Bee's POV:
"There's no way that show is not completely sold out." I walked on wobbly legs through the kitchen with Harry trailing behind me, both of us in towels. I felt a little bit drunk from the two orgasms I had just experienced within the last half hour, my mind and body so relaxed and loose.
Harry chuckled behind me as he followed me up the steps to my bedroom. The room was bright with sunlight as I walked in, and I glanced outside to see the bright green of the trees swaying in the breeze over neighboring buildings. There were just a few puffy white clouds in the blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.
"Are you forgetting who the star of the show is, darling?" he eyed me as he casually removed his towel from his hips to place it around his shoulders, lifting up one side to rough through his damp hair.
I ran my gaze down his torso before landing them on his relaxed dick, and tucked my lips into my mouth for a moment before reaching toward my vanity and tossing him his boxer briefs. "Are you forgetting that you don't want me to objectify you by seeing you as 'Harry Styles, The Celebrity'?" I added a bit of drama to the end of my sentence to tease him a bit when he caught his underwear, then turned to my closet to find something to wear.
I knew he could easily get me into the show, but I was trying to make a point that I wasn't using him or expecting anything. Hooking up helped both of us relax a bit, but that didn't mean I couldn't ruin it just as easily. I hated seeing the concern on his face earlier as he was deciding whether or not to have sex with me. Then, that look in his eyes when he pleaded for me to pay attention to him was enough for me to temporarily shove away the part of my brain that was still completely starstruck by him.
He became visible out of the corner of my eye as he approached my vanity to grab his pants. "Yeah, about that... I don't think it would be completely fair of me to actually expect you to act like this whole situation is normal," he said, pulling on his pants as I took out a pair of black joggers.
I cocked a brow at him as I dropped my towel to the floor and pulled my joggers on. "So we fuck once, go down on each other, and now you don't care if I fangirl over you?"
He rolled his eyes as he picked up his top, pulling it on over his head and arms, then placed his hands on his hips. I fought a smile - he looked like a mom. "No, smartass. I just mean that if any other boozed up lad tackled you to the ground in the street and then asked you to take them home with you in your car, you probably would've used that pink pepper spray of yours and told him to bugger off." He took his hands off his hips and looked at himself in the vanity mirror as he tied up the bow on the neck of his top. "But it was me. We can't realistically ignore that."
I watched him as he focused on himself in the mirror while he tied up his top, which was extra shiny in the bright room. His hair was still damp, curling at the ends by his face and at the back of his neck. He glanced over to me as he started tucking the delicate fabric into his velvet pants. A smile crept across his lips and he took a few steps toward me. "You know, I don't mind you staring at me so much now."
His green eyes were shining a bright emerald against the turquoise of his shirt as he spoke to me, and because of his words, I didn't bother looking away. "Why's that?" I asked as he stood right in front of me. My head tilted up to keep eye contact.
He searched my eyes for a moment, then brought his gaze to my lips before tracing down to my breasts. He placed just his fingertip on my right nipple, tracing it across the silver bar going through the center of it. His eyes flicked back up to mine. "Before, you stared at me like I was a rare animal in an exhibit," he spoke lowly. His fingertip traced through the valley between my breasts before landing on my left nipple, touching it the same way he touched the right one. "Now, you stare at me like you love me," he smiled down at me.
Completely taken aback by his comment, I widened my eyes and turned my body back to my closet to find a top to put on. I grabbed at the first one I could find, an oversized black Bob Marley t-shirt.
What do I even say to that? I can't believe he just said that so casually.
Still facing away from him, I shoved my arms into the holes of the shirt, and decided to try to make a joke of it so it wasn't completely obvious that I was freaked out. "Woah, woah, woah," I pulled my head through, then picked up my damp hair to let it fall down my back. Then I turned and looked up at him with a smirk. "Bold of you to assume that two orgasms is all it takes for me to fall in love with you."
I moved past him, needing to leave that weird energy where it was. I started down the narrow steps toward the kitchen and heard Harry's steps following behind me. "I've gone and made you nervous again, haven't I?" His tone was playful as he sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. I opened the fridge to take out some food to start preparing breakfast.
I didn't answer him as I focused on getting what I needed. I turned to the stove where the cast iron skillet was, and turned the heat onto Medium. I put the eggs and hummus on the counter, then walked toward him to grab the loaf of bread and an avocado from the basket I keep them in. He was staring up at me with an amused smirk. I looked at him incredulously, shaking my head as I took two slices of bread out and placed them in the toaster.
