A distant, muffled knocking at the front door stirred me slowly, the last strands of my sweet dreams fluttering away as I gained consciousness. I lay there for a moment, in the bright, warming light that flooded through Harry's bedroom window, feeling the weight of his strong arms around my waist and the light tingle of his sleepy breath on the back of my neck. Despite the prominent throbbing in the front of my brain - the result of one or two drinks too many - I felt good. My head still buzzed with the memory of those three, sticky little words he'd moaned during our quickie the night before. They were all I could think of.
They bounced around in my head, teasing me, taunting me, daring me to admit that they were the exact words I'd been dreaming of, longing to hear fall from his perfect plum-coloured lips. He hadn't seemed to realise what he'd done afterwards, and I'd decided to myself to leave it that way. I liked that I knew where I stood now; I liked knowing I had him wrapped around my finger. Sooner or later, when he was ready, he would admit it to me, I knew that. For now, I was happy simply in the knowledge that he loved me. I didn't quite know if it was a good thing or not, but every time I thought of it, it made a cheeky smile tug on the corners of my lips.
He cared about me. That fact, alone, made me feel wanted, and feeling wanted made me feel content. Maybe everything would be okay after all, I thought, and maybe I wouldn't have to worry about the feelings that kept growing in my gut, like weeds taking over my instincts and choking out every other thought or emotion. He was the only thing on my mind...and for now, it could stay that way. It probably wasn't constructive in the slightest for me to feel this way, but maybe it could all work out. Maybe we could be together, I wondered, maybe we could have a proper relationship. That was what I anticipated.
It would happen, I promised myself. Eventually. And now that I knew his place, we were one step closer to being happy together, to being able to be with each other the right way. That was what I looked forward to.
The knocking continued incessantly on Harry's front door, becoming louder by the minute. I heaved an impatient, annoyed sigh as I slowly unlatched myself from Harry's sleeping grip, padding out of the room and to the front door. I quickly buttoned up the loose, checked shirt of Harry's I'd lazily thrown on the night before for bed as I walked, remembering how we'd collapsed into bed after the last of the guests had trailed away. In his sleepy haze, his rough hands had palmed my hips, my thighs, travelling down my trembling stomach before his long, slender fingers dipped into my silky underwear, teasing me in the pitch black darkness. He grumbled rough, horny requests into my ear as I wriggled in his tender grip, sighing into the still room, which was silent excluding my breathless moans and the ruffling of his crisp bed sheets as I writhed in pleasure. I'd marvelled after he finished his glorious work at how much better it felt to come for him after hearing those simple words, now that I knew. It felt better when I curled into his arms, his fingers dancing delicately along my skin, the skin he knew so well after only a few short months. It felt like I'd known him a lifetime, and that was why he was special. I'd never had anything like this before, but I loved it; I loved him.
My hand found the door knob, pulling it open gradually to reveal a tall, peachy skinned and all round very good looking boy gazing thoughtlessly back at me. He had neat, short, sandy brown hair that was pushed to one side and a charming, freckly smile that gave me a strange, guilty sort of butterflies.
"Hello, welcome to the Styles-Tomlinson residence, can I help you?" I chimed happily even though my head was positively throbbing. Coffee for me this morning, for definite.
"Hi, I'm, eh, looking for Louis?" the boy stated uncertainly, his twinkly blue eyes bearing into mine and making me swallow hard involuntarily.
"He's asleep," I replied, smiling kindly, "I could wake him..?"