was just realizing,” Harry started, smiling sideways at me. “You haven’t told me what you do for a living yet…”

“Oh.” I jolted, feeling a little embarrassed about the answer I had to give him. I had been counting my blessings over the fact he hadn't asked me, but I knew it was only a matter of time until my luck ran out. “I work at a five-and-dime near where I live… It’s not the nicest job but… I make do.”

“I get it.” He claimed through a puff. “Is there something you’d like to do, if not that?”

“You’ll poke fun at me if I tell you.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Yes you will, but fine – I guess I’ll tell you.” I sighed through the wave of smoke that surrounded us. “Ever since I was little I’ve always wanted to work for the radio – like, as a host. I don’t know why; I just… have some sort of fascination for it, I suppose.”

“No fucking way... Really?” Harry’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. “Have you ever tried it? With proper radio equipment and all that…”

“Oh, I wish... but no, never.” I said wistfully.

Harry smiled, with one of those smiles where the eyes shine brighter than the teeth. “Would you like to? Right now?” My face scrunched, confused until he said, “There’s a setup upstairs…”

“Are you pulling my leg?” I asked above the grin splitting my face in two.

Judging by the smug smile staring back at me, it didn't look like he was... he looked plenty serious, even when my obvious excitement made him cough a laugh as he spat, “Swear on my life!”

“Your bar has a radio station?” I asked full steam ahead, still a little in disbelief but undeniably excited. “Is it open? Can we go see it?”

“Not the bar, it’s um- it’s in my house. I live upstairs. On the first floor.” Harry clarified, through sheepish pink cheeks. “I’ll still take you to go see it if you want to, I just thought I should let you know before… in case you didn’t feel comfortable going there just us.”

“Oh, um- I’m comfortable if you are. You don’t have to take me though, if you don’t want to...”

“Will it make you happy, Tracy Turner?” He asked. I nodded. Our eyes sparkled. “Then I want to.”

And so it was. Once we had finished our cigarettes, Harry led me upstairs. Up the stairs hidden behind the beaded curtain and through a hallway in his house that looked more like it belonged inside a 70’s office room, than as part of a home. “Are we alone or are your parents around?” I whisper asked as we walked. Harry shot me a funny look. “I’m just asking to know if we need to keep it quiet, that’s all…”

“They never lived here. My dad used to own the place though… but he gave it to me once they shut down the station a couple years ago.” He stared up at the cork covered ceiling as we walked. “This room I’m taking you to used to be one of the main radio rooms I think..? It's cluttered in old stuff I haven’t gotten rid of yet… that’s also why that bad boy over there is still around-” He flicked the light on.

“Woahh…” My gaze danced over the setup in front of me. The only things I knew what they were for were the reel to reel tape recorder, the mic and headphones and the soundboard mixer. That didn't make me any less excited, however. “Does it work?”

“Mhmm…” Harry hummed. “Bet you’re dying to play with it, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked through a breathy laugh.

“Oh yeah… super-duper obvious.” He chuckled back. “Alright, you can take that chair near the microphone and put on the headphones. As for me… let’s see if I still remember how to crank this thing up and get it going.”

I did as Harry said, waiting patiently while he checked and adjusted a bunch of cables and wires around. I tried to pay attention to what he was doing, but his concentrated face was way more appealing. The creases showing between his arched brows, his lips slightly pursed…

“Okay so- the soundboard.” He started, plopping down on the other chair and rolling over its wheels until we were sat side by side. “As you can see it has loads of buttons and being honest, I don’t know what all of them do so for now let’s focus on this volume slider here and this yellow button, which is basically what you want to move whenever you want to speak. So if I do this,” He clicked the button and made the switch go up on the board. “We should be on-air.”

“Can people really hear us?” I whispered, pulling slightly away from the microphone.

“Well… I can't promise you that there’s someone tuned in on the other side but in case there is, then yeah… they can hear us.” Harry replied quietly, before he leaned closer to me. “So, if there’s any messages you’d like to share with the world, now would be the time to do it.”

“The whole world?” I gasped.

“Okay… that might have been a slight exaggeration. Not the whole world, maybe just one local or two. Which, speaking of,” He leaned over our shared microphone, clearing his throat comically. “Dear listeners if you’re there… don't give up on us yet. We promise we’ll get it together in a second.” I smothered my laughter with my hand, as I leaned back in the swivel chair. Harry pulled the vocal slider down to nil, then with a big smile on his face he turned to me and asked, “Should we hit them with commercial break tapes from 20 years ago?”

“Oh yeah, let's.” I agreed at first, but then my eyes fell on the record player. “No, wait- actually, can we play some music first?”

“What do you want to play?”

“What are my options?”

“Well... most like- tapes and shellac options are from the 60's and 70's but one of the tonearms is set up for vinyl, so we can play some recent stuff too.” I nodded and acted like I was on topic. I didn't own any vinyl’s… the way I got my music was by sitting next to the five-and-dime’s radio player waiting for my jams to play so I could hit the ‘record’ button quickly enough. It was free and easy… then all I had to do was pray the DJ didn’t ruin my recording with any mid-song nonsense. -- “We have… Tears for Fears… Beastie Boys… Foreigner! That would make for a great choice, in my opinion...” Harry tipped, trying to influence me. I scrunched my nose. “Let’s see what else… Pixies, MJ… Oh! And my personal favorite at the moment… Laura Branigan!”

“No way!” I yelped. She was one of my current favorites as well. “You don’t happen to have Self Control, do you?”

“I like to think I have some, yeah…” Harry bantered, as he moved through his queued up records.

“No… I meant the record… by Laura Branigan.”

“On it, Tracy Turner.” He winked, moving to get the disc out of its cover. He placed it on one of the turntables, then flicked some stuff onto the board, arranged the tonearm over it and lo and behold, we were playing music!

“You know… you say my name a lot.” I commented out of curiosity, or just to see what he’d say really.

He chuckled at the question, scratching at his stubble before answering. “I like your name. It’s a good name.”

“And what exactly defines a good name, hm?”

“It’s a name I like saying?” He left it at that, letting the music fill the silence for a few seconds before throwing me is own sudden question. “What’s your favorite song? In general, not just this record.”

I pursed my lips in thought for a moment. “Ummm… I really like that Billy Idol one they were playing earlier downstairs. Oh, and A Kind of Magic by Queen! I freakin’ love that song… Yours?”

“Oof… let me think…” He took a big breath as he did so. “I really like… Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel. That’s a good song…”

I snorted, shaking my head. “That’s a dirty song, Harry.”

“Okay but… Rebel Yell is pretty dirty too and you just said that you liked it…” My head cocked to the side in consideration. “But I mean at this point it's a bit like, what gives, isn’t it? If you think about it, there are sex related bits and pieces in every song… and it makes sense… since sex is like, a universal language almost. Everyone loves it.”

“Ehh… you’re right about the songs. I don’t know if I agree with that last bit so much though.” I said honestly, what brought Harry’s eyes to narrow with heed. “It must be good for you guys I suppose… but us girls... most times than not, we’re left feeling achy and unsatisfied.” I clarified myself, knowing he’d ask me to.

“What?” He questioned instantly. “Is that how the people you've been with made you feel?”

“Hmmm... not always. There were times better than others, but I never got to, you know… finish.” I didn’t know how he managed to pull that away from me… I had never admitted that to anyone, but with Harry it was like by the time I realized, I had already told him. “But it's one of those things that makes me think that maybe the problem is mine. Like, maybe I can't because my body isn't made to do it.”

“Yeah no. That’s not true love, and you know it. All bodies are made to feel pleasure, so sorry to tell you but you’ve been having sex with sloppy blokes... or blokes who didn't really know what they were doing. Most times it's more like that.” Harry paused, looked down and then rose his eyes up to me again. “Can I ask you something really personal? You don’t have to answer it though, if you don’t want to.”

“Sure, go ahead.” I agreed with a small smile.

“Have you- erm, never touched yourself before- I mean… to the point of.. finishing?”

Shit. That one caught me off guard, and also made me stutter slightly, “I-uh… I have, yeah… I know what an orgasm is. I've had them before, just never with another person.” I chatted on, a little nervous about letting the conversation fall into silence. “...But to be fair I know it's harder for girls to get there… and for boys to figure out how we work-”

“It's not harder, it's just different…” Harry responded calmly. He sounded like he was sure of what he was saying too. Which addled me a bit at the time, but started to make perfect sense once he added, “Look, I'm not going to sit here pretending to be a saint to impress you... I've fooled around a bit when it comes to these things - girls, boys, in-betweeners... I mean, you name it… I probably did it. So believe me when I tell you, the fact that you're a girl has little to do with it. If a guy really wants to give you an orgasm, he won't give up until he gets you there. No matter how hard it is or how long it takes… and he’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Shit... Shit.

I couldn't tell if it stemmed from his words or the way he seemed so lost in my eyes when he said them, but something about that moment made my temperature soar to the point that my head felt tipsy.

“You’ve slept with men before?” I asked suddenly, trying to shift the topic to something that distracted me from those last words of his echoing inside my head.

Judging from the way his brows creased, I could tell his mood had shifted a little at my question. “Is that a problem to you?”

“No, no – God, not at all. It’s um... it's hot, actually.” I felt my cheeks burn at the admission, but when his beautiful smile followed it, it made the embarrassment worth it.

Harry’s arm, that was placed on the table, bent over his elbow. “Mm… is it?” He pried teasingly, resting his head on his hand just so he was staring right at me. “And why is that?”

“I don’t know, it just is.” I laughed, shyly covering my face with my hands. “Can we move on with the subject, please? This one is sort of making me want to jump out the window.”

“No, I quite like this subject.” Harry insisted jokingly, “You’re cute when you squirm, did you know that?” His question spawned a groan from me. He laughed at it, but when I dared to meet his gaze again, he looked solemn… contemplative, “It makes me wonder…” He added calmly, looking down for a beat before his eyes darted up to mine. “If that’s how you get when you finish. And I think I would like to help you find out.”

My heart skipped a beat at his suggestion, but contrary to expected it didn't make me gasp or yelp. I wasn’t jolted like by it like I probably should have been… mostly because the same want had been hammering in my mind too. “I think I would like that, but-” I sighed, before I carried reluctantly. “I don't think we should, at least not-”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s all good. You don't owe me an explanation… if anything, I should be apologizing for my bluntness.” I felt his fingertips brush along a strand of my hair, so delicately that I could’ve dreamed it. “I just hope it didn't make you uncomfortable...” I shook my head in denial, not trusting my tongue to respond when my body was practically melting under his touch. “Would you like me to take you home now?”

“No”, my heart answered honestly, but realistically I knew I had no reason to stay longer now that sex was out of the equation. “Yeah, that- that would probably be good.” I answered, looking down to avoid his eyes – otherwise I didn’t know what I might do.

“Alright-” Harry stretched as he stood from his chair, allowing me to catch a glimpse of the skin of his belly as his t-shirt rose slightly. But my body heated up even more once I noticed the swelling happening at the front of his jeans, letting me in on the fact that our conversation had left him as hot and bothered as it had me. That wasn’t helping. The knowledge that I’d made him hard was only making me want to leave less. “Just give me a sec to go get my keys.” He petted my hair as he squeezed behind my chair to go fetch his car keys from another room of the house.

I groaned silently as I watched him go. He seemed so calm and collected despite the bulge in his pants. That was what was making my head reel the most… how okay he was with my rejection. It wasn't very usual for men to react so well to something like that… meanwhile, Harry hadn't even tried to steal a kiss! Something I was partly thankful for, but then at the same time I kind of wished he had – if only he knew I was a heartbeat away from having a change of heart, maybe he would 've…

After all, what was keeping me from going through with this? Andrew?

Granted, we hadn't formally broken up yet… but I was planning to do that in a few hours once he came over to get his stuff – knowing him, probably with flowers and chocolates and more empty promises to try to get me to change my mind, but I wasn't going to fall for that. Not after finding out there were interesting people like Harry out there…

Harry, well… he made me curious. He was sweet, straightforward, open-minded, and most importantly, he seemed like the kind who knew how to make it good for both parties the bedroom. I wanted that for myself. I had for a while, actually… but whenever I thought to broach the topic with someone, I always ended up feeling like I was being too picky or painting my sex life to be horrible when it wasn’t. I enjoyed sex… just never got to enjoy it thoroughly like other people did. Honestly, it felt like whenever things started to feel that good for me, it ended – and I was left pent-up.

It wasn't as if opportunities like these came every day, though. Not with men like Harry at least...

“Ready to go?” He asked as he peeked back inside the room, smiling warmly at me whilst fiddling the keys in his hand.

I got up from the chair, leaving behind the blanket Harry had lent me and the little willpower I had left before I walked to meet him at the door. And when his hand reached for the handle to open it, I surprised him and even myself by darting mine over to stop him. He looked at me in question. “I uh- I changed my mind.” I blurted.

