He’d been on the road nonstop for almost a month. A short European run — three cities in Spain, a radio spot in Belgium, a surprise pop-up show in Paris that practically melted the internet, and of course their shows in London that you had wished you could have gone to. You tried to keep up, but the time zone from England to New York, and your full-time job meant your check-ins were more often blurry morning voice notes or late-night texts saying are you still up?

You missed him—you missed being around him. Not just the sex, not just his voice or his hugs or his hands on your waist. You missed him in the mundane ways: brushing your teeth side-by-side at your tiny pedestal sink, arguing over who stole the other’s socks, finding his scribbled grocery notes next to your shopping list on the fridge.

So, when he finally got a week off with no cameras, no promo, no press, he chose to spend it here. In your cramped, third-floor walk-up. No Soho loft, no private chef, no fancy dinners with fancy people. It was just you, your cat, Garbanzo, a queen-sized mattress, and a perpetually janky fire escape you both pretended wasn’t wildly unsafe for you to both sit on when the sun went down.

You came home on a Wednesday evening to him humming with a toothbrush in his mouth, barefoot in your kitchen, folding your underwear like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” you said softly, unlatching your door with your hip as you held your water bottle in one hand, held your bag on your arm, and made your way through the door.

He looked up from his spot in your living room, eyes crinkling as he grinned around the toothbrush. “Hiii.”

There was a pile of clean clothes on your couch — there were socks matched, bras gently cupped in one another, t-shirts folded with an almost military precision. Your laundry basket, which had been overflowing this morning when you left, sat empty next to him.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You tell him with a bit of confusion.

Harry walked from his spot in the living to the sink in the bathroom, but you hear his voice over the water.

“I know.” He spat into the sink, head dropped as he rinsed. “Wanted to.”

You dropped your bags and leaned against the counter as he walked out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a hand towel.

He walked over and kissed your cheek which was soft and minty, and rested his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. His hair was long; not pulled back like usual, because it seemed he may have gotten out of the shower only a little before you walked in.

“You looked tired in that photo you sent earlier,” he murmured in you. “Felt like I needed to do something useful. And I can be useful.”

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of the day slide off your back and into him, knowing he’d hold you up no matter how heavy it was.

“Okay,” you said, turning to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’m officially keeping you.”

He grinned, cockiness sharply coming across. “Good. You’ve done all this work to train me, so I’m glad I get to keep the job.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your knuckles along the side of his jaw as you try to memorize the placement of his long fingers, the way that he holds you close; keeps you just in line with his eyes as you giggle at him. “You are so well-trained. You even separate whites from colors now.”

He scoffed dramatically, pulling away only to lean against the counter beside you. “Don’t act like that wasn’t a three-day seminar! I practically had handouts made.”

You grinned and reached into the fridge, grabbing a can of sparkling water and holding it out to him. He took it with a grateful nod and cracked it open, taking a long sip while his eyes roamed lazily over you; you could never get used to the way that he looked at you.

“What?” you asked, pretending to be suspicious.

“Nothing,” he said, and then shook his head as he took another sip. “Just like seeing you come through that door. S’been a long few weeks.”

You paused then as you took the can that he had then offered you, warmth blooming behind your ribs again like it had the first moments had when you met him. It was moments like these that got you — how someone like him, who could be anywhere, doing anything, and he chose this. Your 700 square foot apartment, your couch that you thrifted. It was your laundry detergent and sad little houseplants and squeaky cabinet hinges that no one, except you, was ever going to fix.

You bumped your hip against his as you took a lean against the counter with him. “You can go sit down. I’m gonna throw dinner together – maybe that salmon we bought a couple days ago.”

But he didn’t move. Just gave you a slow, unreadable look almost like he was going to say something else, so you just studied him for a long moment to almost prompt him to keep going.

“Actually…” he said, voice dipping but the sparkle in his eyes heightened which kept you intrigued for a moment, “there’s something I wanna show you first.”

