I Want It Bad - Narry

Chapter Thirty

“Niall,” Harry mumbles in his sleep, pink lips parted in a soft sigh. His fingers curl around the white sheet beneath him, balling it up in his fist. He furrows at the brow then, his hips shifting down with a needy keen in the back of his throat.  

“What, H?” Niall asks groggily, rolling onto his side to look over to Harry expectantly. He notices that the brunet’s eyes are shut, a whimper of his name slipping past Harry’s plump lips again. His dark, hooded eyes slowly trail down to where Harry’s hips are rocking against the mattress. Niall’s face flushes red and he curses lowly under his breath.

“Fuck, Haz,” Niall whispers, his eyes wide and glued to the short, languid rolls of Harry’s hips, how his toes are curling and chest heaving through the soft whines bubbling out.

He tears his eyes away long enough to glance at the digital clock next to him, the time reading 7 am. This is definitely not what he was expecting to wake up to on Christmas morning, but he can’t help but to look back at his gorgeous boy again. He reaches out and brushes away the fringe that has fallen onto Harry’s face, hand lingering to stroke his thumb over Harry’s soft lower lip.

“You have no idea what you do t’ me,” Niall groans, wanting to duck down and bite at the sliver of skin peeking out from where Harry’s sweater is rucked up, “yer absolutely killin’ me, baby.”

Niall tries to not think too much about the fact that Harry’s having a wet dream about him, whimpering and moaning his name. It makes his head feel muddled and clouded, drunk off the thought of HarryHarryHarry. His eyes slip shut and he tries to will away the hard-on he’s sporting in his joggers; presses the palm of his hand against himself to relieve the ache.

He lets his other hand reach over to rest against the back of Harry’s thigh, rubbing up and down slowly as he presses soft, warm kisses along the nape of his neck.

“Haz,” Niall hums against his heated skin lowly, smirking when Harry lets out a muffled whine in response, “Wake up f’me, babe.”

He lets his hand slide up and run along the curve of Harry’s back, thumb skimming across the knobs of his spine. His fingers itch to slip underneath the band of Harry’s sweats, but he can hear Harry mumble incoherently and shift over before he can. His pretty green eyes open and peer over to Niall, eyelids heavy and drooping.

“Niall?” Harry mumbles softly, but it sounds more like a garbled mess of consonants with the way his voice has gone slurred with sleep. He blinks a couple times, eyes doe-like and innocent; lifts his head with a mess of curls falling forward onto his face. It reminds Niall of a sleepy kitten, the way he’s languorously looking around and stretching with a yawn.

“Morning, princess,” Niall smirks teasingly, eyes drawn to the way Harry buries his face against his pillow to hide his flaming cheeks with a huff.

Harry lifts his head again and goes to talk but freezes, slowly looking down to see a small wet patch in the front of his sweats. He lets out a breathless little noise, grabbing for the blanket pooling around his hips to tug it up and cover himself.