Dust Bones [Harry Styles]

065/Epilogue

I always feel his hot breath fanning against my neck, curls tickling my skin, and pelvic bone against mine every time he grinds into me, picking up his pace. As a result, I dig my finger nails into his back muscles, feeling them flex with his movement. My toes curl and my eyebrows furrow to make me look like I'm in some sort of desperate pain, though I'm more than I have ever been in absolute love and pleasure. The high-pitched breaths that leave my lips don't match his heavy panting. Even having bought such a sturdy bed, it nearly hits the wall with his thrusting. Eventually the mattress cover messily comes off at one of the corners as a result to all the eager movement.

When I scratch my finger nails too roughly against his back, he hisses, and breathlessly mutters, "Fuck, babe...watch the scratching." Having a mouthful of moans, I force out an apology that was instantly disregarded when we've reached that point where my moans are the loudest and most frequent, when he groans and mutters beneath his breath 'fuck, baby girl', and where I grip his shoulders with most of my strength, breathing out that I love him.

Both of us incredibly drained from that, we stare up at the ceiling in need to regain composure. When I have, I mutter, "We really need to stop that. It's like the sixth time, Harry."

He chuckles roughly and responds, "We have so much extra time on our hands. There's nothing to run away from anymore."

"I know," I grin, leaning on to my side, my leg falling across his waist only for a short time. I kiss his jaw hastily before getting up from the bed. "I'll be in the shower," I call out.

Harry only laughs in response and shouts, "Your bum is still pink!"

After we've got everything settled, and I mean the bed is made with freshly cleaned sheets, Harry finally gets into the shower, and after a few minutes of 'air drying' decides to put on clothes, we've began to organize the large closet in the basement. Where unfortunately, is probably our biggest secret's epitome. A wall arranged neatly of guns and weapons that he insist he will keep for safety. Because even though for now there isn't anything we can possibly run from, there are things that Harry cannot let go of. And that I can't just disregard because they don't apply to us as of now.

I sigh heavily once I've got it closed. Harry firmly presses the lock in place, gazing over at me when the work is done. "No more of that, alright? I promise. Just you and me."

With a faint smile, I move forward to wrap my arms around his neck. I hum. "I know. So...where are the rest of the guns, baby?"

Confusion settles on his face. Confusion my ass, he knows what I'm talking about. "What?"

An eyebrow raises on my face. "Yeah..." I whisper against his lips. "You put fifty in the closet. Not sixty two. Think I didn't count?"

Harry's face drops into a groan. "Fine. They're hidden around the house."

"You just had to, didn't you?" I retort, narrowing my eyes at him, increasingly irritated. "Twelve guns hidden around the house? What if I pull out a gun instead of my hair dryer, Harry?"

"Shh, don't get angry. It's a safety precaution."

My lips press together tightly before I cross my arms over my chest, putting distance between our bodies. "Does it make you feel better if the guns are around the house?"

"Yes, baby."

"Okay," I mumble. "Where are they?"

"Kitchen cupboard, right behind the box of Special K cereal we never eat. One is behind our dresser in the bedroom. Inside the pillow in our bedroom as well --"

"You mean the pillow I had my head on while we had sex?!"

"Yes."

"Unbelievable."