Your brows lifted then. “Yeah?”

He moved away from the kitchen as he started to make his way into your bedroom. He moved to the side of his bed, where his duffle bag sat that contained all of his clothes—practically everything to his name, where he traveled the world and only had so many items that he kept with him.

When he dug through his things, he pulled out a black box. It was sleek, wrapped in a silk black ribbon that that was discreet and hardly meddled through the airport security.

When he returned, he held the item behind him before he was able to present it to you. You blinked, giving him a slow smile before you reached for it. “Harry… you didn’t have to.”

He held it out with both hands like a peace offering, like he was nervous. You had never seen Harry Styles nervous. “Before you freak out, let me explain.”

Your eyebrows knit at his words, “I’m not freaking out—should I be?”

“Okay, great—well, no. But I just—” He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, cheeks pink now as he held his lip between his thumb and index finger with a sheepish smile that was trying to come together. “I was in Paris… and I went into this… boutique” He paused, “Don’t make a face.”

You looked back at him, shaking your head, “I’m not making a face.”

“You’re absolutely making a face.” He smirks, leaning against the counter again with a squint as he tries to not laugh.

You found yourself giggling a little bit as you continued to look at the box. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

He huffed, trying to explain and not feel entirely embarrassed that he may have been a bit too forward with the purchase. “It was one of those, like, wellness-forward places. Fancy packaging, plants everywhere. They even offered me tea while I browsed.”

“It may have been that you are international popstar Harry Styles that they offered you tea,” you say as you started to unravel the ribbon, laying it on the counter so Garbanzo wouldn’t get it.

“Well, maybe,” He shrugged, almost ready to pounce on you as you opened it slowly, “And I saw this on the shelf. And I thought…” He scratched his neck with a bit of anxiety. “We haven’t really done anything with toys yet—not that we have to. But I thought — if we were going to start somewhere, maybe this could be it.”

You looked down at the box in your hands; minimal branding, elegant and innocuous. Something you could leave on a nightstand and pretend it was a candle, probably.

“It’s—I mean, it’s just a little stimulator, really. Clitoris stimulator, to be specific.” he added quickly, then cringed. “That sounded clinical, sorry.”

“It did,” you teased, taking the vibrator in your hand before looking at it and feeling it in your hand, “But I got what you meant.”

He watched you closely as you turned it over, scanning the back. “I thought maybe we could try it together. But if you want it just for yourself — that’s fine too.”

You turned your gaze back to him, your heart tilting a little at the way he was standing there — nervous, but excited. Soft, but so clearly turned on by the idea of this, even if he didn’t know exactly how it would go.

“I want it to be something we use together,” you said. “It feels different if we explore it like that. Not just something for me, but something for us.”

He visibly relaxed, that shy little grin spreading across his face again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stepped forward, curling your arms around his middle. “Though I am a little concerned about what TikTok corners you’ve ended up in lately.”

“Hey,” he defended, holding you close. “My algorithm is very sex-positive.”

You smirked, resting against his chest as you stared down at the item in your hand. “And somehow, the headline ‘Harry Styles Buys His Girlfriend a Vibrator in Paris’ didn’t end up on TMZ? Those Twitter girls couldn’t find you?”

His mouth dropped open in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I wore sunglasses and a hoodie for this one. Very stealth—I also went right when they opened.”

“Yeah, because nothing says low-profile like you looking like the Unabomber in a wellness boutique.”

He laughed at that, warm and boyish with the dimples popping just as you wanted. “It was a discreet shop! It was off of one those small Paris streets, kind of by the hotel, too. I didn’t take any security or anything. They wrapped it up in tissue paper like it was at a fucking spa or some shit.”

“Well,” you said, tapping your fingers against his hip, “we’ll find out soon if it’s as revitalizing as a good serum.” You leaned back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “So you have to have thought about me using it while you’re gone.”

“Thought about it,” he repeated, voice suddenly low, “dreamed about it.”

