Tangerine

Chapter 71

Soundtrack: Jimi Hendrix - Machine Gun

Dedication: shannon (@whatsashannon) somehow you read 70 chapters in a day and a half :) you're lovely and i really enjoyed following where you were in tangerine, through all of the votes and comments you left along the way :) cheers to you, stay wonderful, enjoy!

·

Harry guides me through the bumps and blurs of the strangers on the dance floor.

I feel uncomfortable. It's loud and it's busy and I'm constantly shoulder-to-shoulder with half of the club at once. It's stuffy, despite the massive club interior, it smells like drugged up one night stands, and the music isn't anywhere near my liking.

Harry pulls me in by the hips and that all seems to fade.

"I'm happy you're here," he voices just below my earlobe, barely above the music. "You look good, Scar."

"You too," I smile up at him, pulling him in by his collar until he's close enough to hear me. "You look so hot..."

Harry's eyes glisten, a smirk cracking at the edges of his pink lips, "It is quite stuffy in here!"

A bright beam breaks out all over my face.

Harry is mine and I am Harry's, if only for tonight, and we're drunk together in a high-end club in Los Angeles and his hands are on my hips and I'm close enough to smell his cologne and I want him. I wouldn't want to be in a place like this under any other circumstance, but somehow I would gladly put up with music twice as shitty just to be so free with Harry like this.

Harry moves his hands up my sides, swaying to the rhythm of the pulsing club beats. I move fluidly with him, the alcohol in my system letting me forget for a while that I'd usually rather cliff dive off of a mountain than dance to fabricated electronic beats.

As busy as the club is, there is definitely a pull central to Harry and me. Hoards of people surround us, all wanting to be as close as possible to their celebrity company. I'm soon unable to distinguish the flashes of cameras from the vivid club lights.

Harry holds me tight, bringing me closer into his body and lowering his forehead to mine. I place one of my palms to his warm, exposed chest, gripping onto the collar of his sheer blouse, as my opposite hand slides comfortably alongside the muscular dip of his waist.

We're matching and I can't stop thinking about it.

Harry looks like a rockstar. He's been looking more and more like a rockstar since I've known him. I like to think I had a little play in that influence.

I can feel his hard nịpples, even with the thin material of his shirt covering them, while we're dancing and grinding. I can't fucking get enough of him. It's obvious that he feels the same.

It's Harry's smell.

It's his fucking scent that brings me in, every single time.

It's nearly animalistic.

·

The club is pulsing.

Harry and I are four more drinks into the night, but it seems like he's a bit further gone than I am. We've been dancing and touching, but only so much that could make it into a PG film. There have been people around us non-stop. Girls. Countless women and some males that all want a piece of us. A piece of Harry.

We're not allowed to take any pictures ourselves or pose for anyone else's photos, but that hasn't stopped the phones and cameras from raising in the air. Everyone wants proof that they ran into Harry Styles during their night out. Even a blurred angle would suffice.