Harry’s face relaxed, but the dark in his eyes gleamed brighter. “You sure?” He breathed into the short distance between us. I felt the question more than I heard it.

“Yeah.” I replied in a whisper. “I am.”

A lopsided smile warped his features, as his arm reached behind to place his car keys on the windowsill. He reached up to fondle my face, gently guiding my chin up just so I looked into his eyes. “I wish I could tell you how happy it made me to hear that, but I think perhaps I'd be better showing you in another way...”

He was still cradling my face as his head dipped down. My eyes shut expectantly, but I felt his lips touch my forehead first… and then my cheek… and my nose. Softly, unhurriedly… as if he was savoring the anticipation. A pant of desire formed in my throat, so visceral I couldn't keep it to myself—I let it out, and only then did his mouth move away from my skin, lowering to press against my lips.

A shaky breath left the both of us as our lips wringed together, blending as one. His scent enveloped me, penetrating deep into my senses. He tasted like warm chocolate and tobacco – intense and beyond compare… just like his kiss,

And I needed more of it.

It’s why I twisted my fingers through the loops of his jeans and pulled him closer. “Mm, fuck…” Harry groaned, blindly goading me backwards so he would pin me against the door. His hips rutted against mine instinctively, while mine rocked back persuasively. “Eager, aren't you? Am I making you feel good?”

I whispered, low and lewd against his mouth. “You’re a great kisser.”

“It's your mouth bringing it out of me. So… fucking… sweet.” He drew his other hand up to my jaw as well, holding it whilst his lips carried on tasting mine in between each muttered word. “I want to give you that orgasm… It's driving me mad, it’s all I can think about…”

“Yeah..? You think you have what it takes?” I teased, causing his hands to drop from my face and grip at my hips instead. And the next time his rolled over mine, he did it to let me know he had that and more.

“I'll give you as many as you want, I can promise you that. A gorgeous, lovely girl like you won't be leaving my bed unsatisfied.”

“And where’s that bed at, exactly?”

Our lips remained glued together as he guided me out of the hall, until our bodies melted away into the darkness of the corridor. We bumped into a few things here and there, but honestly I didn't even feel the impacts - my body was too focused on the desire Harry was making me feel.

He walked me backwards into his bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. The curtains were open, and the streetlight illuminated the room enough - bathing it in stark shades of yellow and orange. I was too distracted to notice the decor details, but I noticed he had some interesting posters and art pop prints on the walls, a television on top of the wooden dresser that must have been inherited from his grandfather, tacky curtains like mine... frankly I noticed a lot, except that his bed was a mattress on the floor – Until I tripped and fell on top of it.

Harry came down with me, falling on his knees between my legs. “Pretty and clumsy… could you get any cuter, Tracy Turner?” He smiled, leaning over to bump his nose on mine. “Are you okay? Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“No.” I giggled, “Just my tush, but it’s gone now...”

“Oh,” He chuckled, whilst carefully urging me up in the mattress to lean back against his pillows. “‘S a shame it’s gone… I was starting to look forward to kissing it better…” He teased, leaning over further until his body encircled mine from above. My breath caught in my throat at the sudden proximity, and his proposition. No one had ever offered to kiss me there, but I would let Harry if he wanted to – Hell, I would probably let him do anything he wanted at this point. “Guess that means I’ll still get to kiss your perfect mouth some more, so I can’t say I mind.”

I could feel Harry’s hips recommencing their rubbing against mine – gradually increasing the friction as our breaths became more labored with desire. He was taking his time though… we were both still fully clothed, and his hands and mouth hadn't gone any lower than my neck yet,

It surprised me.

Any other guy would have tried to strip my clothes off the moment I got into their bed, but Harry hadn’t – He was simply enjoying the moment for what it was and making the most of it… and frankly, that was turning me on immensely.

I'd never been the kind of girl to make the first move, but I felt like I was on the edge of exploding from want if I didn’t. I wanted more. I needed more, so I started to strip him off his jacket… and failed to stifle a laugh once he looked at me and smirked knowingly. “What?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“No, it’s nothing.” He chuckled against my mouth, pulling the jacket the rest of the way off his body. My hands roamed around his chest as our lips touched. I could feel warmth under his heartbeats. Reactive flesh too - what had me eager to remove the remainder of his clothes. My hands rose beneath the hem of his shirt… dragging it up and shedding it off. Longing to get closer. To see more. To feel more.

His body shape was different than I’d imagined – unmistakably beautiful, but different. Most of his strength seemed to be stored around his chest and abdomen. He looked fit, but still felt soft around the edges. The lax in his posture made him curve forward, as if he was made to hug, to nest.

His hands reached for the waistband of my skirt, untucking my turtleneck blouse from under it. I giggled once the neckband got stuck over my nose momentarily as he peeled it off. I shook the unruly hairs away from my eyes, and once I could see again, I found Harry looking at me. Not just at my bare chest - at me. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, tracing my jaw with his fingertips. I took a heavy inbreath as I felt his touch outline the round contours of my neck and breasts.

“So are you.” I breathed feebly, using the tips of my fingers to limn over his torso the same way his did over mine. “Harry… I need you-”

“I know, sweet girl. I know.” He said, slanting us back down over the mattress. His hands loosened up the rest of the buttons down the front of my skirt, until it snapped open at the middle. Leaving my pastel pink underwear exposed through my thin nylon pantyhose.

Desperate, I lifted my bum up for Harry to strip me off them, but he had other plans. He bent down to taste my mouth again, and from my lips, his trailed an invisible path down my ribs, suckling on my breasts… circling my belly button… leaving me breathless and leaky until he reached my knees, where he began to unzip my boots.

Once those were off, he flipped me to lay on my belly, and my ass immediately rose in the air. I wanted him to rip my stockings apart and penetrate me right there without further delay.

I wasn’t normally like this, but Harry was leaving me beside myself. The ringing inside my skull was a mantra for more. More, more, more. I wanted more of him. I wanted him inside. I needed him to fill me.

The sound of his belt unbuckling was enough to make me moan softly, “Harry, please… I’m all sticky…”

“Fuck baby… That- that’s good. That’s how I want you…” My back arched up higher in response, and I nodded in agreement from where my head laid against the mattress.

Only then did he move to peel my stockings down… and still, he halted. Once he had them rucked halfway down my thighs. “You're spotting…” He muttered in amusement. I couldn't see it, but I could definitely sense it. The center of my panties felt icy in contrast to the heat throbbing beneath them. I whimpered when his thumb came to caress me there, pressing the wet fabric into my opening. “I’ll give you what you want, pretty girl… but I want my mouth between your legs first. I want that stickiness coating my tongue.”

“Are you- Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly.

It wasn’t the first time I would be trying that… but usually guys only did it if they couldn’t get me wet enough otherwise, never just because they wanted to, or because it felt good for me. Harry wanted to though, I could tell from the way his blown pupils were eclipsing through the green in his eyes. And from the edge in his voice when he spoke next, “Sure of what? That I want to taste your pussy? Babe, my mouth was watering thinking about it before I even got to kiss you...”

He prod my legs together, reaching to slide my bottom clothes the rest of the way down. I felt him lie on his stomach between my legs, so I spread them further apart. “…You’re this gorgeous down here too? How’s that fair, hm? Trying to make me burst in my pants?”

“Noo… don’t stare!” I stressed, feeling my cheeks warm. “I haven’t- trimmed in a while…”

“Hush, love. Just... relax, okay? Let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah okay. I’ll try to…I’ll try to- Ohh! Harry-” I groaned once his mouth hedged my pussy. The feeling I got from getting licked in this position was… unlike any other I’d felt lying on my back. My lips were spread-open, leaving my bud unsheltered and more susceptible to the advances of his tongue.

And gosh, it was advancing without any apprehension. Harry’s face was practically buried in my pussy. Kissing it… licking it… making me moan out his name, just for him to grunt out my own in return.

“God, you taste so good…” He muttered as he pulled away, breathing shallowy. “Do you want me to go inside you? Would that feel good?”

“Yes!” I gasped, not bothering to try and disguise my enthusiasm. “Yes. Yes, Harry. Inside would feel so good.”

“Okay but- Let’s just turn around first, yeah? I wanna see your pretty face while it goes in.” I flipped onto my back, just in time to catch the moment Harry zipped down his jeans. He was so hard that his tip was peeking through the waistband of his jockey briefs. I swallowed thickly. I had always turned up my nose at colorful men's underwear... but heck, if my opinion wasn’t changing drastically before my eyes...

His cock bobbed freely once he stripped himself out of the orange, stripy fabric. His head was ruddy and glossy with precum, the base thick, with a slightly aslant curve to the right that stood out in the midst of his bush. “He’s all-right, isn’t he?” Harry joked when he noticed my fazed looking.

“He- well, he is…” I laughed, then extended my arm. “Come here…” He crawled back over the mat, to hover on top of me. “It's perfect. And looks like it'll feel really good...”

“It will. It will feel so good...” He kissed me again, transferring my own scent from his lips to mine. “I’ll make it feel so good...” I licked myself off his tongue without shame, soaking up my juices like I did to his spit. I felt his arm raise over my head, but it was the noise of a vase being stirred that ultimately made me pull away to see what he was up to.

“Really? A vase? That’s where you keep your condoms?”

“Well… it keeps them at hand, doesn’t it”

I bit my lip once I saw him kneel and rip the package open. “Yeah, I suppose it does…” I answered at last, watching with curious eyes as he tugged his foreskin back and unrolled the rubber over himself, giving a few testy pumps to make sure we were safe before drawing nearer and nudging his plump tip at my entrance.

His gaze sought mine, waiting for my consent. “You can.” I gasped needily at the feeling of my wetness getting smeared around by him before his hips edged forward, slowly pushing inside me. I moaned at the wholeness. It was a wholeness that didn't hurt like it usually always did at first. No. It was all pleasure this time. Pure bodily pleasure, and it felt so, so good.

“Fuck… it fit so right.” Harry groaned softly, voicing my exact thought as well. “Tell me how to make love to you, baby… I’ll fuck you just the way you like.”

“Harry… please can you- can you move?” I asked, or practically pleaded. “You feel so good and I feel- I feel like I’m already close…”

“Christ… Yes. Yes, I’ll move. I’ll do anything… just- keep holding me like you are, okay? I’ll take care of you.” My nails grazed his back as his hips began to sway, keeping him close. His thrusts felt trained – they made me feel full, but not overly so. He was moving just so his tip brushed upwards inside me, reaching a spot that was making my toes curl with each pump. “Feels good like this?” Harry made a point of asking, wanting to be sure.

“Yes! God, yes. Keep- Keep going like that.”

“Yeah? You like it like that?” He rutted his hips just so his cock pressed deeper into my wetness, although his pace remained the same – unhurried, ponderous, and intense. “Are you going to cum if I keep going like that?”

“Yeah. I- I think so…” I said honestly because I felt like I was. Each gentle squeeze in of Harry within my insides pumped up my internal crescendo, that tingled with growing need. My face clung to the base of his neck. I mewled.

“That's it baby... just feel it. Feel me. Focus on how good it feels… You’re so good for me too... so soft… so warm.”

With my face still tucked into his neck, I wrapped my arms around him too. “H-Harry…” I called his name, as my fingers painted pink rivers across his shoulder blades.

“I know, …Fuck. I know.” He comforted me through my moans, kissing my hair and increasing his pace. I could feel my hips punctually jolting up into his, ruled by all the sensations arcing from the places where our skins thoroughly connected… and then it happened.

My orgasm. It happened.

And it was… mind-blowing. My head felt void as it tilted back against the mattress. My jaw went ajar, and a hoarse whine came through. Harry’s hips stuttered at the sudden grasp of my pussy massaging his cock all over, but he didn't budge until he was sure I had borne every stroke of pleasure he’d bestowed on me.

I whimpered when Harry’s movements came to a sudden halt as he detached himself from me, leaving me tortuously empty. He let out a breathy laugh before leaning to kiss me tenderly. “I'm giving it to you again. Just give me a second…” He laughed, then let out a long breath. “Alright… I think we're good to go again.” He told me, and then asked, “Do you wanna get on your belly like before? With your bum a little raised?”

I smiled eagerly at the suggestion, rolling into a facedown position and raising my hips slightly for him. “Christ…” He murmured at the sight, before settling on top of me. “This one’s a killer for me, so I won't promise I can give it to you like this for long… but I could tell from earlier that you like it too and I want to provide that for you...”

“I don’t mind if you don’t last… it's your turn to cum now. I want to do it in the way that feels best for you.”

Harry grunted against the back of my neck before kissing. “If there's one thing I want you focusing on right now, it's in not saying those filthy little things when I'm about to enter you. Understand?”

“Mhm... Sorry daddy. I won’t do it again.” I said teasingly, guessing it would get him going just like it did to most guys.

“Fuck…” Harry groaned lowly, proving my point as he guided the cock in his stroking hand against my entrance again. “Scoot that bum up, sweet thing. Let me mount you.”