Your stomach flipped when he looked down at you with his mouth a little parted. “You, tucked under the covers, missing me. Playing with this while I’m on the phone. Telling me how good it feels, how bad you need me. Would love a video of it, but I can imagine the audio would be just as good.”

“Jesus,” you whispered; almost unsure how he could do that so easily. You hadn’t been home for an hour, and now you were practically wanting to rip off your work clothes in the middle of your kitchen.

“I’d be such a mess,” he said with a soft laugh. “Would have to beg for a private plane home right then and there.”

Home. He considered you home; he considered this small apartment, and your broken hinged kitchen, and your creaky wooden floor space—he considered this home.

You reached for the box again, your fingers grazing his as you took it. “Then maybe we should test it out. See if it’s worth the daydream, and the trip home, hm?”

His eyes darkened almost immediately upon the request. “Now?”

Your eyes matched his then, nodding with a devilish smirk that you knew that he couldn’t pay enough. Money to see. “Now.”

He backed toward the bedroom slowly, holding your hand, a giddy flush in his cheeks almost like he had waited years for this. “You’re gonna laugh at me if I fumble the buttons, aren’t you?”

“Only a little.”

You kissed him again, sweet and slow, before whispering, “But you can make it up to me.”

He led you toward the bedroom, fingers laced with yours, not hurried. Not all lust and rush — though that was there too, humming just under the surface. But more than anything, it felt like something being unwrapped slowly. It was like a gift, a secret you were both letting out of the dark.

The box was light in your hand, but it might as well have been glowing.

You sat on the edge of the bed while he shut the door behind you, tugged the hem of his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. He still smelled like your expensive coconut shampoo you kept in your shower. His cross necklace caught the low light as it hung across his chest, directly between the birds on his collarbone.

You watched him — the way his body moved, how at home he looked in your space; he felt so much bigger and taller than your furniture — and you felt something flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with how much you’d missed him.

He noticed the shift in your expression. “What’s that look for?”

You smiled, soft as you shook your head almost like you were trying to dissolve your daydream. “Just thinking about how weird it is that I get to keep you. Even after all this time.”

He smirked with a small tinge of possible sadness in it. “A month isn’t that long.”

“It is when you spend half of it on another continent—it is when we’ve only really been dating for six. That’s one sixth time apart, you know?”

His face gentled, almost like he hadn’t thought of it that way. He stepped closer, standing between your knees and brushing your hair behind your ear. “I know, and that’s why I want to spend all of my extra time with you.”

You leaned into the touch. “It’s not that I don’t understand why you have to be gone—of course I do. I just…” Your voice caught slightly, which you’re not really sure why when you knew that you two were doing in here in the first place. “There are nights where I fall asleep to old interviews, just to hear your voice.”

A simple chuckle leaves him at your admission; his hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking gently. “You should’ve called instead.”

Your eyes soften when you stare at him, “I did. Time zones suck.”

He nodded, quiet. “They do.”

There were times when the distance didn’t feel so brutal — when tour just meant funny selfies from soundcheck or postcards from foreign hotels where he would just sign it with H xo or sending nudes over Wi-Fi in the middle of the night. But there were other times when it hurt. The ache of missing someone who was technically still yours, but so far away that even their smell felt like memory.

He was yours, but you shared him with every other girl in the world—and as much as you wanted to be a girls girl, as much as you fought for him to be loved by everyone else, you wanted him for yourself.

And yet, somehow, you made it work. You kept falling for each other over and over, even through grainy FaceTime and plane tickets you couldn’t always afford—you never told him that. You just made it work because you knew what you had.

Because even from the very beginning, even that night in the club, he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

“You remember the first thing I said to you?” he asked, still stroking your cheek.

“You asked if I was lost.” You bit your bottom lip as you answered him quietly.

He smiled back at you. “You looked like you’d taken a wrong turn on your way to the rooftop.”

