How to Write Smut

Seven

"Harry! You can't do that!"

"Do what?"

"You know what you're doing!" I quickly closed my laptop and huffed at Harry, who had a mug of fresh, hot tea in his hand and a piece of buttered toast in the other. I even caught sight of a few crumbs around his mouth, but I was too irritated to point that out.

"What am I doing?" He took another bite and raised an eyebrow at me.

"You can't read over my shoulder while I'm writing."

"Why not?"

"Because you just...can't." I replied. "It's weird."

"How is that weird? There's nothing that exciting about watching someone type some words on a screen." He replied, taking a sip of his tea and finally swiping his knuckle across his lips to get the crumbs off.

"Of course there's something exciting about typing words." I snapped, rubbing at my temples.

"How?"

"Because you're writing." I held back the urge to add duh to the conversation, seeing that it wasn't all that necessary.

But I should have.

How could Harry say that writing was not exciting - at all? To me, everything that involved writing was an adventure! It was almost magical.

"There are 26 letters in the alphabet," I said. "And there are countless numbers of possibilities of words you can make out of those, and don't even get me started on the idea. When you start to write, you don't just type out letters; you begin some kind of story, or you share some kind of information - it depends on what you're writing. Are you even listening to me?"

Harry was chewing loudly, and he had pulled up a kitchen chair, situating it behind me on my right. Leaning forward in the seat, his eyes were focused passively on my closed laptop, and he looked thoughtful as he chewed his piece of toast.

"I think actions are more interesting." He said finally, quietly, and shrugged as he finished the last piece of his toast.

"Words can create thousands of pictures," I replied, raising an eyebrow and crossing my arms over my chest. "It's all about the reader. When you read, you visibly picture everything in your head. It's like watching a movie."

"I'm going to be honest here and say that I hate reading." Harry said, setting his empty mug down and crossing his ankles. He watched my face cautiously, as if I might explode.

Which I did want to explode - on the inside.

But I had to remind myself that not everyone likes to read.

Even though they should.

"That's fine." I said through clenched teeth, though I forced a smile. "Everyone likes what they like."

"Yeah, I prefer movies over books anyday." Harry replied. "I can't tell you the last time I read a book."

I was about to go into a full-out rant, but I quickly held myself back and pulled my hair back into a loose bun, just realizing I had a loose hair tie around my wrist.

Patient, I told myself. Be patient.

"Anyway," I said, overly cheerful, "I need to get back to work." I sat there pointedly, waiting for Harry to get the hint. There was no way I'd be able to write anything withhim and his skepticism around.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He replied as he took out his phone, texting something on the screen.

"Um," I licked my lips. How do I say this? I thought for a moment, trying to think of multiple ways of being polite or smooth, until my lips decided to move. "Go away."