I moaned once his cock set back in its place inside me. It fit snugger and deeper in this position, but the fullness was, once again, nothing but pleasant. One of his arms wrapped itself around my chest to hold me, while the other went down between my legs, so his hand could reach my hardened up clit. His fingers swirled over it. “One more…” Harry’s deep voice breathed against my ear. “Can you?”

“I-Yeah…yeah, I can.” My voice sounded breathy, shaken by his snappy thrusts. “Mm… harder. Hold me harder.” I pleaded, clutching onto his forearm that swaddled my chest. Keeping me close while his pelvis rammed into me from behind. I was stuck to him. Feeling sheltered and safe, but also… small… and bound. That was what was getting me there: the animalistic notion that I wasn’t going anywhere. I was under him. Being made to take whatever he chose to give me.

I shut my eyes and focused on where Harry was hitting that spot, just like he had told me to do before. My walls fluttered around his length moving inside me, making him moan above me. “Come for me again, Tracy.” He urged, panting against the back of my ear. I could feel a pulse roaring from my belly up to my eardrums. “My sweet, pretty girl… Come for me.”

My body tuned in to his request.

My sex spasmed as I climaxed once more, engulfing Harry’s in a beating pad of heat and softness. The raw cry of pleasure that escaped my chest, got quieted by his lips, that dipped down to kiss me as my head tilted back against his chest. “So good… So. Fucking. Good!” He drawled amidst his kisses, forcing his hips to slow whilst we both relished on the waves of my pleasure. “Can I make myself finish too?” Harry questioned against the sticky skin of my forehead. His despair as palpable on the weakened voice in which he spoke, as it was in the pulsing shaft inside me.

“Yeah.” I replied, slightly appalled that he’d even think to ask. “Yeah, please do.”

My body felt soft and pliant once his arms held me close. The creaminess between my thighs bolstering the heaviness of his thrusts as he proceeded to drive into me again. “Aah... you’re making me – ngh. I’m gonna–” His flow began to lose precision. Hips skipping a few whacks in between moans and groans until he met his release at last. His cock slammed fully into me, and he groaned - satisfied once it began to throb, pumping white ooze inside the rubber.

He clung to me in his high, allowing his chest to press fully onto my back for a moment. I welcomed the added weight pining me to the mattress. It felt good… like a warm, heavy blanket to fall asleep under. And I think I would have, had Harry not turned us over so we were facing each other.

“That was…” He puffed his cheeks, through a weary smile. “Shit. Hold on… Let me just-” He got up to discard the condom, and I rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes.

I knew I should probably start getting dressed, but there wasn’t a single part of my body that wanted out of the bubble I was living in lying in Harry’s bed on the floor. A bubble that grew thicker and twice its size once he came to lay back down beside me and pulled me in for a cuddle. “It was really good.” I replied to what he started earlier, smiling sheepishly against his shoulder.

“Yeah?” He ran his fingers over my arm, smiling back. “Good enough to make you want to stay over?”

“Do you want me to?” I asked, biting back a smile.

“Yeah, of course.” He openly admitted, breathing in the moment before speaking again. “I really like you, Tracy Turner… and I wouldn't be saying this if it wasn't true.” His fingers combed through my hair. “I'd like to see you again… regardless of whether we have sex again or not.”

I reached up to fondle his tousled brown curls as well. They were soft and inviting to the touch. “When?”

“You mean when after tomorrow morning?” He joked, like he was already assuming I was staying the night. I never corrected him. “Whenever you want or can. I don’t want to pressure you, I’m just… trying to let you know where I’m at.”

“Okay.” I moved closer, snuggling into his chest. “I’ll see you again...”

“After tomorrow morning?”

--

Harry wiped the granite bar countertop with a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed as he sighed exasperatedly. Seriously, what could be so terrible about opening a bar? Harry could be out dealing drugs, an alcoholic, causing problems within his family. That would be something that shouldn’t be supported. But why? Why not support his dreams of wanting to own something for himself?

“Do you think they’ll come? Gem, they didn’t even reply to my messages. How – I just... I hope they come.”

Gemma felt terrible for Harry, she did. She was thankful her parents have been there for her throughout her career otherwise she wouldn’t have made it but seeing how opposite they were with Harry often upset her. Gemma would always bring it up to their mum, earning herself the same response as always from her. “It’s not a real career, Gemma. He can ask for our help when he realizes that for himself.”

She looked up at her brother from the stool, mirroring his frown. “M’sorry, H. I don’t think I can answer your question but hey, I’m here, yeah? You’ll always have my unconditional support. No matter what you do. Don’t worry about them. Today’s your day.”

Harry’s hands stopped on the counter, his frown ceasing as it shifted to a half smile, then throwing the small rag at her. She always knew what to say to make him feel better about the situation. “Stop it. You’re getting sappy and I can’t be crying out there.”

--

Despite having doubts and thinking it would take a long time before the bar would pick up clientele and traction, it was booming. The bar was doing amazing, and Harry was happy. The number of customers that he rapidly gained was insane. It felt good to see people enjoying their night with good music and a great drink in hand, socializing, destressing, having the times of their lives.

Harry had created a small stage on the bar, going as far as buying basic instruments to adorn the dark wooden platform in case the time ever came. He even created a poster inviting all aspiring artists to come perform, taped on the white stone walls on the outside of the bar.

His employees were all amazing too. It was easy to get along with them. They all had amazing work ethics that Harry admired and rewarded so they’d feel appreciated. Harry often worked alongside them, not liking to be the boss that would just sit back and watch everything happen. He’s always been a hands-on type of man, wanting to lead by example.

Regulars were known by Harry. He knew their names, what they did for work, what drinks they preferred on more stressful days. He loved engaging with them, wanting them to make his bar their favorite local spot which would also bring more clients. It was a win-win.

Harry knew he worked more than he should. If you asked the manager of his bar, Isla, she would definitely say so. Harry was at the bar nearly every day with the excuse of the bar always being busy which wasn’t necessarily wrong.

This very Thursday could attest to that. The counter stools were all filled with sober, half tipsy, and intoxicated people. The round tables around the floor no different. “Harry! Two green tea shots down the counter! On Wilson’s tab!” Isla shouted across towards Harry. He threw the rag onto his shoulder, placing the martini he had just prepared in front of the customer before he was sprinting towards the other end of the counter.

Harry’s hands were quick, two small shot glasses in his big hand, the other pouring into the glasses. He (gently) smacked them down in front of the pair which already seemed too drunk to even comprehend the atmosphere and Harry recognized it was one of his regulars with some company.

“Alright Joe. Hand over the keys, we’re getting you an uber tonight.” It was a regular occurrence. Joe Wilson is a lawyer from around the area, he would come over on Thursdays after work, get absolutely plastered nearly to the point of alcohol poisoning which resulted in Harry taking his keys and calling him an uber home with the man returning the following day for his keys. A vicious cycle for the man.

The night felt so long. Finally, 4 AM creeped around, kicking out the last few drunks before they could all clean the bar and go home. Harry’s back was hurting, his feet felt swollen, and his head was pounding. Nothing new, really.

“I really hope you’re not coming in tomorrow, Harry. You’ve been coming for like, 9 consecutive days. You need a break, dude.” Leo made a great point. Harry did need a break and he was considering it, even if Fridays was typically one of their busiest days.

“I’ll think about it. Think Isla’s off tomorrow so I’ll let Bruno know if I’m coming in or not.” Harry said as he mopped the floor behind the counter spoiled with spilled drinks and dirty shoe marks.

Leo laughed from the stage, cleaning up a pool of bile with his shirt over his nose. “Stay home, Harold!”

But of course, Harry didn’t listen. The ten-hour sleep felt regenerating for Harry. The following morning consisted of a long warm bath, some footie on the telly, and much contemplation of staying home or going into work.

Even though Harry knew Leo most likely told Bruno he wouldn’t be coming in, Harry made note of texting Bruno to let him know of his absence for the night. Only he never did because Harry decided he was going to go in… again… for the tenth night in a row. Insane? Maybe. But he just felt like he had to go. And he’ll take tomorrow off for sure. No harm in one more day.

Harry even opted for another nap so he’d be ready and wide awake for the night. He arrived at the bar at 9 PM, just one hour before opening and Leo busted out laughing the second he saw Harry walk in through the back doors. “You owe me 50, Bruno! He’s here!!”

Bruno’s loud groan filled the bar, followed by a smack on the counter with 50 quad, “Fuckin’ Harold! Would you go home and let me win this bet? I was rooting for you, dude!” Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he went behind the counter, picking up a rag and placing it on his shoulder per usual.

“You’re all ridiculous. I’m taking tomorrow off for sure. So don’t expect me.” But given his lack of absence, Leo snickered and stood right beside Harry with his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that, Harry.”

And before they even realized, it was 10 PM and there was a line at the door, ready to come in and drink the night away.

The bar had a small makeshift dance floor that was often a bit packed which resulted in having costumers that came just for the music. After a long back and forth banter with Leo, the man and his bartender ended up shoving some tables and chairs around to make space and well, he was right. It was a good idea.

Today apparently was the day for the dancers. The dance floor was filled and tight, along with every chair and even the standing area. “Bruno, can you tell Chase to not let anyone else in? S’getting a bit too crowded in here.” Bruno gave Harry a quick nod before sprinting towards the bouncer before another breath can creep into the walls filled with people, sweat, and alcohol.

There was a moment where no one came up to the bar for a drink, giving Harry and the bartenders a second to breathe. Harry nursed a cold water bottle in his hand as he looked around the bar, making sure everything was going smoothly. It was the moment that he brought up the bottle to his lips when he noticed a woman walking away from the tight dancefloor with a worried look on her face, seemingly trying to play off the fact that she might’ve been frightened or startled.

She approached the bar, looking back a few times before sitting on an empty stool which happened to be right in front of Harry. There was no doubt that she was afraid. Her eyes were wide, her forehead seamed sweaty, and the way her hands fell on the counter with a jittery shake confirmed it for Harry.

“Um, do you guys… there’s uh… I think I might need.” The woman swallowed hard, looking behind her shoulder once more as she flashed someone a forced smile. “Sorry I’m just… I would like an angel shot… a neat angel shot.” Harry immediately felt his heart drop. The woman felt uncomfortable and needed to be escorted to her car.

The first thing Harry thought about was making sure it wasn’t obvious. He nodded at her as he poured a clear liquid into a shot glass, placing it in front of her. “S’just water. Take it, and head towards the bathroom. I’ll walk you out through the back.”

The woman nodded at Harry with a nervous smile before downing the ‘shot’, slamming the glass on the counter, and disappearing from his sight. Harry quickly but calmly made Bruno aware of the situation before sneaking out to the back, finding the woman nervously picking on her cuticles in front of the bathroom doors.

“Alright, c’mon.”

Harry walked them out, going around the back of the bar towards the front parking lot where her car should be. Harry had always been the type to want to protect people as much as he could, and this was no different. She guided them to her red sedan, hearing her sigh in something akin to relied once they arrived. “Thank you so much. I felt like.. I thought he would’ve done something to me if I stayed. Sorry for making you leave. Know it’s busy in there and all, don’t mean to get you in trouble with your boss and-“

Harry’s hands held onto her shoulders with a small, comfortable smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I won’t be in trouble and anyone else in there would’ve done the same. We care about the safety of our customers, and anyone really.” Her shoulders dropped, almost as if she let down some sort of weight she felt and her head dropped to his chest, followed by a small sniffle.

“I was just so terrified… You… Thank you.” Her arms came up and wrapped around his waist tightly, taking Harry a bit by surprise. He wasn’t uncomfortable, not at all. But only God knew what the man had done to make her feel so frightened and Harry was able to remove her from the situation.

“You’re welcome. Absolutely.” After a few seconds, she pulled away, using her sleeve to wipe her now runny nose. “Look, even though we safely got to your car, have my number. Let me know when you get home, yeah? Make sure you take a longer route with more turns than usual. Just in case.”

She nodded quickly, shoving her hand in her back pocket to retrieve her phone, quickly punching in her passcode with shaky fingers before handing the device to Harry. He plugged in his number, saving the contact under ‘Harry – The Grog”, texting himself with his name so he’d recognize the number once she’d text him. “M’names Harry, by the way.”

“Oh, good. Thanks.” She grabbed it back, shoving it back into her pocket. “I’m (Y/N). Thank you, again. I really appreciate this. I’ll… I’ll let you know when I get home.”

Harry offered her a kind smile, watching her get into her car with a few more tears shedding down her cheeks and soon pulling away from the car park. He went back inside, more attentive than ever over the crowd, and the frightened woman in the back of his mind. Harry was checking his phone every five minutes, waiting for her message with worry in his chest. But that thankfully subsided when exactly 23 minutes after the text with his name was followed with:  ‘Harry. Hi. I’m home. Thank you. Thank you so much.’ Harry sighed in relief, smiling down at his phone as his fingers typed away.