“I had,” you admitted, giggling softly. “But I wasn’t gonna tell you that.”

He dipped his head, kissed your forehead. “You didn’t need to. You were all flushed and wide-eyed like you’d just wandered into Narnia or something.”

“I was just trying not to make eye contact with the six security guards around you.”

He chuckled, kneeling down between your legs now, palms sliding up your thighs. “You asked my name. Hadn’t had someone ask me that in a while.”

“I knew who you were. But you looked at me like… like I was someone you didn’t want to forget.”

He went still, like the memory itself made him nostalgic. “I didn’t.”

You smiled, threading your fingers into his hair as he kneeled on the floor in front of you. “That’s why I said yes when you asked to see me again.”

“And now I’m buying you sex toys in Paris,” he murmured against the warmth of your denim, kissing along the inside of your knee.

You laughed, breath catching at the moment of intimacy that made you wonder how lucky you would get to experience this. “I think they call that a full circle moment.”

You reached for the box again; you move to be settling back against the pillows while Harry followed your lead and crawled onto the bed beside you. He watched as you slid your finger under the edge of the packaging, opened it like you were unwrapping something sacred.

The toy was sleek and compact with matte black with gold trim, like something out of a design magazine. He whistled low when he caught full glimpse of it.

“Very bougie Parisian of you,” you teased as you held it in your hand then.

He shrugged, eyeing you before looking at the toy. “Only the best for you.”

You turned it on, pressing on the small button experimentally — a soft, rhythmic hum filled the room. He looked startled, almost like he hadn’t really seen one before, then intrigued as the buzzing surrounded the bedroom.

“You feel it first,” he said. “Tell me what it’s like.”

You pressed it gently to the pad of your fingertip on your opposite hand, then the inside of your wrist. A sharp exhale escaped your lips as you take in the real power of it. Especially on the lowest setting. “Oh, wow.”

Harry’s eyes were pitch black, the lust in them was hanging over you as he tried to contain himself. “Yeah?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, biting on your bottom lip. “Yeah. That’s…wow.”

“Hm,” He raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Encouraging.”

You reached for him, pulled him in for a kiss — slow, warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that made your stomach twist and tighten. When you broke apart, you set the toy down on the nightstand, just for now—just until you were able to get a part of him, just for yourself.

“Come here.”

He slid between your legs, kissing your neck, your collarbone, the edge of your jaw. His voice was low and warm in your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he tells you quietly, just for you, “I’ll do anything for you.”

You blushed, already a little breathless at the way that he wanted you. “I want you to try it on me, guiding me, maybe.”

He swallowed hard, and you could feel the pulse in his throat when you kissed there.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Don’t want to give it a test drive yourself?”

You swallowed slowly, shaking your head as you took in a deep breath with his eyes set on you. “I want this to be an us thing first.”

You let him help you undress — gently, like unwrapping a gift he had purchased himself. His fingers were slow and gathered as he helped you out of your jeans, and you unbuttoned your shirt. He pulled the thong down your legs, smirking to himself almost like he couldn’t help it. You were already aching when you laid back against the pillows, baring yourself to him, his eyes dark and glittering above you.

With steady eyes, he let himself wander each inch of your body – he didn’t stray away from it.  He reached for the toy, flicked it on again. It instantly brought a light to his eyes that you hadn’t seen before; you watched him become a bit more confident and unsure at the same time. That quiet hum between you, that positively charged space.

“I’ll go slow,” he said, leaning in to kiss your belly. “If anything’s too much, tell me.”

“I will.” You promised him.

He trailed the toy along the inside of your thigh, avoiding where you needed him most. Your breath hitched, body already responding with every nerve alive and already anxious for the feeling.

“I missed you so much,” you murmured; the feeling of his hands completely covering your thighs at the size of them, you had waited to be touched by him for so long, and every moment you got of him you reveled.

His voice cracked a little, quiet and whispered as he focused on the way that matte black moved against your skin. “I missed you too, baby.”