"I'm making avocado toast. How do you like your eggs?"
He still wore his smirk, but he obliged. "However you like them is fine."
I nodded and reached over to grab the bottle of olive oil, drizzling a layer across the skillet as it heated up. I pushed the lever down on the toaster to start it, then pulled a knife out of my knife block to start cutting the avocado in half. I disposed of the pit and sliced a few lines into each avocado half.
"Bee."
I looked up at him to see his smirk was now hidden behind his hands as he was leaned forward, his elbows resting on the counter.
"Harry?" I said, trying and failing to be casual.
He moved his hands away from his face and tried to contain his amusement as he crossed his arms over one another, still leaned forward. "I didn't mean to freak you out. Your reaction is kind of funny, though."
I rolled my eyes at him and moved to crack two eggs into the skillet, enjoying the sizzling sound and throwing the egg shells into the compost bin. I opened the drawer right beside the stove and grabbed a spatula, watching the eggs cook a bit more before turning them over.
I looked back over to Harry, who was standing up and making his way over to me. I took a deep breath as I started spreading hummus onto the pieces of toast. "I'm not in love with you. And I don't want you to think that about me."
He smiled at me knowingly with his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the counter next to me. "I didn't mean it the way that you're thinking. I meant it in the way you said it last night."
My cheeks flushed as I remembered I had in fact told him I loved him, technically. I used the same knife to peel out the slices of avocado, laying it across the hummus-covered toast. I grabbed garlic salt and black pepper from the cabinet, sprinkling a bit of each over the avocado, then used the spatula to lift up the eggs. I placed one egg on each piece of toast, then handed one to Harry. I flicked off the heat on the stove. "Continue."
He held the toast in his large hand, taking a bite. "I mean," he said with a half-full mouth, "there is a part of you that does love me. You're a fan of mine, yeah?" He took a second to swallow his food, taking another bite before continuing with another mouthful. "I love my fans, and I know they love me. Or at least a part of me. It's a great thing about being an artist."
I took a bite of my toast as I held it with both hands, careful to hold the egg in place so it didn't slide off. I bit right into the yolk, pleased to see it was perfectly gooey but not dripping. I didn't always cook a perfect egg over medium, but when I did, I was proud as hell. It's the little things.
I looked back up at him as we were both leaned against the counter with our breakfast. He took another large bite and chewed a bit before speaking with some of it still in his mouth. I feel like I'd be grossed out by literally anyone else doing this.
"I don't want you to think you have to act like you don't love me, in that sense," he continued. "I can tell that you do, and I'm just trying to say that it's okay. It doesn't bother me, and it's unfair of me to ask you to, like, tone it down."
I swallowed my bite before replying. "So then what exactly bothers you? Because I honestly can't even tell what I'm doing differently. My staring bothered you so much until we hooked up, and now it's all good? Explain that." I took a bite, glad to have some confidence back.
He shrugged. "I was nervous to fuck you. I was nervous because of what we already talked about, with all the different variables and things that could go wrong. You seemed really cool, but you were distracted by... you know, everything. It made you a little bit hard to read." He took another bite, chewing and swallowing most of it before continuing. "But you listened to me when I told you what I needed, and you never wavered from that. When we fucked, and afterwards, and in the shower, I could tell you really listened." His eyes got serious for a moment. "You'd be surprised how often people just blatantly don't listen to me when I try to communicate my needs. I've been used a lot, especially with sex. It's obvious when it happens. And I just don't ever want it to happen again." He looked down at his toast and took one last big bite of it.
I nodded slowly, making sure to keep my eyes on him.
He swallowed his food and brushed his hands together. "Sex is one of my favorite things in life. Best not to ruin it, yeah?" He winked at me, then took a step closer to me and dipped his head down, taking a large bite out of my breakfast.
I raised my eyebrows at him, snatching the toast away from his face and shoving at his shoulder. He stepped back with a chuckle as he chewed. "Fuck outta here. This is my food." I really hate when people touch my food, but Harry's familiarity felt so nice that I didn't seem to mind.
"It's just so delicious, Bee," he grinned and then walked back toward the living room.
I heard him sit on the couch as I cleaned up the counter and washed the knife and spatula, putting them away. I took the last few bites of my breakfast and then filled the electric tea kettle, placing it back on its holder and flicking the power switch. I grabbed two mugs and two green tea packets, then leaned on the counter as I waited for the water to boil.