‘Good, glad you’re home safe. No need to thank me, (Y/N). Have a wonderful rest of your night.’

--

.

.

.

It started off as a normal night. Y/n had met this guy in class and he’d asked her out for drinks. She didn’t get any bad vibes from him, none of her friends had heard anything bad about him, so she deemed him a suitable guy to go have a fun night with.

She’d met him at a bar just off campus and was having a really great night! The pair were dancing and talking and laughing, genuinely enjoying herself for the first time in a long time on a first date.

In Y/n’s experience, usually guys were creeps and girls never decided she was what they were looking for, so she had a hard time in the dating world. This guy, Jack his name is, seemed ok. Keyword being seemed.

She should have known. When he asked to meet her at a bar all the way across town, she should have put it together that he wasn’t what she was looking for. He didn’t put up too big of a fight when she insisted they meet at the bar closer to campus, that way she would know people there and be in a familiar place if she needed to get away from him quickly.

When he started making comments that were off putting to her, things she doesn’t really want to repeat in fear of actually vomiting all over the table, she starts looking for a way out. He keeps trying to play footsie with her under the table and is getting visibly frustrated at her lack of participation, so she tells him she’s going to get them another round of drinks after finishing the one that was already on the table and quickly exits the booth before he can protest.

Harry had been watching from across the room at the bar, seeing this couple who looked like they were on a first date. He watched as they laughed and talked, getting to know each other. But as the night went on, it seemed the woman was getting more and more uncomfortable.

He had told his coworkers to keep an eye out for the two in case anything was to go down, and when he sees her get up and make her way over to his bar, he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“What can I get for you, love?” He asks her, leaning over the counter to hear her better. She sniffles a little, and takes a deep breath. Leans in before timidly asking.

“Can I get an angel shot?”

Harry’s senses are quickly kicked into gear and he nods, gesturing to his coworker that he’s gonna get this taken care of before meeting her on the other side of the bar. What neither of them had realized was that 1. Jack was walking up to them and 2. he had slipped something into her drink apparently because suddenly she could barely hold her own body weight. Harry caught her before she hit the ground and Jack rushed over, playing the part of concerned boyfriend but the bartender saw right through it.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to back up.” He tells the man, authority very present in his voice. Jack doesn’t take well to this, eyebrows furrowing and voice lowering in defense.

“S’cuse me mate, but I’m gonna take my girl home. She’s had a few too many, f’you know what I mean.” He chuckles and goes to scoop her up. Harry stops him, putting a hand on the guy's chest, stepping between the girl and this guy.

“You'll do no such thing. This girl has obviously been roofied and it’s you she was running away from. The only thing you’ll be doing tonight is talking to the police, who are making their way in right now to do with you what they will.” Harry says, watching the color drain from this bloke's face. He turned around, ready to make a full run for it but was stopped by not only the police but also a crowd of other guys who heard what was going down and were ready to step in if assistance was needed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong here! She was trying to take advantage of me!” He cries as he’s put in handcuffs and taken away.

“Yeah, it’s obvious the one who’s passed out cold because she was drugged was trying to take advantage of you.” Harry yells after him before turning around and scooping the girl into his arms. Due to the commotion and the presence of not only police but also paramedics, the premises was cleared and the bar was shut down for the night. Harry held the passed out girl close to his body, having had his coworker fetch his jacket from the break room to keep her warm now that the club wasn’t filled with body heat, and waited for the paramedics to come in for her.

When they come in and place her on the gurney, she starts to stir. Little whines and groans escape from her and the EMT’s check her vitals, deeming her stable and letting Harry know she’s going to be ok. He decided to follow to the hospital just so she has a familiar face when she wakes up and has someone to explain her situation that isn’t a scary doctor.

. *

.

It’s a few hours of unrestful sleep at her bedside and his co-worker showing up with a change of clothes for him when she finally starts to come to.

Groaning and reaching up to hold her head but realizing her arms are too heavy to move, she rasps out, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Harry explains, wanting to reach out and hold her hand but not wanting to startle her, “You’re ok but the doctors wanted to keep you overnight for observation.”

“You’re the bartender I asked for the angel shot aren’t you?” She questions after a pregnant pause. He hums a confirmation and she looks over his face a few times, before tears well in her eyes.

“What happened?” A few tears fall from her eyes. She can’t remember much after leaving the table, just the sight of green eyes and curly brown hair nodding at her when she asked for the shot. The rest is pretty much a blur, just random flashes of scenes she can’t quite make out in her head.

“You came over and asked me for the shot and then a few minutes later you passed out. The bloke you were with slipped something in your drink. And unless something happened at the table that I didn’t see, then nothing else happened. Do you remember anything happening at the table?” He explains, hoping her answer is no.

He’d learned her name from the EMT’s who checked your ID once you were loaded into the ambulance but he didn’t know the name of the man she was with. He realizes she doesn’t know his name either.

“No, was just being a sleazy dick. I don’t know how he could have slipped me something, I didn’t get up before I went to you. Must’ve turned my head for a bit too long. God, I should’ve known this was gonna happen!” She groans but he shakes his head.

“You can’t blame yourself for this, darling! He’s a sleazeball, a no good lowlife. S’not your fault.”

“What’s your name?” She voices, peering into his pretty green eyes.

“M’Harry,” he smiles, timidly reaching for her hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the soft skin.

“Thank you for staying with me Harry! For helping me…” Y/n says quietly. He shakes his head with a small smile.

“No need to thank me, pet. Would do it over and over again.”

Her smile, while tired and defeated, was enough to show him her gratitude. She feels a weight lift off her chest, hearing that nothing bad happened after she got to him.

She knows it’s probably just nightingale syndrome, but Y/n thinks Harry is terribly adorable. With his messy brown curls and tired green eyes that make it look like he hasn’t slept in ages. She thinks she could see herself going out with him, which is an odd thought considering what happened last night. You’d think that would be enough to turn her off to men for good, but there's just something about him. But now isn’t the time to bring any of that up.

“I’ll call a nurse, tell em’ you’re awake.” He voiced, making his way to the door after gently placing her hand back on the bed.

. * .

“Ms. I’m just calling to let you know the restraining order has gone through. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Y/n felt a weight lift off her chest. After months of being harassed and stalked, she would finally be left alone. Harry leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek, stroking the loose hair out of her face.

“S’ finally over, lovie. It’s all over!.” He whispered in her ear, pulling her closer to him, rubbing up and down her thighs. She felt tears spring to her eyes, tears of relief, tears of joy, but also tears of sadness because the last few months had been some of the hardest of her life. She was ready to move on and be done with this nightmare.

When Jack had found out Y/n and Harry got together after that night, it’s like it activated something inside him. Like he thought she was just playing hard to get and he had to literally stalk her to get her attention. He seemed to think she was playing a game. Somewhere in his twisted little mind he had the audacity to think she actually wanted him.

He’d sit right next to her every single class period and would get up and move next to her when she tried to get away with him. He’d show up at her house, sitting across the street just watching her front door, he’d call her phone and text her, he’d wait outside her other classes and follow her around campus. She complained to her university, told them what was going on and they didn’t really do anything. She went to campus security and they brushed it off because “She wasn’t in any danger. He just wants to get to know you.”

So she finally was forced to file a restraining order. Her case was still open, from when he got arrested that night at the bar. They're charging him with second degree assault and criminal harassment because apparently she’s not the only girl he’s done this to. Many other women had spoken up since news of that night had spread around campus. Yet still, the university did nothing.

Harry stood by you every step of the way, picking up the shattered pieces on hard days. He wanted to beat the shit out of this guy and he would if it wouldn’t interfere with the case. He knew you needed him and he didn’t want to chance anything.

There was a pregnant silence between the two lovers. Just letting the silence wash over them, letting themselves breath freely without this weight suffocating them, they basked in it.

It wasn’t completely over, because there was still a trial, but he wouldn’t be coming around without getting arrested again.

///

“I can’t believe you’ve never done body shots before.” 

“It’s just never come up!”

Harry snorts in mild, disbelieving amusement, the still atmosphere of the room staining with the sound of his multiple rings clacking softly against tempered glass. 

He takes a firm grip around the neck of a Casamigos tequila bottle, dismounting it from its signature spot on the center shelf of the liquor wall, turning back around to face Y/N. He sets the alcohol container down on the waxed wooden surface of his work station, absentmindedly rummaging through one of the clean equipment tubs stored beneath it. 

She can’t help the way her lips twitch fondly at the obvious cinch between his thick brows, his mouth slightly down-turned in a pensive pout as he fishes for something out of sight. 

Harry comes up fruitful, a black metal pour spout glitzing dully under the muted lights of the closed bar. He unscrews the cap from the tequila jug, carefully fitting the accessory into the neck and turning it tight for good measure. He taps his fingers triumphantly against the crystal clear glass, rings once again filling the empty space with chimes. 

Harry’s gaze locks with Y/N’s, brows shrugging in a playfully expectant manner, one corner of his soft lips flicking upwards with sly mischief.  “Get up on the counter.”

She rests her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow propped casually on the tabletop to support the weight. She snorts dismissively, shaking her head a tad. “I don’t think so.”

He points at Y/N scoldingly with the tip of the spout, both brows jerking upwards in a deadpan expression. “You’re absolutely fucked in the head if you thought you were gonna confess to a bartender that you’ve never done body shots and leave without doing some. Now hop off it and get up on the counter.”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, slumping her shoulders with begrudged annoyance. “No.”

Harry stares at her for a second, reading her body language carefully— the pads of her fingers tapping jestingly against her cheekbone, the tiny crooked grin curling her delicate lips, the way her eyes are half-lidded in amusement, and the taunting rebellious sheen glinting across the glossy surface of her irises. She’s not refusing due to comfortability reasons; she’s refusing in order to purposefully get on his nerves.

He’s not surprised— pushing his buttons is one of her favorite hobbies, usually because the flirtatious teasing and joking defiance spurs into another one of her favorite pastimes: Harry thrusting between her legs. 

It’s obvious now that she’s being a pest to get a rise out of him and he’s more than willing to give it to her. Too willing, if he knows what’s good for him, but he can’t ever seem to resist her— can’t resist how much he loves the way she tugs at his strings so effortlessly. 

Harry releases his grasp around the long neck of the liquor bottle, setting his palms flat against the smooth red oak of the pub table. He teeters forward on his hands, ducking down until his line of vision is level with Y/N’s, so close to her face their noses unintentionally brush. The distance separating them is nearly nonexistent, so slim that she’s enveloped in a sphere of his intoxicatingly delicious scent as it wafts up from his flexing neck, tingling her nostrils with notes of ocean salt, cedar wood, and vague whiffs of the fresh linen candle that is continuously alight in his flat. 

He shackles her into place with unwavering eye contact, the darkened emerald hue around his pupils gleaming challengingly as his fluffy, shiny curls frame his strong jaw so beautifully it’s likely considered sinful. The white tee he’s sporting strains against his broad chest, the blocky, baby blue Enjoy health! Eat Your Honey! text stretching across his pectoral muscles, the doodle of a smiling bumble bee tempting her with the message’s double-meaning. She hates that she can see his nipples printing through the sheer cotton fabric. 

The warm breath of Harry’s words scorches her barely trembling lips, his lashes dusting the tops of his high cheekbones with a sultry, domineering air. His accented voice is thick and dark as the syrup he mixes into his cocktails, low in sound but heavy in impact. 

“Get on your fucking back or I’ll stretch you out over the counter myself.”

Y/N decides it's in her best interest to oblige.

She currently lays flat across the sleek counter, her hands folded across her tummy, digits tapping nervously at her abdomen. 

Harry is off to the side, retrieving a few other ingredients that seem to be necessary for what they’re about to engage in. She sees him shuffling about through her peripheral vision, glancing up at her sparsely and she can just make out the way his lips are cracked into a shit-eating grin at how easily he’d managed to set her in place.

She turns her head to face him fully, cheek pressing along the cold surface below her and causing her spine to involuntarily shiver. Her toes curl in her checkered sneakers as she anxiously waits for him to speak up, watching as he pulls out a black paring knife from below the edge of his bartending station.

“So,” Harry clears his throat with a light cough, his other hand coming out from behind the hidden scenes with a large lime cradled at its center, “there’s two ways of doing body shots.”

He places down the lime, expertly halving it down the center and then quartering it in another swift cut, leaving the fruit in four even wedges. He wipes the knife off with a dish rag, twisting around to chuck it in the dirty dish tub behind him. He picks up one of the slices between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up proudly for emphasis. “There’s the disgusting college frat party version of body shots, and then there’s the proper adult version.”

Harry’s nose crinkles in distaste as an afterthought, his next sentence clarifying. “We’re doing the latter because personally, I think it’s gross to drink anything out of someone’s belly button.”

A small, feathery laugh escapes Y/N, her teeth then digging into her bottom lip to keep her jitters in check. “Whatever you say, you’re the professional.”