Then he brought it to your clit, feather-light with an aching amount of a tease — and everything inside you jolted. Your hand flew to his shoulder, gripping. He paused immediately with a bit of fear in his eyes as they began searching yours.

“Too much?” He asked, pulling it away as easily as he settled it against you. You could practically feel his breath against you.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head as you leaned it against your pillow. “Just—keep going.”

He adjusted on the bed between your legs, pressing the toy a little more firmly, watching your face with rapt attention as you reacted again. This time, you moaned softly, hips tilting up instinctively in his direction as your knees bent in the air.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered out, a genuine feeling of shock crossing you as you felt yourself start to melt into the bed.

The sound of his raspy voice interrupted your thoughts with a gentle knock, “That good?”

You could barely nod at him, so you hummed in acknowledgement.

You knew he was hard; you could tell — straining behind his boxers but focused entirely on you. He leaned in to kiss your knee, your hip, the swell of your breast as he flicked the vibrator against you.

“Wish you could see yourself like I’m seeing you right now,” he said hoarsely. “You’re fucking stunning like this.”

The tension kept building with a sharp, hot, relentless power and he read every twitch and moan like sheet music, adjusting the angle, the pressure, kissing you through it, whispering how perfect you were.

When you came, it was overwhelming and more intense than you could have expected; the clitoral stimulation as almost bone-chilling. A gasping, curling, bone-deep kind of release that left you trembling.

Harry moved up and kissed you through it, gently setting the toy aside as he turned the power off and crawled up to hold you, his chest heaving like he’d just finished too.

“Holy shit,” you said breathlessly, clutching him as if he’s the only available lifeline around you.

He chuckled a little at your breath, voice wrecked like he had been through it right there with you. “Guess it’s got my stamp of approval, then.”

You kissed his cheek, dazed and flushed. “You are never allowed to tour without leaving that behind.”

“It’s all yours,” He laughed, rolling you onto your side and wrapping you up in his arms. “Maybe next time I’ll mail you one from each city, like a little reminder.”

“Harry—”

He grinned against your shoulder. “We can build a collection, since I know we have the green flag on toys.”

You let your eyes float up to his chin that rests over you and you still feel like you’re floating. “God, I love you.”

His voice dropped, low and certain with every ounce in him. “Love you too.”

You were still heavily breathing into his shoulder when you realized he hadn’t stopped touching you. His palm was slow on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles just above your knee, grounding you. He kissed the side of your neck, soft and indulgent, as though he wasn’t in a rush. But when you shifted,  your bare leg brushing against his boxer-clad thigh, you felt every ounce of him and the aching against you.

“Harry,” you whispered, nuzzling closer, knowing you just didn’t want to give up this moment with him.

“Yeah, love?” He practically purred.

You tilted your head to meet his eyes. “You didn’t want anything?”

He raised a brow at you, like he was a bit confused at your question. “Did I not just get to watch the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen?”

You pursed your lips at him with a bit of an eye that made him go back to a bit of seriousness.

“I was more focused on making sure you got off.”

“And now I want you to,” you tell him with a nod, trying to escape the feeling of being between his biceps before you start to look over him.

He let out a breathy laugh, head falling back against the pillow. “Well, I’m not going to stop you—surely.”

You shifted your weight, climbing over him, straddling his lap with your bareness. He looked up at you, hands moving instinctively to your hips to steady you like the captain of a ship.

“You sure?” he asked, making sure everything felt right. “Don’t have to do more tonight.”

You leaned in, kissing his mouth slowly like everything had been built up in them; all the words, all the needs and wants and daydreams you had been having while he was away. “I want to. Want to feel you while it’s still all buzzing through me.”

His grip on your waist tightened. “Fuck.”

You reached down between you, guiding him free from his boxers as you pushed them down his thighs; he was thick and flushed and entirely too sensitive for you to be teasing him, the tip already wet. He hissed softly as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking once, twice, just enough to make his eyes flutter at the feeling of you.