I thought over everything Harry had just said. It made sense - at least, as much sense as it could given my total lack of understanding what it's like to be in his shoes. He's got an abnormal job that shoved him into the spotlight at a young age, and ultimately gave him a much different reality than what I've lived. I know what it's like to be used, of course, but not because of my status or fame.
He may have had reservations about me at first, but he ultimately chose to trust me. And I'm glad he did. I'm glad he gave me the opportunity to have this experience with him, no matter how short-lived it would be.
"So," I called out to Harry from my spot in the kitchen, "does this mean you'll accept my compliments now?" I tucked my lips into my mouth and stayed still while I waited for his answer.
I heard him sigh. "I think, if you take it easy on me, then that would be fine, Bee," his tone feigned annoyance.
I smiled to myself and heard the kettle beep. I picked it up by the handle and poured water into each mug. I put the kettle back and picked up the mugs, carrying them to the living room. Harry was sitting on the couch with his flared pants up across the cushions, just like last night. He held his phone in his lap as he tapped his thumbs repeatedly on the screen.
I put one of the mugs down on the coffee table in front of him then went to sit on the other side of the couch, tucking one leg underneath the other and holding the mug in my lap, facing him.
"Why don't you like compliments?" I tilted my head, then brought my mug to my lips to blow on it. It was searing hot. "Be careful, by the way," I nodded toward the cup in front of him. "The tea. It's hot."
"What kind of tea is it?" He put his phone down into his lap and reached for his mug, blowing on it as well.
"Green," I said. "No milk or sugar."
He cocked a brow at me. "Got anything stronger?"
I shook my head. "Nope. This is the most caffeine I can offer you."
He shook his head and made wide eyes. His pink lips puckered onto the mug and he immediately winced. "Shit," he hissed.
"Told you." I exhaled a chuckle. "Why don't you like compliments?"
He put the mug back on the table and relaxed back with his hands behind his head, elbows out as he faced me. "It's not that I don't like compliments. Remember just a bit ago, when I was begging you to tell me how good I'd made you feel? If anything, compliments make me come."
I felt my cheeks flush at the thought of him on top of me, whispering in my ear and telling me to come for him. "Having a praise kink is different than being able to accept compliments, Harry," trying my best not to let him deflect.
"A praise kink," he repeated thoughtfully. "Well, if I have a praise kink, you definitely have a pain kink," his lips curved upward until I saw his dimple. "You were very good, by the way. How's your throat doing, darling? Need some tea to soothe it?"
I tilted my head and bit the inside of my cheek. "Maybe you'll accept my compliments if I list them all off while I'm riding your dick," I challenged, not letting him change the subject.
His smile grew to a grin, his perfect white teeth flashing at me. "Don't threaten me with a good time. Although I'll definitely need coffee and a Gatorade if we're gonna go again."
I shook my head, taking a small sip of my hot tea before placing my mug on the table. He was right, it did soothe my throat.
I sat back, facing him again. I crossed my arms and stared at him, letting the silence fill the air as I waited.
He gave in finally, rolling his eyes and shifting his weight so his position mirrored mine, one leg perched under the other and his hands in his lap. "I just think compliments are awkward, alright? That's it, there's no deeper meaning really." His green eyes focused on mine. I stayed quiet, waiting for more. He sighed. "Like in interviews, I think it is so uncomfortable to just sit there and take the words to heart. I feel like I'm not actually doing anything to deserve it. I'm close with some of the people who interview me recently, but for the most part, for awhile, they've been strangers and the words always seem, I dunno... empty. Like... Like that person feels like they have to compliment me for the sake of their job."
He ran a hand through his hair to brush the stray curl from his brow. "But when I'm performing, having sex too I guess, but when I'm performing, it is incredible." His eyes lit up suddenly. "The feeling of performing a song that I wrote, and spent so much time on, and seeing people dance and sing and even scream along, it's euphoric. I can't get enough of it. I don't think I ever will."
I smiled softly at him. "You were born for it," I said quietly, repeating words I had told him last night.
"Yeah," his index finger and thumb toyed with his bottom lip. "It feels that way, at least."
I lifted my arm to rest on the back cushion of the couch and propped my chin on the heel of my palm, studying Harry for a moment. I spoke the first thought that came to mind. "Everybody you meet falls in love with you, don't they?" I stated more than asked.