Harry gifts her a satisfied smirk at the minute stroke at his ego. “Good girl— that’s what I like to hear.”

The phrase was said with nonchalant humourous intentions, but it makes the pit of her stomach tighten nonetheless. She can’t keep it at bay, not when she’s heard those same two words come from him under very different contexts— not when he’s panted them into her mouth in such a desperate, needy way, eager tongue lulling across the inside of her top lip as his long fingers had marked bruises along her jaw, hips roughly meeting her sore inner thighs. 

It’s ingrained in her head and she can never disconnect it and she has a feeling Harry recognizes that, which gives him all the more reason to bring up such matters as often as possible just to fuck with her. 

And he truly is well aware of the effect it has. He damn well knows the way it disorients her when he offhandedly uses pet names and remarks that have made appearances during their sexual encounters; he knows the way it revs her and it amuses him more than anything to see her fidget and fumble to keep composure. He adores having that influence over her and he thrives on wielding it to his advantage. 

Y/N swallows down her nerves, feeling them lodge in her throat and refuse to go down. The way he slowly bats his lashes at her suggestively doesn’t help at all.

Harry reaches across the bar, hovering the lime wedge over her face. He taps it gently against the center of her lips, the acidic juice rubbing off and making her skin tingle. “Open up for me, yeah?”

Y/N’s lips part on command and Harry can’t stop the pompous hum that runs along the back of his throat. “Always so willing, aren’t you?” 

She glowers at him from the side, her grumble strained and therefore lacking any real mass. “Shut up.”

He coos with exaggerated fondness, attempting to stifle an arrogant smirk. “I’m just happy to be your first time, s’all.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“And yet you always end up in my bed. Funny how that works, innit?”

The tendon along Y/N’s jaw visibly tenses and Harry snickers to himself as he fits the fruit slice between her teeth, the peel facing inwards so that the part he actually needs is accessible. He then slides a bit further down the counter until he’s standing right beside her resting hips. 

He goes to lift her olive green knitted sweater, pausing for a second right at the hem. His fingers twitch excitedly as he glances up at her for permission, craving the rush that comes with absorbing her body heat. “Can I?”

Y/N jerks her chin once in a nod, teeth biting down harder onto the lime wedge when she feels his cold digits brush along her sensitive belly. 

Harry pushes her jumper upwards, bunching it up just under her bust. He can see how anxious she is from the way her lower stomach jolts.

His hand grabs something off to the edge of her scope and when it comes into focus, she sees its a metal salt shaker. He suspends it a few centimeters over her body, tapping out a line of salt that starts just above her navel and ends halfway up her stomach. She does her best not to move; the last thing she wants to do is make a mess over Harry’s freshly swept floorboards.

He sets down the container, snatching a tiny transparent red glass from one of the decorative drying racks, flipping it rightside up onto the table and laxly pouring out a tequila shot. 

“This is the right way to do it. Pay attention ‘cause I’m only teaching you once.” His light-hearted tone eases some of the gnawing in her bones. 

Harry bends down, the warm air that puffs from his mouth hitting the bare skin above her belly button and Y/N suddenly anticipates the feeling of his hot lips running across her tummy. 

Her entire body begins to quake, overwhelmed by the flurry of sensations. The trembling is hard enough that Harry notices, eyes flicking up to meet her’s, brows furrowed in a teasing chastising fashion. “I can’t do this unless you stay still, Road Runner.” 

Y/N has a difficult time talking over the citrus slice in her mouth, her words muffled but understandable enough. “Sorry— don’t know why I’m shaking but...but I can't stop.” 

One of Harry’s hands squeezes her outer thigh reassuringly. “I’ve had my lips on you in way more intimate places than this. It shouldn’t be that hard.” 

Y/N sputters into a round of nervous giggles. “Fuck off.” 

Harry gives her a disciplinary look full of faux sternness, trying to defuse the tension with some comedic relief. “Stop shaking or I’ll have to hold you down.” 

“Guess you’re gonna have to hold me down, then.” She quips back, kinking her eyebrows with attitude. 

What Harry does next she really wasn’t expecting at all.

She’d figured he would pin her hips down against the counter to keep her still, but instead Harry coasts a palm up the center of her barely-clothed chest, fingers wrapping securely around her throat. 

She nearly inhales the lime wedge.

The pads of his digits squeeze her jugular with just enough strength to jar her system into reboot, her whole body going deadly still in his dominant grasp. He presses the back of her neck down against the cold wood, coaxing her back to straighten out properly so she doesn’t start quivering again. The whole situation is utterly erotic and Harry knows it. The feeling of her pretty throat straining against his palm is all too familiar— they’d been in the same position not even three nights ago, though it had been on the floor of his bedroom and they'd both been wearing way less clothes. 

Harry was confident this would get her in line easily. The shock factor of such a bold, brazen move all out of the blue was bound to distract her enough to rid anything else from her mind, including the anxiety. The image it sketched was just a plus: Y/N staring at him all doe-eyed over the tops of her dewy cheeks, lashes fluttering with that needy innocent aura that makes the underside of his balls ache. It’s the same look she gets when she’s spread out across his sheets, clawing at the sides of his torso and pulling him deeper inside, begging for him to go harder. 

She had instinctively choked out a teeny whimper the second she felt his hand enclosing around her throat and he’s ashamed to admit his knees had buckled. It had been such a sweet, melodic sound and the fact that he had drawn it out of her so easily was threatening to pop a stiffy into his flared corduroy pants. Not to mention how good the contrast of his lilac polished nails looks against her supple skin, which seems to be glowing in the dim, bourbon-tinted lighting.

Harry licks over his mouth slowly, bottom teeth tugging at his upper lip. When he speaks, it’s soft and deep, stirring the gravel in his chest. “Better?”

Y/N boggles her head in a jerky nod, eyes flickering down to where her stomach is permanently clenched due to the heavy atmosphere of the room. 

“Alright, then.” 

He leans down once again, glimpsing at her one last time before he makes contact with the plush mound of her stomach. 

Harry’s tongue feels warm and textured as it slides upwards over the salt trail, the wet sensation sending her nerves into a numbed frenzy, a certain prickling washing across her scalp and pinching at the shells of her ears. 

Y/N drinks up the picture before her like a tall glass of fine wine, her mind absorbing every detail with crisp awareness. 

Harry’s messy auburn ringlets fall across his face due to his angle, the silky locks kissing across his prominent jaw and structured cheekbones. His lashes drop over his eyes in a euphoric stupor, faint pulses of white hot energy traveling across Y/N’s flesh and fizzing every cell of his. The salt burns the damp skin of his mouth, grating against his tongue as he works his way up as slowly as possible, refusing to surrender the sweet taste of the delicate skin that undercuts the bitterness of the ingredient. 

Y/N’s hand acts of its own accord, fingers prying away from clutching onto the edge of the counter and trading it for Harry’s roots. Her grip cards into the hair along the nape of his neck, following the curve of his skull right behind his small ear. 

The area is one of many sensitive spots she’s become accustomed to toying with since they had developed their unlabeled relationship; the vaguely sensual manner of this entire exchange has her unintentionally falling back on muscle memory. 

Harry’s actions pause for an elongated second, the broad expanse of his back visibly contracting under the fabric hugging his torso. His tongue leaves her body— much to her pining disapproval— as a small needy hiss escapes his swollen lips, accompanied by a breathy weak sigh through his nose. “Fuck…”

It’s a sound she’d had the pleasure of hearing before, usually when he was getting close and would try to hold off for the sake of dragging everything out. It’s desperate, it tremors, and it packs a punch like nothing else; it means he’s getting into his head about how she’s making him feel and there’s nothing hotter than watching him space out from how much bliss he’s drawing from her— from this. From something as simple as touching his mouth to her skin. 

Her thighs tighten together, the area between them growing uncomfortably warm. She wills her hold to ease up and nearly blacks out when he cradles his head into her palm, silently pleading with her to not completely pull away.

Y/N croaks out an apology for her sudden harsh behavior, bottom lip wobbling as his eyes list upwards to meet her own and she notices his pupils are blown way out of proportion. “S-Sorry. Force of habit.”

His head gives a choppy shake within her frail grip, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. His voice comes out as an airy, intense whisper, almost as if what he’s about to utter next is something so private not even their shadows should be allowed to hear it.

“Don’t be sorry, minx. Was praying you would. You know how much I love it when you’re rough with me.”

With that last comment leaving her embarrassingly breathless, Harry sticks his tongue back out and laps up at the last couple of granules of salt left on her stomach, planting a sloppy, delicate kiss along the crest of her belly button for good measure. 

The way she gasps lightly strokes at his ego, a coy simper bracing against her tense tummy. Y/N holds in her next exhale to avoid giving him the satisfaction of gloating, trying her best to diffuse the bristling at the ends of her fingers and across her slightly damp cheeks. 

Harry proceeds to sponge his warm, cushiony lips to the different pressure points he, too, has grown extremely familiar with, talking in between each stop on his trek.  

He travels up the extent of her belly and across the center of her chest over her jumper, his words heavy and sticky. “Y’know I can tell when you’re holding out on me, right?”

He pools wet, tender pecks into the groove of her throat and onto the curve of her strained neck, finally reaching her face and gently bumping his nose against her chin, a stipple of his mouth chasing the gesture. He murmurs his thoughts in a low tone, brushing the pads of his fingers across her jaw and trailing underneath in such a sweet, admiring manner. He wanders upwards and halts right where her bottom lip curves the deepest, gluing one more light, lingering kiss to her cupid’s bow as the grip around her throat tightens just a hair. “And you know I’m more than capable of coaxing it out of you.” 

The hand that is wound into his velvet curls falls limply down the side of his tanned neck, coasting across the strong build of his shoulder and down to rest flat against his slightly heaving chest, nestled between both of his pecs, the joints of her digits vibrating with his gradually swelling heartbeat. 

Harry’s nose grazes over hers as he takes the lime slice from between her teeth, juice spurting and streaming out the edges of her mouth as a result. She instinctively licks across her itching skin, just barely skimming Harry’s lips as he pulls away with the fruit wedge in his mouth. She can feel the way his pulse jumps against his ribs just before her hand slips away due to the distance; it leaves her wondering if he had felt her own thundering against the palm he’d had around her jugular.

Harry grasps the halve between his index finger and thumb, fervently draining it as quickly as possible to get the tough part out of the way, tossing it into an unseen bin. His nose scrunches up at the sour, pungent taste, the buttoned tip twitching as one of his canopy green eyes squeezes shut, head ruffling in a sharp shake as if to regain his bearings. She can feel her stinging lips jerk with the beginnings of a fond smile at the way his loosely structured ringlets bounce to his motions. 

Harry talks through a full mouth, hand fumbling for the sleekness of the shot glass. “Fucking hell, that’s the worst of it.” 

He finds it when his knuckles accidentally knock across the rim, digits wrapping around the small cup securely and jetting it up towards his face while blindly aiming for the general vicinity of his mouth, hoping to get rid of the bitterness coating the underside of his tongue. He pounds it back without a hitch, Adam’s Apple bobbing grandly as the liquor sears its way down the back of his throat, accompanied by its accessory ingredients. Harry slams the stout glass down onto the counter, mouth pursing and both eyes screwing shut as the curdling aftertaste fades into a dull throb that froths the pit of his stomach with a recognizable warmth. 

“You would think you’d be able to handle your alcohol better, being a bartender and all.”

Harry’s eyes fly open at the coy remark that tinges the chilled air of the bar, vision zeroing in on its source as she lays across the wooden table with her sweater smoothed back into place, her intertwined hands resting calmly along the dip of her navel, and her enticing lips curled into a mildly condescending smirk. 

His brows jump up daringly at Y/N’s dig as he sets down the crystalline cup, quietly clearing his throat to make sure his voice doesn’t crack. He lewdly circles the tip of his forefinger around the hem of the glass once, twice, and then a third time before finally speaking up. “Someone’s being a fucking brat tonight, hm?”

Y/N’s eyebrows mimic Harry’s, her expression slathered in fake cluelessness, though the corners of her mouth betray her with smug glee. “Who, me? I would never, I’m an absolute dream!”

He pushes the glass as far away as possible— he wants to avoid it falling victim to what their conversation is insinuating. “A filthy wet one, at that.” 

Y/N’s knuckles whiten as her grip intensifies, her lashes blinking sluggishly. “Is that so?”

Harry leans down, the hairs along his skin standing up as his forearms make contact with the cold surface of the table. He slinks his head to the side, continuing to dance around the subject they both know this talk is unmistakably leading towards. “Very much so.” 

“So was that your plan all along, then? To get your mouth on me just to be a pest about it afterwards?”