Then you leaned back, reached for the toy again.

He blinked a few times in confusion. “Again?”

You nodded at him with a sheepish look, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. “I want to feel both.”

His pupils darkened at those words, licking his lips almost to prepare himself for the ride of his life. “Jesus Christ.”

You lined him up, sinking onto him slowly — your gasp catching as he filled you, the stretch deep and grounding, so much more now that your body was still humming from before; you felt sensitive but so ready to take him. His hands gripped your thighs, trying to be still, but failing when your warmth clenched around him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, realizing how unprepared he had been as he settled against the bed. “You’re already so wet.”

“I told you it was effective.”

You both laughed, breathless, tangled together and glowing from it.

Once he was fully inside, you held still for a moment, rocking your hips once as you flicked the toy on again. The buzz against your clit while he was buried inside you made your whole-body jolt with an exhilaration that you weren’t sure you could contain.

“Oh my God—” you gasped outwardly, knowing it may have shocked him a bit.

Harry swore under his breath as he clenched his eyes shut for a moment, gripping your hips hard. “Fucking hell. You’re gonna make me come in two minutes.”

“Don’t,” you breathed, rocking slowly. “Not yet.”

He watched you, then — watched the way your face tilted back, your mouth parting, the toy trembling just at the edge of your clit as you rode him in slow, needy rolls. It was like watching an artist flick a stroke of a masterpiece he was witnessing with every movement that you guided your hips forward.

“Yeah,” His voice was low and wrecked when he spoke again. “Please yourself like you mean it.”

Your breath caught at the way that he praised you, wanted more for you and for you to feel him all over again. He brought one hand up to hold your jaw lightly, tilting your face down so he could watch your expression.

“Don’t half-ass it now, baby,” he murmured, eyes locked to yours in a way that kept your orgasm at bay—you couldn’t disappoint him and go too fast, you wanted to draw it out. “Wanna see you come again.”

The words went straight to your core. You pressed the toy harder against yourself and rode him with more purpose now — each thrust deeper, wetter, the toy sending jolts of heat up your spine. He was thick and solid inside you, grounding you while your clit pulsed with overstimulated want.

“Fuck, Harry—”

“That’s it,” he whispered to you, almost like a voice in the back of your head. “Use it. Show me how you need me. Show me you missed me.”

Your thighs trembled, your body burning up from the inside as you rocked harder, the pleasure climbing fast. He was groaning under you, trying to stay still, hands gripping onto you in a way that may leave bruises as he couldn’t trust himself not to flip you over and fuck you senseless.

You were close, so close — and he could feel it, you could feel him.

“You gonna come again?” he asked, voice raw. “Let go for me, baby. Want to feel you squeeze me.”

And you did — your body clenching tight around him, the toy pressed firm, your second orgasm tearing through you like a wave crashing. You collapsed against his chest with a cry, and he barely lasted another moment after that as he wrapped his arms around to hold you close.

“Fuck—” he gasped, hips thrusting up once, twice, then stilling as he spilled into you with a low, broken moan as he gripped your ass solidly to keep your hips moving on top of him to prolong the feeling.

You lay tangled together in the aftershocks, the toy discarded off to the side of the bed, your breath catching against his collarbone with the dance of the ink underneath your cheek.

Neither of you spoke for a moment because it wasn’t needed; it wasn’t warranted to make any noise as you let your breathing fall into the same rhythm as his. You laid with a heaviness that felt like such a comfort to him.

Then Harry laughed, breaking the silence softly with his voice hoarse. “I’m never topping that.”

You grinned into his chest before lifting up just a bit to look at him. “Oh, we’re definitely bringing it into rotation.”

“Ma douce fille,” He stroked your back as he looked at you with all of the stars in his eyes. “Think my Paris souvenir just paid for itself.”

You tilted your head to kiss his jaw, letting yourself rest for a moment. “Worth every Euro, I think.”