His eyes refocused on mine and he nodded slowly. "It feels that way," he repeated his last sentence. "I know it's not something anyone should complain about..." He ran his hand through his hair again and then waved his hands in front of him dramatically, "Like, poor me, I'm surrounded by love and adoration, you know?" He chuckled lightly but then his face fell again as his hands fell down to his thighs. "But it's hard..." I watched him as he stared down at his hands, rubbing them up and down his thighs. "...feeling like I can never give enough back." He looked back up at me. "My band, my friends, family, my team, the fans... I'll never feel like I can give enough love back. I feel like I just take it all, and it makes me feel fuckin' selfish."
I ran my hand through my damp hair, fluffing the shorter layers around my face. "Well, I personally can't imagine how exhausting all of it must be," I said honestly. "I need so much space in all my relationships - my best friend, Val, and I will sometimes go a couple weeks without talking. Part of it is because we're so different, but it's mostly because of my own boundaries. I like to be alone so much more than being with anyone else." I shrugged. "Plus, it's so easy to keep up with people casually with technology and stuff." I focused on his eyes. "I can't imagine your life. Or any celebrity's life, for that matter. The lack of privacy is infuriating from an outsider's perspective, I know it must be a lot worse to actually live it." I leaned forward and took another sip of my tea.
His brows furrowed and he sat up a little straighter. "Well, I think there's going to be good and bad things in life no matter what kind of life you have. And I wouldn't change any of mine. I really wouldn't." His green eyes stared into mine, sparkling even in the weak lighting of the windowless living room, the only light coming from my large window up the stairs. "What's hard about it, to me, is not really having many people who can sympathize with some of the stuff that I really feel like I need guidance on. Like, I can talk to my mum about it, and she will listen, but she won't be able to offer any input. Because she hasn't been through it. You know?"
I nodded slowly again, reveling in this moment of vulnerability. He really is quite open, and I couldn't help but feel special knowing he trusted me with all of this. Although in some ways, he was really just verbalizing things that I already assumed to be true.
He leaned forward then and shifted his weight, both feet planted on the ground and his elbows rested on each knee. He stared vaguely at his mug on the coffee table. "And this is why I go to therapy!" he said in a cheerful tone, smiling over at me before picking up his mug to drink his tea.
I smiled warmly. "Everyone should go to therapy. Life is fucked up." I took another sip of my tea and watched him pick up his phone just to fiddle with it. "Hey," I reached my leg out to nudge his thigh. He looked over to me with his eyebrows slightly creased, his lips tucked into his mouth.
"Thank you for telling me all of that," I murmured softly. "You didn't have to, and I appreciate it. I hope you don't feel like you overshared. You look... unsure."
He smiled and put his hand on my ankle that was still next to his leg. "I'm pretty open," he shrugged, looking down at my foot as he started to lightly rub the arch. "Not usually quite this quickly, but whatever," he chuckled. "You've got an honest face."
I smiled at the way his accent made some sentences just sound better. "You're not the first person to say that," I mumbled. It was true - several people have told me that in my lifetime. I'm still not sure what it meant. I leaned forward and brushed some hair around his forehead so he turned his head to look at me. "Do you want to watch a movie?"
He smiled and checked the time on his phone. The glowing screen read "11:38 AM". He placed his phone on the coffee table and took another sip of tea before clasping his hands together and declaring, "Nothing scary."
I shook my head with a smile and reached for the remote to turn on the TV, pressing a few buttons to get to a movie that I figured we would both like. "We'll do a rom-com," I said with my eyes on the screen.
He leaned back to relax against the back cushions. "Okay, just no Notebook," he said definitively.
I couldn't help but laugh and look at him in confusion, given all of the times I've heard him say how much he loves that movie in his interviews. Like he was reading my mind, he clarified, "I watched it during the drive yesterday." He looked almost guilty.
I cackled at his admission. "Of course you did. I wasn't going to choose that anyway," I lied as I backspaced and started typing in a different movie, my comfort movie.
"Trolls? Never seen it."
I dropped my jaw and put my hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Harry. You'll love it. It'll really get you in the spirit for your show tonight. If you like it and we have time, we can even watch the sequel after," I said excitedly. Then I paused. "Well, if you wanted to. We can feel it out." I took my hand off his shoulder and turned back around to the TV.
I felt his hand in my still partially damp hair, as he gathered it all behind my back and ran his hands down it softly. "Let's make sure we allow enough time to get you ready for tonight, shall we? Me as well," I felt his hand splay out across my back. "I need to paint my nails. What colors do you have?"