He bites into the pad of his thumb to muffle a chuckle, irises twinkling like sea glass, framed by his perfectly sculpted, jokingly furrowed brows. His words are unapologetically blunt, biceps rippling against the flimsy sleeves of his tee as he shifts his weight, pastel yellow Vans squeaking against the polished oak ground. “It truly wasn’t my intention, love. But then you let out that pretty little moan and yanked at my hair so hard I saw stars and, well...quite frankly, I can’t let you get away with that, now can I?”

Y/N swallows heavily, drinking up a deep inhale to replace the oxygen Harry has robbed from her— the way he’s knowingly twisting the rusty golden H ring around his middle finger is doing her in. 

Her voice lodges in her lungs, the result being a docile, needy tone and the aching between her legs is too much for her to even attempt to mask it. “What do you want from me, then?” 

Harry stops turning his ring, instead walking his first two digits over her hip, picking at the button on her jeans mockingly and scoffing in dark amusement when she squirms. “Beg me for it.” 

The word slips past her lips all wispy and eager with no remorse or shame whatsoever. “Please.”

Harry pops the metal clasp of her jeans open, smiling deviously around the thumb between his teeth. “Again.”

Y/N puts more emotion into it, trying to convey how much she wants him so he’ll quit this annoying charade. “Please, Harry.”

He folds the flaps of her pants outwards, slowly tugging down the zipper and purring in pleasant surprise when he sees she’s sporting the pair of maroon lace panties he adores so much. “Please what?”

“Please—” She chokes up as she watches him flirt ominously with the tiny bow on the waistband of her painties. “Please touch me.”

Harry hooks his finger into the dainty material of the undies and pulls it back from her abdomen; the potential of the band snapping down onto her skin has her eyes watering. The pastel purple lacquer on his nail glints teasingly while a demand drips from his lips, thick and leisurely as his sight flickers sideways for a barely existent moment, interested in what lays below her undergarment. “Touch you how?”

Y/N’s self-control is wearing critically thin and it’s taking every fiber of her being not to pounce on him this instant. Instead, both of her hands snap around his wrist, the beaded bracelet he’s sporting stamping into her palm. She clings to him like a vine, guiding his fingers below her panties, lungs stuttering as his icey, chunky rings catch on the hood of her clit. Her voice is dry and uneven as she arches her hips just a tad against his cupped fingers. “Like this— touch me like this.”

Harry stays completely still for a few suspenseful heartbeats, staring at her with the colors around his pupils kaleidoscoping with different hues of muted sage and bright rosemary, the amber specks shimmering with silent power. Then, his hand begins to move, the pads of his digits lulling lazily against her core, bolts of bliss shooting up her spine.  

Y/N breaks their cemented gazes, watching in a starved haze at the way his knuckles and jewelry tent the flimsy lace of her underwear as his large hand bobs between her parted thighs. She can feel how wet she is— can feel how it coats his skin and makes his touch glide over her with ease. She can see the way his forearm flexes with effort, bent on infusing pleasure into every crevice of her body until she’s left breathless and quaking. Veins carve their way under his smooth, inked skin, shifting and bulging beneath the intricate rose tattoo and creasing the portrait of the nude mermaid she so strangely fancies. 

Harry removes the thumb of his free hand from between his teeth, bite marks indented into the soft tissue from how hard he was working on keeping himself together. He caringly tucks a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, his chaste demeanor heavily contrasting the vulgar scene unfolding a foot away. 

This juxtaposition of tenderness and eroticism is so typical of him when it comes to sex and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t live off it. The polarity between his gentle, soothing personality and the absolute filth of his sex habits constantly keeps her on her toes, excited to see what comes next and restless to take whatever he has to offer. There was never a boring moment with Harry and she never felt like her desires went unattended; he always gives her exactly what she craves— both the sweet and the sour. 

It’s similar to the incredible drinks he’s so well-known for: an even ratio of top shelf ingredients kept at a perfect balance, mixed thoughtfully to provide a signature cocktail that keeps her coming back for more. 

The tang was evident in the way Harry would bend her over the back of his couch, tainting dark bruises onto her hips as he would work himself inside her, gasping broken curses into the shell of her hot ear and grunting at her to continue pushing back against him. It’s in how he would decorate handprints across her ass whenever she’d slow down even the slightest, giving a relentless yank at her roots and scratching down the center of her spine until her back would arch obediently. The honey was in how he would then contradict his dominance by planting a gentle kiss to the back of her tense shoulder and to the nape of her sweaty neck, following the gesture with a tight, bashful mumble of, “God, please don’t fucking stop. You feel too fucking good for this to stop.” 

The bite of the liquor was in how Harry was willing to drag her up the metal and glass staircase to his loft during the busy hours of a Saturday evening, shoving her flat across the expanse of his kitchen island and ripping his tee over his head. It’s in how he would stuff the shirt in her mouth to stifle the screams he was hell-bent on weaning out of her, all because he had a full pub just one floor below but he didn’t give a single fuck; he just had to feel her stretching, writhing, and pleading under him. The toothache of the syrup was present in how just before he’d stuff her to the brim, he’d dapple his lips to the tip of her heated nose in a quiet instance of reassurance, accompanied by a teeny boyish smile that would hold more warmth than all the rays of the sun.

The acidity of the lime was prominent in how Harry would tug her into his lap and slam her down against his thighs, hooded eyes electric with greedy satisfaction at watching her mewl and quiver with every deep stroke she’d take of his cock, the bottom of her tummy bulging from its girth and length. It’s in the manner in which he’d snake one arm taut around her love-bite tattooed waist, the hand of the other weighing its first two digits heavy on her tongue until she’d gag and whine. The agave nectar undercurrent in tequila was distinguishable in how after they had both dismounted their highs and she had collapsed into his chest, dripping down her thighs and onto the sheets, he would nurse her jaw with the palm of his hand, thumbing over her swollen bottom lip with dreamy affection clouding his dim green irises. He would kiss at the top of her matted hair, tracing her water-beaded hairline with the bridge of his nose and cooing out a compassionate, “Did so good for me, pet. You always do so good.”

Their relationship was sweet and it was sour and it was beyond anything she could’ve ever hoped for or expected. It was definitely beyond what Y/N had expected when she’d set foot in the bar all those weeks ago, tagging along with a friend simply to appease their insistent request, hiding herself in the booth farthest from the thick of the ruckus to make herself as invisible as possible. Bars weren’t necessarily her scene; she’d rather people-watch than throw herself into the middle of a throng of half-conscious, sweaty bodies. She hadn’t expected that the lanky, built, incredibly attractive bartender with an eclectic fashion sense would even notice her, let alone clamber up onto the bar and yell across the room, singling her out as the chosen candidate for the nightly round of complimentary shots. 

She hadn’t expected they’d hit it off so well either, mostly because she had harbored a few traces of resentment towards him for forcing her out of the safety provided by her sequestered nook, and also because he had the most stupidly infuriating gorgeous smile she had ever seen— it was authentic, inviting, and it gave her an odd sense of soothing familiarity, which was unsettling considering he was a complete and total stranger. She hadn’t expected he would stir up jitters in her stomach, but after getting a spoonful of his personality, it seemed to be inevitable. He was sarcastic and giddy, full of inappropriate jokes and endless bundles of heart-fluttering giggles; when he engaged with her, he made her the epicenter of his world, which was so rare to find in people these days considering there was always somewhere to be or something else to do other than entertain some random person that was nothing more than a customer. 

But no, he gave her his full and undivided attention, listening to every word that rambled out of her mouth as he propped himself onto the counter on his elbows, chin resting on his knuckles with a delicate, encouraging aura highlighting the edges of his rosy mouth. Harry kept up with the conversation without a catch and returned her energy and enthusiasm tenfold. He remembered small details of the stories she was sharing and actually laughed at all her jokes, despite the fact that half of them came out as a jumbled mess; the way his emerald eyes were sparkling under the starburst design lights hanging above-head was fucking with her ability to form coherent sentences. 

Talking with him felt like stepping out into the sun on a canvas-worthy spring afternoon, the warmth of the heat waves running its fingertips along her bare arms and absorbing into her skin, making her bones ache in the best way imaginable. Making him smile felt like the shy caress of a faint draft, the wind smelling of honeysuckle as it wove its way between the ruffles of her clothing and skidded over the apples of her cheeks. Hearing his laughter was the equivalent of sitting in a field of grass, the ground warm under her touch, the blades silky between the creases of her fingers. It was buoyant, loud, and admiringly bold— it lacked the insecurity that tended to hold others back from fully enjoying themselves, scared of looking weird or making an unpleasant noise that might garner them disapproving looks. Harry laughed with his entire gut, a hand resting on his stomach as if to keep himself from bursting open, the ends of his eyes wrinkling and his two blocky front teeth showing. The tip of his nose would even twitch some, which was probably the most peculiar aspect of it all, yet it easily became her favorite mannerism of his. 

She was taken by him from the get-go and it’s almost pathetic how fast he’d had her wrapped around his pinky.

Y/N hadn’t expected to feel like that around Harry and she had used the vodka shots as an excuse for her overdramatic thoughts, but there was a frayed wire in her mind that had continued to spark for the remainder of that night, wondering how it was possible to connect with someone so effortlessly and provoke such chemistry so soon.

However, what Y/N hadn’t expected in even the slightest was ending up perched on top of the sticky wooden counter after the bar had closed, her arms wrapped around Harry’s strong shoulders as his hips had rocked between her naked thighs. She’d caught his tiny gold hoop earring between her teeth while she poured cracked moans into the dip of his ear, his tongue stifling the burn of the bite marks he was scattering along the underside of her clenched jaw, the low rumble of his accented voice— dense from the liquor— urging the heels of her shoes harder into the backs of his thick thighs. 

“Been wanting to taste your lips all fucking night.” 

One night stands were few and rare for her before that blurry, alcohol-induced detour. They were risky, unpredictable, and a right plague to leave behind the following morning— an hour or so of fun just didn’t seem to be worth the probable cost. But with Harry, it was like she was sold on the idea before it had even been an offer. He’d had a mesmerizing pull about him that left her wanting to get to know him better in every context humanly available, whether it be physical or emotional. He had puppeted his pretty face and boyish charm without issue and she had been in over her head long before she’d even realized she was sinking. 

What made it that much more appealing was that he wasn’t even trying— he was just being himself. The flirty yet non-overbearing, cheeky yet respectful persona he displayed wasn’t a display at all, it was just who he was and that innocent legitimacy is what propelled her to button their lips together the second he had made a move. 

A hesitant bundle of pecks had turned into a deeper, hungrier round of kissing that had been speckled with half-suppressed whimpers. It had then morphed into Y/N clumsily crawling over the counter and toppling into his awaiting arms, her whole body buzzing as he had giggled into her mouth between heavy breaths and feverish whines. 

The sloppy make out session had led to her fumbling with the leather belt around his slender hips as he had peeled her jeans down to her knees, his forehead falling against hers while he chewed his lower lip raw with impatience. It hadn’t been too long before he had moved her panties to the side with a tug of his index finger, her palm groping him shyly through his trousers and earning a soft, throaty, “Proper tease, aren’t you?” and then Harry was dipping inside her with a hiss streaming past the cracks of his gritted teeth. The drinks in their systems had acted as kerosine, setting every nerve alight as their bodies molded to one another’s quirks and customs, finding much-needed comfort in learning what made the other tick. She can’t recall how long it had lasted— she had been too lost in his company to care about the hands of the aged bar clock on the wall. When he had finally spilled inside her, it felt like forever and too soon all at once. Y/N had fallen apart right in his arms as the flat of his tongue tended to her racing pulse, blurbs of incoherent praise scraping across the roof of her mouth. 

And now here they are, after what feels like decades later, on the very same tabletop that had christened their “no strings attached” relationship in the first place. And here Harry is, lovingly petting at her hair while his fingers work her towards utterly ruining her underwear, his intensely colored eyes reading every jolt of her features like the pages of an immersive novel. And here Y/N is, working her hips to match his rhythm, teeth cutting along the inside of her bottom lip as tight exhales falter past her nostrils. 

She tilts her chin up, the back of her skull skidding against the counter, every dent and notch in the wood catching on her scalp and helping anchor her back down to reality. Her head halts when the blots of bronze in Harry’s irises come into view. 

His defined features have softened into an expression of doting awe, sculpted brows relaxed with endeared curiosity as his usually prominent cheekbones take on a softer appearance, crimson lips slightly agape. He’s studying her closely, basking in how she responds to his actions and using her body language as a cue. He continues to nuzzle at the baby hairs along her damp forehead, eyes flitting across different points of her face, waiting for her to give him any sign as to what he should do next. 

Y/N wills one of her hands to untie from around Harry’s lazily flicking wrist, trembling fingers climbing up to tether around the pearl necklace laying daintily within the dip of his collarbones. The beads are ice cold to the touch as she knots them around her knuckles, her sight sewn to his lips. 

The infatuation she carries for them is sad, really. Y/N thinks he has the most beautiful pair she’s ever seen, the softest she’s ever tasted, and definitely the most skilled she’s ever felt. She could gawk at them forever if time allowed, following every ridge, curve, and peak, idolizing all the different shades of pink that are never quite the same. 