+++

Your apartment always felt colder without him in it – even if it meant him leaving for the night, or for the next three weeks like this stent would be.

Not literally — the AC was still running, and your throw blanket was draped across your legs as you sat curled in bed, book in hand, but something about the air felt quieter. Like it hadn’t quite recovered from the weight of him leaving yesterday morning, duffle in one hand, kisses pressed to your neck like all of the punctuation except a period to end the time of being together.

You hadn’t picked up the few items he had left on your bedroom floor, and that was intentional. Leaving his t-shirts next to his side—now it was his side of the bed—felt intentional. Leaving the glass of water he left by his side of the bed… it all felt like you were just letting him stay there when he really wasn’t there.

Your phone buzzed beside you on the duvet. You glanced down and smiled before you even picked it up — his name lighting up the screen in that now-familiar burst of warmth.

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You opened it to see a sea of people; it was chaotic and glittering and beautiful all the same, like every show they did. The sun hadn’t quite set, but the lights were already catching in the haze — there were thousands of fans shoulder to shoulder, holding signs and phones and each other. The caption popped up just a second later.

Harry: Tonight in Stockholm. Think any of them know I stopped in a pretty little Swedish boutique last night? xo Miss you pretty girl.

Your lip caught between your teeth. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second, your heart fluttering in that way it always did when he said something just a little filthy through something just a little sweet.

You took a deep breath, cheeks already heating as you took in a deep breath. Then you replied:

You: That depends. Did you leave carrying a discreet little black box again? Or did you stuff it in your guitar case like a rockstar?

Three little dots appeared almost instantly. Then:

Harry: Little black boxes can be rock and roll, too.

Harry: You up for a while, then? xxxxx

You stared at the screen, the ache of missing him blooming into something warmer. Something buzzing, low in your belly.

You set your book aside; you turned off the lamp to a dimming. You reached for the drawer on your nightstand — the one that hummed with electricity now.  And then you typed, slow and deliberate:

You: Only if you ask nicely.

You could practically feel his touch as you let yourself fall into the mattress, letting your hands wander, letting the feeling of the buzz take over your skin in a way that made you gasp out before you read his response.

You’d barely set your phone down when it started ringing. Not FaceTime, just a call.

Harry Styles (Euro). Incoming.

Your heart skipped, thumb swiping across the screen as you pressed the screen against your ear as you felt your voice raspy from not speaking to anyone all evening.

“Hello?”

There was a pause — long enough for you to wonder if he’d butt-dialed you — before his voice came through, soft and low and wrapped in a bit of static.

“Couldn’t wait for a video. Just wanted to hear you.”

You sank back into the pillows, the toy still warm in your hand, your voice already breathier than usual.

“You miss me?” You teased a bit, letting your voice stay low as you stared at the ceiling for a moment.

He hummed, quiet like he was trying not to be overheard. “Thirty-six hours is a long time without you.”

You bit your lip. “Then why are you whispering?”

“Hotel walls are paper thin,” he murmured against the speaker. “Niall and Louis in the room next door. If I wake them up again, they’ll kill me. Everyone’s jetlagged.”

You laughed, breath catching a bit as you try to think about him laying in bed and having to stay quiet rather than letting loose in your apartment. “What happened last time?”

“Heard me saying your name,” Harry muttered to himself; you could tell he was exhausted, but you could tell that he needed you more than sleep. “Thought I was having a nightmare.”

You grinned, flicking your tongue out as you flipped the toy around your fingers. “And were you?”

“Worse,” he said. “I was wide awake.”

You rolled onto your side, phone pressed close, the toy still resting on your bare thigh. “And what about now? You wide awake?”

His voice dipped lower as he was contemplating, a few hums coming through. “Depends.”

“On?”

You could practically hear the smirk that was pressing on his lips; you could see him press his hands through his hair that was freshly washed and showered as he laid on a stark white hotel bed.