But lips weren’t created for the purpose of just being seen— not when there’s so many better uses. 

Y/N gives the necklace a signifying tug as a quiet, vulnerable mutter betrays her, her interest still plastered to his swollen mouth. “Kiss me.”

Harry swallows thickly, struggling to catch a breath under her hungry stare, ears flaring at how frantic her sentence had come out. The emotion seems to have worn off on his own voice. 

“Say it again.” 

The pearls pinch at the loose ringlets that tickle the back of his neck, straining against his skin as she beckons him forward more insistently. He poises himself a mere inch from her mouth, her shaky exhales fanning over his cupid’s bow and fuck, he loves the suspense of it all. Loves the dynamic they share of toying with each other until the tension is practically palpable.

The hollow of Y/N’s throat flexes as she grapples with her words. “Kiss me. Please.”

And when he does, coincidentally enough, sweet and sour is all her muddled brain registers. 

Harry always tastes sweet. His lips have an inherently sugary quality to them, almost as if he’s dipped them in honey; it’s as addicting as any other part of him. His tongue is sour. It carries the remnants of the lime and tequila he’d just doused down, the flavor trickling through her taste buds and causing an aching throb along the back of her jaw. 

Harry’s fingers shift down from her hairline, his thumb settling on her cheekbone as the other four splay across the side of her face. The kiss is gentle at first, yet teeming with need, and it gradually starts to swell into a more passionate tempo. He slots their mouths roughly, turning his head to delve deeper, noses bumping and eyelashes brushing. 

Y/N’s so far gone that when Harry suddenly buries his middle finger inside her, she literally screams into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Harry— oh my God!” Her hips thrash upwards into his palm as he sinks up to his amethyst lion head ring. 

His wet, moany whisper streams directly into her chest. “Christ, you’re fucking soaked.”

Harry pumps the digit into her groggily, savoring the sensation of her squeezing around it as his thumb continues to stroke at the sensitive nub higher up. The soft sounds that drip from her bitten lips, the lusty fog over her glimmering eyes, and the way she’s guiding his hand nearly make him soil his pants. 

In any other circumstance, he’d be too ashamed to admit it— to admit that some casual fingering has him squirming— but with Y/N, he won’t even attempt to defend himself. She has him whipped and it’s more than obvious; fighting it is useless. Whether that extends into emotional territory or not…That’s something he’s not prepared to untangle.

Instead, he just focuses on the moment— on what they have right now; on what she has him feeling presently, which is plenty. The confession airs itself without much effort.

“You look so good like that— gonna make me cum without even touching me.”

The remark makes a lightning rod zip down her spine. “Y-Yeah?”

Harry draws back from her mesmerizing mouth, worrying her bottom lip between his teeth and letting it snap back. “You have me making a fucking mess of myself, pet.”

Y/N yanks him closer than before, planting a peck to his chin and then suckling lightly at the crescent along his upper lip. Her voice struggles to keep steady. “Want another finger.”

“Another one?” He slowly pulls out from between her thighs, aligning his second middle finger accordingly, rings clacking together. His typical snark is ever-present in his scoff. “So demanding.”

He can feel Y/N grin smugly against him, her tone mimicking his from earlier. “Always so willing, aren’t you?”

Harry rams her request inside, cooing with faux sympathy when she cracks a yelp. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He curls the two fingers upwards, hitting a familiar spongy spot that he knows will drive her mad. 

“Thought this was what you wanted, yeah? For me to fuck you like this?”

His prediction materializes in the way she claws at the collar of his t-shirt, grabbing at anything she can get as her body starts rocking, riding his fingers. Harry grips her face in a flare of dominance, nudging at her lips with his own. 

“Baby just wants me to make her feel good, right? Y’want me to make you cum so hard you can barely walk up the stairs to my flat?”

He’s plucking at a chord at the pit of her stomach, her thighs trembling in response and he furrows his brows into a cautionary expression that warns her not to clamp them shut. It takes every fiber of her being to keep her legs from clenching together. 

Harry persists with his teasing, picking up the speed of his thrusts, his thumb relentlessly playing with her clit. 

“That is where you’re gonna end up, isn’t it? Same as always— spread across my bed in one of my shirts with your panties hanging off my dresser and my fingerprints bruised across your hips.” 

“Harry, I—” Y/N can’t even finish the thought, the words dissolving on her tongue as he bites at the flesh along the slope of her jaw, his own syllables charring her nerves. 

“S’not like the underwear matters much, anyways. You won’t need it until around noon the next day, considering you usually spend the entire morning bouncing on my cock. I’m not complaining, though. It’s the highlight of my day, if I’m being honest. You just look so cute pulling at my boxers, half asleep with that needy little pout on your lips, not to mention how adorable it is to watch you crawl across the bed into my lap with your nipples peeking through the fabric of my tee.”

Her hand leaves his wrist and spreads over the back of his, fingers carding between the cracks. She shoves him further inside and his jaw goes slack in aroused shock. She’s so shameless about it all and it makes him twitch in his trousers. 

“God, you’re so fucking tight. And, shit, I can’t stop thinking about the way my shirt just bunches around your thighs while you’re fucking yourself on me, thrusts deep and lazy as you beg me to play with your cunt while you use me to get yourself off. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, love? Using me to make yourself cum? Meanwhile I just sit back with my arms behind my head until you get close. Then you’re scratching across my shoulders and panting into my neck, telling me how bad you want me to fill you up because you like how warm I make you feel.” 

Y/N’s balancing on the edge as Harry spins a miracle between her drenched thighs and she feels embarrassed for the puddle that’s likely spreading over the bar counter. 

“Such a dirty fucking girl. Especially when you grab my hand and place it right here.” He ducks his head and kisses at the center of her throat for emphasis, a conceited hum thrumming deep in his chest when she whimpers. “That’s when you decide to get into the proper filth. Stuff like, ‘You’re so fucking big, H. Already have me sore.’ and ‘Want you dripping down my thighs.’ But there’s so much more than that, though. What’s that one word you fancy so much? Need you to jog my memory.”

He’s switched to using his whole palm to rub at her clit, pounding deeper until his icy, chunky rings continuously thunk wetly. 

Y/N abides to Harry’s condescending question, gritting out the answer shyly. “Daddy.”

“Oh, that’s right. Daddy. How could I possibly forget when you always whine it into my mouth? ‘Harder, daddy, please.’ and ‘Want you to cum, daddy.’ and ‘I’m your good girl, daddy.’ And how about what you have me call you? Fuck, you just can’t seem to get enough of it. Your eyes always roll back when I tell you what a slut you can be. There’s that one phrase that you seemed to really enjoy the other day. When I said, ‘You’re such a darling little slut for me, aren’t you, baby?’ and you just melted.”

Y/N feels a familiar spark igniting at the pit of her abdomen, uncontrollably building. “Harry, I’m gonna—” 

All his actions immediately stop, fingers going limp between her legs. 

The sob she releases is anguished and irritated. “No, no, no— please don’t stop. M’close, H, please.”

Harry looks down at her over the crests of his brightly pigmented cheeks and she hadn’t noticed until now just how much this was impacting him, as well. She’d been so in her head she had failed so catch the way his whole body is trembling. 

He speaks so low and delicately it’s hardly audible, but the meaning of it punctures right through her ribs and into her gut. 

“Wanna feel you cum in my mouth.”

A few extended heartbeats tick by before his suggestion sinks into her brain and then she’s struggling to sit up onto her elbows, already in the process of swinging her legs off the edge of the pub table. 

Harry’s drops to his knees with a hollow thump to the elegant wooden floor, large clumsy hands fiddling with the waist of her jeans, riding them down her clammy thighs. Y/N maneuvers herself into a somewhat upright position, sitting back on her palms, fingers wrapping around the edge of the bar counter for support. He finishes easing her out of the high-waisted denim bottoms, discarding them on the ground beside his calf. 

Harry runs his warm touch up her goosebump-ridden legs, groping at her outer thighs and yanking her closer until she’s balancing on the cliff of the waxed surface. Y/N can’t stifle herself from swinging one arm out from behind her, blindly fisting at the curls along the crown of his head, shivering when he mewls weakly. He stipples his hot lips up her knee caps and along her inner thighs, spreading her open wider and wider as he trails upwards. His grip firms around her hips, holding her in place in preparation for the wriggling and twisting he knows she won’t be able to reign. Harry eyes her center with drunken desire, toying with the waistband of her racy lace undies, taking some time to just get a good look at how dark the fabric has become. 

Y/N takes this opportunity to ogle at him herself, gnawing the inside of her left cheek raw at how incredible he looks on his knees. His lavender flared pants compliment the polish on his nails, the pastel yellow of his Vans peeking through as he lounges back against his heels. Amidst all the commotion, his white shirt has become half untucked from beneath his belt and the desperate messiness his image paints is nearly enough to finish her off. Especially as her sight wanders upwards, catching on the small silver hoop shining on his right ear and then leveling with his view, his eyes owlish and puppy-like as he leans forward all the way and presses a lingering kiss right over the wet patch of her panties.

His voice is spaced out and distant. “Been thinking about eating you out all day.” 

Harry flutters pecks up to the elastic of her undergarment, taking it carefully between his teeth and tugging downwards. Y/N remains as still as possible as he coaxes the article off, one hand massaging at the back of her calf while the other stays secured to her hip. 

Once the last bit of material is out of the way and she’s finally bare, Harry straightens himself into perfect posture, hoisting both of her legs over his solid shoulders in one swift motion. Her heels knock against his taut back muscles, digging in with anticipation as he bites bruises into the junction where her inner thigh meets her crotch. 

Y/N tilts his head up a bit to get his attention, her tone bleeding. “Need your tongue. Please.”

He nods numbly in her grasp, wetting his lips slowly before answering in a hushed murmur. “Gonna give it to you, dove. Gonna make my girl feel so fucking good for me. Always do.”

And he truly does; Y/N never doubted that. From the first kitten lick he gives, she knows she isn’t going to last long.

His light strokes meld into deep, needy lapping, the flat of his tongue dragging against her clit in long trails, warm and silky. Every time he gets to the hood at the top, he gives a few quick flicks with the very tip, causing her to wring at his curls almost cruelly. He then proceeds to duck down until he’s at her entrance, flirting his tongue around the rim and dipping it inside as far as he can before the back of his throat begins to ache. 

He keeps this rhythm going firmly, every now and then allowing himself to wander some, suckling at the outer lips of her heat and gifting the area sticky kisses that make her shudder. 

Y/N’s head falls back between her shoulder blades, the weight straining the back of her neck but she’s too high off him to force her joints to comply. She can only muster enough energy to comb her fingers through his satin locks, scratching at his scalp in agreement as broken sounds of encouragement sting the back of her throat and drive his every move. 

“You taste like heaven, baby. So fucking sweet, can never get enough of it. Could spend hours on my knees for you.”

Harry prods the bud of her clit with the tip of his button nose, puckering his lips around it and sucking feverishly, grinning into her cunt when her legs clasp harder around his neck. He talks over a full mouth, the vibrations pinballing up the knobs of her spine. “Liked that, didn’t you?”

She adamantly shakes her head yes. 

He coats his palms along her outer thighs, squeezing teasingly and prying them open enough to get a better range. He then shakes his face, tongue expertly caressing every nook and cranny. 

Y/N’s nails crunch against the wood that runs along the underside of the counter. “Yes, yes, yes— shit, thank you.” 

Harry presses his lips together tightly, tugging at her folds for the heightened stimulation, preening at how the digits in his roots spasm. “More than happy to help, minx.” 

She manages to crane her neck forward, chin pressing into her heaving upper chest as she stares down at him with so much lust her eyes water. He returns her starved gaze, the lower half of his face utterly drenched, cheeks glistening with her excitement as the corners of his darkened mouth prick his dimples into place. Every ragged breath and every watery moan is inflating his ego beyond reasonable.

“I’m so fucking close, Har.”

He pushes his tongue deeper, head bobbing with newfound purpose as his lashes flutter up at her temptingly. He looks borderline ethereal with the amber lights reflecting off his glossy, cocksure irises, arms flexing with the strength it takes to keep her tethered down, the inking on his tan skin jumping to life. 

“Be a good girl and cum for me, hm? Want you dripping down my chin.”

This orgasm is definitely one of the best Harry has ever given her. 

It boils over from the bottom of her tummy, a relieving glow surging through every vein and warming her from the inside out. It splinters her bones with unimaginable pleasure, her whole body caving forward as he eggs the climax to its full potential. He continues licking into her tirelessly, brows raised in amused glee as he watches her come undone at the seams, crying out his name as the waves of satisfaction roll out from the bottom of her feet to the very tips of her ears. 

When Y/N finally regains her composure from the unrealistic surge, she nearly collapses right off the side of the bar table. 

Harry intercepts what otherwise would have been a very unpleasant finish to the experience, mounting onto his feet and wrapping a strong arm around the dip of her back, keeping her upright and safe. 

Her forehead plops against his, a dreamy giggle escaping past her marked-up lips as the last currents of gratification fade away. Harry’s own boyish chuckle tinges the electrified air around them, his free arm coming up to use his wrist as an impromptu cloth, wiping away the leftover wetness. It’s a simple gesture but it makes her belly throb. 

He then cradles her face with both of his obscenely warm hands, spongeing his lips to the tip of her unfeeling nose in an endeared, affectionate manner, all the lust in his mood replaced by loving concern. “You alright? Wasn’t too much?”

She wobbles her head half-heartedly, mind still submerged in the aftershock. Her throat is so battered she can barely get out her words. “It was perfect— you’re always perfect.”

To her unexpecting entertainment, Harry’s cheeks and neck dye a dull shade of raspberry red. He follows the outline of her plump bottom lip with his thumbs, attitude bashful and sheepish. “You flatter me too much. My head’s not gonna fit through the front door.”

Y/N snorts playfully, kissing softly at the pad of his left thumb. “As if your head isn’t big enough already.”

“Heyyyyy!” He pouts childishly, bumping his brows to hers as a minute show of revenge. “S’not the way to treat the bloke that just tongue-fucked you into nearly passing out.” 

His friend rolls her eyes at him grandly, pinching at his stomach jestingly. “Ever so humble.” 

“Keep myself grounded, don’t I?” Harry pulls away from their embrace, ducking down to retrieve something from the floor. He comes up with her crumpled panties hanging off his index finger, pressing his lips together to keep from bursting into a round of immature giggles. “I believe these are yours.”

Y/N snags them, giving him a pointed, deadpan glare as she tentatively slips them up her naked legs, shimmying them over her hips. 

A comical memory suddenly surfaces into the forefront of her thoughts. 

“Y’know what’s funny? If I recall correctly, you said we weren’t gonna have sex on the bar anymore. Something about it being ‘unsanitary and unprofessional.’” 

Harry freely splutters into the cheeky laugh he’d been trying to muffle, casually crossing his arms over his broad chest, tongue sweeping over the front of his top teeth coyly. One edge of his mouth flickers upwards into a shit-eating simper. “Well, this technically wasn’t sex.”

“Oh, really?” Y/N flattens her palms against the wooden counter, hopping off smoothly and sweeping her jeans up off the ground. She’s not sure what magic Harry used to get her pants off without removing her sneakers, but she knows she doesn’t possess it. She toes off her checkered trainers and begins easing her foot through one leg. “What was it, then? Meditating?”

Harry scowls humorously at her quip— it’s an inside joke that pertains to the code word he now uses for “masturbating.” It was courtesy of a drunken customer once asking him for advice on what to do when they couldn’t sleep and Harry had said meditating was a good way to unwind. Y/N had been visiting that night—as she did every weekend— and was sitting two seats down from the exchange when she had overheard the conversation, giving him a knowing smirk over the rim of her highball glass and shrugging her eyebrows slyly, her quiet mumble pouring a blush into his ears. “Yeah, sure. I’ve helped you meditate plenty through the phone.”

Harry leans his lower back against the edge of the pub counter, crossing his ankles and giving his wide shoulders a nonchalant shrug. “It was a little bit of touching and some innocent cunnilingus.” 

Y/N scoffs sarcastically, shoving her other foot into the opposite pant leg and yanking it up over her bum, buttoning the article with finality and smoothing her sweater down. “‘Innocent cunnilingus.’ The irony of it all.”

Harry kicks Y/N’s Vans towards her with the flat side of his own. “What’s ironic is you mocking me as if you weren’t begging for it a few minutes ago.”

She wiggles her toes into the shoes wordlessly. 

“S’what I thought.” Harry taunts. 

Now that she’s fully dressed, Y/N slowly drifts closer to him, finding amusement in how his stance straightens in sudden interest. His forearms tighten a smidgen over his pecs, fingers tucking underneath his pits so she doesn’t see them tapping anxiously. 

Y/N stops once her chest bumps against the shield he’s built before him, his neck visibly tensing. When she speaks, it’s suggestive and her undertone resembles velvet. “You know what’s the most ironic thing of all?”

Harry jumps when he feels Y/N’s hands wrinkling the fabric of his graphic t-shirt, a harsh tug untucking it fully from below his waistband. Her hands slip below the material, cold, pliant fingers tracing over the toned muscles of his stomach and massaging at the love handles along his torso. “That you went through all that trouble of showing me how to appropriately do body shots, but you don’t really know if I learned it.” 

He starts picking up on her hints, his biceps contracting at the feathery sensation of her fingertips spelling out random letters across the wings of his butterfly tattoo. He cocks his head down to get a better look at her, chin pressing into the alcove between his defined collarbones. Her lips are so close he has to force himself to keep from chasing them. 

Harry entertains the little game she’s dishing, voice low and heavy. “I guess that is pretty ironic.” 

Y/N reaches over his hip for something behind him, her hand coming back with one of the leftover lime wedges nestled at its center. She glances up at him from beneath her thick lashes, luring him in with that hypnotic aura she always works to her advantage. The lime slice ends up between her inviting lips, the rine facing outwards in the same manner Harry had placed his.

Y/N then balances herself forward onto the tips of her toes, the pads of her digits digging into his chest ever so slightly for reinforcement. She stretches her neck until her face is level with his and goes in as if to kiss him, transferring the lime into his mouth, juice squirting out and fizzing over his itching skin. 

“I can stay and help.” Harry smiles at you.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

You blush slightly. Harry was usually one of the first people to clear out, opting to go meet up with someone on his many dating apps. He must not have felt like working that hard tonight since he was the last of your friends to stick around. You both were used to closing down the bar together, so to him, this wasn’t that much different.

Your head was swimming. You stumbled slightly as you picked up the plastic cups to put them into a trash bag. Harry put the game back in its box. He met you in the kitchen. You were trying to get the cork back in the wine, but it kept slipping.

“Let me.” He smirks.

Harry puts his hands over yours and helps you get the cork in the bottle. Was this his way of flirting with you? Was Harry interested in you? You had become pretty good friends in the last six months, but you truthfully didn’t see him as more. Sure, he was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that. His tattoos were mysterious and enchanting, his eyes were inviting, and….oh fuck, why is he looking at you like that?

His hands leave yours when he realizes they were lingering a little too long. You blush again, but you don’t think he notices. Maybe he thought you were flushed from the wine. You look away and some of your hair falls into your face. You feel his large hand tuck some of it behind your ear. Your eyes meet his again. Was this about to happen?

“Do you feel like having a shag?” He asks, bluntly. You burst out laughing and he takes a step back from you.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.” You slur slightly. “Sure, we could fuck.” You shrug.

“Really?” He perks up and steps back towards you.

“Yeah, it’s been a little bit for me.” If you weren’t so drunk you probably wouldn’t have been so honest. “Plus, you’re here.” You smirk. “So, why not?”

He grins at you and plants his hands on your hips. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious as to how Harry was in bed. There were often many nights at the bar that women would wait out the clock to take him home. You saw right through his charisma, you were immune to charm. But right now, he was warm and inviting, and you weren’t going to say no.

You put your hands on his chest and grip at the material of his t-shirt. You pull him down to you and that ignites something wild between the two of you. The kiss was sloppy and full of need. His hands grip onto your hips harder as he pulls your body flush with his. Your hands slip up to grip onto the curls on the nape of his neck. He backs you up to the kitchen counter and you feel him grow hard against your hip. You whimper slightly, and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth.

You bang into almost every wall there was on the way to your bedroom. He knew the spot well. Sometimes when you’d want to hang out just the two of you, you’d watch a movie on the comfort of your bed. You never cuddled or anything, but laying out on the bed was always more comfortable. He picks you up and practically throws you onto the bed. He takes his shirt off before getting on to hover over you. You run your hands up his torso. His lower tummy was soft, but the rest of him felt so chiseled.

“Oh, it’s a butterfly.” You giggle. “I could never quite make it out.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” He kisses down your neck and you roll your hips up to his.

“I didn’t want you to think I was staring…because I wasn’t…” You both make eye contact and chuckle.

Things stop being so funny when his lips find yours again, and his hands slide up under your shirt. He grips and kneads your breasts. You gasp, loving the way his hands work on you. His kisses on the crook of your neck again, and sucks harshly. He yanks your shirt up over your bra, tugs your bra down, and sucks on one of your nipples. He kisses down your chest and stomach. His fingers fiddle the button on your pants. You lean up to take your shirt and bra off. You lift your hips to help him take your pants off. His fingers hook into your panties and looks up at you.

“Go on.” You smile.

He gets your panties off and spreads your legs apart. Most of the time when you hooked up with a guy, you got right to it, but Harry seemed to know exactly what you wanted…needed. Your hips buck up towards him when you first feel his tongue on you.

“That’s not how this works, I’m afraid.” He says, sitting up to look at you.

“Wh, what do you mean?”

“You need to stay still. I like being able to just…do this.” One of his forearms presses down across your lower stomach. “So don’t fucking move, alright? Just, relax and enjoy.”

Your mouth was hanging open. You weren’t really sure how to respond, but you liked where he was taking things because you could feel yourself tightening around nothing as he spoke. His tongue licks into you. You grit your teeth as you prop up on your elbows to watch him. His eyes flick up to yours which makes him groan. The vibrations go right through you. It was really hard not to move against him, but he didn’t need the help. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it felt amazing. His other thumb moves to rub your clit, but not before dragging some of your wetness up to it.

“Fuck.” You breathe and your head rolls back. Your hands grip at the blankets on your bed. Your body was starting to feel hot all over. It usually took you more time than this to feel this way. The knot in your stomach was about to let go. “Oh my god!” You mewl as your toes curl. He doesn’t let up on you. His mouth moves to your clit to suck on it while two of his fingers slip inside you. “Shit, oh my god, keep doing that, please!” Your hand finds his hair and you grip harshly while you let go. Your body twitches under his. You tighten around his fingers as your orgasm washes over you.

He retracts his fingers and sits up on his knees to get a good look at you. You were a sight to see. He gets his pants and boxers off.

“Got any condoms?” He grunts as he strokes himself.

“Yeah, in the side table.” You lean over and search for one. “Ah-ha!” You toss it to him.

He rips it open and slides it on. He hovers back over you and spreads your tired legs apart again.

“You want this, right? Not forcing you?” He looks down at you.

“Yeah, I want it. Go ahead, Harry, fuck me.”

He grins and rubs his tip over your folds and along your clit. He lines himself up with your center and slowly starts to push inside. Your nails sink into his love handles as he goes in inch by inch. He was big and thick, just how you liked it. Once he was all the way in you let the air out of your lungs that you were keeping in. He was snug inside you. He looks down at the place where you’re connected and slowly starts to rock in and out of you. Your hands slide up his back to grip his shoulders to pull him down to you. Your breasts rub up against his chest while he thrusts in and out. He was already hitting your g-spot.

“Oh, fuck.” You say into his neck. You kiss and suck on his soft skin while he fucks you.

“Feels good?”

“So good, so fucking good.”

Your body had never really responded to someone else’s like this before. You weren’t entirely sure what this would mean for you and Harry. You really never saw him as boyfriend material, and you still didn’t, but the way he was making you feel right now was awfully confusing. Maybe it was just sex, really fucking good sex that you clearly both needed. Maybe you were both just so comfortable and willing because you knew each other so well. You shake the thoughts from your clouded mind. You were still too drunk to really give a fuck, and so was he. Suddenly he pulls out of you, really pulling you from your thoughts.

“What are you-?”

Harry yanks at your arm, and you suddenly find yourself on your feet, bent over the bed. You moan out when he slides back in. He grips both of your hips at first to get his pace going. He loved seeing you take him so well. Once you get used to the new position, one of his hands slides up to the back of your head to grip at your roots.

“Christ.” You groan. His other hand snakes around to your front to rub your clit. “Harry!” You scream as you come to another release. You never came that fast on your second one. Hell, you were lucky to even have a second one.

“Doing so well for me.” He grunts. “You’re amazing.”

He speeds up his pace. His thrusts get sloppy as he feels his orgasm bubbling at the base of his spine. He starts moaning and groaning, a sound that you didn’t know could be so sexy. Why weren’t more guys this vocal in bed? It’s hot!

“Fuck.” He groans as he spills into the condom. Even though you couldn’t really feel his come, you can tell he came a lot just from the pressure alone. He collapses on top of you and kisses the back of your shoulder and neck before pulling out.

You stand up and turn around. He goes off to your bathroom to clean himself up, and you use it next. When you come back out he’s getting his clothes back on. You grab a t-shirt and shorts to throw on.

“That was fun.” He says without looking at you as he ties up his sneakers.

“Yeah.” You tuck some hair behind your ear. “Thanks.”