“On whether that buzzing I hear is my imagination or not.”

Your breath stilled, then you slowly turned the toy on, just the lowest setting, barely a whisper but you knew he could hear it coming through the receiver.

He groaned under his breath. “Fuck.”

“You started it,” you whispered with a teasing tone that made your cheeks hurt with the smile that you wore.

“I know,” he hissed. “I’m the dumbass who sent a picture of a Swedish crowd with a hard-on.”

You laughed softly, your legs shifting. “What are you picturing right now?”

“Don’t do that to me,” He bit back a bit, almost like he was annoyed that he had started something he couldn’t finish. But your teasing turned him on too bad.

“Harry.”

He exhaled sharply, voice strained. “You, on your side. Legs curled up. That soft look on your face when you’re about to come. Toy tucked right between your thighs. One hand gripping the sheets, the other holding the phone.”

You whimpered at his description — barely audible, but he heard it anyway.

“Christ,” he whispered. “You touching yourself yet?”

You run your tongue over your lip before you shake you head, “Not yet.”

You teased the toy along your lower stomach, the feeling of the soft silicone reminding you of him.

“Why?” He questions, his voice so raspy and worn and you knew it was from the way that he sang tonight, almost like he needed tea to calm him down.

“Waiting for you to tell me.”

He sucked in a breath then. You could practically see him in that too-bright hotel room — shirtless, sprawled on stiff white sheets, one hand gripping his phone, the other already brushing down his stomach.

“Please yourself like you mean it, baby,” he said, voice wrecked then. “Let me hear it, hm?”

You obeyed, only because he asked nicely. The toy pressed firmly to your clit, and you arched with a gasp — quiet but not silent. He heard every second of it; his eyes shutting as he leaned back in the bed. Every stuttered breath, every whimper, every curse whispered into the dark.

He didn’t tell you he was touching himself — didn’t need to. You could hear it in the tight way he spoke, the broken rhythm of his breathing, the faint rustle of the sheets.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he asked, voice shaking then with a fervent need for you to feel the way that he wanted you to. He wanted to be the one touching you, the one making your moan and whimper into the phone.

“Only if you do too,” you breathed back, almost wanting to set the phone down, but it felt like a warmth to you then.

It felt like him.  He groaned low — barely containing it. “Fuck—keep going, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

The pleasure built quickly, sharp and urgent, but coated in intimacy — the sound of his voice tethering you, pulling you through it as you slipped the toy inside for a quick moment; a break of a gasp made you want the feeling of him.

“I miss you so much,” you gasped.

“I miss you too.”

“I want your hands—your mouth—your—”

“I know,” he said, strained and sweet. “I know, baby. Soon, yeah? I'll bend you backwards and upwards and whatever you like, but for now, let go for me. Come on. You’re so fucking sexy like this all out of breath—”

You came with his name on your lips, soft and shaking with the intensity of a lightning storm, the toy slipping from your hand as your body curled in on itself.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," You cursed as you tilted your head back along the pillow to try and compose yourself from the feeling of euphoria that left you seeing stars.

On the other end of the line, a deep, choked groan — and then there was the silence that fell among you two. You both stayed there in the quiet for a moment. Just the sound of your breathing and the hum of hotel air-conditioning in his background.

Then: “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”

You smiled, still floating on the moment and the feeling of adrenaline that flew up your veins like a morphine that would level you; that would ground you. “Good.”

“I’m gonna think about that until I see you again.”

You tucked your hand under your cheek, feeling the warmth of your pink cheek. “When’s that?”

“Soon,” he promised, almost like that way the only bit that you needed to reassure you that this wasn’t forever; he still thought of you every moment.

You bit your lip, your eyes already heavy. “I love you.”

His voice softened as you could tell that even though he said he wasn’t tired, you could hear it in him. “I love you too.”

And with that, you let the line stay open just a little longer. No more words, just breath. Just his presence was there. Just love humming between two cities, even when he was far, he never really left.